Abstract

I must admit I'm nostalgic. This affinity for the past led me on a trip of rediscovery to the small town of my youth, Vernal Utah. On this voyage I became privy to an interesting phenomenon. I found a single thread running through four very different collections of photographs. The thread spans time and links the images together reenforcing the notion that landscape can tie one to their history.

I like to imagine myself in the past, believing I'd fit in better in a former century rather than my own. I'm not really sure why I have the affinity for the past, perhaps it comes from my compulsive nature to surround myself with photographs and visual detritus, or it maybe something different all together. Whatever it is I must admit that yes, I'm nostalgic. This nostalgia led me to take 100 days off from work to begin a voyage of rediscovery that would take me back to the small desert town of my youth, Vernal Utah. I was hopeful that while there I would be able to preserve the essence, even if only a portion, of the place through the lens of my camera. As part of the daily regiment of task I gave myself I would spend time perusing various collections of photographs, looking for historical precedence to support my thesis that the Town's transition into a booming oil town was threatening a mystical force that lay concealed in the landscape. The verdict is still on the thesis, but in the process of looking I became privy to a rather interesting phenomenon. To explain let me introduce four collections of photographs to you: (1)Earl Douglass' twentieth century observations, (2) a Millecam family album assembled by my mother the week she was married, (3) twenty-four carousels of slide photographs take by my father, and (4) my own images taken during the summer of 2008.

1.

White gloved and with methodical movements I began pouring over the hundreds of images taken by Earl Douglass in the early 1900s. There was a intriguing about his photographs something in the background that struck me as familiar. When Earl Douglass aimed his lens at Vernal is was originally motivated purely by science. He had come to the barren Canyons of Eastern Utah with the task of excavating the fossil remains of dinosaurs for the new wing of Andrew Carnegie's museum. Earl was a dedicated observer and record keeper. He wanted to learn as much as he could about the place that surrounded him, the place he would soon homestead. At first it appears the camera was a simple scientific instrument, but soon it infiltrated into more domestic matters. Images of vertebrate fossils soon became paired with images of visiting family members and picnics with his wife pearl.

2.

The binder of images collected and gathered by my mother is large with a quilted cover that forms a frame around a striking bridal photo of her. The binder houses a specific narrative of her growing up with the characters of the narrative neatly labeled underneath the images. In the photographs I see the faces of the names that were prominent in the stories told around our dinner table. The photographs, though captioned, still continue to exude quite mysteries. One photograph simply titled "Jacks Visit" shows a middle aged man sitting awkwardly on a sofa. Here is was a family skeleton contained not in a closet but rather in an image. Most telling in this collection of photographs is the story of how the camera rose from inanimate object to member o the family. It is present for all the major events. Additionally the photographs speak of transitional times: times of growing up in a Motel, of coming of age in the small western town of Vernal.

3.

When someone would come to visit my father he would pull out an old projector and a stack of carousels. The carousels housed his memories in the form of slide film. This usually happened around 11pm maybe earlier but always after dinner when the images could be projected onto the wall of the kitchen. There is something different about a projected image, it exist as light but very different from an image on a computer monitor or television screen. There was never an obligatory feeling among the viewers of the slideshow. These were never really vacation photos because we didn't take vacations. There were no landmarks or mandatory photos of National Park entrance signs. Instead the photos were simply of average events. For the most part the images were always contained with in two or three bookend images of three Lombardy Poplars with Split Mountain in the background. No matter what the subject matter of the individual slides they were always held up between images of these trees. The inclusion of the trees wasn't intentional. Perhaps a roll needed to be finished off and the view of the trees just made logical sense to photograph. The images mimic the genre of landscape photography. The photographs are usually taken during sunrise or sunset. The images alone are beautiful and peaceful. But together in the images there is something more. The trees are still there, one has lost 3/4 of its top to a summer thunderstorm, the view isn't the same though. Originally open fields were the only thing between the trees and my father's front porch now stucco houses with multiple gables block the view. Even if my father could photograph those trees it has become harder and harder for my father to find places that will process his slide film.

4.

I've always treated the camera as a way to create a parallel universe. I learned at a young age that when aimed towards the vast expanse of the western dessert I could create a world free from subject matter almost completely removed from having any sort of context. The images could speak softly about anything and specifically the place. This view was highly subjective, these images were mine. Later I learned the images I was taking were communicating something quite different. For some the images were lonely, to others they were mistakes, and still to others they captured sadness.

The images can serve as a calendar which of 91 days. The images include everything from portraits of my nieces and nephews to images of a vacant rodeo arena. I've never liked taking photographs of people, it always felt intrusive and rude. But I had given myself the task of becoming an objective reporter every minute was supposed accounted for (at least according to myself imposed rules) I learned rather quickly that I wasn't capturing the world I had sat out to preserve. There were moments or glimpses of the world, but this world existed only in the background. It would come across to me as the rise of the hill in the background image of the newly built house. That same hill was present in the photograph of a July 24th 1909 celebration, It is there in an image of mother as child, and it is there behind the three trees photographed by my father.

Together this sampling of photographs represents only a slice of the many images that have been taken in and of the place that is Vernal. Once a quite desert city Vernal is now experiencing a spike of human activity, The area has seen the coming and going of the railroad, the introduction of the automobile and its decline, two world wars, a cultural revolution, multiple energy crises, the bush administration. And throughout this frenzy of activity, there in the background, slowly eroding away is the profile of Split Mountain reminding us of the pace of geological time. The thread spans time and links the images together. A thread that reminds nostalgia is not dead.