Cultic Studies Review, Vol. 9, No. 1, 2010, Page 140
lacked any background in the plastic arts, but I had friends who were visual artists whom I
greatly admired for their ability to conjure new worlds on paper and canvas.
That vague desire was—I like to think—heard by some beneficent being out there in the
benevolent universe, for I felt myself drawn to the Cambridge Adult Education Center to
enroll in introductory courses in black-and-white photography and darkroom printing. Oddly,
I cannot recall the exact circumstances in which I initially decided to explore photography as
an art form. I moved into photography, it seems, as if beckoned by some angelic muse. In
any case, within a brief time I had set up a functional darkroom at home and fallen in love
with the alchemy of creation. Simultaneously, I began to read books dealing with the history
of the medium and discovered kindred souls therein: seekers of meaning, excavators of the
beautiful and the marvelous—people such as Edward Weston, Josef Sudek, Andre Kertesz,
Minor White, Wynn Bullock, Paul Caponigro, Clarence Laughlin, and Ruth Bernhard (I later
had the fortune to meet Ms. Bernhard, who strongly encouraged me in my work). From that
time onward, my life has been centered on the creation of photographic images: captured
on black-and-white film, hand-processed, and hand-printed onto silver-gelatin photographic
paper.
Photography is not only an art form to which I‘ve become devoted, but a de-facto means of
personal healing, as well. Although I did not embrace photography with that purpose in
mind, it came to function early on as a means to re-inhabit my body and the given world, to
mend the rift between matter and spirit.vii And though I do continue to sense, viscerally, the
existence of worlds or realms of greater subtlety and sublimity than the obvious one, I‘ve
come to see those realms as coexisting with and fully inhabiting the physical world,
simultaneously transcendent and imminent—in the philosophical spirit, I suppose, of
Idealism and Romanticism (flavored with Taoism and Surrealism).
Even though I photograph a variety of subjects, my main focus has been on two in
particular: the natural world (landscape and nature studies), and portraiture (broadly
defined), particularly that of women. I was not surprised to find the following statement in
an essay by one of my favorite authors, Aldous Huxley: ―Landscape and the human figure in
repose—these are the symbols through which, in the past, the spiritual life has been most
clearly and powerfully expressed.‖viii Ongoing immersion in these two subjects has, I
believe, greatly aided my healing journey to terra firma.
With regard to the focus on the natural world, I‘ve come to see the landscape (as have so
many artists through time) as a divine presence, a manifestation of the ultimate Sublime.
Like Wordsworth and other romantics, I believe (nay, feel!) that behind or within the outer
appearances of the natural world lie Spirit, Ultimate Being, the Fruitful Void. Not in the
sense that trees and rocks and clouds are mere outer symbols of deeper realities—a code to
decipher—but rather that they are themselves the expressive language of Spirit, the very
being of the Sacred. I cannot help but feel there are supernal realities residing within the
fugitive etchings we find within and upon natural forms.ix As art critic Charles H. Caffin
wrote some time ago, ―It would not be far wrong to say that landscape art is the real
religious art of the present age.‖x I concur, and I have devoted two books of images to that
subject.xi
Concerning my other prime subject, portraiture, I‘ve come to appreciate the human face
and form as an outer expression of a person‘s inner spirit. ISKCON teaches not merely that
the soul is ontologically separate from the physical body, but that its temporary association
with the body is an unnatural and tragic predicament, a degradation of the eternal soul.
Consequently, one must constantly be reminded of the lowly status of the body (a vile ―bag
of pus, stool and bile‖) and strive to overcome the needs and whims of the flesh. While
bound to the physical body, the soul must strive not only to transcend it, to rise above its
urges, but also to nullify the testimony of the body‘s five senses as well as that of the
lacked any background in the plastic arts, but I had friends who were visual artists whom I
greatly admired for their ability to conjure new worlds on paper and canvas.
That vague desire was—I like to think—heard by some beneficent being out there in the
benevolent universe, for I felt myself drawn to the Cambridge Adult Education Center to
enroll in introductory courses in black-and-white photography and darkroom printing. Oddly,
I cannot recall the exact circumstances in which I initially decided to explore photography as
an art form. I moved into photography, it seems, as if beckoned by some angelic muse. In
any case, within a brief time I had set up a functional darkroom at home and fallen in love
with the alchemy of creation. Simultaneously, I began to read books dealing with the history
of the medium and discovered kindred souls therein: seekers of meaning, excavators of the
beautiful and the marvelous—people such as Edward Weston, Josef Sudek, Andre Kertesz,
Minor White, Wynn Bullock, Paul Caponigro, Clarence Laughlin, and Ruth Bernhard (I later
had the fortune to meet Ms. Bernhard, who strongly encouraged me in my work). From that
time onward, my life has been centered on the creation of photographic images: captured
on black-and-white film, hand-processed, and hand-printed onto silver-gelatin photographic
paper.
Photography is not only an art form to which I‘ve become devoted, but a de-facto means of
personal healing, as well. Although I did not embrace photography with that purpose in
mind, it came to function early on as a means to re-inhabit my body and the given world, to
mend the rift between matter and spirit.vii And though I do continue to sense, viscerally, the
existence of worlds or realms of greater subtlety and sublimity than the obvious one, I‘ve
come to see those realms as coexisting with and fully inhabiting the physical world,
simultaneously transcendent and imminent—in the philosophical spirit, I suppose, of
Idealism and Romanticism (flavored with Taoism and Surrealism).
Even though I photograph a variety of subjects, my main focus has been on two in
particular: the natural world (landscape and nature studies), and portraiture (broadly
defined), particularly that of women. I was not surprised to find the following statement in
an essay by one of my favorite authors, Aldous Huxley: ―Landscape and the human figure in
repose—these are the symbols through which, in the past, the spiritual life has been most
clearly and powerfully expressed.‖viii Ongoing immersion in these two subjects has, I
believe, greatly aided my healing journey to terra firma.
With regard to the focus on the natural world, I‘ve come to see the landscape (as have so
many artists through time) as a divine presence, a manifestation of the ultimate Sublime.
Like Wordsworth and other romantics, I believe (nay, feel!) that behind or within the outer
appearances of the natural world lie Spirit, Ultimate Being, the Fruitful Void. Not in the
sense that trees and rocks and clouds are mere outer symbols of deeper realities—a code to
decipher—but rather that they are themselves the expressive language of Spirit, the very
being of the Sacred. I cannot help but feel there are supernal realities residing within the
fugitive etchings we find within and upon natural forms.ix As art critic Charles H. Caffin
wrote some time ago, ―It would not be far wrong to say that landscape art is the real
religious art of the present age.‖x I concur, and I have devoted two books of images to that
subject.xi
Concerning my other prime subject, portraiture, I‘ve come to appreciate the human face
and form as an outer expression of a person‘s inner spirit. ISKCON teaches not merely that
the soul is ontologically separate from the physical body, but that its temporary association
with the body is an unnatural and tragic predicament, a degradation of the eternal soul.
Consequently, one must constantly be reminded of the lowly status of the body (a vile ―bag
of pus, stool and bile‖) and strive to overcome the needs and whims of the flesh. While
bound to the physical body, the soul must strive not only to transcend it, to rise above its
urges, but also to nullify the testimony of the body‘s five senses as well as that of the
