Across 80 Years

Ten Years of Writing about Photography: Moonrise over Hernandez, NM

Another post in my series celebrating 10 years of writing about photography. You can find the initial post here.

For these posts, I am selecting a favorite column from Shadow & Light Magazine, and reposting one photograph from that essay along with a selection of the text. I hope to give you a taste of what I have been up to for the past 10 years. This time around I am including a photograph and selection of text from “Moonrise over Hernandez” that appeared in the March/April 2023 issue of Shadow & Light Magazine.

April 1, 2021 marked the 80th anniversary of Ansel Adams making his iconic photograph - “Moonrise, Hernandez, New Mexico.” I’d driven past the place where he made that picture many times, although it is unrecognizable now. Given the anniversary, I decided to see if I could make a photograph in homage to Adams’ masterpiece. However, on the date itself, the moon was far from full, so I waited until later in the month. But when I got to Hernandez that evening, the little church and cemetery were not to be seen through the trees and brush, and the view that was left was uninteresting. I was about to head back home when I remembered the Family Dollar store down the way.

Moonrise over Hernandez

What can we make of the resulting image — “Moonrise, Hernandez, NM, 2021”? I posted it on my social media and got this response, among others: “May I ask - what is the point of this post? Your pic lacks in even the most gross detail. Moon and sign?” It’s a fair question, I suppose, although I did suggest my critic look at the photo on a good monitor to see the detail. Several of my friends remarked that they found the image “clever.” Something about that description rankled, although I am sure they offered it genuinely. I took it to mean that they found the photograph witty, a subtle joke. I think it was more than that.

One can see it as a response to Adams, a dialogue of sorts. Just as I imagined a narrative about Adams’ photograph, I could imagine one about mine as well. Whereas Adams’ version of Hernandez looked peaceful and sleepy in 1941, the garish signage and obvious activity of cars in the Family Dollar parking lot was jarring. I imagined those who turned in coming from work to pick up Pampers, or a gallon of milk, or maybe a pack of Marlboros, worrying if the money would last until payday. Brief stops, spending as little time in the store as possible before pulling back onto the highway north to Taos and Abiquiu, or south toward Santa Fe.

At first glance, there would seem to be a world of difference between Adams’ photograph and mine. Adams’ work is of a different time, of course, and seemingly of a different sensibility. Mine reflects a more current view. Adams sought the pure and majestic in nature whereas locating the moon over Family Dollar speaks of contrasts and irony, a comment on what has changed in 80 years, and on the romanticized view of nature that underlies the work of Adams and so many of his contemporaries, and continues to animate many photographers today.

A conversation. Maybe a debate. And yet . . .

As I thought more about the vagaries of Hernandez, I saw a similarity in Moonrise, 1941, and Moonrise, 2021. The moon remains constant. And while the vision of the little town couldn’t be more different, both photographs speak to that which is human being held in the arms of that which is eternal. In 1941, as Adams portrayed it, there seemed to be less distance between the two. In 2021, it is harder to look past Family Dollar to the vault of the sky. But the moon remains. And so do the concerns of the humans who live beneath it.

I often think about what we owe our photographic forebears. Not forgetting them is the most basic, I think. I am astounded by the number of my colleagues who have only the most rudimentary knowledge of the history of our field, and even of what is current. But not worshiping those who came before is also important. Can we build on the foundation they left? Can we follow their ideas further? Can we converse across the generations? My trip to Hernandez, which began as something of a lark, made me think about this more. And made me wonder what meaning we might make of the moon over a little town in northern New Mexico, as that scene has changed over the years.

If you would like a copy of the full ‌essay that I excerpted above, just shoot me a message and I’ll send you a free PDF.

Shadow & Light Magazine has been the primary venue in which I have published my writing and is definitely worth subscribing to. Publisher and Editor Tim Anderson produces a fine journal packed full of contemporary photography and good writing. The subscription price makes it a steal.