An Exclusive Encounter with the Master of Photography: Ansel Adams Unveiled

My encounter with Ansel Adams — an icon among nature photographers — initiated with a stroll up a sloping, winding, sandy path to his secluded home nestled among the trees, which overlooks the Pacific Ocean at Carmel Highlands. A brick pathway led to his entrance where a modest metal plaque indicated, VISITS BY APPOINTMENT ONLY. Unsure about ringing the doorbell yet unwilling to depart, I made the decision to ring and request an appointment.

Mrs. Adams opened the door, introduced herself, and welcomed me with a warm smile. She was a petite, silver-haired, blue-eyed lady with kind words. I presented myself as a fan of Ansel Adams’ photography and as a young landscape photographer from the Midwest. She invited me inside their residence and explained that Ansel was currently on the phone as she gestured toward the high-beamed studio that lay beyond. She mentioned that he would be available to meet with me this morning before heading into town around noon for some business. I expressed my gratitude and waited for Ansel in the foyer. His boisterous animated voice resonated in the studio as he persisted with and then concluded his conversation.

Ansel strode through the studio and towards the front door with deliberate steps that echoed on the bare, dark wooden floor. He wasn’t very tall but rather stout with a large round head, a full beard, and a wide grin. Stout and sturdy were my initial impressions of him. His piercing, vivid, hazel-brown eyes were framed by a prominent, irregular, slightly crooked nose, which he had broken during the San Francisco earthquake in 1906 when he was four years old. He was clad in a gray flannel shirt, a simple blue tie with a plain silver clasp, dark gray trousers, and Wellington boots. He welcomed me and we shook hands as he invited me into his abode.

We momentarily exchanged introductions, as if he required an introduction, before the massive reproduction of his renowned photograph, “Monolith: The Face of Half Dome,” the iconic portrait of Yosemite’s famous granite cliff, an image he had captured nearly fifty years prior. Behind him, adorning the slate-blue walls of his vaulted studio were other renowned prints of Yosemite Valley. His exquisite photographs showcased both his distinctive perspective as a photographer and his profound respect for the land he cherished. The bright ambient sunlight streaming through the west-facing windows added an essence of eloquence to both the individual and his artwork.

We transitioned from the studio to a cozy, uneven couch in the adjacent room to converse. We settled in front of a large, rugged river-stone fireplace darkened by years of use. To the left of the fireplace, a series of thick planks served as bookshelves. They were filled with art and photography books. The substantial Sierra Club Exhibit Format Series of environmental literature stood out among the others, a dozen tall volumes, their white dust jackets dulled and slightly torn from the frequent handling by numerous readers throughout the years.

In this ambiance, we discussed his work: teaching, photography, printing, and the Sierra Club. He voiced concern for the challenges facing our cities and the plight of our planet Earth. He was a personable individual with captivating and engaged eyes. More youthful in vigor than most men half his age, he spoke with fervor and a passion for photography. We explored photography as an artistic medium for humanizing others, a form of art aimed at cultivating more sensitive individuals who might become more responsive to and more caring for the environment and each other.

Ansel Adams remarked that he was not optimistic about people addressing their human necessities for sanctuaries and the natural requirements for such places.

He elaborated on the scarcity of natural preservation and recreational areas in many of our cities. He reflected on a recent journey to the Midwest and shared his thoughts and worries regarding the numerous distressing abuses of the environment: water pollution, air pollution, noise pollution, and urban decay. Man, he stated, has rendered the city an unlivable place and is unsure of how to proceed now.

We paused to gaze out his “window to the world,” as he referred to it, a large plate-glass wall that faced the rugged Carmel Coast and the Pacific Ocean. He expressed that this place, his wooded sanctuary, this retreat by the sea, was indeed incredibly rewarding. It ignited his creativity as a photographer. He cautioned that the vastness of the breathtaking California Coast from Carmel to Big Sur seemed to distance the individual from close personal, meaningful contact. Its grandeur made it challenging to observe the minute details within the broader picture. People, he continued, tend to forget to notice where they are stepping. They neglect to see the things that are near them and underfoot: pine needles, small stones, little leaves, gentle streams, the fundamental elements of the environment, the components of intimate landscapes.

We spoke of other photographers, Edward Weston and his son Cole, his neighbors in Carmel Highlands, and their work in black and white alongside color. I mentioned the exquisite color landscape photographs of Eliot Porter, his friend, whose images of the woodlands in New England are remarkable environmental commentaries. We discussed his work and future endeavors, the plans for Volume II of “The Eloquent Light,” his ongoing biography by Nancy and Beaumont Newhall. We conversed about photography, teaching, writing, and learning. He indicated that he had sacrificed his musical pursuits for his dedication to the work of the Sierra Club. Unfortunately, he simply did not have the time for all of his numerous interests.

His hands, which he used often to rub his seemingly weary eyes, were short, covered in stubble, and veined. His robust fingers, so adept at working with a camera or playing a concert piano, appeared aged and worn.

Time emerged as the prevailing theme of our discussion: time for action, time left for environmental conservation, time for writing, time for teaching, time for conversing, time to address the many demands of the day. And all too quickly, it was nearly noon, and our time was up. I thanked him for the moments we had shared, the time he had afforded me. He smiled, shook my hand, and invited me to return. Before I departed, he requested me to sign the petition against offshore oil drilling by Union Oil along the California coast. While I did this, he went to his desk for a brief moment. As I turned to express my gratitude once more, he offered me a gift.

It was a collection of black and white prints from his recent exhibit in San Francisco.

I conveyed my thanks for the gifts of our conversation and his photographs, and we bid farewell.

As I walked down his sandy path, I gazed westward through the grove of wind-swept old cypress trees toward the Carmel Coast and the faint distant line between the sea and the sky. Great gray-green waves were gently rolling in, advancing and then crashing upon the jagged rocks. In the cool gray mist of midday, I could hear the calming sound of the surf below Ansel Adams’ Carmel Highlands home.