Nate Howard Photography

Tri-X

2012-03-03T17:49:41Z

Eight years since I last made a print, processed film. I had to quit newspaper to get back to where I belong. First contact sheet, Lukas and Jannel in Lyle. An old roll of film laying about the house, among other old rolls of film. Then a roll of 120, T-Max 100, out of the Yaschica D TLR, more of Lukas by Otter Creek east of Lyle. Then on to Iowa, Trix-400 shot this year. Some of the Iowa Caucus. Santorum, Gingrich, Ron Paul. Long may you run.

Why They Voted | Mother Jones

2012-01-05T21:08:56Z

http://motherjones.com/photoessays/2012/01/portraits-of-iowa-voters/iowacaucuscrowdjpg
Cleck Here for Mother Jones Page

Why They Voted

Five Iowa Republicans explain why they showed up on Tuesday night. --Photographs by Nate Howard/ Text by Tim Murphy

Iowa Republican debate, 2011

2011-12-29T14:04:02Z

http://www.natehoward.com/shows/iowa_debate/index.html
Iowa Debate

Iowa Republican debate, with Michele Bachmann, Rick Santorum, Mitt Romney, Rick Perry, Ron Paul and Newt Gingrich, anchored by ABC News' Diane Sawyer and George Stephanopoulos.

Ron Paul

Nate Howard Wedding Photography

2011-04-18T15:03:00Z

Visit www.natehoward.com to browse Minnesota wedding photojournalist Nate Howard's website and galleries.
Nate is an experienced photographer with destination weddings across the United States and Mexico.

Roller Skating

2011-01-23T16:56:20Z

Image via Wikipedia

Blazing down a hill on roller skates, with a speedometer.
The tractor in the field to my right keeps up my ridiculous speed at 55 mph and he's pulling a mower, cutting down corn stalks for silage.
And the operator, a young man, grins with pride, working his dad's land at such a pace.
We meet eyes, he gleams with the advances of technology in his hands.
He's confident, hot-dogging in his tractor.
I'm struck with panic, I can't slow down, I've never roller-skated this fast.
Surely he sees my fear.
Approaching a turn in the road, unable to make the turn and the gravel of the shoulder nears so I jump out of my skates.
Barefoot, I touch down like a jet plane, running, frantically running to keep my feet under me.
But my legs are heavy and feet lagging behind.
With my eyes wide open, I make a push to run faster.
I feel my body rise upright.
I'm going to make it!
With a secure stride I slow myself, and stop.

A man ice skates in three frames.

2011-01-11T14:58:23Z

My favorite .gif file.

View image

Silence

2011-01-10T17:40:07Z

Silence is survival.
To speak to who?
In isolation
cold and ice on my face
and a gun in my hand.
I will kill.
And I will hold it's warmth
strip it's innards.
The hawk will feast
and I a meal.
Born in family,
removed
isolated
and killed
with a single, double or triple crack
of gun powder.
Spilling hot blood
on the white powder.
In the isolation
I survive.

A single toxin.

2011-01-10T15:15:12Z

A single toxin
as a living body, my whole body.
Like a pin prick,
she popped me.
From my garden, I spewed ink as an octopus.
She touched me and I trusted her to touch me in a way I've never felt touch.
I never knew just how toxic I was.
A stench, a pungent, stinging vapor
erupted like a giant tea pot screaming
and stung her in the eyes.
I retreated to my dark garden,
and shivered, wrapped my arms around me, held tight, holding myself, still, using all my face muscles, like my arms muscles, squeezing tight my eyelids.

01-10-2011

Rita's Candles

2010-12-30T16:03:17Z

Grandma died and I got her candles.
Classic, tall, thin, just like Rita's figure.
And her scent.
So many candles with white wicks.
In a boot box.
Not a shoe box.
I don't like seeing them burn away but this is what candles do.
Rita is gone, and I burn each candle with a thought of her.
Not by intention, not as if I am lighting a candle and sitting beside it, in some deep thought.
I light one at a time.
Today a blue one burns in an empty whiskey bottle on my kitchen table.
The flame is steady and constant like Rita.
The candle is secure with a tight fit in the bottle top.
I wish she burned these candles.
It doesn't seem fair.
A widow for so many years, was she afraid to light one and reflect.
Did she just not give a shit about candles.
The candles being practical, when the power went out in violent Indiana thunderstorms.
Rita was simple. Practical. She knew more than she would expose.
She knew not to waste her time expressing what she learned from her struggles.
She stayed on the surface for the sake of family.
She had so much within but suppressed for the sake of the common, stone, midwestern god fearing family and friends.
Miller High Life and Winston smokes.
Playing cards, a rosary.
I took the candles and a deck of playing cards with "Florida" printed on them, a classic beach scene.
Palm tree, sun setting and a boat. "Souvenir from Florida", the plastic box reads.
Lonely Rita, at her kitchen table.
Seems I think of you more now with you in the grave, than when you were at your kitchen table.
I know you had your Catholic faith.
I realize now how strong you were.
A couple candles are scented.
Spiced plum pales to the scent of your home, in the box as a whole.
As a whole, they are Rita candles.
Rita in the living room, where nothing ever changed.
The couch, the curtains, the carpet, nothing changed and this constancy is a fragrance embedded within the candles.
So simple, primitive, and today, and tomorrow, you burn with me.

Snowman

2010-12-30T15:57:32Z

The most perfect snowman took shape outside my window.
The landscape was covered in fog, and for maybe 100 yards I could see a few trees.
The snow, the children rolled and packed as if they were the gods of it.
They created, sculpted to their design.
Effortlessly, joyfully, with sloppy hats nearly off their heads, or fallen forward just above the sockets of their eyes.
The nylon snow pants, gloves, coats.
All in colors of ordinary red and blue.
The arms made of branches, as they should be.
Plucked from one of the nearby trees.
Shaped with pride, touched with real coal, charcoal briquettes making the face and buttons. Nothing more than coal and branches.
Completed just as grandpa blew the whistle, the signal for dinner.
Grandpa watched and waited for the completion, peering out the window.
With the morning, the branches dropped downwards from their upright position.
They were firm, packed in with care and advice from one child to the other.
And briquettes lay in the snow, all nine of them, scattered at the base of the snowman.
Soon, the children will return to the snowman and with the same care and joy, fatten the thinned head, remount the fallen branches and briquettes and a freeze will come, and snow will fall holding and dressing the innocence of youth.

Plane Crash

2010-12-29T03:41:25Z

Winter in Mower County.

Dear Santa

2010-12-13T17:36:09Z

Image via Wikipedia

Dear Santa,
Or is it Sanata?
I found all I wanted for Christmas in the in-flight magazine of shit on the airplane:
The toaster that burns Darth Vaders face on your toast.
Orbit Wheel Step and Go
Back Vitalizer
Hair Loss Treatment that actually works.
Hair Max Lasercomb
Aculife, help strengthen your health with the latest ancient technology.
G Defy
Slick Seed of Life, "Because it's cool."
Smart Belt Buckle
and the Razor Wallet.

I've been a bad boy.
So, any one of the above would be appreciated.

Fusion Fashion, Minneapolis, Saint Paul, Minnesota, 2010 by Nate Howard

2010-11-20T13:07:46Z

Fusion Fashion, Minneapolis, Saint Paul, Minnesota, 2010 by Nate Howard

Sign and Date

2010-11-20T12:59:33Z

In Digital: Nate Howard Photography: Envision, Artopia, Fashion Show, Minneapolis, Minn.

2010-09-29T21:11:46Z

In Digital: Nate Howard Photography: Envision, Artopia, Fashion Show, Minneapolis, Minn.

Girls in Digital