Welcome to Rivendell Art Photography!!

Introduction

With no formal training, I began my career as a photographic artist in 1977. Since then, I have sold thousands of signed and numbered photographs of my images to people throughout the country and around the world.

I maintain a year-round gallery in Sugar Hill, New Hampshire, where I live with my wife, Marcia, our son, Toby, four cats, and a dog.

Beginnings

My first recollections of the White Mountains are as a child of 7 or 8. On a late September Sunday, Mom, Dad, my younger sister Jo-Ann and I piled into Dad's yellow Buick Century and headed north, away from Manchester. No interstate back then, just a journey up U.S. Route 3 through Concord, Laconia, Plymouth and to the mountains. We seldom traveled out of the city and when we did, it was either south to visit relatives in other cities or east to Hampton Beach where my grandparents owned cottages and where we would spend summer weekends and summer vacation. A trip to the North Country was a trip to another world, uncrowded, peaceful, very quiet.

Once we reached Lincoln, our route would be east over the Kancamagus Highway to what was then the sleepy mountain village of North Conway, north on U.S. Route 302 through Crawford Notch, then south through Franconia Notch. I still remember gazing in awe at mountains that seemed beyond reach, towering above me as we snaked our way through near wilderness. In the city, trees would change color, but here whole mountains did. It was exhilarating to see the reds, yellows, greens and orange in such joyful brilliance, a carpet of colors that touched the sky.

It was almost 15 years later before I returned, this time not to look at the peaks but to climb them. My dear friend now of 33 years, Chuck Flanders, and I set out to conquer Mount Lafayette. You would think that someone who had not done any serious hiking would have started out small and worked his way up. Nope. But hours later, as I stood 5,260 feet above sea level, with chest heaving, leg muscles throbbing and feet having been battered by every rock on the trail, I felt I was on top of my world. The pains slipped out of mind as I stared into the Pemigewasset Wilderness, south along the Franconia Ridge, and at mountain peaks and valleys everywhere, bathed in a soft blue light. Voices faded into a distant background as a strong yet warm wind tugged at my hair, my shirt, pulling me into an experience of pure astonishment as I inhaled the beauty of Nature that surrounded me. The rewards were breathtaking.

I am still hiking these mountains.

It was August of 1969, Woodstock had just ended and my fall semester at the University of New Hampshire was soon to begin. Vietnam, flower power, civil rights, rock music, hawks, doves - the world was in turmoil with no signs of settling down.

An escape from this reality was offered by a friend, Mark Pitman. Camping. He told me of this place far up the coast of Maine where the mountains met the sea.

We left at midnight and soon were streaking up I-95 in Mark's bright orange BMW 2002tii, windows open, wind blowing, slicing the darkness to the music of Jefferson Airplane, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Buffalo Springfield, Spirit and others. We arrived in Ellsworth about 6 a.m., woke up Mark's girlfriend, had a beer or two, then drove the last leg of our jouney and set up camp at Blackwoods Campground. Never will forget Mark's tent, a Sears model endorsed by Ted Williams. Almost as big as a cabin.

For the next 7 days, there was nothing wrong in the world. In fact, the world outside of Acadia seemed to cease to exist. Everyday was clear, sunny, in the low 70's, nights were star studded and near 50°. We hiked every day, doing Cadillac, Dorr, Gorham and Acadia Mountains and Champlain Mountain twice via Precipice, down to the Bowl, and over and down the Beehive. We walked the coast from Blackwoods to Sand Beach without setting foot on path or road. We watched the surf crashing at Great Head and seagulls gliding on wind currents, spiraling higher and higher. We saw sunrises that opened our eyes and sunsets that blew our minds. We listened to the campfire and found dreams in the flames. On midnight drives headlights would find deer, raccoons, rabbits, a fox, on our way to gaze at the stars from the summit of Cadillac Mountain or from a special place along Ocean Drive. I remember the first time I lay prone in the darkness, with a summer night's caressing breeze, spotting shooting stars and trying to comprehend the vast universe above and around, and my small part in it.

I have been going to Acadia for 33 years now, still listening, still searching for answers to questions I do not fully understand.

chuck theodore
November, 2001