Dear Wabi-Sabi Friends,
I just wanted you know that like many of the birds I am fond of following I am migrating soon myself, and as your presence here at this blog has meant so much to me I invite you to migrate with me.
I have a big year ahead. Many new projects, both photographic and literary, have been born of these pages, and I’m bringing them together under one cyber-roof–my website–which is also home to my current portfolio. Wabi will live on there though in a slightly new form. I will on occasion add the story behind some of the images as well as some images behind the images–sometimes it’s fun to see how the sausage is made. Actually, speaking of food, I am also going to throw in recipes too, recipes from the wilderness like Caribou Carpaccio and Fireweed Syrup and Moose Fajitas and Mosquito Tapioca and the above mentioned Pack Ice Margaritas. Mostly though you will find images, the kind of posts that take no more than a few seconds of your time. I’m adding video too and sound from time to time as I work toward more three dimensional projects, but I will try not to post too often or make my posts too long (like this one).
I do have your data on my current subscription list, but I didn’t want to presume you wanted to continue to follow so if you are interested please feel free to click on this link to my homepage tamabaldwin.com and fill in your current subscription information in the FOLLOW form on the bottom left of any page. For the new blog post containing the Pack Ice Margarita recipe you can either click on the blog tab on the top menu of my website or click here http://tamabaldwin.com/news/
If we are parting ways here at this juncture I just want to say thank you one last time for making this endeavor such a powerful experience for me. Your presence as an audience has meant the world to me.
Dear Wabisabi friends,
As some of you know I’ve spent most nights this last week wandering the frozen sea and the frozen tundra in order to photograph the aurora borealis. Despite a poor forecast from the Aurora Forecast Center almost every night has offered up spectacular displays beyond any I have seen before. Every color in the spectrum is visible–though the most dramatic of all for me is the way the curtains of red light wash over the blue sky resulting in deep violet shot through with chartreuse and tourmaline and tangerine. It is always below zero when I am out, but this has caused little to no problem until last night when the mercury pushed close to -20 F with a 5 knot wind. The handle on my very well made panhead snapped like a twig. One of my cameras has simply decided it’s done. No more photos from it until I return to a more hospitable latitude. I’ve a lovely bit of frost nip on my right hand–this from touching my tripod sans glove! The mountain pass near the lake where we did a lot of our field work last summer recorded the lowest temperature in Alaska history the other night–a terrifying -96 F, a minus 40 something with wind is a deadly thing. I can’t imagine enduring it in a skin tent! This is, the cold aside, nothing less than a visual wonderland. If you are interested, please feel free to check out a gallery of last night’s work; I’ll leave it up for a little while until the real editing begins, at which point something resembling discernment will have to be invoked! You can find my Kotzebue Auroras in the Projects menu of my website tamabaldwin.com or by clicking directly here: http://tamabaldwin.com/galleries/aurora/. You’ll just have to imagine the soundtrack for these images for now which is mostly an exquisite silence punctuated by the sound of human animals walking through the snow. I have heard a wolf cry out two nights in a row very close to where I was working, which suggests there is a den nearby. One of my friends has seen an arctic fox crouched in a white heap just feet from us–though I couldn’t separate it from the willow studded snow. I have seen ptarmigan and ravens and sled dogs, lots and lots of sled dogs and lots and lots of ravens who steal the dog teams’ food. I have seen a lot of tracks on the sea too–a mile off shore the tracks of both fox and caribou.
Peace to you all. Stay safe and warm.