OK, I’m a bit behind on updating the Tanager Blog. Doesn’t mean I haven’t been shooting. It just means this other blog — and its adorable main subject — are stiff competition for attention. So, I’ve been mainly photographing little Varenna and her first four months, and meanwhile, hardly traveling at all. I’ve also willingly reined in the marketing for weddings and portrait business this summer because of her. I have a day job, and an intense one at that, so those spare hours need to be focused on home, the little girl, and every new milestone she can cross.

Having said that, though, Tanager Photography is slowly coming out of hibernation. I’m beginning to get inquiries again, and the itch — to photograph nature, architecture, people, culture, colorful things — is getting irresistible.

So, here’s what’s up: this past weekend we returned to our most photographed place: Steamboat Springs, Colorado. We have condo access up there, and make the most of it three to four times a year. Got some amazing shots this morning of fog breaking on the pastures — it was the first unfettered photo spree I’ve been on in months — as well as wildflowers high up on Rabbit Ears Pass. In a week I’ll be in Vancouver (day job) and hopefully will squeeze a few hours to shoot that magnificent city, and if all goes according to plan, a six-day swing through the San Juan Mountains and Mesa Verde in late August. Another run to Steamboat Springs for fall color, and then, in November, this year’s big trip: Kauai.

So there are definitely some things in the pipeline for the travel photography end of things.

In the mean time, here are some loose shots from a trip to St. Louis over Memorial Day weekend. Hailey, Varenna, Hailey’s mom and I flew out there to introduce the little girl to her great-grandmother. While we were there, Hailey and her Mom put Granny and I in a helicopter to see the city from above, and we also toured the lovely Missouri Botanic Garden.

Should be more activity on the blog in the coming weeks. This morning as I was firing exposure after exposure in the Yampa River Valley, I thought to myself, its good to be back at it again.

(click on each photo for a larger version)

Last Wednesday, I joined my first Meetup group at a Northglenn studio to learn a few high-key photography techniques. Pretty cool group. It was lead by Bill Murphy and our model for the evening was the lovely Julie Jensen.

There were quite a few photogs on the scene, which took some getting used to for me. Julie had to bounce around a bit to keep track of the paparazzi vibe, but in the end, we all learned a great deal and had a great time in the process.

The set-up at North Denver Photographers Studio was fantastic, and it is available for rent (and quite affordable, too). Certainly plan to do headshot, modeling and family portraits there in the future… They have a white cyc wall, which is a perfectly curved, seamless wall. There were also a variety of umbrella and softbox lights to illuminate not only Julie but also the wall, which creates this bright, sunny effect (aka high-key). Let me know if you are interested in a customized shoot similar to this one.

Thanks to Bill, Julie and the other photographers. It was tons of fun.

I wish I could say I did it for charity, but the truth is I was Ron Burgundy for Halloween, and this hideous thing was so ridiculous I had to sport it for a few days at work.

It’s gone now. Gone. Forever. Almost.

In late August, we hosted Hailey’s brother and sister-in-law, Jason and Ali, for a few nights. They live in Richmond, Virginia, and they visit roughly once a year now that Hailey’s parents live in Boulder. You know me and my pet portrait projects — while they were here, I asked them to pose for some photos in front of the white backdrop. Something playful and childish … like blowing bubbles. Why? Because we’re working on a series of white seamless portraits for the nursery.

That’s right: Hailey and I are having a baby. March 4 is the due date, and we’re determined to have the little one surrounded by our loved ones every night.

Uncle Jason and Aunt Ali are naturally playful (heck, we even bought the bubbles at the grocery store on the way home from putt-putt golf).

The bubble gun came with a blue hippopotamus-type creature who exclaims “bubbles make me silly!” when you squeeze its stomach. This provided a good ten minutes worth of laughs from Jason.

Right now Hailey is beginning to show and the baby is making a few moves of its own. In 10 days, we find out if it is a boy or a girl. It gets more and more real with each passing day. I’ll do my best to make sure this doesn’t become a baby blog, but rest assured, this will be one of the most photographed kids in history.

We’ll be seeing Jason and Ali again for Christmas in Richmond, along with Hailey’s parents, her grandmother and her aunt and family. Should be an extra joyous occasion this year.

(Click on each image for a larger view)

Jacqie and Ken were married on August 12 in Castle Rock. Here is part 2, with images from the ceremony and immediately after.

At my wedding, my brother’s words to me before walking down the aisle were “on occasions like this, there’s no difference between the sacred and the profane.” Things don’t go perfectly, and that’s part of the fun. I love the spontaneity of shooting a wedding, and the pictures above capture one of those moments. During the ceremony, a bridesmaid’s hair clip got caught in the maid of honor’s veil. It brought a few chuckles in the front pew, and a round of smiles from Jacqie and Ken.

I’ll have more portraits and images from the reception later this week.

While in San Miguel de Allende, Hailey and I took a class at the Sazón Cooking School. I thought I’d take a second and upload some images from it. Not much of a narrative, but it was certainly a worthwhile experience. Our instructor was Chef Paco Cárdenas (pictured at top) of the well-known and highly regarded El Petit Four Patisserie in San Miguel de Allende. He was incredibly energetic, passionate and thoughtful, and it made for a wonderful two hours on the Thursday afternoon we spent there.

He made a traditional homecooked meal of dried shrimp cakes with molé and romaritos (a grass-like herb) and topped it off with a buñelo, a deep-fried sugar-dusted Mexican cookie (below right). The class was quite affordable, and I’d highly recommend it if you are spending ample time in San Miguel de Allende. It breaks the mold a bit and its nice to head home with new skills in the kitchen.

Paco was very amiable, and the next day (Good Friday) Hailey and I stopped by his bakery for breakfast. It was incredible. Moist pasteries, good coffee and a clean, well-lit place to contemplate whatever.

On Saturday evening, as we walked the town taking pictures of doorways and the like, an SUV pulled up alongside us and honked the horn. It was Paco behind the driver seat, checking in to make sure we were enjoying San Miguel de Allende. The traffic was stopped behind him, but no one seemed to mind. Such is the spirit of the place.

On Saturday night, just as we were brushing our teeth in our hotel room, we could hear boisterous music crescendoing up the narrow street outside our window. Stepping out into the hotel’s courtyard, we could see 10 musicians, dressed in traditional Spanish Renaissance outfits, singing boldly and strumming their instruments. Three lute-players were at the forefront, strumming, singing, baiting the crowd down the street, then turning and charging a few steps at them like bulls, inspiring giggles and a collision of elbows and stepped-upon toes. We joined the fray, not knowing what the song was about (but assuming love) and walked with the group of 80 down toward Plazuela de San Fernando. Everyone had a drink but us, and we were soon weeded out of the crowd by the minstrels handlers at a narrow passageway. Turns out you need to drop 100 pesos each for the full show, your ticket stub being a small, ceramic, bong-like pitcher that they give you at the start of the tour. (This video shows what its like to come upon them, but I didn’t shoot the video).

So on our final night, Palm Sunday, we ponied up and joined the 10pm callejoneada, or musical walking tour of the city. The group had originated in the 1960s at the university, but had clearly morphed into a tourist-centric moneymaker. The drinks were far from plenty and tasted more like Tang than booze (a friend who had visited more than 10 years ago had relayed a more raucous version of events involving the group) and there were definite moments when I felt played. The group would round the corner and a dozen men selling roses would suddenly appear, right before the minstrels would serenade the ladies.

But I don’t kid myself. The group — in fact the whole concept — is brilliant, and they should be cashing in. Guanajuato is an even better city because of the merry music echoing in its alleys at night, and the men in their velvet, poofy sleeved shirts are genuine showmen. It was the first in a handful of instances in Mexico where I told myself its finally time to learn Spanish (the next was on Monday, when a Mexican clown would thoroughly embarrass me). Their jokes were totally lost on me, but in an odd way, I felt completely in the loop on what they were about: music, laughter, romancing the ladies and taking pride in your city. Not a bad way to spend the evening.

There was a welcomed serenity to Guanajuato on the morning of Palm Sunday. The light was crisp, the air oddly still, and the few people who were out and about were headed to church.

The night before had been merry and raucous. Jardin de la Union was profuse with music as mariachis serenaded diners. At one restaurant, a single table was surrounded by a six-piece band, blaring trumpets, drum kit and all. I was getting the impression that this wedge-shaped plaza with tightly packed shade trees was always this cheerful.

Just steps away from the plaza we had dinner, and then made our way back to Hotel Antiguo Vapor, but found ourselves on the steps of Templo de San Roque watching another open-air baile folklorico performance. Guanajuato’s serendipity struck again, and its energy seemed to be ceaseless.

But in the morning, things were refreshingly different. On the steps of Basilica Colegiata de Nuestra Señora de Guanajuato (which is fun to say backwards as fast as you can), men, women and children of all ages gathered and wove palms into beautiful crosses and Christian icons. We purchased one that incorporated rosemary, simply to fill our room with its wonderful scent. Two blocks away at Templo de la Compañia de Jesus, a teenage girl was selling incredible palm crucifixes, the chest and arms of Christ appearing like a braided helix of DNA. I bought one, not knowing fully what to do with it, and together we walked to breakfast at a subterranean restaurant called Papalotl, where they serve eggs scrambled in mole sauce with a side of fried plantains.

Guanajuato in April is blazing hot, and our afternoons were consumed with napping or pursuing a cold cervaza. Palm Sunday, our last day in the city, proved to be no different. A one-hour siesta, a cold soak in the bathtub and then a late lunch (that also passed for dinner) at La Bottelita on Jardin de la Union. Tricked out in funky Mexican folk art and garish colors, the bar/restaurant was one big nonchalant fiesta. We ordered a molcajete filled with enough steak, chicken, chorizo, onion, jalapeño, nopal (cactus), and grilled pineapple to feed a six-piece mariachi band, and then opted for a tram ride back up to El Pipila for sundown.

As we waited for the light to fade into blue hour — that magical time when a cityscape lights up but preserves its daytime colors — we heard an eruption of drums coming from the general direction of Templo de San Roque. Its acoustics moved through the winnowing streets below and echoed off the ravine walls of the city, and soon we could see a colorful parade leading past Basilica Colegiata de Nuestra Señora de Guanajuato. A girl sat on a mule, altars covered with flowers were carried past, and a steady stream of young boys in shiny, colorful robes walked by. In the slanted evening light, it would have made for amazing photographs.

But an hour later, I was happy we stayed put. Blue hour over Guanajuato was simply gorgeous.

When it comes to Mexico’s independence from Spain, Guanajuato lies in the thick of things. It is in a sense, Mexico’s version of Boston, a place hewn from its defiance to imperialist power. For all its Spanish colonial architecture and happy colors, there is a fiery spirit to Guanajuato that only rises to the surface when you understand its history. I wasn’t visiting for the museums (Diego Rivera also hails from Guanajuato, and his childhood home is now an homage to his life), but I couldn’t help but be captivated with the raging, undaunted insurgent who was visible from every spot in town.

On a September night in 1810, a band of independence fighters led by Father Miguel Hidalgo stormed Guanajuato’s Alhóndiga de Granaditas (pictured above, right), a hulking stone fortress filled with provisions, 3 million pesos worth of silver, a heavily armed Spanish garrison and the provincial governor. It’s not just that El Pípila got them in the door, allowing the insurgents to capture the critical post. It’s that he crawled to it with a slab of flagstone on his back, deflecting the Spanish musket fire until he could torch it. From there, a hellacious battle ensued resulting in the death of every Spanish soldier. The independence movement was in its infancy, and soon its four main leaders — Hidalgo, Juan Aldama, José Mariano Jimenez and Ignacio Allende — would be executed, their heads staked to the four corners of the Alhóndiga by the Spanish as a gruesome warning to like-minded individuals.

The Alhóndiga’s southwestern corner was visible from our hotel’s patio, and simply inscribed in the buildings stone was the name “Allende.” This must have been where his head was positioned for the 10 years that the war raged on, a chilling thought. These reminders of the past were just as much a part of Guanajuato’s visual feast as the colorful homes, the merry minstrels from the university, the mariachis in Jardin de la Union, and the ornate facade of the Teatro Juarez.

My impressions of Christianity will never be the same. Not after yesterday in San Miguel de Allende. Good Friday was marked by two vivid processions through the streets of this 400-year-old Mexican city. At noon, the Passion of the Christ was marked with a steady parade of Roman centurions, angels, and two men portraying the thieves crucified with Christ (pictured above). At dusk, a silent parade of some 2,000 mourners marked the funeral of Jesus Christ. It was stirring, graphic, and oddly foreign — odd in that I come from a “Christian nation” and have never seen such a display of devotion. Between the men being whipped shirtless in the streets, to the old women carrying massive altars of the saints that must have weighed at least 1,000 pounds, I have developed a whole new understanding of Christianity’s complexities, both spiritual and cultural.

I will do a whole blog post on the parades when we get back. For now, I just wanted to post one image that captures one moment in a more significant journey. Tomorrow is our last full day in San Miguel de Allende. Monday, we return.