DARIN HAYTON

Author: Darin

  • Preservation, Nostalgia, Loss

    Preservation, Nostalgia, Loss

    Photography seems always to imagine a different world. Photographers don’t record the reality they see, they consecrate a reality they wish to see. In this way, photographs are always about a world that no longer exists. The lure of dilapidated buildings, of abandoned places, and of weed-choked roads testify to the photographer’s urge to record and celebrate lost scenes. Photography teeters between preservation and nostalgia.

    Looking up toward Chantry Flats.

    It is difficult to preserve without the taint of nostalgia, as is the case now as I look over some photographs taken before the Bobcat Fire devastated so much of the San Gabriel mountains and Santa Anita Canyon. Loss and destruction had always lurked along the trail up Santa Anita Canyon in the remnants of previous structures scattered through the trees.

    Stairs recall a former structure.

    But now the various photographs intended, for the most part, to preserve what I saw as I hiked up the canyon have become a poignant reminder of how much more we have already lost. These photos are also a warning for what will likely be lost when the mud and debris slides down into the canyon and chokes the creek.

    A small waterfall along Santa Anita Creek, just above Sturtevant Falls.
    Santa Anita Creek tumbles over some rocks just below Spruce Grove campground.

    Along with the mud and debris will come the dead trees. Many will fall, blocking the trail and clogging the creek. Others will never leaf out again. Their canopy of leaves that shades the trail through the canyon has certainly been lost.

    The canopy had not yet leafed out this cool grey March afternoon.

    And then there are the camps, Spruce Grove Campground and Sturtevant Camp. Whether or not they have been destroyed, they are closed for the foreseeable future, as is the trail leading to them.

    A chair waits patiently for an occupant on the badminton court at Sturtevant Camp.
    Nobody was around to ring the dinner bell that Tuesday afternoon.

    Now, in light of the recent fires, these photographs do more than just preserve moments. They evoke a powerful nostalgia, reminding me not only of the hike that produced these images but also all the hikes over the years as friends and I squandered our youth in these mountains.

  • Autumn is Coming

    Autumn is Coming

    Looking out across the backyard this afternoon I watched a cloud of leaves fall to the ground. Despite the warm, humid day, fall is coming. As the days become shorter and the sun meanders more obliquely across the sky, I look forward to the most colorful season of the year.

    Autumn hikes are magical. The rustling of dry leaves in the trees when a cool breeze blows gently through them. The sound of your footfalls muffled by the bed of red and orange and yellow leaves. These are the moments that make fall so special.

    Soon, however, all the leaves will have fallen. And then winter will usher in its own quiet, monochrome beauty. But until then, I will enjoy the technicolor splendor of fall.

  • Urban Shadows

    Urban Shadows

    The last weekend of summer in Philadelphia offered the chance to look for contrast between light and dark. Nothing metaphorical or profound. Just shadows.

    Looking for and at shadows invites a different way of seeing the city, a way that often requires looking down, looking for lines and patterns, for fragments of people going about their lives. The shoes and the streets tell us a lot about who the person is. Feet walking to work, work in the tourist industry, wear period shoes and extend beneath the hem of a historic skirt. They move efficiently across the street in a crosswalk, against the “Don’t Walk” sign.

    Other feet don more comfortable, casual shoes, those worn by people who are themselves probably tourists. They stroll along cobblestoned side streets where no “Walk” sign discourages their progress. They have no destination in mind, no place to go.

    But don’t always look down. Light and shadow play across buildings too, creating patterns and contrast with the late summer sky. Buildings that send forth dog-walking residents who look every bit as tidy and uncluttered as the buildings they’ve just exited.

  • Architecture of Religion in the South West

    Architecture of Religion in the South West

    There is a special aesthetic to religion in the South West. A starkness to the architecture and design, born perhaps from the struggle to survive in the harsh climate. Amazingly, some of the missions and churches have survived centuries. The San Xavier del Bac mission south of Tucson, for example. Founded in the late seventeenth century, the church dates from the late eighteenth. It’s hard to believe that the population in the area was sufficient to support the mission for the past two centuries. It is also a testament to the Franciscans who have continued to hold mass at the church and minister to the community for the past 225 years.

    San Xavier del Bac

    While some religious institutions continue to survive in the south west’s unforgiving climate, others struggle and contract. In Santa Fe the St. Francis Cathedral School represents the other end of the durability spectrum. Founded just 70 years ago in downtown Santa Fe, the, school closed about a decade ago. The school was repurposed as an arts school. But that too has closed. Now the property is for sale. Stay tuned for another otherwise unremarkable over-priced “boutique” hotel.

    Former St. Francis Cathedral School

  • Postcard Archive: September 2020

    Postcard Archive: September 2020

    This month’s postcard recalls a warm summer evening and swarms of mosquitos, oh and a comet too.

  • Parched

    Parched

    The deserts of the south west is an inhospitable place. Hot. Dry. Desolate. Even the plants and animals most adapted to the climate seem to struggle just to survive. Edward Abbey warned us against venturing into those deserts. Only the foolhardy ignore his warnings. And yet some of us are unable to resist the siren calls of those lands. Abbey himself was succumbed again and again to the lure of the deserts. His body lies in a concealed grave somewhere in the parched lands in southern Arizona.

    Those of us drawn to the deserts can’t explain the attraction any more than Odysseus could explain the beauty of the songs coming from the Sirenum Scopuli. The beauty of the place is inexplicable.

    I am happy that most people will never want to spend time in the desert. The emptiness allows me to contemplate the artistry and grandeur, the splendor and finesse of this country.

  • 52 / 3 Available

    52 / 3 Available

    The latest issue of 52 arrived yesterday. They look great. I had them printed locally, at Fireball Printing in Philadelphia. They did an excellent job. The print quality is superb. The paper has a nice, rich, substantial feel, making it a pleasure to sit and look through while enjoying a cup of coffee.

    I’ve started distributing them. So let me know if you want a copy.

  • Moon over Ardmore

    Moon over Ardmore

    Friday evening around 8:00pm. Tired professionals should have been driving home or to meet friends at a local restaurant or bar. But instead the street was empty. I stood there in the middle of Lancaster through two cycles of green-yellow-red, green-yellow-red. On one side a Chevy van sat empty with its flashers blinking. On the other side, a Toyota Prius jutted out from between two buildings, its flashers silently signaling to the van’s. Perhaps they were meant to pick up food for those professionals who haven’t been into the office for weeks.

    The sidewalks are empty, as are the restaurants and bars. Yet all the restaurants and bars are lit up as if waiting for customers to return. I feel like I’m in an episode of The Twilight Zone in which all the people have suddenly vanished, leaving me to wander the streets alone.

    Welcome to the new normal in Ardmore.

  • 52 / 3

    52 / 3

    I just received the proof for the next issue of 52. This issue collects together black and white photographs documenting some effects of the current pandemic — the vacant streets and empty businesses — as well as some photographs of the city at night.

    As with the previous issues, I enjoy the way the printed photograph encourages a different engagement with the image. There is no scrolling, no share-on-social-media button (no buttons at all, in fact), no likes. Just a series of photographs that would complement a morning coffee and croissant.

    I should receive the final version in the next few days. Let me know if you would like to receive a copy.

  • Learning through Imitating

    Learning through Imitating

    Scrolling through any social media platform presents you with a mind-numbing series of photos of the same scene from the same place in the same light and processed through the same filter. They seem to have been taken merely to post to the internet in the hopes of garnering likes, or whatever counts as social affirmation. It is easy to see the parade of nearly identical images as evidence of some character flaw and broad societal decay.

    A woman in the Breugel gallery paints her own version of Breugel’s “Winter Landscape with Skaters and Bird Trap”

    But imitation is not always as hollow as the copying of social media posts might suggest. Artists of all sorts learn their art by trying to reproduce versions that previous and usually better artists created. In many artistic pursuits, learning is a process of producing more and more faithfully your own version of some work. Only after countless examples of bad reproductions does a person develop enough skill to add originality to the work. Music is the obvious example. Every musician plays the same well-worn pieces over and over and over again. Similarly in the visual arts, e.g., painting and drawing, younger artists often develop their skills by trying to reproduce a master’s work.

    Woman in the Breugel gallery painting her own “Winter Landscape with Skaters and Bird Trap,” the original of which isn’t even in the gallery.

    Even in photography imitation can be a valuable exercise. Studying the work of a previous photographer whom you admire to determine what makes it so compelling. Trying to recreate your own version of an image, trying to recreate the lighting or the angle, can help you develop a better sense of how light and perspective shape a photograph. Do it enough and you can begin to develop your own style and sensibilities, applying what you’ve learned to new scenes.

    Two men talk about the one’s efforts to copy a painting.

    So maybe imitation per se is not the problem, but the reasons and goals that animate the imitation. In that case the problem with the endless stream of identical images on social media is not the soporific monotony, but the fact that the hoards of people posting those images have no desire to learn from them. They are imitating merely to imitate.

    Or maybe, just maybe, there is no problem with that stream of identical images. If it bothers you, rather than scrolling through your social media feed, go take some pictures.