Gulf Coast: What’s at stake

Recently, I was searching through some old photos of the first trip that I took to the Gulf Coast as part of Operation Photo Rescue. Co-founder Becky Sell and I traveled to Pass Christian, MS in late January of 2006 just a few short months after Hurricane Katrina wrought so much devastation.

Upon arrival after a two-day road trip in my truck, I was visually overwhelmed by the destruction. However, within the hour the sun began to set and I was presented with a level of beauty that seemed unearthly.

These sunset pictures never saw the light of day. They were never printed and were pretty much forgotten after being burned to a cd.

When I saw them today, it struck me that these are examples of what is on the verge of being lost to the oil spill. And that made me think that they were finally worth sharing.

St. Patrick’s Day: Dublin 1999

So it appears that I suck at this blogging thing. My site has been up for months and I still only have one post up. I’m trying to change my ways, but change isn’t easy. Just ask Obama.

A couple of weeks ago it was St. Patrick’s Day. I’m old, married and the father of two young boys, so now March 17 is just a day when I’m obligated to wear something green. However, this year for some reason got me thinking back to 1999 when I was actually in Dublin for St. Patrick’s Day.

I was in Ireland to visit my friend Heather who was attending an art program at a university in Belfast. During my visit, I rented a car and we explored the Irish countryside. The last day we ended in Dublin. Because we had to take the car back, we didn’t get to stay long for the celebration. We caught the parade and walked for a bit, but we saved the drinking for the university’s student union party later that night back in Belfast. It was one of the most fun times of my life.

Oh yeah, this was back in the days of film. Dig that nostalgia.

Otavalo, Ecuador

I recently traveled to Quito, Ecuador to serve as a faculty member for a Truth With A Camera workshop. The Saturday before the workshop began, those of us who arrived early took a day-trip to Otavalo.

The small mostly indigenous town sits in a valley surrounded by the peaks of three volcanoes: Imbabura , Cotacachi and Mojanda. Otavalo is best known for its Saturday market in the Plaza de los Ponchos, but there’s also an open-air livestock exchange during the early part of the day.

We made the livestock exchange our first stop. It was only supposed to be a 10-minute-look-see, but there was just too much to at which to gawk. The scene would have made a PETA volunteer’s head explode on impact.

Small groups of pigs were left out in the open knotted together by a single rope that grew smaller as they individually twisted and turned. There were boxes upon boxes of live chicks packed like sardines. And the local puppy mills seemed to be in full production.

This was not the place to be if you happen to reside on the low end of the food chain.

The people watching was great. Many of the women were dressed in traditional garb: white embroidered blouses, with flared lace sleeves, and dark over skirts. Many of the men looked aged beyond their years as they haggled over roosters that were bound for the cock-fighting ring.

I’ve never been in this type of situation and admittedly I was too timid with my camera. It didn’t help my confidence any that I was shooed away by a couple of people and one old pig-man wanted to charge me for taking his picture.

If I ever return to Otavalo’s livestock market, I’ll shoot like it will be the last time I will ever see anything like it again.