Sometimes Black and White is Right

Less than one day after I wrote a pledge to see and shoot in color (you can read that HERE) I happened upon a scene where color fought with and distracted from the drama of the main subject.

This is Sam. In my 28-plus years of working at QLI, a specialized rehabilitation center for people recovering from brain and spinal cord injuries, I’m not sure I’ve encountered anyone who works as hard in therapy as Sam. He’s a joy to document.

In the color version of this photo, his PT, Megan’s bright red hoodie, lures the eye away from Sam like the cape of a matador. Even the tiny pop of red on the exit sign above the door on the left is a small distraction.

This image is considerably more powerful. My eye now lands on the word “steel” first and then travels to the intensity of Sam’s expression. As I take in the remainder of the scene, Megan is now the final element I see, rather than the first.

It would be silly for a master mason to proclaim to the world that he only works with brick. A truly skilled mason is proficient in utilizing a wide array of materials (marble, stone, granite, glass block, etc.) The mason uses whatever the job calls for. Why do photographers feel the need to label themselves as either a color or black and white photographer? It feels limiting, if not a bit pretentious. Photographers should pivot depending on what works best for the project at hand. If it works for photo greats like Trent Parke, Bruce Davidson, Elliot Erwitt, Gordon Parks, it works for me.

The Hound Dog and The King

The karaoke version of “Hound Dog” builds to a rollicking crescendo. Elvis has the packed house in the Community room at Heritage Ridge Senior Living collectively nestled in the palm of his outstretched hand.

Well, you ain’t never caught a rabbit
And you ain’t no friend of mine

Suddenly, 2nd Floor Bob rolls in on his scooter. Mavis, a real-life hound dog, spots him. Her ears perk up and she goes rigid. She strains on her leash-pulling to get to him. Mavis knows 2nd floor Bob always packs a satchel full of king-sized treats which he doles out to her like a doting grandparent.

Elvis delivers the last verse in a frenzied flourish.

You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog!

On cue, Mavis eyeballs Bob and begins to bark. The crowd erupts.

Elvis is visibly flummoxed. It’s obvious he wasn’t aware there was an actual dog in his midst.

I lift the culprit to reveal her to him. Elvis laughs and says, “What’s her name?” I say, “Mavis.” He replies, “I’m glad it’s not Priscilla!”

Shoot AWAY!

When I see throngs of people with cameras and smartphones firing away in one direction, I spin around and shoot in the opposite direction. Whether it’s a parade, sunset, fireworks show or a concert, the results are bound to be more satisfying.

Last night, Turner Park in Midtown Omaha was the scene of the summer’s last installment of Jazz on the Green. The energy was palpable as the crowd joyfully undulated to the pulsing rhythms of Big Wade & Black Swan Theory. The band consisted of 13 musicians and singers, and while they certainly were a feast for the ears and eyes, for me, the show was offstage.

The band’s energy and connectedness to the audience is reflected through the emotion of these expressions, gestures, and enthused dancing and movement.

A View with a Hue

Lately, to a fault, I’ve been hyper focused on documenting a monochromatic world.

This quest led me to purchasing a used camera that can only capture black and white images-the Leica Q2 Monochrom and it’s stricken me with a severe case of color blindness.

This became evident as I delved into two photo books I discovered at the Omaha Public Library. First, American West by the King of Kodachrome, Ernst Haas. As my retinas absorbed his vivid vistas, I realized it was pointless to even imagine them stripped of color. They would be rendered pointless and soulless. The same can be said for Haas’ bible to mid century street photography, New York in Color-1952-1962. It’s visual jazz and makes me want to hop the next nonstop metal bird to New York every time I crack it open. The second book that made me doubt my monochromatic itch is Joel Meyerowitz’s A Question of Color. In it, Meyerowitz recounts his discovery and subsequent passion for color photography and makes a strong argument for leaving the gray world behind. He says, “A black-and-white photograph doesn’t describe everything that’s there. It’d giving the graphic bones of the image, but none of the flesh.”

So, today, after being bedridden for 5 days with a nasty battle with Covid (my first), I felt up to venturing out for a bit with my camera. I had one goal-slow down and absorb and see the saturation of the street..

These images won’t win any awards. They’re more sketchbook photos than anything. But, as I was scouting, feeling grateful to be out once again, I felt an awakening.

Handhold NYC

It wasn’t something I was consciously aware of at first. But, once I began processing images during a 2023 spring trip to NYC, I noticed how many photos I’d inadvertently taken of people holding hands.  When I returned in the fall, I saw it happening on virtually every street corner.

Some are scenes of tender tethers of loved ones as they explore the city. Others are urgent and firm clutches of protection amidst the chaotic bustle.

Look Twice for Motorcycles

The blue and white balloons catch my eye as I'm driving down Northwest Radial.

I pull over and take in the scene.

It's a roadside memorial. "Pedro" is emblazoned on a royal blue cross. The balloons read, "Happy Birthday" and "LA Pedro". A smaller sign in red  on the cross says, "Support Your Local Hells Angels Omaha." My eye finally wanders to a sign in the grass-"Look Twice Save A Life Watch For Motorcycles."

As I press the shutter, I hear the engines of motorcycles approaching to my left. They're coming fast. Really fast.

But, I don't hear the distinctive guttural growl of Harleys.  Instead, they have the high-pitched whine of motorcross bikes. I whirl around-camera still to my eye. I spy the rider doing a wheelie, quickly adjust my exposure, lock on to him and SNAP!

Look Twice. Watch For Motorcycles.

The time stamp on these two photos is exactly 6 seconds apart.

This is why I love photography. The story isn't in the photographs, it's in my memory of such a surreal and serendipitous scene, and it's one of the many reasons I keep coming back for more.

Nox-Crete Chemical Fire-Omaha Nebraska May 30th, 2022

I looked out the window of our fifth floor apartment in midtown Omaha and saw black smoke billowing and roiling to the east. Instinctively, I grabbed my camera bag and headed out. The cloud of smoke is so large I assumed it was just a few blocks away, but following it took me over 20 blocks to the southern edge of downtown Omaha. I arrived on the scene at the Nox-Crete industrial area and covered as much ground as I could. Below is a sampling of the photos.

Excuse me, what are you doing?

If you could use one word to describe the above photo, what would you choose? Kinetic? Blurry? Artsy? Cool? Mediocre?

What about creepy?

On a whim, I went to watch the Iowa Hawkeyes play in the Big Ten baseball tournament on Saturday at Charles Schwab Field in Omaha.

The Hawkeyes beat Penn State 11-3. It was a picture perfect, feel-good experience for me.

But then something happened that spoiled it all.

After Iowa played, I was photographing an interesting overhead view directly above the bullpen where the Maryland pitchers were warming up for the next game. I had discovered it earlier during the Iowa game. One of the ways to differentiate your photography is to find a unique vantage point, and this was a fun one. I was excited and in the zone.

There is literally zero people, not a soul, in the entire section where I’m shooting. The players know I’m there, and I make a mental note to give them my business card so I can send them some of the photos.

In between shots, I briefly glance to my right and notice a woman approaching. I think nothing of it. I assume she’s coming to watch the pitchers warm up as well. She appears to be in her 40’s, decked out head-to-toe in crimson Maryland gear. It’s in direct conflict with the obnoxiously bright yellow Hawkeye t-shirt I’m wearing.

As I resume shooting, she interrupts me. “Excuse me, what are you doing?” She’s standing closer now. Stiff posture. Stern expression. I notice she’s holding her phone vertically at hip level with the screen facing me.

I’m taken aback and confused. I hold my camera up for her to see. “I’m taking photos.”

“Well, it’s creepy.”

Now it’s my turn to say, “excuse me?”

She repeats it. “I think it’s creepy.”

Now I’m pissed.

This is where I wish I would have taken a deep breath, smiled warmly and said, “Oh gosh m’am, I’m so sorry you got that impression.  My name is Jon Pearson. I’m a freelance photojournalist covering the games. Isn’t it a beautiful day?  I was just about to give the players my card so I can send them some photos. Would you like to see some of the cool shots I got today?”

I should have held my tongue and considered her story. Maybe she’s experienced some trauma in her life that causes her to assume any man with a camera is a threat.  I honestly wish I would have responded this way.

But alas, I did not.

Instead I say, “you think taking sports photos is creepy?”

“Yes, it’s creepy.”

“Do you know what I think is creepy? You videotaping me.”

She quickly taps the back of her phone.

“Uh, I wasn’t videotaping you.”

“Yes, you were. I just saw you hit the button.”

I think, great, I’m being live-streamed on the “To Catch a Predator” Facebook page.

“I wasn’t taping you, look.” She turns her phone around and the camera is still on. She didn’t even swipe it to turn it off.

“I say, “now THAT’S creepy”

Now she’s flustered. I’ve turned the tables.  I’m ashamed to say it felt great. She says again that she wasn’t filming me.

“Look. I’m a professional photographer. This is a public venue. I’m allowed to be here.”

“Ok, Ok.” At least she’s no longer saying the word “creepy.”

She glances down at the Hawkeye logo on my electric yellow shirt. It’s like staring directly into the sun. “Who are you with?”

I now wonder if she’s paranoid that I’m with the Iowa team spying on the Maryland pitchers. As if I would be stupid enough to stand out in the open wearing a shirt bright enough to signal lost ships at sea.

Worst. Spy. Ever.

“I’m not with the Iowa Hawkeyes. I’m from Omaha. I’m just a fan. In fact, I was thinking of giving the players my card.”

“Ok, ok”, she says again as she slowly turns and begins to walk away.

It felt like we’d arrived at a draw in this awkward, icky standoff. There certainly was no winner.

Next, I pull out my wallet and fish out a business card and shout down to a couple of the players. “Hey fellas.” They glance up, shielding their eyes. I’m not sure if it’s to protect their eyes from the sun or my shirt.

I toss them the card. As it’s fluttering to the ground I say, “I think I got some pretty cool shots from this angle. I’ll put some on Instagram, but feel free to email me and I’ll send you more if you like.”

One shouts, “hey, thanks man!” Another says, “yeah, thanks a lot”. They seem genuinely appreciative.

I feel somewhat vindicated, but I’m still fuming. I have the urge to follow the woman and tell her I gave the players my card. I want to inform her that they were thankful. I want to ask her, “If they don’t think it’s creepy, why do you?”

Instead, I take a breath and walk the other direction

I guess that’s a start.

Street Photography-Working the Scene and Selecting the Best Image

In the days of film, we could look at a photographer's contact sheet and see how he or she worked a scene. I've always thought doing a digital version of this would make for a great YouTube idea. Here's my attempt. As I confess in the video, I didn't come away with any award winning photos, but I do believe I came away with a great idea for the future. I'd love to see how more photographers work a scene!

The Ricoh GRIII-King of the Street

A couple of weeks ago, I rented a Leica Q2 from borrowlenses.com for my birthday week. It marked the first time I had ever laid hands on a Leica, let alone shoot with one. While I found the camera to be a thing of beauty, and the lens truly sublime, I simply cannot  justify spending over 5K on a digital tool that will someday become obsolete.

Enter the Ricoh GRIII-at around 85 percent less than the Leica Q2.

Years ago, I purchased the original Ricoh GR and used it pretty obsessively-especially for sojourns onto the streets. Sadly, it contracted a giant dust spot on the sensor (something the Ricoh’s are notorious for), and it found itself in a drawer, where it gathered dust on the outside.

After some extensive research (o.k. maybe it was a bit of an impulse buy), I decided to risk the the the dust attracting sensor, and I pulled the trigger on the Richo GRIII.

Below is a sampling of my first couple of days with the camera. To cut to the chase, I love this little camera. It has its flaws (battery life is atrocious), but this tiny workhorse is an absolute beast when it comes to candid street photography.

QLI 2020-Resilience in Action

I was humbled and honored to witness the grit and fortitude of the human spirit during the trying times of 2020 at a remarkable place in Omaha, Nebraska called QLI-a place where I've worked for nearly 25 years. This is a video diary of some of my favorite images I shot during this historic time.

The Stillness of Home

All photographs were take in our apartment in Omaha, Nebraska during the first 60 days of the COVID-19 outbreak.

Dreaming of Wide Open Spaces in Quarantine

Last August, I was afforded an early tour of the National Quarantine Center at the newly constructed Davis Global Center on UNMC’s Omaha campus. The lead designer of the project contacted me to see if I'd be interested in providing large prints for the common areas and inside the 20 quarantine rooms.

Construction was nearly complete, but the place was unfurnished and empty. Our voices and footfalls echoed as we walked the halls, and I was struck with an eerie, disconcerting feeling that now seems more like foreshadowing.

I also felt a powerful sense of pride. Proud that Omaha was home to such an impressive facility, and proud to be considered for the job.

The National Quarantine Center was made possible by a grant from the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, and is housed on an entire floor of the Davis Global Center. In addition to 20 private quarantine rooms, the floor is home to the National Biocontainment Training Center- a six-bed simulated biocontainment unit for advanced experiential training.

The evening after the tour, I went to work to try to secure the job. I tried to picture what type of photograph might help someone who may have contracted a severe and contagious disease feel at peace. It wasn't easy to imagine, but later that week, I submitted my first batch of images-a collection of serene landscapes. Most of the photographs were from yearly sojourns to California.

Virtually all of the photos were rejected. UNMC wanted only photographs depicting Nebraska, and I had very few that fit the bill.

I gave my boss, Pat, who's the CEO at QLI in Omaha an update. Pat was was my initial connection to the project designer, and she's been an incredibly enthusiastic supporter and advocate for my photography for many years. After I told Pat it wasn't likely I was going to have enough images for the project, she said, "I'm probably overestimating how difficult it is to get good photos, but, why don't you go out and get them?"

The next week, I was on the road with our 13-foot fiberglass Scamp trailer on an eight day journey traversing the backroads of Nebraska. On board were my co-pilots: my partner, Susan, and Mavis, our six-year old Bassett/Beagle mix. Despite battling the Indian summer heatwave, voracious mosquitos, revolting fast food and rattlesnake scares, the trip was a fruitful one.

Sunrise on a county road near North Platte, Nebraska

All told, thirty eight, 30X35 inch photographs were purchased and now hang throughout the facility.

Toadstool Goelogic Park

Despite the 20 million dollar price tag, the hope was for the quarantine center to never be needed. Little did we know that just weeks later, the first quarantined individuals with suspected COVID-19 would be admitted.

Male pronghorn outside of Fort Robinson State Park

I hope in some small part, the photographs provide a sense of peace and normalcy for the patients and brave staff members at the center.

Here’s my favorite shot from the trip. Somehow, it didn’t make the cut.

A New Life-My Time in Prison

Surrounded by acres of asphalt and a maze of chainlink fencing and razor wire, I find finally myself in prison. The voices of the inmates reverberate throughout the yard as I walk the long concrete corridor to the gate. Through the fence, I spy two men sprinting and lunging on a makeshift racquetball court, smashing a ball against a splintered wood partition. Others are sitting on stoops and picnic tables and some are striding purposefully across the grounds.

Despite being flanked by an official prison chaperone and a friend who’s been to the prison on several occasions, I find myself unable to completely quiet the feelings of uneasiness and uncertainty. 

We arrive at the gate. My ID is checked, my gear is searched and an officer buzzes us through. The prison chaperone tags out with Lieutenant Eilers, our contact for the day. Eilers certainly looks the part. Stocky build, black Oakley shades, cargo pants, seven-pointed gold badge and a utility belt that Batman would envy. I instantly take a liking to Eilers and I feel immediately reassured as he extends a warm handshake. 

Lieutenant Eilers happily greets officers and inmates as he leads us beyond the gate.  As we make our way to our destination, we encounter a man wearing a powder blue smock and navy colored sweatpants with “Prisoner”boldly emblazoned on the the leg. He suddenly approaches, looks me in the eye and asks assertively, "Chiefs or 9ers?”. Without even considering the question or the implications of my response on who will win this coming Sunday’s Super Bowl, I blurt out, “Chiefs!” Kansas City is the closest NFL team to my home in Omaha, Nebraska and I’m a fan. But this morning, I am at the California Men’s Colony, a state prison located in San Luis Obispo California, just 175 miles from San Francisco. I immediately realize I’ve just given the wrong answer. The man stares back at me and smiles, “That’s right, go Chiefs!” I’ve feel like I’ve passed my first test.

We arrive at Lieutenant Eilers’ office, where he cross references my gear with the list I submitted, then we head out. 

As we walk past the prison barbershop to our destination for the day, I see the dogs first. It’s an assortment of about twelve labs, golden retrievers and doodle mixes.  Most are full grown, with a couple irresistible puppies mingling in the mix. They stand, sit and recline dutifully by the sides of their handlers. Everyone, dogs and inmates alike, wait with alert and eager expressions. 

I’ve waited a long time for this day.

Two years ago, I learned about New Life K9s from Suzanne Maury and Pat Beitz, owners of the Top Dog Coffee Shop and Rescue Me Coffee Company in Morro Bay California. Suzanne and Pat proudly and enthusiastically sponsor a dog named Cooper in New Life K9s and they were instrumental with getting me connected with the program.

New Life K9s is a non-profit organization that partners with three California state prisons in San Luis Obispo, Soledad and Fresno County where selected puppies are placed with prisoners for an immersive two year learning and bonding experience. Each dog has two inmate handlers; many of whom are serving life sentences. The dogs are eventually permanently placed with U.S. military veterans and emergency first responders in the community who have been diagnosed with PTSD. For the recipients the dogs are a lifeline that provide essential physical and emotional support. 

I’d heard from many people about how this powerful  program impacts the lives of everyone connected to it, and today I was afforded the rare opportunity to witness it where it begins.

New Life K9’s team members, Nicolle Hern, Rosa Mendoza and Jack Gould join the large group of dogs and humans and enter into a long, clapboard outbuilding. I’m also accompanied by Greg Gallo. I met Greg last year and I had the opportunity to photograph and video him with his dog, Eddie. Eddie was trained in the prison by a former inmate named Mike Nelson. Greg is a former police officer and received Eddie to help with severed symptoms of PTSD. Greg is now employed by New Life K9s. Mike Nelson works for Top Dog Coffee and has also started his own dog training service.

The area of the prison we are in were once military barracks. It has now been repurposed and it’s where the prisoners reside and work with the dogs. The building we are entering looks as if it could have been a mess hall at one time.  Inside, it looks more like an elementary classroom.  Cute photos of puppies, paw print stickers and inspirational sayings like, “Ready, Willing, Able” and “Forgive, Teach, Care” adorn the walls. The inmate handlers and dogs file in and sit on low benches and on the tiled floor. It’s packed. 

New Life K9’s CEO, Jack Gould, thanks the group for all their efforts and celebrates the upcoming parole of one of the members of the group. He also reminds them the recidivism rate for released members of the group is zero percent. It’s an incredible statistic, but it’s also a source of pride as well as a lofty expectation for the incarcerated members. 

The groups are divided into two classes. The first group stays inside with Rosa who is NLK9s Lead Educator while the second class walks outside with Nicole who is the Director of Rehabilitation. 

Rosa’s class works on an exercise where the dogs learn to “go get help”. For each trial, the handlers move to the entryway of the building out of sight of the dogs. They simulate a fall by crashing hard to the floor and shouting the dog’s name. When the dog comes, they yell, “go get help!, go get help!” The expectation is for the dog to locate the second handler and lead him to the one “in trouble”. The dogs demonstrate a  wide range of proficiency. The puppies simply practice coming when they’re called.  There is one particular dog that aces the test. Rosa raises the stakes by asking the handler to go behind a closed door. Now the dog must open the door by pulling it open using a cloth tied around the knob. Again, the dog passes with flying colors and the class erupts into jubilant cheers and applause.

The class outside with Nicole practices walking on a leash around the grounds. While this may seem like a rudimentary task, the cornucopia of sights, sounds and smells the prison offers present alluring distractions for the dogs. Having the dogs walk calmly and consistently by the handlers side is an essential skill; especially if the dogs will eventually be placed with people with physical or mobility challenges.

While handlers are waiting their turn with Nicole, I offer to take portraits. The response is overwhelming. The handlers immediately begin to excitedly line up with their dogs to have their photos taken. The pride they have in being a part of the program is readily apparent.

After lunch, the groups swap. The outside walking class goes inside with Rosa and the class that was working on “go get help” goes outside with Nicole.

As I weave in and out of scenes with my camera, I see so much evidence of the powerful bonds that have been forged. Bonds between handlers and dogs. Bonds between inmates.  Bonds that have been forged between the educators and handlers. It’s more than I expected and it is truly inspiring.

At the end of the day after the classes have wrapped up and Rosa and Nicole have made their final comments and given homework assignments, I stand at doorway to thank the men as they leave. As I shake each hand, I become aware of how the trepidation and uncertainty I felt at the beginning of the day has vanished. I have no fear and harbor zero judgment. I simply feel respect and admiration for the unwavering commitment  these men have to change lives for the better; the most notable lives being their own. They say prison changes a person. It’s certainly changed me.

Earlier, during lunch in Lieutenant Eilers’ office, I tossed out the idea of getting access to the dormitory where the dogs live with the inmates. I fully expected to hear a litany of regulatory and liability reasons why this would not be feasible. Instead, Eilers  simply said, “sure we can make that happen.” 

So, now, I walk with the men and the dogs to Dorm 28. The dormitory is another long, narrow wooden building in need of some repair and a fresh paint job.  A sign at the top of the steps reads, “Caution. Dogs Inside”. As I enter, I’m struck with the precious commodity of privacy. Even though I’m an invited guest and I sense no resistance or resentment from the men, I worry a bit that I might be intruding.

As inconspicuously as possible, I walk throughout the dorm taking images, and for the first time today the stark reality hits. This is prison. The tiny metal cots are less than three feet apart with no walls or barriers in between them. Each cot is separated by a padlocked, five-foot high metal storage cabinet and a dog kennel. I think about how the inmates sleep an arm’s length away from each other and I realize how much I take my own privacy and freedom for granted. 

As the inmates prepare for supper, the dogs nestle on the floor and squeeze onto cots and into kennels. I quietly exit the dorm, leave the prison and return to my life with a new perspective. 

The Fog at Morro Bay

Whenever the fog appears in Morro Bay, it rolls and tumbles rapidly over the seaside. If it’s heavy enough, it envelopes the entire town.

The sudden arrival of the marine layer is one of my favorite occurrences in this world. 

On Wednesday afternoon, I stepped outside and realized the rv park was succumbing to thick glorious fog.  I hastily grabbed my camera and my dog Mavis and we began the short trek to the ocean. On most days, Mavis walks me, but my eagerness to photograph the fog, combined with the concern it would dissipate fueled me. Mavis lagged behind with a quizzical look that said, “what’s the rush?”

We made our way along the Embarcadero and I marveled at how the fog diffuses and refracts the light. Next,we hurried along the waterfront and down the piers.

Finally, as the sun was setting behind a diffuse wall of gray, we arrived at the beach.

It was there I realized why I am so drawn to fog. 

I’ve long been drawn to black and white photography. Removing color from a scene, simplifies and minimizes the non essentials while highlighting the subjects.

It spotlights the drama and amplifies emotion. One concession is that when someone looks at a black and white image, they know the image does not reflect the real world. Life is in color. 

That is, except in the fog.

For the first time, I was struck by how fog impacts color. 

Fog desaturates everything it touches. Vibrant primary colors are transformed into a muted gray.
The typically azure California skies and verdant rolling hills fuse together. 

For a fleeting afternoon, I was gifted the incredible opportunity to wander and document a monochromatic world. 

After dark, the fog remained. I headed back to the water to scout locations for long exposure photos. As I was standing on a small wooden dock, I watched the skies in awe as the fog made its departure. In less than a minute, it rolled away over The Rock at Morro Bay leaving just a small halo around the base. I had no time to fetch, my camera, but did capture the scene with my iPhone (see below).

I converted these images to true black and white, you can see the original “color” files aren’t much different. They have an antique, sepia quality. I’ve included a diptych below to illustrate this. 

On the Fly with Arthur Morris

Professional bird photographer and writer, Arthur Morris, stalks long-billed curlews as they zigzag and dart across the beach in Morro Bay, California.  

Arthur’s determination is on full display as he works obsessively for a full hour to track the elusive birds in flight using a slow shutter speed. It’s an artistic effect that blurs the wings and background while keeping the eye of the bird tack sharp.  

Attempting to photograph Arthur is as challenging as capturing the erratic curlews. Despite being 74, Arthur mimics his subjects. He’s fleet of foot and in constant motion.

As I watch him work, it becomes  apparent  that Arthur simply works harder than most other photographers and he’s passionately honed the craft and skill of photography through years of joyful practice. 

He also has fun doing it. 

While I shadowed Arthur, he chatted openly about his upbringing, family and life philosophy. Arthur’s love for teaching was evident as he freely doled photography tips and techniques. 

Spending an hour with Arthur was enlightening and inspirational. His passion for photography is something I greatly admire and I hope to sustain in my own life. 

To see Arthur’s work and learn about this fascinating guy, go to www.BIRDSASART-Blog.com

Revisiting Bartlett

I revisited Dean Doty and his wife, Carol, in Bartlett Iowa as they continue the daunting effort of sifting through the rubble left from the monumental flooding this past March.

Dean Doty spray painted this message after his homestead was robbed by looters.

fell off he house while he was salvaging material from the roof. He sprained his wrist and ankle.

Dean cuts out a window on the front of the home in order to access the family room.

Carol Doty takes a moment to assess the damage. Despite the flood occuring several months back, Carol has only been inside a few times. She's lived in Bartlett since she was 3 years old, and said it's very difficult coming back to all the damage.

Dean discovers a sign that reads "Hope-The only thing stronger than fear"

Dean and Carol sort through the remains of the house.

A Halloween decoration is unearthed. Ironically, earlier this week, Dean and his brother discovered the actual remains of a human skeleton when they were fising on the Missouri River. They reported the discovery to the local authorities and wondered if it was a victim of the flood.

Dean's brother, Damon Doty salvages a plastic Jesus. Damon also fell of the roof this week and severely injured his wrist. He feared it was broken and was planning on going to the hospital later in the day.

Carol shows a picture of her deceased mother who was a longtime resident of Bartlett.

Dean taking a break.

A neighbor's truck shows the damaging effects of the mud and water.

Carol clears out furniture.

Dean on break.

The entire home was moved off its foundation from the force of the flood.

An angel overlooks the cleanup effort.

After prying open a waterlogged dresser, Dean finds more ruined possessions.

Doty plans on demolishing the home. He and Carol have purchased a 5th wheel trailer. They hope to park the trailer on their property in Bartlett and travel to Arizona in the winters in the trailer.

A view of most of the possessions cleared from the family room on to a flatbed trailer.

The River Stakes Its Claim

Last Thursday, Dean Doty caught a last minute flight from Phoenix to Omaha to try to save his home. The following morning Doty and his wife attempted to to beat the raging waters of the flooded Missouri River as they rushed to their hometown of Bartlett Iowa. The levels were rising so quickly, they were only able to retrieve a few items before the town succumbed. Doty and his wife fled the town safely, but he believes his house was completely submerged and is a total loss.

Dean Doty stands on the impassable road to Bartlett Iowa. Doty's home can be seen several miles to the west.

Doty urged his wife to grab items she wanted from the house before they were forced to evacuate. She retrieved bedding and a few boxes of family keepsakes. Everything else in the home is believed to be destroyed.

Dean Doty’s nephew, Tyler Doty of Glenwood, Iowa and Tyler’s cousin, John Bedford of Council Bluffs, Iowa help retrieve Dean Doty’s paddleboat from a flooded cornfield.

Doty did not attempt to reach his home in Bartlett. He hoped to return the following day.

Doty said this flood is much worse than the devastating flood of 2011 when his home sustained significant damage. After the town was evacuated in 2011, Doty said he was one of the first to return. He said he is going back this year as soon possible because looters attempted to rob the town after the last flood.

A horse was an apparent victim to the flood. While there were no human casualties in the Bartlett flood, the estimated agricultural loss in Iowa and Nebraska is expected to be over a billion dollars.

Doty believes the flooding was caused from too much water being released from Gavins Point Dam in South Dakota.

Dean Doty and his nephew, Tyler Doty load the rescued paddleboat on to Dean Doty’s pickup truck. Doty and his wife are planning on buying a travel trailer and setting it up as soon as possible on their land. He feels fortunate to have flood insurance. However, despite his persistent urging to friends and neighbors, he said most do not have flood insurance.

Feed corn rests on the center line of the road to Bartlett, Iowa. As of 2018, Bartlett had a population of 49. That number is likely to diminish. Dean Doty says he plans on moving with his wife to Cave Creek, Arizona to assist with his son’s landscaping business.

Dean Doty takes a break for a cigarette. Doty was eager to share his story. He said, “people need to know what’s going on.”

Jimmy Martin takes a short break from loading wood in the lumberyard. Jimmy is the brother of the Town and Country Minute Mart's owner, Mike Martin. Jimmy told me he's broken every bone in his body except for his neck, saying most resulted from his time as an amateur bull rider and brawling in bar rooms. Jimmy works long days in the yard and maintains a farm during his off hours. His hands are vivid evidence of the relentless work ethic that permeates most of rural Kentucky.

Town and Country Living

A week ago today I returned from Mt. Sterling, Kentucky where I participated in the Mountain Workshops photojournalism session.

The Mountain Workshops follow a similar format to the Missouri Photo Workshop that I attended last year. Both are focused on documenting the lives of people living in small town.

Instead of pounding the pavement to procure a story, as was the case in Missouri, each participant in Kentucky literally drew a story from a hat.

The week consisted of long days shooting my story, meeting with my team and coach and attending nightly presentations. We were also assigned a writing coach to collaborate with in writing stories and captions. My coach was Erika Schultz who is a full time photographer and videographer at the Seattle Times. Erika has a refined and keen eye and gave valuable feedback on my images, as well as suggestions on how to craft the most effective visual story.

Each photographer was given shot limit of 850 frames for the week. I really forced myself to be as economical and selective with my shooting and was pleased when I finished the week having shot just 219 images. I believe this disciplined approach really does hone my eye and helps with seeing then entire scene while anticipating key moments. Out of these 219 photographs, I collaborated with my coach to select 10 that captured the essence of my story. The photos were to submitted in color, but given the timeless feel and look of my story, most of my images seemed to work better in black and white. I’ll post a monochrome edit here this week along with a series of micro stories from the week.

My story was to cover Town and Country Minute Mart in the nearby town of Camargo. I drew my story at 12:30 P.M. on Monday and I was in the mart by 1:30. My initial impression of the mart was met with discouragement. The place looked and felt like an average, run-of-the-mill convenience store. After meeting and getting the green light from Penny, the mart’s office manager, I strolled the aisles and quickly discovered Town and Country Minute Mart is no typical convenience shop.

Here’s what I wrote for my lead in to my story.

Frog legs every Friday, sheets of plywood and 2x4’s, freshly stocked bottles of Ale 8 soda on ice, a tankful of gas, farm implements, green night-crawlers, ball peen hammers, and self serve coffee for 85 cents, you can find it all at the Town and Country Minute Mart LLC in Camargo, Kentucky.
Spend some time in the mart’s deli and you’ll be hard pressed to find a cell phone anywhere. Instead you’ll see people connecting with one another the old fashioned way; face to face.

Click below to see my story posted on the Mountain Workshops site.