Plumping up Kansas

PLUMPING UP KANSAS

by Roy Inman

A (long) back of the postcard note from the Sunflower state-

OK, I will admit it: Never been much of a fan of the state of Kansas, visually speaking that is. The landscape is decidedly boring, partly because there is not much to differentiate the stretch ahead from the one behind. In point of fact, in 2003 Southwest Texas State University and Arizona State University actually scientifically determined that Kansas was indeed flatter than a pancake, specifically flatter than a pancake purchased at International House of Pancakes. 

"People just look down at the pancake," researcher and doctoral student at ASU Brandon Vogt said at the time. "If you were an ant climbing it would be incredibly difficult to navigate. There are bubbles and ridges, and it usually bulges in the middle." If a pancake was the size of Kansas and you were on highway 70, you'd encounter 10-mile deep potholes." He and fellow researchers did the math and I take them at their word.

For years I have struggled to make some really good images of the state, both for clients and for my own satisfaction, but alas, with only partial success.

I guess I just don't see things in the same the way that stellar landscape photographers such as Kevin Sink, Ed Robison, Michael Wolfe, Kathy Wismer, Wes Lyle, and others have.

Then I struck upon an idea: Why not Photoshop the entire state, one photo at a time, thereby giving the various scenes more interest, or in effect,  "plumping them up." I will sheepishly admit that some of the photos have actually had little digital work. Some had a lot. But all have some. That is the nature of the state: ripe for manipulation with the mouse.

The result so far is a collection of images that I like to call "Postcards from Kansas. I use the term quite loosely, given that what I shot and what I then re-created in the digital realm is unlike the typical postcard beauty shot. 

Now, when I take pictures in Kansas, I am visualizing what I will do to the image later in Photoshop. What I see through the viewfinder is merely a starting point.

With tongue planted firmly in a pancake filled cheek, I remain sincerely yours,

-Roy Inman

The Christmas Mouse

A true turkey tale

Les, (I have changed his name to protect everybody, including me) the legendary photographer for the old Kansas City Times, went to a turkey ranch near Parkville, Missouri to get a page one shot for the day before Thanksgiving.

This was back in the day when farmers had just begun breeding turkeys of mostly white meat, reflected in their all-white feathers. Les was not looking forward to trying to capture detail in an all white flock. He was shooting B&W film, after all.

The shoot was going pretty well, but Les noticed that one bird in particular kept following him around: from this side of the barn to the other, from deep inside the flock for close-ups to beyond the wooden rail fence. Maybe the bird was attracted to Les' also snow white mane. All of the men in his family became prematurely white haired at about age 16.

In the fullness of time, and as the late afternoon November light began to fade, all of the turkeys happily went gobbling along to the barn. All except the one especially attracted to Les.

Having pity on the bird and rather moved by its obvious affection for him, Les bought the bird. He placed it in the front seat of his pickup, and by several eyewitness accounts, the turkey was "sitting upright, just like a proper man."

As photographers (and writers) of the era were wont to do, Les stopped by the pub on the way home for a few snorts. His favorite place was Kellys Westport Inn. Not wanting to leave the turkey in the cold car and also fearing its theft, he took the fowl inside and placed it on a bar stool, where it stayed while Les sipped. Several wags around the bar thought it would be fun to get the turkey drunk, so while Les was otherwise occupied in his cups, the turkey was given several rounds of beer, and at the outcome, became quite inebriated and fell off the bar stool. Les, became angry that "grown men would play such a trick on a poor dumb bird" grabbed the turkey and took it home.

Upon arriving, bird in hand, Les was so drunk that he just handed the turkey to his wife (either #5 or #6. There is always much heated discussion whenever any of Les' acquaintances gather together about the true total number of brides. The reason for the disagreement is complicated, and a story for another time).

The wife, assuming that all birds were water fowl, put the turkey in the filled bathtub. But the turkey was still quite woozy from the alcohol and drowned.

Here the story becomes murky. Some say that the wife, in a fit of anger, tossed the dead bird in bed with Les, left him a note telling of her imminent plan to divorce. Another version says that the wife took the bird when she left, having deposited just its droppings next to Les' intoxicated body.

From that experience, Les swore off photographing turkeys, and never has since.