"Refelections"

"Reflections"

...this image picks up on where "Moonshower" left off.

With "Moonshower" we were dealing with obstacles that we have to overcome.

Those were obstacles existing in the world around us...

In the latest image "Reflections" we are looking at ourselves on a different level.

We are recognizing those personal obstacles and barriers.

Sometimes we get so overwhelmed by what's going on the outside

that we forget to pay attention to how that can be changed,

just by changing what's inside.

Change starts with you.

A collection of some of my limited edition prints.

Find more photos like this on Stoneheart Gallery Social

"Moonshower"

“Moonshower” is an image of optimism and hope.
Throughout our lives we strive to reach many different goals.
Sometimes they are easily attained, at other times they are not.
To me, the figure in “Moonshower” is a representative of the human spirit.
She is gazing out into the distance in wonderment of what lies beyond the horizon.
What’s out there that she has yet to experience and learn? How will she get there?
What is that light at the end of the tunnel, represented here by the full moon?
There are always obstacles and barriers for us to overcome on our journey and in this image they are represented by the shattered glass, illustrating our fortitude in overcoming these obstacles and breaking down those barriers. Our spirit has wings to give her the strength she needs to reach her goals once she has cleared a path.

"Moonshower" is available as a beautifuly framed 20x24 limited edition cnavas print for $450

The Drive

Through the course of my life I have tried to walk away from my creative impulses many times or tried to ignore my obvious calling, or just plain had to. Ten years ago I gave in to it for the last time and devoted my life to chasing the muse. I studied and worked in photography and thought that it would be enough to appease my creative appetite and quench my artistic desires. However, artists are insatiable and always covet growth. A year ago I gave in to the urge to put brush to canvas and have been working in acrylics since. I still work in photography but feel myself increasingly lured
to the palette and the rapture of painting.
This time it feels right, it feels like home and it is for keeps.

I have come to terms with the fact that
as artist’s we create because we can’t not create.
For me the creative process is something that
disconnects me from the world I know and takes me
to a level that I don’t fully understand,
but continually seek to be a part of.

I Gave...

This image is from a local road trip through southern Illinois.

Could have been about five years ago to the day.

Places I had never been, no map, just driving aimlesly for a weekend.

All alone, just me and some film and a few dollars.

Seeking inspiration, answering to whatever called.

I asked a very close friend of mine

who has a certain way with words

to put a few together for this image,

this is what he came up with, bravo.

I Gave
I gave…For years and years
Your keep, your slave
Once you leaned upon me
Though now I lean away
Did I disappoint you?
Forgive me, it’s my age
Now I stand here empty, hollow
Since you’ve walked away
The dirt beneath has claimed me
With its vines that pull each day
Until at last it takes me down
into my earthly grave

Mathew Werner 03/05

_______________

This was shot with an ancient twin lens reflex camera on color film, un-manipulated.

It looks almost like a black and white shot.

A testament to how dreadfully overcast and dreary it was.

I found it moving, nonetheless. Then struck out in search of sunshine.

...on painting

On painting…

I have always had the desire to paint.
I played around with it as a child, though I spent more of my energy on drawing
back in those days simply because it was the readily available medium.
What 8 year old is ever very far from a pencil and paper?

My mother had always encouraged it and made sure
I always had something to draw on.
In grade school I had a great art teacher who was also very motivating.

One of my earliest memories of entering into that “creative atmosphere” was back in kindergarten. I remember our teacher setting us up with these huge pieces of paper,
the likes of which I had never seen before.
We were all given watercolors and left to create…
I was really getting into my painting… might even say entranced with it…
when the next thing I know I was getting pulled out of class
and lead to the principles office.
I remember being very confused by all of this and not knowing what I was in trouble for.
It wasn’t until my mother came in and explained to me that I somewhat understood.
I guess I was splashing paint all over the other kids and I wouldn’t stop.
Obviously I was heavily influenced by Jackson Pollock at the time.

I also remember an incident in third grade. We were once again painting in class.
This time with those heavy tempera paints they used to give us at school.
I had big bottle of deep rich purple. In front of me sat Marcie.
Marcie had this beautiful almost platinum blonde straight hair.
I can’t tell you now what was going through my head back then,

but I can remember the experience and the exhilaration I felt

when I took that bottle of purple paint and squirted it all over
Marcie's head.

Of course after that, it was a little embarrassing as my teacher came over
and taped me to my chair with masking tape. Needless to say,

I don’t remember any more “occurrences” beyond that from grade school.

I do remember my class mates would always ask me

“are you going to be an artist when you grow up?”
(yes! I would think...)
I remember it always made me feel a little strange,

as I didn’t know any “artists”.
It always made me feel like an outsider in a way.

When I made the move to high school,
naturally I signed up for art class.
I took it with a grain of salt though and didn’t view it as a serious class.

It was just that I was so much more in tune with that than
taking a wood-shop or auto-shop
like everyone else.

Ok, so once I hit high school, and feeling
like an outsider, I did what I could to try fit in.
I grew my hair and started playing guitar. I had always loved music.
Everybody loved music.
It worked out alright.

I would ditch classes and go hang out with my other “musician” friends

and I had a lot of fun for several years.

I didn’t need high school, I thought,

I’m going to be a rock star, and they don’t teach you that in school.

Then at the age of 19 with a daughter
on the way I got married and had to leave the “rock star” life behind.

The next 16 years of my life I spent doing all kinds of jobs that were neither exciting
nor lucrative. After all, I spent my “formative years” developing a “personality”

instead of focusing on a career. I didn’t have any great skills that I could use

to make a decent living so I did whatever I could with what I had.
We won’t venture down that road.

At 32 I went back to school and studied photography.

By this time I was on my second marriage and my new wife

had bought me a nice camera and some lenses for our first Christmas together.

She had seen some of the pictures I had taken
on our vacations and how I was learning to scan images into the computer

and “play” with them. She decided I had a talent that needed to be developed.
She believed in me.

I (we) decided that photography would be a great way to utilize my artistic desires
and leanings, and have a shot at making an honest living at doing something
I was passionate about.
That’s what changed my life.

After studying at College of Dupage in Glen Ellyn Illinois I spent several years
in the field doing everything from graduations, weddings and marathons

to food and product photography. I also worked in camera sales and photo labs.

Learning everything I could about my new tools and

how to best use them to my advantage.

In 2005 we moved from Illinois to Colorado.

I concentrated on taking my photography
to the next level and to get back to being the person I really was,
that little artist guy from Elwood Illinois.

A year later we opened up Stoneheart Gallery in Evergreen, Colorado.

It’s been a very healthy, rewarding and exciting three years since then.

I have grown in ways that I couldn't begin to describe.

I have met some of the most amazing people that one could hope to meet.

People who make me feel great about who I am and what I am, an artist.

Now after working with so many artists of various styles and techniques for several years

I have decided that it’s not impossible and I have decided to expand my creativity

from behind the lens and onto canvas as well.

I have decided to paint.

I always wanted to paint however it always scared me.

It always seemed like such a serious journey, which it is.

I'm just not afraid of it anymore.

Though I had always seen works of great painters, mostly in books,

I didn’t know any growing up and being
from the middle of a corn field in Illinois, it seemed that I was just not

in the right environment for that to be a realistic goal.

(You know, like being a rock star.)

Now I am in the right environment. Now I know artists.

And knowing all these great artists that I now represent,

being influenced by them constantly and studying their work everyday,

it has taken a hold on me and I can no longer resist its call.

I guess, in the end it’s coming full circle.

We can try to escape who we truly are.
We can try to be like everyone else.

But it catches up with us eventually.

At some point we become who we are.
We paint because we can't not paint.

I, for one, am thankful of that.

The last words my father said to me
were that he was proud of who I became and what I was doing with my life

and that I was doing the right thing.

He promised to come visit us in Colorado and see our gallery.

A few days later he passed away.

I never thought I’d hear him say those words.

I always felt he was disappointed that I had
no desire to become a carpenter, like him.
I now feel that we are
at peace with each other.
My mother passed away many years ago,
but I’m sure wherever she is in the universe,

that she sees her influence
in what I do every day.

"Forgiven" by Mark Anthony King

We all judge - and are judged by - appearance.

I know that a majority of people will view this painting

and immediately decide if they like it or not.

It will happen almost immediately.

It's a gut reaction. It happens on a subconcious level.

Those that do, will be completely overlooking

the intent and the beauty of it.

Some will not even bother reading this, based on the image alone.

But I've already forgiven them.

“Forgiven” is an image of your worst enemy, in a different light.
It could be whoever you want it to be. He is holding his head apologetically.
His heart is burning for forgiveness yet it is bound by our hatred.
The blood is representative of the blood spilled by Christ

to forgive us all.
We are all worthy of, and at times, need forgiveness.
We could all be somebody’s worst enemy, or best friend.
The key is that until we learn to let go and forgive even our worst enemy
(which at times may even be ourselves) we can not begin to heal and move forward.
As long as we harbor hatred and anger in our hearts
we are bound to repeat the cycles that keep us from reaching our true potential.

“Forgiven” by Mark Anthony King

http://markanthonyking.com/paintings.htm

Perigee Moon 12 12 08

Here is my shot of tonights moon. ..I walked out the gallery door at about 5:15 and said holy wow! It was rising from the east over a peak of trees. Had to run back in and grab the camera. I was not really prepared for this. I had to work very quickly to capture some of the trees in the forground in order to give it a sense of scale. No time to make adjustments other than exposure. It was cold and my legs were shaking the boardwalk on which the tripod was set up on. With this kind of magnifcation vibrations were picked up by the lens. That coupled with the extended exposure time keep it from being as sharp as I would like it. Later on a friend called and told me that it was a special moon, here's why...

Tonight it was closer to Earth than it's been since 1993 - 221,560 miles away, making it look 30 percent brighter and 14 percent larger than 2008's other full moons.
"Typically we don't have the full moon phase and perigee (the position of an object at its least distance from Earth), coinciding at the same time, so that makes this event particularly special," said Ed Krupp, director of the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles, California...

"While high tides happen each month when the sun, Earth, and the moon are aligned, there is going to be an enhanced effect, with the moon being the closest it's been in more than a decade," said Ben Burress, staff astronomer at the Chabot Space and Science Center in Oakland, California.
(info courtesy of: boingboing.net)

I'm going to try to be set up to capture a better shot tomorrow night. It won't be the "perigee" moon, but hey it'll be the next best thing to it for a long time to come.

Take a Hike by Mark Anthony King 10.29.08

Being a Midwesterner, past asthmatic and still trying to kick the nicotine fiend, hiking in the Rockies can be a little tough on a guy. Working so many hours the past three years at running an art gallery seems to be taking its toll on me physically. It has not exactly been the most physically demanding of career moves. It also keeps me from having the time to get out and do a lot of the things I used to do in place of actual exercise, like hike.

I’m usually working at the gallery seven days a week and many nights as well. I decided today I was going to take a day off, grab the camera, go somewhere I’ve never been before and let the world present itself to me. That’s typically how I shoot. No preconception, no goal, just go out and see what I see. Let the world present itself, or rather, reveal itself to me. I try to stay away from the “standard” locales as IMHO they are overburdened with exposure as it is. This is not really an easy way to capture an interesting scene, but more of an interesting way to capture a real scene. It seems to work for me, usually.

However, today I felt defiant. I was after all abandoning my business (which is really what it feels like when your not there to make sure everything is going smoothly). So in spite of myself I set out to a very popular place. A place well known to most Coloradoans anyway, Eldorado Canyon State Park near Boulder. It was new to me, I had only ever driven up to the entrance late one afternoon and finding that there was a fee, decided to put it off for a day when I could spend more time there (get my monies worth). That was about three years ago.

I have to admit I was ill prepared for this excursion. When I left home I had in the back of my mind that I would take a drive to somewhere I had never been and probably not hike more than a few hundred yards away from the Jeep. Donning my favorite worn out, formed to my feet cowboy boots, no tripod, no water or snacks, usually means I’m not straying too far. For whatever reason, I decided I would take a hike today, a real hike; at least part of one anyway. Eldorado came to mind and I set the autopilot to get me there. Surely I could go out a couple of miles and find something interesting.

Now typically my wife serves as trail guide on these excursions and has a keen sense for finding the coolest trails. Today however, I’m on my own. She’s in school and I have the day to explore, alone. I soon find that this is not so much fun alone. No conversation (despite the constant rambling in my head), no laughter and no leash. She’s very good at getting me to try to keep up with her. I find without her, I’m in no great hurry to get to I don’t know where.

Like I said, I’m (we are) originally from the Midwest. The hiking I am most accustomed to is from the couch to the fridge on a nice flat carpeted surface. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve done our share of trails and mountain hikes. Most of that was about 9 years ago during our wonderful 4 month honeymoon road trip all over the country and several shorter trips between then and now. I guess it’s been a while though. Today it felt like a whole new challenge just getting up the first few switchbacks starting out the trail.

I guess it’s easier when you have the wife along, you can’t wuss out (gotta keep up). So anyway, I’m going and the more I go the more I start enjoying it. OK this hiking alone isn’t so bad (listen to the wind rustling through the trees; hear the birdsong; take a break if you’re tired). I do. I listen to the voice in my head. Why not - it’s mine? I sit for a couple of minutes, catch my breath, listen to the wind, the birds, OK I’m ready to continue, let’s go.

I go a couple more switchbacks (they’re getting longer now. I like the longer switchbacks). I feel compelled to stop again. I don’t (just do what you would do if Haydee was here, keep going). I see the turn of the next switchback. I tell myself I can at least make it that far before stopping for a (short) break. It is hard for us smokers to keep going up and up and up…

I’m not getting any good shots, not “feeling” anything (not yet, keep going, something will reveal itself). I reach my resting point – flat trail ahead. OK I can keep going to the next rise, and then I’ll rest. I’m getting higher and higher (elevation, not the other). I’m really starting to enjoy the hike. That’s the funny thing about hiking for me, it seems like a real pain at first, but once I’m committed, it gets better.

What’s going on here? The trail seems to be disappearing in front of me. It’s getting thinner, less defined then it turns into a pretty good sized boulder field (they don’t call it Boulder for nothing…). I’m sure if Haydee were here this would not have happened. I’d still be chasing. I find a comfortable boulder to relax on and ponder. Do I try to make my way across the boulder field in these beat-up slick heeled cowboy boots? It doesn’t seem like a good idea considering I’m alone. If I do, will I be able to find the trail on the other side? I surely can’t see it from here. Where would it be? Doesn’t seem to make much sense that the trail would cross here, I sit.

I’ll just relax here for a bit and see if anything opens up to me. I’ll soak up nature in all her glory. Ten minutes pass (feels like thirty). Maybe I’ll try going up more, maybe I just got off the trail a bit. I do, nope, no trail here.I scramble up a few more boulders, getting steeper. Not feeling to sure footed here. Then I knock a good size rock loose. Shit! It’s rolling down at a good pace with no end in site. Hope no one’s down there. I don’t hear anyone, no cries, no screams. Must be OK. ( if I was down there I wouldn't be anticipating a rock to the head - I wouldn’t have time to yell or scream either). I hope there was nobody there. I hope it’s OK.

The trail can’t end here, it’s a long trail and I haven’t been here long enough to have completed it by any means. (Retrace your steps) I do. There’s the problem. I was so tired when I got to this point I missed a switchback. This was just a little side trail to the boulder field. This is better. I’m well rested now, I can continue up. I’d like to do at least a mile or better before I turn around (so thirsty, unprepared, keep going don’t be a quitter). I go on.

I hit my stride, feeling good now, getting somewhere. I’m thirsty, but I ignore it and go on. I pull off about a good quarter mile or so. Then I find a beautiful panorama. I can see the Continental Divide peeking up over the ridgeline in the distance. I stop. I sit.I break out the camera. There is no way I can capture this elegance of nature. Not with the equipment I brought today. Not with any equipment I have. Some scenes are just “you have to be there” scenes. To bad I don’t have smell-o-vision the ponderosas smell so damn good I can almost taste it. Can’t capture that, or the sound of the wind, or the birdsong. No, some things you just get to experience. You can’t take it all with you.

I’m lucky to be here. I think of how lucky I am. I think of all the bad decisions I’ve had the opportunity to make but didn’t. I think of how great my life has turned out to be. For me anyway. I’m not so sure my life has had any great impact on anyone else. I hope that I’ve had some positive impact on those that I love. I hope that I’ve influenced others to make good choices when given the opportunity. Hard to quantify those things. I count my stars, thank them and move on. Glad I did this today (you never know what tomorrow will bring).

Want advice?…don’t smoke. If you haven’t started, don’t. When you get here you’ll enjoy it all the better and it’ll be so much easier for you to get here than it is for me. Will you enjoy it more then? How would I know? I don't, but I think I do.

I climb higher. I breathe harder. Rested too long, enjoyed too much. Now it’s like starting over from the bottom. I forge on (so thirsty). I climb several more switchbacks. I feel like I’m getting closer to the top. The canyon looks pretty distant. I turn around, look behind me. I keep thinking I hear footsteps behind me. Nothing there. I go on. It’s getting very hot, no, I’m getting very hot. Again the footsteps. This time louder. I turn again, still no one there.

I realize I’m not going to get to the crest. It’s still very far away. I gauge how many more switchbacks to get me there. Too many. It must be another mile or so away. I’m too thirsty. I still have to go back down. I’m content with not making it to the top. I do want to go a little further though. I still haven’t got the shot I was after. I realize now I won’t. That’s OK; I’ve had a nice hike. I sit again.

The footsteps again, behind me. Wait, it’s not footsteps, it’s the blood pumping to my head, my ears are hot, it feels like my blood is pumping faster than my heartbeat. Is that possible?I’ll just relax for a while. This hiking stuff should be relaxing shouldn’t it? I sit for about fifteen minutes. I feel better. It sure seemed easier hiking with Haydee around. I miss her. I always tell myself I’d take better shots if she weren’t with me on these hikes. That somehow, having to deal with someone else’s input has an effect on how I shoot. That it’s too distracting, or that I’m rushed. That all seems illogical now. Here I am, perfect opportunity, still no shot. I start my descent. I need a smoke.