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Proof Copy of My New CD!!!

I’m posting this to my artist/photography blog because the photos used for my music CD are all my own. There is a strong tie-in for me. Best!!!

Guitar vs. Meds

I just got the proof copy of my new CD!!! Wow! I think it looks awesome! For me, the final physical object is part of the art. Best all!!!

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I’ll keep you all posted when the album is released and available!

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Artificial Boundaries – Solar Culture Gallery

Opening Saturday 23 February 2017

6-9 PM

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Last weekend, I was by the Mexican-American border near El Centro, CA. If not for the Border Patrol, their high tech surveillance gear — and of course — the steel wall that stretches as far as you can see, this would be just another patch of bleak Southwestern desert. Nothing aside from us humans, would see this as anything different. The wind blows across the border. Snakes and hares pass as if it is nothing… and nothing is really what it is.

These borders are simply man-made contrivances that separate “us” from “them.” While this divisive instinct is the root of all wars and used for the justification for oppressing of other peoples, it also provides many with their personal identity and pride. We apparently subdivide ourselves into different groups very naturally. Maybe it’s an adaption for survival, but at a minimum, this human divisiveness, hatred and anger lowers the level of all of our happiness.

But while walking in this no-man’s land, it seems to bring out the abstractness of this political reality. Do any of us actually have our own “tribe,” or are we all somewhat lost? Is this why we cling to our heritage, our country or our race as defining aspects of self? Maybe the visualization of being an individual walking alone in the desert and coming across another person is a better way to live — realizing that we are all just people lucky to have each other as-is.

I am showing these three new photographs in the gallery:

Come see the show if you are in town!

Solar Culture Gallery is located at 31 East Toole Avenue, Tucson, AZ 85701

All images and content copyrighted 2017 by Mark Hahn with all rights reserved.

Inauguration Day – Deep in Trump Country

trumpcountry-11I’ll just say that the politics of the last year have left me completely disgusted, so when it came to Inauguration Day, I really just wanted to forget the whole ordeal and the ugly campaigns that led to it. My girlfriend and I decided to just ditch out of the whole thing and take ourselves off the grid and ignore the controversy and the protests. We were blessed by beautifully overcast skies which are rare here in southern AZ.

So here we were, driving down a desolate highway only a few miles from the US and Mexican border somewhere south of Benson and Wilcox, AZ and we crossed over this bridge and see a wonderful winter wooded grove rising up out of the desert along a flowing creek. That’s when we decided to get out and investigate. It was like another world, so remote and removed from outside worries.

It was hardly like the wind or the trees cared about who won the election and nor were they filled with rage and hatred. For myself, letting go of everything and experiencing this stillness and remoteness was the perfect way to spend this day! While many other people have simply let go of all hope and are becoming completely suicidal because of politics, I look to scenes like these to hold onto hope.

I didn’t connect the dots until going through these photographs just now that ironically, in our attempt to escape the inauguration and politics, that we landed right here in the heart of Trump country! AZ is a Red state, aside from a few counties with university populations. Liberals here pretty much have to accept that our votes don’t count, even though I do always vote.

Later, we stopped at a diner which only had a sign that proclaimed “Food.” Inside, it was clear that everyone eating was a heartland conservative that probably voted for Trump. I shrugged. It was friendly and we got fantastic bacon cheese burgers to eat.

The other customers were primarily ranchers and workers in related businesses. They didn’t appear to have much fight in them. They were just beaten down and many were missing teeth. They were mostly here for the all-you-could-eat catfish special.

On inauguration day, many museums closed their doors. I personally felt that it was a counterproductive gesture. While Trump supporters would be watching the inauguration, museums could have been a space of sanctuary for those needing to look beyond the election and find some hope. Really, the important things we have are our love for each other, the beauty of nature and our culture. No politicians care about us. When you die, it doesn’t matter who you voted for and when you turn your back on everything but politics, you’ve essentially let them win. I will continue moving forward and finding beauty in everything I can until I’m gone. That was the joy I found in taking these photographs!

In such ugly times, the only true protest is beauty!

-Phil Ochs

Winding Our Way Out of 2016

It’s the end of 2016. I keep hearing, “Now that everything has changed” and “I’m so glad this year has finally come to an end.” I turned off my phone and TV and NPR and headed out into the vast outback between Tucson and Phoenix, a space blanketed with epic landscapes carved by the ravages of nature and those of humankind. Most of the small towns — dots on the map really where clusters of trailers are strewn into small valleys — are inhabited by miners and fed by the local economies built around copper mining. Times have already been hard for these folks for the past couple years. I’d doubt they have felt anything related to the recent elections. They are screwed no matter what. Copper prices on the world market fluctuate and it directly impacts their lives. The attack ads aired on network TV probably had little impact on their hopes or dreams. I’m sure the majority of people sitting in front of their TVs were only hoping that the price of copper rose again to the levels required to get the mines running at full capacity and being offered as much overtime as they could handle.

Meanwhile, Christmas has come and gone and the majority of children in more urban areas opened up the mass of presents that they had been hoping for and expected — all the high priced high tech gadgets produced cheaply in China, Korea and Taiwan and ordered from Amazon or bought from the big box importer stores. It’s hard to imagine these families really feeling that their lives have suddenly changed.

What perhaps has changed is the sudden fear of change. The fear of the unknown. The fear that the types of upheavals that are hitting the small mining communities now (and hit the Rust Belt after the passage of NAFTA) will somehow hit the educated and privileged urban-suburban white collar workers. The same people that pretend they care about those who have been hit by the global economy, but who do nothing to change things.

At some level, none of us are really in the position to change anything other than ourselves. Getting out into world and leaving our small lives behind can sometimes put things into proper perspective. Do the clouds rushing by think that anything has changed? Does the sly coyote worry about what has changed since yesterday to today? What does the wind tell you when you stand on the top a deserted bluff and look out at the world around you?

I think it’s there to remind us of how small we are and how lucky we are to experience all the good things that happen to us everyday. Maybe some days it is just a stray feeling of happiness for seemingly no reason at all. Perhaps feeling close with someone else in some unexpected way. Or maybe, just noticing how the shadow of the mountains moves across the landscape.

Anyway, there have been surprises this year for sure and who knows what the next will bring, but if we hold onto the good we experience in spite of the negativity, fear and hatred being thrown around us everyday, things will be better for everyone. Wishing everyone a Happy New Year!

For times when things seem hard, I’ve written this song… Don’t Let It Get You Down!

Autumn Fields

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With all the bad politics, police brutality and military atrocities being carried out across the globe, sometimes you just have to unplug and turn off your phone to get away from all the negativity. These photos are from somewhere outside of Wilcox AZ at twilight. There wasn’t anything special here, just a place to pull over and let the world come to a complete standstill around us. Sometimes it’s amazing the amount of beauty you can find in what seems to be nothing.

While walking around the edges of these fields, I wasn’t aware of how many snakes were still out. At soon as night fell, the rattlers all came out to warm themselves on the road. We had to swerve many times so we wouldn’t hit them. I never kill snakes!

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Here’s a simple acoustic song I wrote that seemed to go with mood:

Solar Culture Gallery – Waves Crash In

Opening Saturday 8 October 2016

6-9 PM

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I am showing these three new photographs in the gallery. They were used as the album art for the cover of my new music CD, Waves Crash In. All three were taken at the Salton Sea. That is a George Jones LP sitting on the table where it had been left by last owners of the abandoned trailer (Bombay Beach).

Come see the show if you are in town!

Solar Culture Gallery is located at 31 East Toole Avenue, Tucson, AZ 85701

This is the front cover of Waves Crash In:

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The official announcement for the album is here (showing all album art and CD design).

Waves Crash In is available for purchase right now from Amazon.com here.

Digital distribution is being handled by bandcamp.com where the album is available here (along with my previous three albums).

For more information, contact Mark Hahn at markhahnpublishing@gmail.com.

All images and content copyrighted 2016 by Mark Hahn with all rights reserved.

Man with a Suitcase – Album Available Now!

Man with a Suitcase is available now in physical CD form and can be found on Amazon.com (eligible for Prime and SuperSaver shipping) or directly through my eStore. Digital sales are being handled by bandcamp — the entire album is also available for full preview streaming on bandcamp.

As always, thank you all for the support you give me, it really means a lot!

Also, for my online friends, I am offering a half price promo for the digital album download (discount code: “friends”).

Note: All photography and layout work done by me!

Solar Culture Gallery – Man With a Suitcase

Opening Saturday 11 June 2016

6-9 PM

I am showing these three new photographs in the gallery. They were used as the album art for the cover of my upcoming music CD, Man With a Suitcase. The first two are from Bombay Beach on the Salton Sea and the third from an abandoned motel in Wilcox, AZ.

Come see the show if you are in town!

Solar Culture Gallery is located at 31 East Toole Avenue, Tucson, AZ 85701

For more information, contact Mark Hahn at markhahnpublishing@gmail.com.

All images and content copyrighted 2016 by Mark Hahn with all rights reserved.

Finding a Home – Gleeson, AZ

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Gleeson, AZ is an old mining town just east of Tombstone. You take Gleeson Rd. and head east out of Tombstone toward Elfrida. Around halfway there, you turn left on North High Lonesome Rd. This is where you find the remains of the old town. On the hillside to the east, you can see the abandoned ruins of the Copper Belle Mine. At it’s high point, the town supported a population of 500 people, but the copper played out by the late 1930’s. The town was slowly abandoned. Ruins dot the landscape, but you can drive right up onto the mine if you have a four wheel drive vehicle.

Somewhere north of Tombstone, we had stopped at a gas station. Waiting inside the convenience store, there was a couple dressed in a combination of desert goth and prospecting costume. They didn’t talk to anyone and they both looked almost one hundred years old. I wondered what life they thought they were living and whether it was a delusion or an aspiration. In the end, I shrugged and figured it was none of my business what they were doing, just that it seemed a miracle that they had found each other and were out here making a life together in this godforsaken wasteland.

Driving through the remains of Gleeson, we followed the dirt road that led in the general direction of the mine. On our way, we passed this old trailer home. Kim asked if I wanted to stop and photograph it. Part of me felt that I’ve already been inside too many old trailers already, but I shrugged, why not? The wind howled as we walked toward the trailer. I looked up on the hill and thought it must have been a beautiful sight to see the old mine first thing  in the morning. I imagined what it would feel like living in this small trailer back when it was new. I’ve never been “house proud” and living out here had a certain charm that people in gated communities probably could never get.

Unlike many of the abandoned places we go into, this trailer had no feeling of having harbored past domestic horrors. There didn’t seem to be a single bad ghost lingering anywhere. It felt like home and I felt like I was suddenly in my element when I started photographing it. It brought on a nice calm within me.

While shooting these photographs, I realized that after my father died when I was a teen, that I had lost all my feeling of having a home. The instability his death caused inside me  and the chaos it threw me into made me question the stability of everything. Sometimes I feel that when I look at anything, that I am witnessing the process of entropy tearing everything apart – nothing can last and anything that alluded to permanence was just an illusion. No one else seems to be aware of it like I am. I guess being in someplace like this trailer strips the illusions away for me and I just enjoy finding beauty in what is there. With these interior shots, I very much wanted to capture the feeling of permanence while recognizing that even when it doesn’t last, that there is somehow important to appreciate in the temporary respite from being alone when you are somewhere safe with someone you care about.

Later in the day, when Kim and I parked to get tacos in a little familiar restaurant in Wilcox, I stopped and looked at the listings in a real estate office’s window. There was a little house on more than five acres of land selling for only $54,000. Wow, that seemed like an incredible deal. Kim looked at the listing, said she’d move there. It’s a good dream. Things haven’t been easy lately and I’ve been feeling the need to get away. The idea of getting a tiny house in the middle of nowhere on some land and then putting up a couple of steel buildings – one for an art studio and another for music studio seemed like a dream come true. I again thought about that weird couple at the convenience store and laughed inside. Maybe that will be us someday.

The next morning, we stopped at a thrift store in Wilcox and Kim bought me a beat up old Stella guitar. Whatever I end up, I intend on taking this guitar with me.

At Another Crossroads

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The myth of Robert Johnson meeting the Devil and selling his soul in exchange for his remarkable musical talent is legendary. There are commemorative sign posts put up for tourists to see at several intersections purported to be where Johnson made this deal (the intersection of Highway 61 and Highway 49 in Clarksdale, Mississippi being the most believed to be credible). The truth of the matter is that we all come to crossroads wherever we turn. Maybe none seem as dramatic to us as Johnson’s, but we all must navigate our own way through life and accept the choices that we make and the fact that they are what take us to wherever we end up.

With the sun setting somewhere over the lost mining town of Christmas, AZ, the sky here looked as if it was suddenly set on fire. We’re at the intersection of Arizona Route 77 and Roundup Dr. – a dirt road. Dripping Springs Wash lies behind the dilapidated double-wide just off the highway. Multiple vehicles are parked out front – some with the hoods up, presumably being repaired. Behind the dark tangled trees, other double-wides, trailers and shacks seem to also be inhabited.

While stepping out to shoot these photos, I briefly thought about of the legend of Robert Johnson and his deal with the Devil. While everyone seems to hear the myth and think that Johnson’s music somehow made the deal worthwhile, I wonder. Would I want to be the best artist, photographer, writer or musician for the price of my soul? Hell no! Ability is no substitute for existence or feelings – it’s not about recognition. It’s not about mastering something. It’s not about what you can do. No activity or skill makes up for the emptiness or loneliness in life.

Like most roads in Arizona, Highway 77 is lined with roadside memorials to those whose have been killed along the way. Two lane highways are littered with the dead. People speed home or to the bar. Race off to where there think they need to be. Head on collisions happen so fast that you don’t see them coming – until it’s too late and lives are changed forever. Or lost.

Robert Johnson spent his life on the road. Probably the founding member of the “27 Club.” Many romanticize his death. The idea of burning the candle at both ends – live fast and dying young. The way to go. But in reality, death is never romantic. It’s just the end of life. The casualties are those left living – the ones left holding the bag of shit you leave behind.

While Johnson’s music lives on, his legend lives on. But the human life he lived was not a myth. We don’t know what that really was. What he thought at 2AM while lying in a strange bed and staring at the dark ceiling above him. We don’t know what he actually felt inside — just his story. But even there, the story itself is probably misleading or wrong. Instead of the happy-go-lucky Southern dandy who died in a flurry of romance and murder, he was more likely just the victim of bad moonshine and a case of untreated syphilis. He may have had many woman along the road, but you have to wonder if any of them was really the right woman. When Johnson’s first wife Virginia passed, he wasn’t there by her side, but was instead out drinking whiskey and playing his guitar in some distant roadhouse bar. Perhaps it’s divine justice that Johnson died alone himself.

We all make our own choices and ride with the luck of the road. On this night, at this particular crossroads, it seems from the number of vehicles parked outside the trailers and double-wides that everyone has made it home. Couples eat their dinners together. Turn on the TV and settle in for the night. Some of these dwelling are no doubt their own private little hells, but others, must provide a beautiful dirty refuge from the world outside. No one needs to know what anyone else shares behind their own closed doors, but the things that really matter in life often aren’t seen at all, but just experienced.

When we drove away from this particular crossroads, the stories that came to my mind were the romantic thoughts about couples that had found something between themselves that let them briefly escape the brutal life they had to endure each day in order to survive. How they could find the ability to transcend all the bullshit of the outside world together – even if only for this one Friday night. No roadside memorial makes up for the things you miss in life. Need to remember to stop and experience the things around us right now instead of trying to see what is farther down the road.

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