Behind the Lens and Within the Moment: Photographer Andrew Ruiz
Drive, 1982
There is no new thing under the sun
but the ever-reviving lives our losses foster,
like the white-bloused girl wading cotton north of Dunn
who looked up the moment that I lost her.
- Christian Wiman
Besides the evolutionary necessities, what possesses a mind to try to hold anything of meaning beyond the persistent present? I am unsure, but the constant curiosity inhabits me and hums along in the backdrop of my days, waiting to whistle in glorious praise of such an attempt.
My camera may be one of the most familiar friends for meaning-making in my life. Like many still drawn to the analog ways, I find the unforgiving roll of film to be a gentle constraint to play within. I slow down. I watch closer. I find something that matters to me. In this way, my practice of film photography is kindred to a contemplative practice, sharing a language of pure presence and devotion to Being.
I am rather new to describing my work as it has always sat particularly close to the intimate things of my life. While I have tried to force a project upon myself, an idea or subject matter to frame and capture, few things have stuck, and instead, I return to the simple joy of training my eye to life as it is. The places I go, the people I see, the walks I take around and around my neighborhood teem with meaning to make. I am aware of imposing my curiosity to the point of obstructing experience and seek a balance of being behind the lens and within the moment. I am particularly fond of my Fujifilm GF670 for its whisper-quiet leaf shutter, as it does little to draw attention to itself.
In my various works presented in Abraxas, I welcome the viewer into these moments of beholding—golden hour bathing saltbush in northern New Mexico, the solitude of a bare tree and a rusted mailbox on a quiet road, the ghostly tracks around a weathered driftwood and a weathering lagoon, the sureness of mountains tall in the distant dusk and foregrounds blurred like butter.
All the images, except “Haunted at Abbotts Lagoon” come from a road trip with my partner through Northern Mexico, where many of my ancestral roots lie. We set out at a time of tumultuous transitions in our life and went looking for the quiet and consolation I know best in the South West. My aunt and I share a love for bare trees and this land; many stories lie within me, both from the land and from my aunt. You will often find me staring down a solemn tree in its dormancy. “Searching for Roots” is taken from a serendipitous moment along a road near the Rio Grande. I took it in honor of her.
“Untitled” comes from further down that same road. I loved that little range of craggy hills and felt taken by the light upon its teeth. I don’t remember why we didn’t stop to admire it, but sometimes you just keep driving for the joy of beautiful things rushing by. The protruding foreground allowed me to tell that story of ebullience in motion and I was grateful.
“Salt(bush) of the Earth” is my homage to golden hour. The saltbush has a way of holding that quality of light so perfectly I could just lie down within its warmth. I’m not sure it would feel that great to do so; thankfully, I have the image to cozy up to instead.
“Haunted at Abbots Lagoon” is taken at the Point Reyes National Seashore, where my partner, son, and I often find a bit of ocean retreat from life in the Sierra foothills. The lagoon and the nearby beach just out of frame often feel like the setting of a surrealist dream. The geography is so expansive that no matter how full the parking lot is a half mile away, people hardly ever seem to be filling the space. Their footprints leave a ghostly presence, and I look for all the things that feel strangely placed here, like this piece of soothed and greyed driftwood. On this day, the light scraped the imprinted sand to cast a hard shadow while the misty salty air softened the scene's tones with a sublime kiss. It changed the moments after release, and clouds danced around.
