At the commencement of this era of wealth and prosperity - of quick fixes and instant gratification - holding onto what we love and cherish, conserving the good, the beautiful and the essential is something that is so important to me. I feel now more then ever that my love for art and its vast history will provide a breath of insight and knowledge into my own being. In turn, I feel alive and well when I connect with nature; when I experience its wildness and powerful force. I feel it is imperative, my innate responsibility to lend a voice to the silent and magnificent wild places of nature, whether that is through art, photography or teaching.
The floor in the restoration lab in the Städel’sche Kunstinstitut Museum is cleaner than a newborn’s conscience. I would have eaten a meal off of the staircase leading to the fluorescently lit studio; it’s cathedral like, long and ominous and the ceilings echo. Amidst countless pieces of ancient paper and parchment, chemicals and tools, light illuminates the history that clings to the walls and lives in the corners. From time to time a visitor walks past the studio. The smell is crisp and ancient on this gray winter day in Frankfurt. All the instruments are like celebrities, and I am in the VIP lounge backstage. I feel nervous in their presence. I feel dizzy with awe, and light with luck as I float around the rooms and get introduced to some of the pieces that are being restored for the upcoming exhibition.
I have been working with Stephanie Wagner for two weeks, as an assistant. For a special treat, we leave her painting restoration lab and go visit the paper conservatory across the bustling street. Ruth Schmutzler, the head of Graphic Arts Conservation at the Städel is a small, impeccably dressed woman who will do anything for her collection of masterpieces. You can it see in her eyes, and in the spring in her step as she leads us through her studio. Before our visit ends she pulls out an off-white folder, and from it emerges a worn piece of paper with a few character sketches on it. With tweezers, she carefully lays the image on the light-table in front of me, and steps back. Time stops. I feel a little flutter against my lungs, as if breathing has become harder to do. These sketches emanate with a godlike presence that makes me feel as if I am in a vast ocean. I don’t try to identify the piece, or characterize its origin, but I have seen the style before. The faces that emerge from the brown sketches look familiar; it’s odd to see a Michelangelo so close with no glass caging its face. I smell the ancient paper; I connect with the pen strokes he’s made, I can sense the artistry of the caricature. I feel him through his art. I realize why I wanted to work with Stephanie, why conservation and preservation are the roots of this work I’d like to carry out. If there is a higher power, it lives within art and time, and this may be the only way I can get in touch with it. I wanted to be part of preserving history, to make it possible for future generations to come to see Michelangelo, to bring his art back to life, to feel the awe and sense of responsibly I have.
Photography is a vital part of preserving a moment, capturing a still in time; my contribution is photography, focused on nature. Capturing time has been a vital part of our history, the platform from prehistoric hand-carved petroglyphs to the newfound iPhone providing an instantaneous means of holding a moment in time. My medium is a journalistic approach to photography, a tool to share and solidify moments, to enable others the gift of my vision. I took thousands of images for a project to preserve a part of local wilderness in the Cache Creek area; the goal was to bring pieces of the river’s beauty to the people who might be able to play part in preserving the habitat. I remember it like it was yesterday: The weeping willows sweep the water’s eddies, a bald eagle wings ahead of us downstream. I hear the trickling of the river under my canoe; I smell the sun-warmed rocks along the riverbed. I knew that Cache Creek was “Wild and Scenic” long before Governor Schwarzenegger signed the bill. It’s in the way the river runs through the canyon walls; the gift of fresh water, crystal blue forged by the downstream eddies. We have been on the river for two weeks, the stuff sacks are getting thinner with every meal, I’ve taken so many pictures that I’m running out of space on my memory cards. Every day is a challenge, whether it’s canoeing a rapid, flipping a boat, running out of propane to cook out food, or finding a good place to rest for the night. The flow of the river has taught me many things - endurance, perseverance, and appreciation of its vast wilderness, I am minute in its presence. It has beckoned me with a whisper and a call to care for it and to preserve it. My way to do this is with photography.
Our group spent the next week interviewing legislators, farmers, nature lovers and conservationists. We created a short documentary film about the importance of preserving the river, using photography and audio recordings. Our film Cache Creek Wild and Scenic played a huge role in the passing of Assembly Bill 1328, designating the river protected as Wild and Scenic. For the first time, I realized the power of photography – my photography – to effect change.
Like Nelson Mandela wrote in The Dark Years: “For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.” (Mandela 81) I cannot imagine my world without Michelangelo’s master sketches, or a world without our pristine rivers and streams for my generation and my grandchildren’s generation to roam in freely. Looking at preservation from the standpoint of art and nature has taught me that there is something beyond you and me that is worth learning for, and worth working for. These things cannot be replaced. I want to be part of protecting and preserving that which I cannot imagine living without.
