Pixel Dance

This is a postcard I designed for a client. In the end, we went with an invite and envelope instead, and we used similar artwork with people and cities and rivers. It turned out cool. But this piece seemed too good for the “not used” folder. And it’s got a good story.

This is a photo I took this summer of Autrain Lake in the upper peninsula of Michigan. My family convened for a proverbial summer get-together, since we are strewn across the miles, and rarely do I see my sister and her son. My parents visit here a time or two every year. It’s the place they honeymooned 48 years ago. And they chose it because it is the same lake where my grandparents honeymooned more than 70 years ago. We have disintegrating photos, dusty slides, and ancient 18mm family heirlooms of this lake. Pictures of rows of fish caught and laid out on the shore. Snapshots of grandpa and Alec, the best friend of his life. And the great photo of my dad’s English Setter, Sue, riding at the front of the boat with the wind in her floppy ears, searching the lake and shore for something to point out to dad and grandad.

It’s not just pictures. There’s the story of mom’s first stab at piemaking with wild blueberries. It didn’t go so well, so in the trash the pie went. And when the raccoons found them, mom thought it was a bear fixin’ to eat her for lunch. And the people they know . . . dad knows the children of the children of the children around that lake. And when I was standing with him on the dock, as he looked out on that lake, I saw a hundred years go by in his mind. I wanted to be in there with him. It’s crazy how some of the smallest things in our lives can hold such meaning. For each of us, there’s a lake, or a mountain, or a beachfront. And the stories we tell, the pictures we preserve, have such a melancholy sweetness to them. I wonder where yours is. . .

Well, this postcard is my contribution to the legacy. It’s not old or dusty, but it’s full of meaning and feeling and things that only my little family knows. I hope you enjoy it.

I have a secret. It’s tucked back behind my shed in the backyard. It’s my secret rose garden. I have 65 roses in my yard, and 40 of them live happily together tucked in that safe spot. The english roses greet you, along with the white climbers I’m coaxing up the shed walls. As you step onto the first patio, the pinks and reds welcome you in. And as you wrap your way up a few steps and onto the circular patio, you are surrounded by the oranges and yellows, as they invite you to bring your tea out and visit with them. I have wild roses, english roses, floribundas, hybrid teas. And they aren’t as difficult as you may think to grow. You just have to be able to live with imperfection. Mine occasionally get black spot or aphids, but it’s all right. Sometimes, like this year, they hardly grow, or they wait until the end of the season to break into song. But there is nothing like walking out, catching my “Wildfire” in full bloom, burying my head in the face of my “Mr. Lincoln,” or standing back and taking in the panorama of color.

My favorite place to get roses is Jackson & Perkins (jacksonandperkins.com). Every year they introduce their rose of the year, and it’s such a thrill to open the catalog when it comes in the mail. I will tell you the best time to order is when they have their sales a couple of times a year. They are worth waiting for — this year I purchased 7 english roses for the price of 3 regular ones. Even better yet, check the local Lowe’s and Home Depot for last year’s Jackson & Perkins roses. There’s a real deal.

Don’t be afraid of roses. They really aren’t as persnickity as they’ve been made out to be. I do find the english and wilds to be the easiest for our area. Find a semi-protected spot in the yard where they can have a few hours of afternoon sun, drop a little good soil from a bag, and plant them up to the bump (the graft, for those who want vernacular). They need regular water, so don’t be skimpy on that (and water the bottom, not the leaves, if you can — and every other day is good), and cut the dead blooms off after they’re finished. For winter, cut all the canes off at about 6 inches from the ground, and cover the whole thing in dirt. Next year, uncover to the bump, and repeat. And if all of that seems like too much, please come visit me. I love to walk my friends through the yard (ad nauseum), pointing out my favorite spots, and the best growers. My husband calls this “the walk,” and I’d love it if you’d join us.

So, I get to have a lot of fun working on Citizen magazine. And one of the most exciting things I do is send photographers to exotic and crazy places. Gaylon Wampler is one of my go-to guys. You don’t get a second chance to take these shots, and they have to tell the story and be compelling and fit the space, and look professional. And when I send Gaylon, I don’t have to worry about any of those things. I know he’s going to bring back gold. Here’s his story:

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I’m a Colorado-based commercial and editorial photographer with a background in newspaper photojournalism.

I began my career working for a small weekly paper in Carrolton, TX and worked my way up through the Amarillo Globe, the Associated Press, the Houston Post and the Denver Post. I switched careers from newspapers to magazines, Christian publishing and relief work in 1996 and more recently, started specializing in non-profit Christian photojournalism and commercial oil and gas work world wide.

For me, it’s the perfect blend as I am able to shoot the non-profit assignments for less and count on the industrial work for the majority of my income.

While I shoot a wide variety of assignments, it is the work with a cause that I love the most. To go out and tell a story with my images in order to inform and influence readers is the work that I believe God has called me to. Most recently, I was assigned to photograph the results of the inter-tribal conflict in Kenya for a missions based organization, and that work helped bring much needed food, shelter and other needs to the people displaced by that human tragedy.

Here are a few links to some of my work:

Kenya: http://gallery.me.com/g.wampler#100420
AIDS: http://gallery.me.com/g.wampler#100431
Burkina Faso: http://gallery.mac.com/g.wampler#100140
Various Portfolio: http://gallery.me.com/g.wampler#100358

My goals are the same whether it be my art, my industrial work or my photojournalism: Show the reader something they haven’t seen before, change the way they look at a subject and to continue to work with the gifts that I have been blessed with.

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Gaylon has literally been to almost a third of the world, and has logged 409,757 miles on his trips. Perhaps the most memorable trip for Citizen was Uganda. Officials in Uganda seemed to be having success lowering AIDS rates in their country through abstinence messages. It’s a story you probably won’t read in the local paper. And it was quite an experience. But the photo I love the most from our adventures together is a shot of a prisoner coming out of the water after being baptized. The water is surrounding him, glistening and wrapping and shimmering. It feels like a moment in eternity. It’s brilliant. Like I said, he always brings the story home.

I love to talk to Gaylon about what he’s seen and experienced, because he has such passion for people. Sometimes it’s heartbreaking. Sometimes it’s joyous. But it always feels like we’re doing something important, and co-laboring in the storytelling of these issues. Thanks, Gaylon, for all of your great work, long layovers, funky hotel stays, and hours away from your lovely wife. It’s good work that you do. You tell the world a story in a split second, and it leaves a lasting impression.

As a lucky 15-year-old, I got the chance to visit Spain with my foreign language class. The experience was incredible — to stand in 16th century castles, to dip my feet in the Mediterranean, to experience history and culture that was beyond my horizons — left an indelible mark. Spain is a marvelous place, and I have always loved the culture and language. It is filled with passion and beauty. One of the best moments for me was our visit to El Museo Del Prado, really one of the premier art museums in the world. I don’t think I even realized what I had my hands on (figuratively) at the time, staring at Goya and El Greco, and even Picasso (his have since moved on). But the one painting that is still teaching me today is “Las Meninas.”

“Las Meninas” is a 10-foot canvas painted in 1646 by Diego Velázquez. It is a portrait of the King’s daughter, but in a way, it’s not. It’s a portrait of the King and Queen. But it a way, it’s not. It’s a self-portrait of Velázquez, but . . . it’s not. It’s brilliant in that on the surface, it looks like a portrait of a little girl. But as you look closer, the child is really in front of the real subjects — the King and Queen, as they are reflected in the mirror at the back of the painting. But then you realize that they are probably being reflected back from the canvas that is being painted by Velázquez himself. Which means that everyone in the painting is actually looking at you, the viewer. You are the now-noticed fly-on-the-wall as the King and Queen sit for a portrait, and their child, along with her maidservants, help pass the time.

The layers, the depth, the layout (almost like a stage), the story, the questions. It draws the viewer into the story, lets them finish the lines, fill in the blanks, be a part of the experience of the moment. As a 15-year-old, staring at the canvas, trying to decipher the whole story, I couldn’t see the way the artist used perspective, repetition, shade and lighting, focal point, diagonals, contrast . . . to tell a story. And I still don’t think I could pick it all out, it’s so thorough. I just know I felt as if I had walked into the painting, happening around me; as if I was sitting with the King and Queen, and they were reflecting back at me from the mirror. As if I was reflecting back at me.

You know, it’s a privilege to be a part of the design community. As designers, but especially the fine artists in our midst, we tell the story of our age. With our layers, our perspective, we draw the world into our story. We tell them what it’s like to be on our stage in this moment. The accountants don’t do that. The football players don’t do that. Only the artists leave the snapshot of this moment in history, for the ages to come and interpret. Who were we? What did we reflect back? What will they say about who we were in 400 years? It’s our job to develop the layers, the focal points, the story — to focus our viewer’s attention on what mattered here.

My hope for us is that our story isn’t flat. That our lines are full of dimension, and that our story takes years to investigate. And that it’s worth the attention of some 15-year-old in the future, who is looking to learn the lessons of life. I hope we, as a generation, can tell the story right, and that we tell the right story. Not of outward beauty, or trite, one-dimensional trivialities. I hope for it to be rich in wonder, making the viewer come back, find something else, and long to put themselves in the picture. I hope our beauty is lasting, and rich and deep. And remarkable.

I’d love to hear your posts on what you see, what you appreciate, and what your thoughts are on “Las Meninas.” I think it’s worth the discussion, and I’d love to hear from those of you who make creativity your living. What moves and motivates you? To see “Las Meninas,” and read the story, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Las_Meninas#Victuallers is a great place to start. I look forward to the discussion.

I would venture to guess that many of you have never had a speckled roman tomato. Or a Royal Ann cherry. Or a purple podded pole bean. And you have no idea what you’re missing.

For hundreds of years, people planted a plethora of varieties of vegetables and flowers, saved the seeds, and passed them down to family and friends. But with the onset of the Industrial Revolution, trains and transportation, large food suppliers began to ship food to other places. And with shipping came the reality that some fruits and vegetables didn’t travel as well as others. For instance, my father says that a Royal Ann cherry is the best tasting cherry you could know, but it bruises easily and travels poorly. So instead, you’ll see the tougher Rainier, or the quintessential Bing. As genetic engineering became more viable, so did altering seeds for better production, better travel, and larger size. It’s why you get gigantic strawberries at the store, without an ounce of taste or juice. The less juice, the less it will bruise and rot.

The Amish, Mennonites, Native Americans, and hobby gardeners have secret stashes of heirloom seeds — seeds that have not been processed, but passed down (the technical definition is under debate, with some saying a true heirloom must be 50, others say 100 years old). There are thousands of varieties, shapes and colors that most people have never seen, but are full of flavor and nutrients. They don’t always come out perfect-looking, and some are downright weird. But each seed has a story, each bite has a vibrant pop to your anesthetized tongue, and growing the plants seems like a daily adventure. When my purple podded pole beans burst on the scene earlier this summer, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. They were deep grape purple in color, almost a foot long, and tasty as all get out. The seeds usually fair very well, and the absolute best part is that I am preserving a line of heritage that, frankly, in some cases is almost extinct. There are many seeds considered rare or close to extinction. And I am preserving history in my back yard.

I know gardening is work, but this is fun, rewarding work with a purpose. And at the end, you eat better than anyone in your tri-county region. My favorite place to go for seeds is www.seedsavers.org. They are amazing, with over 20 acres of heirloom seeds that they maintain in Decorah, Iowa. But the real genius idea they had was to create an exchange — where gardeners like me produce a crop, and then exchange the seeds with other Seed Saver growers. It keeps the lines going, and people get to share their own family heirloom seeds. I am currently growing a beautiful bunch of Grandma Einck’s dill, described as, “Iowa heirloom grown near Festina, Iowa since 1920 by Katherine Einck’s family (Diane Whealy’s grandmother).” What can top that? Maybe my “Cinderella” pumpkin that dates back to the 1700′s.

I hope you try a packet or two of your own next year. I’ve been growing my dad’s green beans, peas, and sweet corn for several years now, and having your own family seeds is a true pleasure. My dad, the professor of molecular biology, got me addicted to this thing. Growing up, we always grew our own food. many times in the late summer we would go fishing in the Snowy Range of Wyoming, then come home that night and cook our catch, along with some backyard beets, just-picked lettuce with fresh garden onions, and top it off with mom’s strawberry rhubarb pie. Thanks, dad, for teaching me how to prepare soil, plant and harvest seeds, work hard with my hands, and appreciate the absolute beauty and miracle that real food is. What a gift you have given me. And thanks, mom, for prepping and cooking it. You are a fine woman, and a fine chef.

By the way, I’m growing a Royal Ann cherry tree in my back yard. I can’t wait for the past to meet the future in my stomach. And if any of you have seeds, please, let’s trade. Let’s start our own exchange here, and make our own history.

It’s Friday, and a perfect time to talk with another fabulous friend. Travis Foster is a fantastic illustrator, and does a monthly spot job for me in the magazine. We’ve become great friends over the years, and often trade gardening pictures and family stories. He and his family are wonderful people, and I really adore them. His illustrations always hit the mark, and he has a great way of getting to the heart of a topic in a 3-inch square. His characters have a way of sticking around in the brain, and the colors and contexts are perfect for the setting. Here’s what he has to say about his path:

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Like most artists, drawing was something I enjoyed as a kid. I’ve never out grown this love of making pictures for others to enjoy. At sixteen, I worked in a seasonal theme park, and it continues for five summers – creating “caricatures” for tourists. It was a great first job, established a work ethic and I saw first hand artwork as a plausible way to create some income. This is how I worked my way through art school. My parents encouraged me to hold out for the right college, and Ringling ended up being a good choice. Great instructors, solid training. In 1989 I graduated from Ringling School of Art and Design, Sarasota Florida with an illustration major.

I hit the ground running, starting my freelance career and business right out of school. I asked other illustrators, “how do you do this?” I applied their generous advice, pursuing freelance full time. Never looked back.

I like to create clean, simple shapes and designs. I prefer images to read clearly and designs that are easy on the eye. The variety of projects that come into the studio I largely attribute to the “streamlined style” offered. An advertising campaign, children’s book, editorial assignment, it’s all good stuff. I enjoy them all and appreciate the steady stream of fun assignments.

For life, I’d say, “Learn to laugh at yourself often, don’t take yourself to serious.” Be kind to others. Love your family well.

Sarah and I have four wonderful children, and I’m proud of each of them. When I see my kids creating art, or playing their instruments, or working in the garden, I’m reminded that life itself is a gift. A precious gift.

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I think it’s easy to see why Travis is such a joy to work with, and such a fun friend. He gladly shares his gifts and friendship, and it makes my job a dream. Plus he’s darn talented. You can see for yourself at www.travisfoster.com. Thank you, Travis.