EDITOR'S LETTER

editor's LETTER -IN MEMORIAMNICK BEREZENKO 1945-2021

THE LAST BOOK THAT NICK BEREZENKO bought was a book of poetry by Mary Oliver. He'd recently heard a keynote speaker at Berkeley quote a line from The Summer Day, her enlightening poem about being mindful of even the smallest things in nature. Nick was extremely well read, like every good renaissance man. And like every good renaissance man, he'd been thinking a lot lately about his legacy. That's why Jeff Kida, our photo editor, asked if we could talk. He'd gotten word that Nick was wrestling with the hard realities of his illness, and in the time he had left, he wanted to put together a book that could be left behind as an endowment to the next wave of landscape photographers. He was hoping that we could help. So, Jeff and I started looking for ways. Sixteen days later, Nick was gone.

Nick Berezenko was born in Munich in 1945. He lived in Belgium, too. Then, when he was 8, his family moved to Chicago. He spoke German, Russian, Ukrainian and some French, but he didn't speak English. “He learned the language by going to movies with his mother,” says Su von Mazo, Nick's wife. “He was incredibly smart.” Because of those movies, maybe, he became an actor after high school, joining the Shakespeare Festival in Boulder and then the San Francisco Actor's Workshop in California. “He was one of the most interesting and naturally curious people I've ever known,” says Peter Ensenberger, our former director of photography. That curiosity led to subsequent work as a draftsman, mechanic, fire tower lookout, logger and carpenter. He was a park ranger at the Grand Canyon when he made his debut in Arizona Highways.

“His early compositions were simple, graphic and compelling,” Jeff says. The first two, of Vishnu Temple and Tanner Rapids, were published in November 1978. A couple years later, Nick made a visit to our world headquarters. As Su tells the story, “He just walked in, said here are some photos ... are you interested?” That's when our editor, Wes Holden, opened a drawer, pulled out some transparencies and put them next to Nick's. “If you were the editor,” Mr. Holden asked, “which collection would you choose?” “Yeah, OK. I get it,” Nick said. And as he started to walk away, Mr. Holden said, “Wait, how would you like to borrow this camera to do some exploring and make some photographs?” It was a 4x5 - Nick had been using a 35 mm. That changed everything. And so did a bit of advice. “You have to get out and touch the earth,” Mr. Holden said.

Nick listened. And with a 4x5 in his backpack, he hiked the entire length of the Little Colorado River — 315 miles in 36 days. Along with a better camera, he would have had something sweet in his pack. “One of the most important lessons Nick ever taught me,” Pete says, “was that every meal on the trail should end with dessert. And he was right. Hostess HoHos never tasted as good as those he served at the end of a long day.” In June 1983, we published 18 photographs from Nick's long walk. After that, the beautiful images kept pouring in.

One of our favorites is a shot of Potato Lake, which is in our book 100 Greatest Photographs. “I've always loved the impressionist painters,” Nick said of the image, “and I've always been fascinated with photographing water. Its liquidity, translucence and reflective properties come close to that impressionist ideal.” Another favorite is the photo of two waterfalls on Fossil Creek. Joel Hazelton likes it, too. “All of Nick's work is incredible,” he says, “but it was the images of water flowing through rugged Mogollon Rim canyons that inspired me to pick up a camera and take it on adventures. To this day, I still chase the look he accomplished, with a cool foreground leading to a splash of warmth in the background, enticing the viewer to explore deeper into the scene.” Nick was too humble to acknowledge his incredible talent, and he didn't have favorite photographs. “He liked photos that were reminiscent of a special place, especially the Mogollon Rim,” Su says. Fossil Creek was high on his list, and he wrote about it in our June 1997 issue. It's rare to find a photographer who can wordsmith as well as they shoot, but Nick was an exception. He understood how to apply literary styles and techniques to produce what's known as creative nonfiction. It's no wonder he was drawn to Mary Oliver and The Summer Day. He recognized the poem's worth. And he may have seen an ominous reflection in it, too. In the last three lines, after detailing the miracle of grass and grasshoppers, Ms. Oliver writes: Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

Sadly, we lost our good friend too soon, but there's solace in knowing that he made the most of his wild and precious life. He would want each of us to do the same. And maybe that's his most important legacy. The reminder to love and embrace Mother Nature. To get out and touch the earth. The way that he did.

Here's to you, Nick. May you rest in peace. We'll see you in the mists of the Mogollon Rim.