Tuesday, July 3, 2018


PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL:   Too often we only come to appreciate things after they have passed. When Mike, Willy, Damir and Lucio were still pouring hot billets of metal in the casting shop across the yard, I never gave this desolate rod mill the attention it deserved. 

Most abandoned factories are quickly stripped of all that is of value, and there’s little left to tell what people once made there. The rod mill was different. The eastern aisles were still lined with machines, though I didn’t always know their purpose, but there were no workers to help a novice see how it all came together to make things.

Operations in the ancient mills of American Brass finally ceased in December, 2013, after Congress famously “sequestered" funds in the tax battles of what feels like another era. In 2014 I came to enjoy making pictures in the creaking, rattling silences of the rod mill; it seemed I could almost discern the trajectories and occasionally the spirits of those who once worked there.

It was then that I first noticed the American flag hanging on west-facing windows beside a loading bay. It was a natural subject. Had I previously missed it, or was it added after the factories closed? The flag retained the triangular creases of traditional fold. In the shadows on the wall beneath the flag was a board with pictures of 12 antique, classic cars. Was this the remnant of someone’s work station or a memorial to a fellow worker? What else does it speak about?

Friday, June 29, 2018

Five Points Panorama

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL: Get up high enough, and most towns turn into history books. From the top of Trinity Episcopal Church tower 250 years of Torrington can be read. 

Torrington is where the west and east branches of the Naugatuck River unite; from the beginning industrial Torrington was in the grip of that confluence. The waters of the West Branch flow into this picture part way up the right hand edge before disappearing under a bridge railing where  they flow under, and Main Street traffic flows through, the intersection that is now called Five Points. Follow the river emerging beyond Five Points, bending south. Beyond, electric towers follow the course of the East Branch as both branches follow the lowland toward confluence just beyond the picture frame on the right hand edge.

The first settlers cleared farms in the hills on either side of the great valley where the Naugatuck forms. The road between the two settlements enters this scene at the lower right, where the Comfort Control van heads away from the Western Hills along Water Street. To reach the eastern settlement, still known as Torringford, Comfort Control will cross Main Street and continue on East Main across the broad valley before climbing the hills to Torringford, where East Main disappears over the eastern ridge to strip malls, acres of parking and shoppers with cars.

In 1813 Frederick Wolcott, Oliver’s son, built a woolen mill on the narrow wedge of land between Water Street and the Naugatuck waters, and Torrington became known as Wolcottville. The mill was powered by the steep fall of West Branch water at what had come to be the intersection of two important turnpikes. Main Street had recently become part of the Waterbury Turnpike that followed the Naugatuck River Valley and linked its towns from Stratford and Bridgeport on the coast to Winsted and Norfolk, Massachusetts and on to Albany. Similarly, East Main Street crosses Main and becomes Litchfield Street. In 1813 it was known as the Litchfield Turnpike and linked Litchfield, Connecticut’s 4th largest town, with the Simsbury region.

Anson Phelps must have followed this road frequently. He was the founder of Phelps Dodge  and grew up in Simsbury. In the early 1830s he would be instrumental in creating Wolcottville's first brass mill, just upstream of the woolen mill, and in making Torrington part of a vast brass manufacturing region where he would sell the English metal he traded for Southern cotton.

By 1878, Turner & Seymour Mfg. would be making hooks and eyes where Frederick Wolcott had processed wool, but the town would still be called Wolcottville on the aerial panorama O.H. Bailey drew and published that year. To make his magical map Bailey imagined the town from the viewpoint of a hot-air balloon so that everyone else could imagine flight. It was a task he accomplished by laboriously walking the streets of Wolcottville and making numerous sketches. In 1889 George Norris made a new, broader aerial panorama showing new neighborhoods spreading well beyond Five Points. Norris calls the burgeoning town Torrington. On both maps we can see the old, wooden Episcopal Church and tower on Water Street. It would be replaced in 1897 on the same site by the current Gothic church and tower from which I took this picture. Did Bailey or Norris climb that original tower?

The buildings along Main Street and Water Street shown on both maps are all gone, replaced by the distinctive structures lined up in this photograph. These were built as the town prospered as a manufacturing center. The commercial center, shown here from “Conley’s Inn,” with it’s “Yankee Pedlar” sign and attic dormer at left, through the bold brickwork of “Lilley Block #3” stepping up Water St. at the right, shows Torrington putting on style during its manufacturing boom years from the end of the 19th century through WWII. 

Once there was a granite fountain for horses to drink at near the center of Five Points. It was designed by the sons of America’s greatest landscape architect, Frederick Law Olmsted. When horses were crowded out of the intersection by automobiles, the fountain was removed. Where is it now? What was its story? Visitors, both digital and pedestrian, can find it today, and learn much else, by following the excellent Walking Tour under the HISTORY tab on the web site of the Torrington Historical Society (http://www.torringtonhistoricalsociety.org). 

My thanks to Trinity Episcopal Church of Torrington for permission to climb the tower and make this photograph and to the staff of the Torrington Historical Society for much excellent information on their web site.

Friday, June 22, 2018

Belding Silk Mill from an Edgeworks Window, Winsted



Winsted Community Bookstore
414 Main Street, Winsted

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL: Yesterday I returned here, where the spillway from Highland Lake flows beneath the Edgeworks and on to the Belding Silk mill as it meets the Mad River on its way to the Farmington. The silkmill began operating in 1875, and they say they made silk thread for WWI parachutes here and synthetic thread used in space suits astronauts wore on the moon. The Edgeworks began as the American Hoe Company before the Civil War. By 1882 it was the Edgeworks specializing in chisels, gouges, drawing knives, 

The empty Edgeworks buildings make a quiet place to take pictures and meditate on the rush of the seasons which tomorrow hurls us forward into summer. Today, even as spring rains abate, the orderly march of seasons feels more like a reckless scramble, and I hold my breath at what may be next. I take comfort in the engine howl and dust swirling over the end building of the wrecked Edgeworks as it is being restored for new life as the Little Red Barn Brewery. 

Thursday, June 7, 2018

Look Up!


“Beyond Brass Valley"

June 23, 1 PM, Winsted Community Bookstore
414 Main Street, Winsted

NOTE: This talk is part of a larger weekend program. I will be sharing Saturday with my friend, author, Virginia Shultz-Charette. She will speak at 11 AM and I will speak at 1 PM. Both of us will be offering new programs looking beyond our published books. My talk was originally developed for photographic clubs. See weekend details below.

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL: “When people visit Winsted I always tell them ‘Look up.’” Those were the words of my friend Virginia Schultz-Charette at seeing a photo taken through these windows. She’s right, turrets, towers, decorative cornices, cupolas and gables parade along Main Street and dance up the steep hillsides invisible to those who hurry.

The town’s architecture is even more magical from several stories up, and the same is true in other Valley towns. I’m seeking locations for a series tentatively titled “Windows Across the Valley.” The key is that each shot must contain an interior and exterior world, as in the photo above. If you have suggestions, please help. The subject need NOT be industrial or abandoned. All suggestions, leads or contacts are appreciated and will be explored.

Sunday, May 13, 2018

New England Pin C0, #7: "Dr. Howe's Pin-making, Whirligig Carousel"

Photographs of Emery Roth and Lazlo Gyorsok
will be among images used in an upcoming CPTV documentary on

The History of

Stanley Works in New Britain

the program will air Thursday evening

CPTV, 8 PM, May 17

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL:  "Dr. Howe's Pin-making, Whirligig Carousel"

WIlliam Cowper also described the process of making a pin, but he did it in verse:

One fuses metal o’er the fire,
A second draws it into wire,
The shears another plies;
Who clips in length the brazen thread
From him who, chafing every shred,
Gives all an equal size.
A fifth prepares, exact and round,
The knob with which it must be crown’d;
His follower makes it fast;
And with his mallet and his file
To shape the point, employs awhile
The seventh and the last.

The machine Dr. Howe began building in the abandoned rubber factory had to gear all of those functions except the making of the wire to a single "driving shaft.” The machine's actions had to be adjustable and accurate, not only on the first pin but on the millionth and through varying temperatures and as parts wore. It also needed to be as compact as possible and when the driving shaft turned it had to rhyme like a poem.

I can only imagine riffs and counter-riffs as Dr. Howe’s Rotary Pin Machine began to turn, a whirligig-clockwork-carousel with eight spinning chucks pointing radially outward from a hub, each chuck loaded with a length of wire waiting to be shaped, pointed and headed. All at once the carousel of chucks rotates 45° and stops. Opposite some chucks tiny grinding and filing “mills” are spinning, whirring and rasping as the “mills” begin shuttling in and out as they spin and spit against the wire shafts in the chucks which are spinning in the opposite direction. One mill is shaping, another further on is pointing, a third further yet is polishing, up to five mills can be added, all grinding the shafts to the desired point and finish as so many laborers had once done. Elsewhere around the carousel two "carriers" in circular reciprocating motion, withdraw a pointed shaft from a chuck, turn it and deliver it to gripping dies before retreating just prior to the “upsetting" and “heading" which follow with two metallic snaps (I imagine) as a finished, headed pin is clawed into a hopper while wire fed to an empty chuck is nipped to pin length with a tiny snap. And then the whole carousel-hub of loaded chucks rotates again, moving each future-pin to the next station to repeat the same whirring syncopations, snapping out 24,000 pin per day to the driving shaft’s steady beat.

Designing and building a model required skills, experience and equipment that Howe probably lacked, and he turned to Robert Hoe who had been designing, building and selling printing presses, and Howe moved his efforts to Robert Hoe’s shop. The working model he eventually produced won a silver ribbon at the American Institute Fair of 1832 and was the basis for further improvements and to the solid-headed machines with which he began producing pins in his Birmingham factory on Anson Phelps’s canal in 1841. 

Sunday, May 6, 2018

New England Pin Company No. 6, "The Wealth of Nations"

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL: "The Wealth of Nations” 

Pins, petty things — lost at the bottom of drawers  — make-shift buttons fastening undergarments. Adam Smith, in The Wealth of Nations called them “trifling" when he famously used them to illustrate how Division of Labor allowed ten workers to make "upwards of forty-eight thousand pins in a day.” — Prickly and dizzying to me, no matter how trifling they are individually.

Smith described the laborers, as many as 18, employed in the making of a single pin. Among them:

"One man draws out the wire, another straights it, a third cuts it, a fourth points it, a fifth grinds it at the top for receiving the head; to make the head requires two or three distinct operations; to put it on, is a peculiar business.” (Adam Smith, The Wealth of Nations)

In 1841 John Ireland Howe had just patented a single machine to carry out the labors of all of these men including "the peculiar business," and he brought his formidable machines to Birmingham, Connecticut, where he purchased a site from Anson Phelps and John Howe’s machines made pins “common." 

As previously mentioned, Howe brought his pin-making factory to Birmingham because Anson Phelps's mill village offered a reliable flow of water to turn his machinery, and a reliable flow of wire from which to produce his pins. Elsewhere on the canal Anson Phelps’s managers maintained a wire mill that was processing the English metal he received in exchange for Southern cotton, at the same time Phelps's ships ferried Yankee Peddlers to the mouth of the Mississippi where they would create more demand for his metal by selling Howe’s pins and other metalware in the wild, Wild West. 

Phelps was the middleman with fingers on every action, and he understood the Principle of Pins: Small things accumulate. By 1919, long after Phelps and Howe were gone, eighty-one percent of all common pins sold in the United States were made in Connecticut, and most were made in Brass Valley. From Star Pin in Shelton up the Naugatuck Valley to these buildings of the New England Pin Company in Winsted, pins were made in almost every Valley town, and it’s possible Phelps, who made kettles and clocks and buckles and spoons, also earned a profit somewhere from almost every pin made.

Monday, April 30, 2018

New England Pin Company, No. 5, "Yankee Ingenuity"

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL: “Ingenuity,” an interesting word hovering between the ingenious, the ingenuous and the mad! Commonly ascribed to our Yankee ancestors of the late 18th and 19th centuries, Mark Twain gave it a distinctly Connecticut accent when he sent jack-of-all-trades Hank Morgan to King Arthur’s Court. 

Jack-of-all-trades hardly does justice to the wide-ranging endeavors of John Ireland Howe. Born in 1793 in Ridgefield, CT, he began studying medicine there; later graduated from the College of Physicians and Surgeons in NYC with honors; practiced medicine and was appointed resident physician at the New York Alms House. For fourteen years he held a respected place in New York’s medical community.

What wave of genius or demons carried Dr. Howe away from the practice of medicine to making pins in Birmingham, Connecticut? It was India rubber that first washed over him; experimenting with compounds he sought one that would make rubber stable. Then, at age 36, his passions surged, and he moved with his wife and children upstate, out of NYC, to the tiny village of Salem, NY, where he poured his family’s savings into a factory building of his own design to produce a rubber compound of his own formulation and patent. Later he mused on possibly being the first to try to make rubber and said, “I just didn’t happen to find the right substance.”

In the failed rubber factory in 1830 he remembered the inmates at the alms house and the tedious process by which many of them made a bit of a living making pins by hand; he also remembered a device he had seen in England designed to make pins.

Friday, April 27, 2018

New England Pin Company, No. 4 "Anatomy of a Pin Company"

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL: The “magnificent plant of the New England Pin Company," built in Winsted between 1880 and 1905, consisted of five manufacturing blocks, of varying height, arranged as two arms around a long, narrow yard, the parallel arms traversed by two bridges and by the showcase, 1901, five-story, factory block (previously discussed) with the 100 foot frontage facing Bridge Street and the train station.

The New England Pin Company history has been well documented by the Connecticut Trust for Historic Preservation which reports that by the early 1890s the Winsted pin works had become the largest pin factory in the United States, employing 60 hands capable of producing 7,000,000 pins per day. The success allowed New England Pin to acquire smaller rivals, Diamond Pin, Empire Pin, Pyramid Pin and by 1905 more than double the work force and production in Winsted.

As the Trust dociuments explain: "The company’s product consisted of a wide variety of needlepointed pins. These ranged between one-half of an inch and four inches in length and included office, bank, shawl, book, blocking, and hair pins sold under such brands as ‘Crown,’ ‘Victoria,’ ‘No Plus Ultra,’ and many others.”

Before there were clips, pins held everything. Passing from room to room, block after block, winding the oddly contorted paths of shifting pipe-rail up and down winding stairways, floor after floor, avoiding the places where floors have gone soft, it’s impossible to find a pin or anything to do with pin making. And, in fact, in 1927 New England Pin merged with Star Pin and National Pin and moved operations downriver to Shelton, and it was woolen underwear, not pins, that began to be manufactured here until 1955 when all except the old pin buildings were carried off by the flood, and manufacturing ceased in these blocks and passages built for making pins. 

Thursday, April 5, 2018


Saturday, April 7 at 4 PM — Cornwall Library, Cornwall, CT
Finding Brass Valley, A Place in Time that Has Almost Vanished

Monday, April 9 at 7:15 PM — Charter Oak Photographic Society
Elmwood Community Church
26 Newington Road, West Hartford
[Working Title] Work In Progress
(on photography & photographing industry Brass Valley)

Wednesday, April 11 at 9 PM EDT/6 PM PDT
“Studio 911” on CPTV – Larry DaSilva’s Interviews Emery Roth 
re: Brass Valley: The Fall of an American Industry

Holyland from Benedict & Burnham

Monday, March 26, 2018

Stanley Works

Photographs of Emery Roth and Lazlo Gyorsok
will be among images used in an upcoming CPTV documentary on

The History of

Stanley Works in New Britain

the program will air Thursday evening
CPTV, 8 PM, May 17

Friday, March 16, 2018

New England Pin Company, No. 3 - "Imposing Frontage"

Gallery Opening - Saturday, March 24, 6-8 PM
The Cornwall Library, Cornwall, CT
Brazen Grit: Images of Brass Valley
photographs of Lazlo Gyorsok & Emery Roth
The exhibition will be on view through April 4 during regular library hours

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL:  In “Winsted—The Development of an Ideal Town” Robert Hulbert wrote in 1903-4:

“One of the most conspicuous buildings that the visitor notes on his arrival in Winsted, is the magnificent plant of the New England Pin Company, situated on Bridge Street immediately opposite the Naugatuck railroad station. With an imposing frontage of over 100 feet on Bridge Street, the handsome new building, five stories in height, erected in 1901, is a testimonial to progressive industry in Winsted. . . . The product of this industry is pins of many varieties, and the output is enormous, the modern machinery of the plant turning out from 12,000,000 to 15,000,000 pins per day, equal in weight to about one ton of solid metal. . . . About 125 skilled operatives are busily engaged in the manufacture of the shining product of the company that has a market not only in this country but abroad.”

How the New England Pin Company building came to stand on that prestigious site opposite the railroad station in 1901 has taken me back to 1852 and one more tale of the diversity of influences through which Anson Phelps fanned the furnaces of his metal trading. For those who have forgotten, Phelps was the founder of Phelps Dodge. His early success came trading Southern Cotton for English Metal. It’s hard to find a spot along the Naugatuck his entrepreneurship didn’t touch. He founded the first brass mill in Torrington in the early 1830s. At the same time he was engaging with Sheldon Smith to build a canal and an industrial village called Birmingham along the Naugatuck in Derby. Phelps promised a reliable flow of water for power and a reliable flow of metal for manufacturing to leaders with energy and ideas for making things with it. Among those persuaded by Phelps to make things in Birmingham was John Ireland Howe, who moved his business from New York in 1841 as he received his final patent for his pin-making machine. 

In 1841 there was still no railroad, but pins had long been a staple of Yankee peddlers serving homespun needs. They fanned out in wagons through the the South and West carrying Connecticut pins, buttons, cloth, clocks,, kettles, tools and household trinkets and necessities. The Phelps shipping agency had been transporting peddlers since the 1820s on a fleet of schooners that brought them up the Mississippi and opened new markets inland as the nation added new states. 

Phelps would have been part of plans that brought the railroad up the Naugatuck Valley in 1849; they ended the era of Yankee peddlers. It was no accident that Phelps owned the prestigious site with water privileges and frontage on Bridge Street where track would be laid and the Winsted station would be built. There was an old woolen mill on the site, and in 1852 Anson Phelps would sell the mill and property to the Hartford Pin Company which would outfit it with the latest pin-making machines to reach an expanding market. However, they would be stopped by a breach of patent lawsuit from the Howe Pin Company. It was not the pin-making machines of the Hartford Pin Company that violated Howe’s patent, but the machines Hartford Pin used to stick the pins in paper. Loose pins without papers were unsellable. Howe’s most valuable patent was for  the pin-sticker.

By 1854 or 1857, depending on whose history we trust, the land, water rights and two buildings, one outfitted for making pins, became the property of J. Wetmore who began the New England Pin Company. Not quite a half century later New England Pin would tear down the old woolen mill to create their  "imposing frontage of over 100 feet on Bridge Street.” 

The station and the railroad are gone, and the streets meet awkwardly in front of the Pin Company Building. We drive automobiles now and drivers aren’t always sure how to navigate the intersection, but there’s no rush here either. There is nothing left to suggest the prominence claimed except the handsome building itself, humanly proportioned and built from bricks, each one imprinted with the hand of a Winsted brick layer in 1901.

Sunday, March 11, 2018

New England Pin Co., No. 2 "On Pins & Needles"


[Working Title] Work in Progress

postponed due to snow
NEW DATE: Apr. 9
Charter Oak Photographic Society
Elmwood Community Church
26 Newington Road, West Hartford

This variation on my usual “Finding Brass Valley” talk will explore issues I faced and strategies I found as a photographer and how writing and photographing Brass Valley: The Fall of an American Industry changed my photography.

The talk is free and open to the public.

The photo below was taken last week at the former New England Pin Co.

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL: The point is that although needles need eyes where pins need heads, one might think the manufacturing technologies were similar. However, pins may be needed by the dozens, and before machine-made pins, they were hammered out by tinkers; yet one good needle, properly sized for the task at hand, will finish the suit or the saddle; it must be as slender as possible and it must not bend under pressure; it must be highly polished and hard but not brittle. Before manufacturing, the best needles were jeweler-made, and a fine needle might be made of silver and passed down through generations. While there is extensive history on pin-making in Connecticut, I have found few references to needle making here.

From the 16th to the 20th century the best needles were said to come from Redditch, England, but over eighty percent of common pins in America came from Connecticut.  Around 1870 Redditch needle factories were producing 3,500 million needles per year. Not too much later the New England Pin Company, one of many pin-makers in Connecticut, was turning out 3,900 million pins per year. In spite of Redditch fame, Yankee inventors in Brass Valley transformed the manufacturing of both pins and needles. 

Brass Valley is the birthplace of modern pin manufacturing. John Ireland Howe famously patented technology that mechanized pin-making and opened his factory with land and water rights he bought from Anson Phelps along the Birmingham Canal in Derby in 1841. Soon there were pin-makers throughout the Valley. New England Pin Company founded on the Mad River in Winsted in 1854 was among them.

Brass Valley is also where the critical technologies were put in place to make the needles for the first sewing machines that Elias Howe (no relation to John Howe) was making in Bridgeport. In 1841 Howe had invented a machine that would sew but not the needles that would let it stitch. Needles at the time were too crude and failed. It would be 1866 before Orrin Hopson and Herman Brooks developed the "cold swaging” process of pointing and working the metal. The Excelsior Needle Company opened its factory along the West Branch of the Naugatuck in Wolcottville in 1866 to manufacture needles by cold swaging. Excelsior Needle would soon make all kinds of needles and bicycle spokes and would eventually become the Torrington Company with operations around the world. 

Too my knowledge, Howe’s pin-making machine was never used for needles and Hopson's & Brook’s cold swaging process was never used for pins. Despite the success of Torrington’s needles, Connecticut's fame is for pins, and the histories of the two industries seem oddly disconnected. What is it I’m missing?

Thursday, January 25, 2018

Tube Mill

Shelton History Center
Annual Meeting
January 28, 2018
2:00 pm
 Huntington Congregational Church
19 Church St

on the Huntington Green

Guest Speaker will be
Author and photographer Emery Roth II presenting the program
Brass Valley: The Fall of an American Industry

General Electric motors installed in 1898 powered ancient machinery to make specification-critical brass tubing at the last brass mill of old Brass Valley. View photographs, learn how Brass Valley came to be and what happened to it. Hot soup will warm your soul, and the talk is free an open to the public. The Shelton Historical Society welcomes donations.

Sunday, December 10, 2017

First Snow

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL: This morning at about ten along River Road at the entrance to Steep Rock Preserve. The wind has just loosened snow from branches above the road; a crystal scrim flickers and falls, back where River Road winds. It only happens once, but, for whatever it’s worth, the picture is made.

It is a perfect snow: deep enough to cover yet not so deep as to limit access, sticky and well-behaved clinging to tree trunks and along branches even into the afternoon. By noon it is warm enough to feel my fingers again. 

Saturday, December 2, 2017

Deep Woods 5: Holiday House

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL: The women and girls who came here, many of them, were from Brooklyn and probably lugged their scuffed travel bags and duffle rolls over two recently erected Washington Roebling bridges to find the healthful river valley and the broad veranda where maids poured them tea, they sipped from china cups swirling local honey and silver spoons. It was a long way from their Brooklyn.

“Holiday House,” as it was known, was a memorial established in 1892 in grief over a lost daughter by the van Ingen family and administered by St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church in Brooklyn. Edward Hook van Ingen had been the first wealthy Brooklynite to build his country home above the Shepaug River when the winding Shepaug Railroad made the valley accessible in 1872. Others followed to enjoy the forest balm. Fine air that made hives flourish might also revive mortal lungs fouled by fourteen-hour, stale air days at the sewing machines and spinning mules of Brooklyn’s woolen factories. 

I try to imagine the women and girls with their bundles as they stepped from the railcar at Valley Station and crossed Roebling’s delicate Arts & Craft bridge, the grand, three-story gables of the 65-bed Holiday House visible on the hill above them. Mr. Van Ingen would welcome and escort them up the hill to a small reception. For two weeks the girls would see few men and be as idle as they chose, until they returned down the path and over the same two suspension bridges to their mills and their mules.

Holiday House was closed before WWI and dismantled sometime after the war. It’s said parts of Holiday House are in homes all over Washington but the veranda on the hill where labor leisured is today deep woods, practically stone age.

NOTE:  An excellent discussion of Holiday House by Louise Van Tartwijk can be found here: http://www.steeprockassoc.org/the-van-ingen-family-and-holiday-house/

Sunday, November 26, 2017

Deep Woods 4: Spirit

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL: My daily log tells me that I’ve been hiking in the preserves of Steep Rock almost steadily, several times a week, since the first of July, though for the first weeks I didn’t carry a camera. That's not long considering the river has been here since before the glaciers.
The first day I brought my camera was August 9 when the sun was high in the sky, Other pictures posted so far were taken more recently. My aim is to open perspective where none seems to exist.

Saturday, November 18, 2017

Deep Woods 3

“Beauty is now underfoot wherever we take the trouble to look.” –Robert Rauschenberg

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL: Few things seem more mundane than a walk in the woods until one has walked deep enough to feel like a stranger with an uneasy welcome there. One needn’t even lose the trail between endless hills to feel the chill of forest presences and the authority of crows.

Monday, November 13, 2017

Deep Woods Self

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL: It’s called “Hidden Valley,” an apt name. The valley winds, deep and invisible, from the Romford section of Washington, CT, where the Bantam and Shepaug Rivers join, until the enlarged Shepaug River emerges five miles downstream at Bee Brook and the new highway bridge. Between these points the river winds behind Baldwin Knoll, Robin Hill and the Pinnacle, looping back and forth and back and forth, at various times flowing north, south, east and west, until the water passes under the highway. Some rivers wind where the ground is level and the river gets lost. The Shepaug cuts steeply following rock’s discipline. 

The Baldwin Knoll entry to Hidden Valley is on the back side of Baldwin Knoll. From there I can descend by any of four trails that surround a shadowy cleft that cuts deep to reach the most remote region of the Shepaug River. The cleft falls to the west and catches sun through much of the day in summer, but at this time of year on a clear day the sun is always winking through forest and is gone early in the depths, and my climb back up in late afternoon is a climb to the light.

Friday, November 10, 2017

Deep Woods No.1

PHOTOGRAPHER’S JOURNAL:  Robert Frost famously described the woods as “lovely, dark and deep,” but did not linger there, had “promises to keep.” When I first began carrying a camera on hikes through the woods I wanted to capture the austere beauty I found there, but when I got my pictures home, they were anything but deep; in photographs the depth of the forest became a flat wall. I realized the perception of those timeless depths came, in part, from the busy gossip of leaves, birds and streams, and from the phenomenon of binocular vision and from my forward motion along the trail.

This is the first posting of a new photographic project I’m calling “Deep Woods.”  To make these photographs I am closing one eye and trying to be still.

Monday, October 30, 2017

Iron by Iron Geist, Photo by Roth

Next Brass Valley slide-talk

Stratford, Ct. Library, Nov. 5, 2-4 PM