Philip Blair

Living in the Pacific Northwest brings experiences of both struggle and beauty. Struggle in that the weather in the winter and spring can be dark, wet and rainy. Wet cold in some ways is more uncomfortable than dry, cold weather, in that it is invasive and bone-chilling. The sun sets just after 4PM during the Winter Solstice, with the days having only 8 hours of light. Days on end of dark, wet and cold weather can be depressing even for veteran locals.

The struggle in soggy, cold darkness is offset, however, with spectacular, occasionally clear, partly cloudy days and breath-taking views. Even in winter and spring, the weather can clear off and deliver crisp, clear brightness, albeit with a low mid-day sun. Even better, storms throughout fall, winter and spring display visuals of high drama. For the weather enthusiast, living here feels ethereally heaven-esque.

In the Seattle area, mountains reside on horizons in all 4 directions of the compass. The North Cascades are one of these mountainous regions. Mount Baker is the obvious visual center, south of which is North Cascades National Park, with countless impressive peaks and wilderness areas throughout. Though the mountains in the Northwest are alpine environments, their elevation is relatively low compared to, say, the Sierras or Rockies. Mt. Baker, for example, is 10,800 feet, compared to a few thousand feet higher in the Sierras. This is primarily because the Cascade and Olympic mountains are all within an hour or less from sea level.

During the offseason in the PNW’s alpine areas, it makes no difference that the elevations are “relatively low,” because they are still more than high enough to be inhospitably cold, and rife with avalanches and other dangers. And downright miserable conditions for the inexperienced or unprepared.

The conditions which offer photogenic and hypnotic visuals can be difficult to predict. The weather forecast can fluctuate wildly, but unexpected breaks in the weather do occur. Often when on an outing, I am blanked and shut down by dull or otherwise nondescript, gray weather. Other times, I am surprised and astonished with surreal, beautiful scenes that I will possibly never again see in my life. Such an example exists in this selection of images, exhibiting surreally unusual cloud formations. Moments like these define my physical and perceptual existence here in the Pacific Northwest.

The images in this gallery were shot during summer 2020 and spring 2021. The differences are easily discernible by the levels of snow in the different frames, the spring images having more visible snow. The granite formations are characteristically darkened and heavily eroded from millenia of stormy weather, heavy snow and grinding ice. Resultingly, they bear tangible character, complexity and personality.

This gallery also contains what may appear at first glance an unlikely inclusion: that of the Corn Lily, or rather, the Veratrum plant. Veratrum is an herbaceous perennial which grows on the slopes and alpine meadows of the mountains here in the PNW, as well as in other moderate elevations and environments throughout the Northern Hemisphere.

I have included the Veratrum here because they signify to me the character and feel of the alpine meadow environments. There is a wealth of other flora in these areas, dazzling wildflowers and such. Veratrum, however, is a brilliant subject for black and white photography due to the stripes and striations of the leaves. When in its early seasonal growth, the wide leaves unfurl with enchantingly graceful curves and corkscrew shapes. Another special image of Veratrum may be seen on the About page of this site.

September, 2021

January 2017 in the western Pacific Northwest brought unusual continental winter cold patterns and record levels of snow.  Some places, (like the Columbia Gorge, for example) were buried under volumes of snow unseen in any of our lifetimes.  The result throughout the region was a transformation of the landscape to an uncharacteristic, unfamiliar tapestry of snow and ice.  Beautiful, stark and alien, as though another planet.

Snow and ice bring with them a haunting quiet.  Most all of this series of 26 photographs were shot over the course of ten days in January 2017, when I set out on a postmodern passage of sorts to capture the rare occasion, following forgotten, desolate highways to remote locations.  This would become not only a tour of the surreal beauty of the snow, but a mind-travel expedition during which time I would experience a Great Solitude, which I call a renewing loneliness: a time during which it is much simpler to assess what is important, and what is not, in life.  

Loneliness is not the same thing as hopelessness.  This outing would therefore be an examination of self, selfless, during which time the outdoors would become the center of attention rather than myself.  After a couple days out, there came a slow, abstract mental conveyor belt of dreams, hope, sadness, happiness, depression, longing, desire, laughter, tears, fulfillment, and a vast montage of personal thoughts and memories that during this time had nowhere to go.  Being still in this discomfort brought a grand and introspective time-stoppage, which, as it worked out, showed me like other journeys such as this that by going to a place which is nowhere, I find myself very much somewhere.  The end of the journey takes me back to a home now fuller and far more meaningful than the one I left just 10 days before.

Shown among these resulting photographs are locations in the Columbia Gorge, Eastern Oregon, Eastern Washington, and Northern Nevada.  Prints are 20" x 30" and 21" x 21". 

November 2018