From Edward Weston’s Point Lobos to Today: Why Black‑and‑White Still Moves Us
Edward Weston Point Lobos by William Holgers ca. 1940
As a young boy and a grown man, I have walked the paths, beaches, and cliffs of Point Lobos, standing, walking, stepping on my grandfather's footpaths. In the beginning, as a small child, knowing really nothing of my grandfather's fame, just a child doing what Westons did—visit Point Lobos, always with a camera, my Rolleiflex or the four by five my father had just given me. I was nine. Then by now, not only did I know who my grandfather was, but what had been happening—well, it was that I had been working with my father printing Edward Weston's negatives, many from this, his beloved Point Lobos. So now my truth to Point Lobos completely changed. I was not the innocent eyes of youth anymore. Now entered images that followed me around—shadows, lights, twisted cypresses, eroded rocks, like mist clinging to the red lichen of cypress. Now, restricted by well-defined paths, one cannot go where Edward could roam unabated. There were no defined trails then. Maybe this is a good thing. His sequence, captured in black and white eight by ten images, are safe from the cameras of GPS-guided image makers looking to be remembered as photographing the same images as Edward Weston. As my uncle Brett would say, just bad imitations of the real thing.
So much of today is just filled in the blanks. Carmel, Point Lobos, Bixby Bridge, Big Sur—people ending up with the most checkboxes is the winner. But really, they have just ended up with someone else's checklist. I watched the people streaming into Point Lobos. It doesn't matter if it's a weekend or a weekday. Lines of cars parked at the gate, eager to get in line when it opens at eight. They're not so lucky when the park fills up. The parking along Highway One becomes a nightmare, but still streams of people walking along Highway One, stuck in traffic. I look at the people and wonder: do they know where they're going? Some carry picnic baskets, some with dogs in tow. Giggling girls in spandex, which doesn't leave much for the imagination. Young hoodlums with black hoodies, pants around their knees, all looking like they're going to an amusement park. Some don't look like they will make it back to the car, let alone travel the paths of the park. Yes, they do come, and I guess more power to them. But why? Why would you go to Italy just to see the statue of David and not know who Michelangelo was? Why would you go to Point Lobos and not have some idea who Edward Weston was?
Edward Weston's Point Lobos, and Mine
Edward Weston spent decades making black and white photographs at Point Lobos, just down the road from where we still live in the Carmel Highlands — and I've spent my life looking at that same coastline through my own lens. We can't visit as often as we'd like anymore, but these fine art photographs, grandfather and grandson across half a century, are proof that Point Lobos doesn't need much time to make itself known.
