I made this photograph midway through a trip of about 11 days that took us to a number of locations in Utah. Every such trip seems to have a sort of arc that includes the initial excitement and expectation of heading out into the world to photograph, a settling in period, perhaps a lull in the middle followed by a reconnection to the work, a sense that the trip is ending and there is too much left to do, and the final trip back to the “real world.” This photograph was made near the end of the “lull,” and might have marked the transition back to rededication to the work. On this mid-trip day, we had found ourselves perhaps a bit without direction and one of the members of the group had not been feeling well. At a low point in our energy but perhaps feeling that we should at least carry on and act like we were working, we went to a nearby area of the park in the evening.
At first we had no clear goal in mind, though we sort of stopped and looked around at a few spots, but without really making any serious photographs. Eventually we headed up into a large canyon, first photographing the walls near the start of the canyon and then photographing the canyon itself a bit as the light began to fade. This work went OK, but it didn’t seem to be quite “clicking.” But eventually, in my experience, you get to the point where you sometimes simply accept this as part of the work, trusting that if you keep looking and keep seeing you will eventually find what you are looking for – and that this is far more productive and useful than packing it up when it isn’t working. (Though, to be fair, there are a few times when packing it up and going and having a nice dinner can be a reasonable option!) In any case, we loaded up the vehicle and began to drive back out of the canyon. Looking up at the surrounding canyon walls, we were surprised to find some very unusual post-sunset light. During normal light these canyon walls look very dark and have the intensely “red” quality of the iconic Utah sandstone. But somehow this light seemed to have drained the color from the rocks, creating a de-saturated and almost slightly metallic effect. We quickly stopped an piled out with cameras and tripods and began shooting, and it seemed to me that the connection had been made once again.
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G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” (Heyday Books) is available directly from him. Blog | Bluesky | Mastodon | Substack Notes | Flickr | Email
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