Do You Make Self Portraits?

A Way Of Documenting One’s Life, A Way Of Remembering

Soon after I picked up the camera, nearly 50 years ago, I turned it on myself. I continue to do so from time to time. It feels important to me, it helps me remember, and mark the changes that occur over a lifetime.

I now look back on times that were important. I also look back on times that were difficult, and times that were just plain awkward. They are all part of a long life. The pictures remind me of just how long.

We take pictures of our children from the moment of birth. And for some time, every day afterward. We want to remember every moment of the miracle they represent.

Why would we not want to do the same with ourselves? All lives are important. Our own, as much as our children’s. Perhaps it has to do with the self-loathing that so often sets in after a certain age. After a certain amount of failure and disappointment.

My approach has been to record it all. The good, the sometimes bad, and at times, the downright embarrassing. I remain the same soul through it all. And I want to remember it, all of it.

The image above was made shortly after I returned to the desert of Arizona, after spending five years in the rain of Oregon. I was photographing exclusively with a 4x5 Deardorff view camera on a tripod. A self-timer screwed into the shutter release made it all possible.

This self-portrait was made a few years later near Canyon de Chelly in northern Arizona. I had begun using a Pentax 67 camera. It was a bit more portable than the view camera. The adjustable self-timer was still my best friend.

This cave opening immediately caught my eye. I wondered how many individuals might have taken refuge here, and spent a long night here. It felt an apt metaphor for my inner life at the time. So often I just wanted to burrow into my own cave, to escape the noisy world.

This image was made a year or so later. I was making frequent weekend trips to northern Arizona to escape the summer heat of Phoenix. This is under a bridge near Sedona.

The high water scale under this bridge caught my eye as I was driving by. While parking the car I knew exactly the image I wanted to make.

After setting up the view camera, I set the timer to 90 seconds. This gave me enough time to scramble through the dry creek bed. I was measuring myself as the shutter went off.

I made a lot of self-portraits in the studio I had built in my living room in Phoenix during the late ’80s. This occasion marked the end of that time.

I had sold the condo that housed this period of time. A time of photographing nearly every day. A time of doing portraiture, as well as still life work.

I was preparing to start a new life of designing and building furniture. A time that would see me photographing less and creating sawdust instead.

In 2007 I moved from Arizona to Santa Fe, New Mexico where I lived for over ten years. For all but one of those years, I lived in the downtown area. This was a location where many of the small streets had been footpaths, 400 years before.

Santa Fe is one of the oldest, continuously inhabited, communities in the United States. That history was palpable in this neighborhood. Often on walks, I would think of all those who had walked these trails before me.

It was a glorious February afternoon in Santa Fe. It was also my birthday. I was spending it alone in my small casita on Garcia Street.

I set up the camera on a tripod just outside the front door, for a self-portrait marking the occasion. I spent the rest of the day wondering where the years had gone.

This image is part of a larger series featuring white roses. It all started with a large bowl of year-old, dried white roses. Fresh white roses were added later in the series.

It was about a love story that ended much too soon. A new story was created by using the roses as a metaphor. This story lasted much longer and inspired several self-portraits, with good memories.

I made this image yesterday after visiting the local barbershop. I have made very few self-portraits since arriving in Oaxaca. There are so many more interesting things to photograph here.

Yet the occasional look at myself through the lens remains important. It has become a way of marking time these days. As my days on this planet continue to get shorter, I want to see how I’m holding up to the ravages of time. I want to see that the spirit remains in my eyes. So far so good.

Thanks so much for reading, and looking. I welcome your comments, always.

Until next time, To wide open lenses . . . and wide open hearts. — G.E.