Category Archives: People

People shots from a documentary or journalistic perspective.

Village Matriarch, Yamoransah, Ghana

Cedar City Art Walk Image 7.

Village Matriarch
Though she is old, she leads–perhaps because she is old.

Three hours from Accra and the roads got really rough. We had been driving into the bush and each mile seemed to take a millennium. The more we drove, the farther back in time we went. As we drove into the village of Yamoransah, young girls stared at us as they mashed roots for food. Young children surrounded us, posing for our cameras. The village Matriarch watched our approach, proudly. She did not speak English. There was no need. This was her village.

As we approached, she slowly rose and the children quieted. She did not need her walking stick for authority. Her voice was soft and quiet, yet the young mothers gathered their children and went inside.

Somewhere, in the delicate balance of past and present, she kept her village safe. The old ways still worked, although her eyes were growing dim.

Teenagers charged their cell phones at a generator near the village well.


For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.


Muslim in Rome

Cedar City Art Walk Image 6.

Muslim in Rome
It can be painful when a pilgrimage is not all it was supposed to be.

Tired, alone and far from home, the Eternal City, can be an unforgiving place. Religious tradition may favor the Catholics in Rome, yet Islam entertains apocryphal hope for ultimate victory in the struggle for religious domination. Global politics and religious ideology lose their import when you are sick and hungry. With no place left to go, a bridge over the Tiber River is as good a place as any to end a pilgrimage.

For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.

Cedar City Artwalk.
Summer art students visit the Cedar City Artwalk.

Summer art students stop by to visit my show. You can too 🙂

Cedar City Artwalk
Art students read the stories about the photos.

The Stories may be as good as the photos–maybe better 🙂 ArtWalkFlyer

Woman In Paris

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Her eyes speak volumes.
A woman rests from her burdens.

It was raining in Paris that morning as I sought shelter beneath the balustrades and terraces of the Louvre Palace. My timing was off. The museum was closed. I was not alone in my disappointment as I watched a woman trudge beneath our columned shelter and sit, wearily, against stone. She was not present with the host of tourists surrounding this space. She looked beyond, focused on something my eyes could not see. Trouble, sadness, sorrow, suffering. I could not know. Yet, in her eyes I could see the reflection of ghosts in Paris. On this day, I would not see the Mona Lisa smile.

For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.


Happy Face, Lubumbashi, DR Congo

Cedar City Art Walk Image 4.

Crazy Face
When I showed him this picture, he laughed and laughed. So did his buddies.

Just before sunset, we stopped on the banks of the Lubumbashi river in the DR Congo. Families were washing clothes and bathing in the river. It was hot, and humid. When I pulled out my camera, I was surrounded by children, laughing, dancing and posing. We did not speak the same language, in words. But, the joy of the children was contagious. In a land so different from my own, we shared a laugh, and a smile.

For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.


Old Man On Steps Istanbul, Turkey

Cedar City Art Walk Image 3.

Old Man on Steps in Istanbul, Turkey.
A wooden cane and stone steps provide respite when carrying the weight of the world in Istanbul.

He sat on steps outside a mosque in Istanbul, worry lines carving canyons in his forehead. Perhaps the proximity to God, and a wooden cane will keep the weight of worldly cares from crushing him. Perhaps a silent prayer will reach to heaven or a moment in tower shadows will heal his heart. I can not say.

Crowds ascended sacred steps as the old man remained.

I watched with him as long as I could, hoping for relief, praying that, perhaps, he, too, could go home.


For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.

Cedar City Art Walk June 5 – August 31.

Leopard Dress

Cedar City Art Walk Image 2.

Leopard Print Dress
Stylishly dressed in a green leopard print, this young girl has just one dress.

She was taller than the boys she played with. Her green leopard-print dress fluttered in a breeze of fluid motion. A dirt street in Kinshasa had become an earthy futbol stadium; I, the paparazzi, she, the star. When she kicked a well-worn ball through a makeshift goal, her teammates cheered. As the game resumed, she turned and looked at me, wary. Our eyes met. She seemed to hold a world of experience behind questioning eyes. I smiled. A small boy kicked the ball. I took her picture. She darted away, leopard dress clinging to her graceful form.

For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.

Cedar City Art Walk June 5 – August 31.

Street Vendor, Lima Peru

Cedar City Art Walk Image 1.

Scones and Smiles
Scones and Smiles, she’ll warm your heart with both.

We’d been filming on the streets of Lima, Peru all day. I was shooting b-roll of traffic and people. Something delicious was cooking close by. It smelled amazing. My stomach was growling. When I turned around, a woman dropped a hand made scone in boiling oil with a flourish. She knew we were hungry. She’d been watching us from her cart. Her smile drew us in. Hot peruvian scones with butter and honey kept us there. Friendship calls us back.

For more info on my show check out a June 11th article in The Spectrum.

Cedar City Art Walk June 5 – August 31.

2015 Cedar City Art Walk

Cedar City Art Walk Flyer
Cedar City Art Walk June 5 – August 31.

For any passing through Cedar City this summer, please stop by and visit the 2015 Cedar City Art Walk. I’ve been invited to participate in the Gallery Show. My show is in the Southern Utah University Hunter Conference Center. I have ten 16×20 prints on display. The show runs from June 5 through August 31. Another good reason to see the show is that it runs concurrently with the world famous Utah Shakespeare Festival.ShakespeareLogo

Some of these photos have been posted on my blog and some have not. I’ll be posting one a week for the next ten weeks of the show along with a very short story about the photo.

Here’s a bit of info on the Festival:

The Art Walk is a collaboration between artists, business, and galleries in the community. Final Fridays, June 26, July 31 and August 28 from 5:00 – 8:00 pm are gallery strolls that offer participants a change to engage with talented visual artists from Utah. Some locations will have musical performances and receptions.

Cedar City Art Walk
James Dalrymple’s Photography on display at the SUU Hunter Conference Center for the Cedar City Art Walk.

Spice Bazaar–Istanbul

Before my eyes could adjust, the smell was upon me–pungent and powerful. My eyes were stinging with scents I did not recognize. Inside the ancient spice bazaar, crowds were swirling, the noise was disorienting. Shop keepers smiled and nodded at weathered women. Women scowled back in negotiation. Shouting began as a wave that crested and broke over exotic shops in the tidal rhythm of the ancient spice trade.

Islam is the most populous major religion in Turkey. Although no longer required, many women still wear the burka in public.

I raised my camera to capture the confusion and she froze. Perhaps she thought her burka made her invisible. Amidst the current of chaos she had been invisible. I would not have noticed the androgynous shape among the many shapes in motion.  It was in that moment of pause that our eyes met. Her eyes were all I could see. Sights and sounds and people were swirling about us and I could see her eyes.


I think that’s what I felt. I’m not sure if that’s what I saw.

She raised her hand, translucent against her robes and I took the photograph. We stood there for moments, centuries swirling before us. I could not see beneath her coverings. I had no desire to violate tradition. But in that moment, in her eyes, I could sense a depth of inner life, hidden beneath the burka; hopes, dreams, struggles, desires, hiding in the Misir Carsisi Spice Bazaar, in Istanbul.

Magic in Marcy en Beaujolais, France

First of all let me say, I don’t drink wine. I don’t drink alcohol. However, I do love grape juice.

_MGL7969_70_71_FarmlandOn assignment, I was staying in a bed and breakfast in Marcy en Beaujolias, a tiny village in French wine country, not far from Lyon, France. Not wanting to miss out on seeing the country side, I went for a walk early one morning. I only had an hour before I had to leave, so, as usual, I was in a hurry.

_MGL8018_Rock Wall WindowThe morning was beautiful. The late September sun was casting long morning shadows on stone walls and stone balconies built in the twelfth century. I was transported in time. As I walked, I quickly ran out of village and found myself in the midst of a gorgeous, hilly vineyard countryside. _MGL7916_7_8_wine country vineyardThe grape harvest was in progress. _MGL7943_Red GrapesThe vines were heavy with rich, red grapes, dripping with morning dew. Some of the leaves on the vines were changing from  brilliant green to autumn red, indicating the close of another season.

_MGL7949_Vineyard MasterAn old man, carrying a bucket hand picked and tested the grapes, while a modern, somewhat out of place, harvester, striped the rows of luscious fruit.

On the harvester, another man sorted grapes and plucked the leaves from the harvest, in preparation for processing. The scene was magical, beautiful. I lost track of time as I walked a narrow lane through the vineyard. _MGL7926_7_8_Vineyard RowAs I walked, a truck filled with grapes pulled up next to me. An old man beckoned me to “come, come.” I approached him and he motioned for me to get in the truck. He spoke as much English as I spoke French, next to nothing. The old man’s face was lined with wrinkles, leathered over the course of many seasons in the sun. His hair was gray. His beard was gray. His eyes twinkled. I climbed in the truck. He smiled as we drove through the vineyard. He would point to things as he talked. I enjoyed the view and the lilting sound of his voice, but I had no idea what he was saying.

_MGL7975_Country RoadAfter about fifteen minutes, he backed into an ancient stone building. We got out of the truck as the old man pointed out important parts of his winery, talking non-stop. _MGL7985_Grape offloadingAnother man, younger, shorter, but just as weathered, joined us with a smile. The younger man held a pitchfork in his hands. They pressed a lever and the bed of the truck rose, dumping grapes and juice into a vat below the truck. As the younger man forked the grapes from the truck the older man pointed out a large vat with a spinning mixer, turning and mashing grapes. _MGL7979_Grape VatThe rich fragrance of grape juice was intoxicating. I could tastes the juice in the air it was so think and delicious.

As I took pictures, the old man motioned me to follow. We went down a stone staircase into darkness. He flipped a switch and I was surrounded by gigantic wooden wine barrels. IMG_3422_Wine VatI think he was telling me that this was where they aged the wine. We went further underground into a wine cellar with an arched stone roof. Here, he showcased the Beaujolais wine he was so proud of._MGL7999_Wine Cellar Entrance

After looking around, he led me back up the stone steps into the light. The truck was empty, time for another load. We got back in the truck and he drove me back to the village.

_MGL8000_PierreBefore I left the truck, I asked his name. “Pierre”, he said, “Peter, in English.”  We shook hands and I climbed out of the truck.  Pierre drove away with a smile.  _MGL7925_Vine StakeI stood there, basking in the morning sun amidst the fragrant vineyard of a magical valley deep in the heart of France.  I marveled at the unexpected adventure I had just experienced. Pierre, like his father before him, and his father’s father’s father before them, has been making wine his entire life.  _MGL8083_4_5_Beaujolais Wine CountryOn this day, perhaps unremarkable for him, yet most remarkable for me, Pierre offered a magical glimpse into a tradition that crossed the ages, jumped the stone fences  and bridged our cultures through kindness.  I will not forget his friendship.

So, if you happen to be in Marcy en Beaujolais on a sunny morning during grape harvest season, be sure to take a walk through the vineyards. Look for a gray-haired man with a twinkle in his eye. While I don’t drink wine, I can, wholeheartedly recommend the grape juice.  And, I can say from first-hand experience, there is still magic in the world and kindness without fear.