I am overfond of this oxbow feature of Cedar Run. It is a peaceful turn in the gentle meandering of a low key run of brackish water in the Cedar Run Dock Road marsh. It sets behind my usual sunset orientation from my most used spot to make photographs. Under a sky spanning sunset, even this northwest orientation colors up full and sets the oxbow aglow.
So it was on November 15. Minutes before I captured this smoldering sky fire to the west, I set tripod and lens about a pastel swoon. Pinks and yellows casting a near transparent gossamer glow upon the sky and the land. It is a boon from beyond when your surroundings offer up the chance to make multiple photographs, in multiple directions, with manifold compositions. It is an embarrassment of riches, and it makes for A Good Day. In this photography is like fishing: Skill, preparation, experience all count, yet it is right place, right time which matters most.
Big week in the 609 for sunset. With no fewer than three Good Ones™, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter have burned with content. Sky fires everywhere Buzz and Woody meme dot gif. Of course I missed out on the first two setting my insides aflame searing FOMO blisters with impunity. Life is hardly a burner when you’re but a passive observer.
Yet Friday was my day, except it almost wasn’t. All day skies were light overcast, which suggested an it can go either way outcome. SunsetWX, after a red hot week, was lukewarm over New Jersey fueling the wavering. I continued to work. I continued to monitor.
Four o’clock came and so too decision time. Clouds had thickened and the 4:41 scheduled sunset seemed lost. Well, 4:30 hot power vinyasa it is. It was 4:15 and I was driving to yoga class. Still it gnawed at me this choice was the wrong one. 4:25 and I am exiting onto Route 9 north. I descry the slightest break in the clouds a razor’s edge above the westward horizon. 4:27 at the traffic light I sit—30 seconds from yoga, six minutes from home, and 14 minutes from sunset.
I drive toward home to change into warmer clothes and grab my tripod and camera. 4:35 I am back on the road. 4:41 is nigh and I am 12 minutes from my Dock Road spot. A little math and we sit with a 4:47 ETA for a 4:41 sunset. It was a this point I knew I made a mistake. I even tweeted as much. The clouds seemed thicker than ever and hot power vinyasa already flowing. I would lose out on sunset and exercise. On I drove to Cedar Run Dock Road catching 5 red lights along the way—also known as every single one.
4:43 I turn onto Dock Road heading southeast. In my rear view I notice some light red and pinks beginning to spread along the westward horizon. As I continue to drive it continues to grow. By the time I hit my spot at 4:47 near on half the sky was on fire. The game was afoot. I had chosen poorly in thinking I had chosen poorly.
90% of photography is being there, and this timeline of unextraordinary events encapsulates said maxim well. Nature’s brush was putting in all kinds of work, as it has all week, and I had but to stand there pressing button. A photographers’ work made easy with a red sky alight.
Take camera and lens. Set yourself a suitable focal length. (35mm demonstrated here.) Stand astride the salt marsh feet shoulder width apart. Pretend you’re the Colossus of Rhodes. Wait for sunset. As you depress the shutter, pan side-to-side in a smooth, steady motion—left to right is my go-to; sluggish shutter speeds work best. (I’m rolling with a lolling 1/13 of a second on my shutter in the photo above.)
Follow the steps outlined above and a blurred photo will zero and one its way onto your memory card. And if you’re somehow still reading you may be wondering why written steps to produce an out of focus photo is a thing—let alone a purposeful one. Enter the subjectivity of the three letter word that starts with A—art. I may be an n of one but I do love me some motion blur by design in photographs. If you have been following this blog over the years you may now recall seeing a few photographs cut from this cloth.
So what’s the rub? For me it is simple: executing intentional motion blur gets the viewer to the heart of an image. It cuts away the sharp focus, high resolution detail that can clutter and shroud the soul of a photograph. With forced motion blur we deconstruct down to basic movement, color, tone, and form. This allows the image to land on each viewer on a conscious level. Expectation breaks down and the photograph can exist as it is with no preconceived notions.
Of course even with sharp focus tabled for another day we still know exactly what we are viewing. The elements of the photo are clearly discerned as we look upon a salt marsh at sunset with clouds, tide pools, and grasses. Who needs sharp focus when a little bit of motion helps us see clear?
Great Bay Boulevard has sat out of the rotation for far too long. This photograph, made in late September, was my first shot made at Seven Bridges Road (GBB’s other name) since February. Great Bay Boulevard is like Cedar Run Dock Road with a multiplier. It is southern New Jersey marsh life writ large. The marsh extends for miles in all directions, at times leaving the observer with a solemn feeling of stark isolation. The road doglegs to the southwest running out the miles over several small wooden bridges. Alternating one way traffic is the order of the day in spots, minded by lonesome traffic light sentinels, adding to the area’s sense of place. It is splendid.
Specific to the photograph above I went about my business a bit different than usual. Using my 14mm wide angle lens I executed a shallow depth of field exposure, sitting wide open at f/2.8. This is a tactic I typically reserve for my 35mm and 100mm lenses. With wide angle work I lock into hyperfocal distance to capture sharpness throughout the entire depth of the image. This is born out in the hundreds of the wide angle sunset photographs I have published.
The remnant piece of wood, worn and eroded, marking the foreground, caught my eye. Its coloration, weathering, and grain draws the eye, and with some decent sunset light I wanted to make it the focus of the photograph. So with an open aperture I got down low, keeping the camera no higher than three inches of the ground, and worked some frames. Originally I deployed a western exposure, straight out into the sunset. Then I spied the telephone pole off to the south set over my left shoulder. I split the difference with a south-western exposure brining the pole into the frame. The shallow depth of field and off focus casting the pole in diffuse symbolism.
Photographs capture scenes to convey narrative in a visual medium. The story can be simple and straightforward, or it can mask in layers to tell multifaceted stories. It allows the viewer to imprint their own stories shaded by beliefs and experiences to connect in a personal way. This is the beauty of photographic storytelling.
Here the telephone pole will appear to some as a cross looking down upon a weathered wooden relic. An aged grained wood with a prominent knotted eye looking deep into the viewer under the auspices of Golgotha. There will be an obvious religious connection for many while others will absorb this motif in a different way. Both are correct and neither wrong. Here is the magic of imagery.
A New Year awaited as past lives spiraled inexorably down the drain. As unmovable as gravity, depression moves for no man, nor stops with force of will alone. Not even a calendar’s turn holds sway. It was 2012, and I was in trouble.
January 1, 2012, happenstance found me on a crisp sunny afternoon wandering listlessly about the beaches of Holgate—along the narrow shores of Long Beach Island’s southernmost tip. With me was a camera, an old DSLR I purchased from a friend’s brother in 2008, a device I had no business using. The camera had lain dormant for years, finding predictable disuse under the disregarded ownership of a man who bounced from one hobby to the next, dropping each like a bad habit. I was that man, and yet the camera was somehow with me.
Lost, I drifted the shore break. With winter sun on my face tottered along shifting from fits of inconsolable sadness to long periods without emotion. Occasionally pressing the shutter. As far as photographs went I had no clue what I was doing; no concept of aperture, shutter speed, focal length, or exposure. Sure, from my painting and drawing days I had a sense of composition, but any and all training stopped there. Making photographs was foreign to me. So, too, was happiness.
Spinning in this dance of pain and silence I brooded over the past. Afraid for the future I dwelled on what was, what might have been, and what certainly never would be. Entering my 30th year I was no stranger to dark turns. I had already experienced three long bouts of depression over the years but my latest malevolent spell was different. This felt even less controlled, less certain, and far more insidious.
Depression is less. It is less of everything. Less joy. Less worth. Less excitement. Less hope. Passions that once burned hot turned to ashes in my mouth leaving behind a charred taste of disgust—if only I could still taste as I once had.
Yet for some reason I kept pressing that damn shutter. Click. Click. Click. Eventually I ambled upon a clamshell. It was a large sort plucked up in the sand, buried barely enough to support its weight upright. This looks, uh, interesting, I thought. Ignorant to golden hour at that point, it was the rich yellow light casting the “interesting” glow upon the shell. Belly down and elbows up on the sand I pressed the autofocus and clicked. Click. Click. Click.
Backing my index finger off the shutter I continued to lay, splayed out face down in the sand. Should I stay here? Maybe I’ll just cry here? What am I even doing here? To hell with this life I’m drawn through like a prisoner in chains. But what are my crimes? Is a malfunctioning brain all it takes to condemn a man? Covered in sand and self-loathing I rolled and I sat. It’s time for these manacles to drag me home.
Depression is less but it is also more. More loathing. More pain. More sadness. More discomfort. It’s a paradox impervious to logic. The firm ground of reason is but loose sand eroded by a surging tide of emotion. How long will the waters rage? Will the seas subside or has the sea itself risen to this new, turbulent normal? Will I even get my head back above water to know?
Hours later happenstance struck again. A friend reached out to let me know she and a few friends were planning a 365 photo project throughout 2012. She explained the rules—each day participants would upload a photograph to Google+ and tag it. We’d go around +1’ing each other and everyone would feel great, except me of course; “feeling” great wasn’t an option. But hey, I was out “taking” pictures that day. I would try this for what would inevitably be two weeks—max—before giving up and retreating to my dungeon of despair. Why not? I responded. Why not? I grew up scoffing at photography. Besides, I suck at taking pictures, and I loathe doing things I am not good at so this seemed an ideal irrational fit. This was the conversation lobbing salvos in my head. Illogically, I said yes.
Two weeks went by. Two weeks of terrible photos. Two weeks of terrible feelings. Somehow it wasn’t all bad, even if I couldn’t feel it at the time. I was interacting with new people online, and they offered supportive commentary on my photos such as they were. I was in no place to accept the feedback, but I at least understood the purpose of a compliment—if only in the abstract. And yet, I was still clicking. Click. Click. Click.
Depression is more but it is also unknown. Unknown future. Unknown depths. Unknown self. Where is this darkness taking me? Who will I be when I get there? Hell, what will I even be when I get there? Will I call out for help? Will I be too weak? Will I see what’s right in front of me?
Six months into 2012 and I was still clicking. Click. Click. Click. About 10,000 images into the photo project, into the unknown, and my photographs were… improving? Am I starting to enjoy this? Do I have a future here? The creative outlet I’ve long craved? Can this new habit continue? Can I make landscapes to show off the beauty I’ve always known but have somehow forgotten about? Can I visually communicate the underrated beauty of southeastern New Jersey? Can I show off its coastal ways, marshlands, and pine land forests for others to know and love? Can I feel again? Can I dream again? Can I hope again? Can I be a better me again?
Depression is unknown but it is also knows defeat. Click. Click. Click.
Author’s Note:Asked to write an article for the beta issue of Break Zine back in 2017, I am sharing my article here in honor of 2019 World Mental Health Day. I have made edits to grammar and style but the spirit remains the same. As it was when Dawn and Pete asked me to share in their creative endeavor, I felt it was important to share my own struggle with depression. I want to play at least a small part to break the stigma and help others step out from the dark. You do not have to suffer alone, and it is OK and brave and wonderful to reach out for help.
Slow Way Round — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 0.3 sec
The pastel sunset theme carries on. Fitting I wrap September 2019’s photo bracket with one last cotton candy salt marsh burner. Here we are looking east over Cedar Run Dock Road marsh at sunset. Painted skies marked in all directions, coloring up in dashing pink tones any cloud floating about a fading blue sky. Not much to do except drift off and absorb the glow. Body, mind, and soul all lifted into righteous accord in the halls of nature.
Musings:
From the video game font: Currently playing Link’s Awakening for Nintendo Switch. Outstanding. Never having played the original Game Boy nor its DX color version, this is a brand new Legend of Zelda experience for me. This coming on the heels of Hollow Knight, which was astounding. (Played on PS4.) Next up I plan to tackle Ori and the Blind Forest on Switch. Fun times.
Had my first real virtual reality headset test run this week. Spent about an arrow with Oculus. Something as simple as tossing paper airplanes in the opening tutorial was astounding. This was the most profound tech experience I have experienced in decades. Hard to imagine virtual reality becoming anything other than a dominating force in our daily lives. But at what cost to the human experience?
2019 MLB Playoff baseball is here. The Yankees kick of the ALDS against the Twins on Friday, and I am pumped. Apologies in advance to my twitter feed. U feel good about this season though I have a gnawing worry about regression. The Yanks have handled their business against the Twins for the better part of two decades. If you believe in due, at some point the worm will turn. #YankeesOnly
Speaking of due: I want big snows at the New Jersey coast this year. Several blasts. I willing own this unpopular opinion. I’ll try to make good photographs at least.
A few days past I wrapped up 1984, and I am currently in the early stages of Catch-22. The former was a gut punch and so far the latter is cynicism dredged in sarcasm fried in satire and seasoned with irony at medium to high heat. I reckon this is Heller’s intention.
Late September — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Had you set about the salt marsh to draw up a sunset on a late September evening in the mid-Atlantic it ought look like this. Bronzed rust tones overtaking once green grasses in a slow, albeit determined race toward inevitability. Above you rainbow pastels are strewn and pulled into a never repeating gossamer stretched about the sky. All backlit by a rich clear blue heralding the return of stiff northern winds. Cold weather is coming, best to enjoy these last few weeks of comfortable temperatures before the drive toward darkness sets in anchored with the bitter bite of cold.
September is a solid month for sunsets. I hypothesize it has a higher degree of quality sunsets than most other months—the summer months at least. I have yet to verify with my own archives, but it feels this way. They all have this kind of color scheme and pastel cloud combination as photographed here. Of course, recency bias may be undermining better judgement since we are coming off about a week or so of this kind of sunset. If i am right, I wonder what drives this trend? Seasonal change? Angle and position of the sun? Something else entirely?
Despite temperatures a shade below room temperature while I was shooting, I could feel the wind driving colder air and drying out my face. A reminder winter approaches.
Seeing the marsh transition to brown always is bitter sweet. On the one hand the lush days of a vibrant green landscape are over, while on the other hand, the promise of superlative winter sunsets with a peculiar color palette draws near.
I was able to capture quality photographs three out of the last seven days. It has been a long while since I had a run like this. (See also recency bias in bullet one.)
I miss editing photos on a spacious 27″ iMac. Major first world problem, I know, but I do miss it. The added real estate brought me so much closer to my own work. Working on a laptop these past few years has left me feeling somehow disconnected to my art. A good craftsman ought not blame his tools but is it so wrong to miss them?
Stillness. Calm quiet. Pausing chaos. A tranquility tonic serving up restoration to all who imbibe. Bartender care to fix another?
The evening approaches and cotton candy clouds thread across the sky. Pastels dance upon the strings. Stoic marsh grasses stand tall while glass calm waters reflect back the sunset tableau as would a mirror.
When the marsh takes quiet my world slows down. My anxieties made void in the deadened wind; a resolved peace reflected back in still waters unmoved by nervous energy. Here I seek shelter. Here I find welcome. Here I learn amity. Set upon hushed grasses I hear silence surround me. Anxiety, outflanked by the power of tranquility, falls silent before the still tones of peace.
Wisps of Fate — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
A rough seven days it has been. Long hours, careless mistakes, inattention, and stress all smothered in a shroud of anxiety addled uncertainty. A zero out of 10. Let us not do this again.
Then I come to Dock Road, and I remember. Reminded of the beauty of the natural world I remember there is more to life than our failures and anxieties. We are not the embodiment of our worst selves. We are the light that burns manifold colors over the serene stillness of the life giving marsh.
