So I made this spirea photograph on May 11, 2018, and here I am blogging it up on June 22. Six weeks later is been than forever weeks later, right? Right!?
Last spring I made a spirea photo which served as a source of pride. I even printed, matted, and signed a few for Makers Fest, and it looked wonderful on photo paper. With a stout bloom thanks to ample rain, I was keen to get back in there to see I could conjure this year.
In this photograph I am executing soft focus and bokeh. Allowing the frame to sit largely out of focus. A pronounced shallow depth of field brings a sliver of sharpness on two narrow planes moving diagonally from left to right across the frame. Falling off in either direction, the spirea blossoms and its lush leaves fade quickly from focus, drifting off to whimsy. This lends a fantasy quality to the image. I can imagine faeries tucking away a touch out of sight, using esoteric magic to float clear from focus. Their secret hides in the bokeh. Drifting out of range of prying eyes and surreptitious lenses.
Wisteria in Black and White — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/500
Those who have been following along for a while may note I don’t go in for straightforward photo titles. A literal labeler I am not. Yet here I am breaking my own rules with a boring name. Sometimes it is what it is; I beg you allow me this exception.
This photograph has several notable attributes that excite my artistic sensibility. It’s black and white. It presents a strong visual contrast between light and dark. Wisteria blossoms are its primary feature. There is a strong allotment of negative space gives all the elements room to breathe. And finally an abstraction blurs enough of the frame to call the mind to parse out what it thinks it sees.
I recognize this is a far departure from my colorful landscapes. Sometimes we need to put away the calling cards and dial up our passions even if they are less mainstream. It’s the cryptic and weird that makes me feel more creative. So scratch that artistic itch sometimes and be not concerned with Instagram likes. Portraying less concrete subjects in a presentation falling outside perceived norms is art. Art as an end in and of itself free of any other expectation. So get out there and get weird.
Soft gold lingers. Midas’ hand set gently upon wine dark leaves. A ruddy remnant of the enchanted wood. The familiar maple stands firm. A trusted friend with a gift for listening. Relieved and uplifted at once you sit beneath its boughs. Evening light touches down on tired shoulders, lending patience, love, and support. Through a connection that dives beyond words and conscience thought the maple hears. A knowing companion free from judgement and avarice. Another year older, another year stronger it stands ready to see you higher than ever before. Your friend grows strong beside you. Its sinew working into your bones grafting its fortitude within you.
You have learnt much from this tree. A guiding hand of steady silence year upon year. An living monument to patience and strength. Shared with each storm and gale, lessons of flexibility and acceptance transfer. The tree knows how to weather the worst. How best to take it head on, branches open, free of tension and fear. Only when the driving winds have passed are you left with a stronger, healthier tree. Forged by nature, shaped and hardened for more. This is the teaching it passes on to you. It is when you gaze upon soft golden light suffusing its ruddy aura you remember.
Daffodil Will — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/8000
The pivot to spring you ask? More like the rusted cog seized in refusal to spin up spring. Mother Nature, have you no oil can? Have you no mercy? Despite a brief touch of warmth we have been summarily dismissed to low 40s, gloom, and biting winds. Winter in the Mid-Atlantic battles on. Another year, another backloaded winter. It’s a back door cold front the did us in this time. Further freezing seasonal gears in their ruddy place.
But never doubt the will daffodils. They are rocking in full shine. Sure they made headway two to three weeks later than usual, but in yesterday’s 70s they splayed in full glory. Crocus, hyacinth, and daffodils serve as standard bearers of spring. The first to push through and remind us warmer climes lay in wait.
It’s with fair certainty I’ve made an iteration of this daffodil photograph since 2012. It’s an exciting reminder that flowers are back and it never gets old. I talk often about revisiting photographs. I maintain it is good practice. No matter how similar, no two photographs are ever the same. So make them over and over again. The world is fluid and the arrow of time forever points forward. We’re always changing, aging, moving. The same is never the same—so capture those moments and lock away the moment. Now if you don’t mind I am off to don my winter coat and gripe more about things I cannot control.
New Jersey is welcoming spring with a fresh coating of snow, sleet, and ice. The weather is suboptimal for anyone other than the most ardent of winter lovers. This simple photograph sums up the disjointed situation best. Winter, spring, summer, and fall in one head scratching tableau. We’ve got tiger lilies pushing up the greenery calling us to spring and summer. An old, spotted oak life carries us back to fall. This all set upon a fresh blanket of snow and ice anchoring us to a wintry fate refusing to ebb. It’s all here, an entire year in a single 35mm camera frame.
Cold Movement — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/100
I’ve been listening to Walter Isaacson’s, Leonardo Da Vinci, on Audible. While I haven’t enjoyed it as much as his biographies on Steve Jobs, Albert Einstein, and Benjamin Franklin, I find I am connect more though Walter’s latest work. Being something of an interdisciplinary and a procrastinator there is a resonance with the famous Florentine. While at only a fraction of a percent on Leonardo’s scale I, too, have a wide array of interests powered by curiosity. A Jack-of-all-trades I want to know a little something about as many things as possible. Of course Leonardo took this to a mind-boggling level; a Leonardo-of-all-trades and the master of all. He stands as the pinnacle Renaissance Man, even if he left most of his work unfinished or unpublished. Of course, he was more interested in pursing art, mathematics, engineering, optics, fluid dynamics, and stage craft to acquire knowledge for its own sake. He was less concerned with finishing things and reaping external rewards that motivate many of us.
Much of Isaacson’s biography covers Leonardo’s work as a painter. While I was a mediocre and frustrated painter at best who never enjoyed the practice, these chapters have sparked connection to my photography. Isaacson tells us Leonardo was a master of movement in his works. He instructs us that a work should not capture a moment as frozen and rigid. Instead it is necessary to convey what was happening one moment ago in the past transitioning to what will happen in the next moment in the future. This fundamental cornerstone built an emotional and narrative quality in Leonardo’s work. He wrote about its importance many times across the decades in his famous notebooks.
Taking this maxim from the preeminent Renaissance master has me thinking I would do well to incorporate movement into my own work. I want to create photography that flows from one moment into the next. Better this than a stale image, emotionless and locked in time. In a weird way, armed with Leonardo’s thoughts on the matter, I can picture him judging my work with cutting critique. In this way I want to be sure I it will pass muster.
Last night on the marsh I had my first chance at capturing movement under the auspices of Maestro. The first arctic air mass of the year arrived in New Jersey yesterday. With it a biting north west wind to serve as wake up call that winter is coming. The sky was cast with a deep orange-purple glow that only shows when a serious winter trough swings through. Set to this dreamy backdrop, invasive phragmites bent low before the stiff breeze; bowing in unified motion under the power of wind. Here was my chance at movement. Using my 35mm lens, soft focus, and a hint of blur the viewer can imagine where the phragmites were a glimpse prior. Now compare that with where they will be in the next eye blink. The movement brings action and reality to an otherwise still looking scene. This better conveys the cold, windy, unsettled reality on the marsh last night. This stands in narrative opposition to what could otherwise look like a placid blue hour on the marsh.
I present my new partner in crime. Daisy “Chain” Cat. She’s a Maine Coon cat loaded down with fluff and stuff enveloping a pronounced air of dignity. When she’s not traipsing to and fro from food bowl to litter box she’s setting up shop on a comfy bit of furniture near you.
Daisy is my first pet. The first I can call my own. I grew up with cats and dogs—dogs mostly—but I never had one under my own care. Since my grandmother moved out of my house I have been living along full time since the summer of 2011. Guys, let me tell you, the years of talking to myself has grown stale.
Enter Daisy, my co-conspirator in indolence and shag floor lounging. She likes to hang and laughs at my poor jokes—OK, she doesn’t laugh so much as offer disgusted blank stares. This black and white photo doesn’t serve justice to her robust mane of hair. And it’s not reserved to her mane, she’s loaded with hair—everywhere.
Daisy comes to me as a middle-aged dowager feline. Rounding out her back nine I have welcomed her into my home. I will do my best to offer a relaxing, if not glorious retirement. She gets the peace and quiet—dumb jokes aside—she has long sought, and I get a buddy to disrupt my decade of solitude. As an added bonus I now have a ready-made photo subject. Though she has yet proved disposed to the task.
Last Saturday I took part in Fun(d) the Foundation. For the second year running and with Weather NJ playing host, volunteers cobbled together a fundraising soirée. The proceeds will benefit Long Beach Island Foundation of the Arts and Sciences. The evening featured a curated buffet of local fare provided by several local eateries. It was a robust spread anchored by scallops fresh off the boat. (Shout-out to Dan Molyneux for the killer recipe.) Many thanks to all who donated sponsorship, art, food, time, and patronage. The evening would not have happened without your support.
Once I was able to break away from the grill I manned my station as photographer. A rather poor performance on my part left me flustered at the grill plates for the better half of the evening. If you loathed the chicken satay you have me to thank. Eager to move on dot org from my cooking failure I was glad to take up the camera. Even though I am lost when photographing people.
By this point everyone was well sated and back to imbibing spirited beverages. The audience fell quiet before the young and talented Sahara Moon. This singer-songwriter of a most excellent folksy bent has carved out a well deserved reputation. Sahara Moon is ours, south Jersey, and we are all the better for it. She took to the stage and plucked skillful covers and soulful originals, crooning the night away. It set an ideal stage to a subdued and classy evening.
As the night drew to a close and Sahara was about to set down her Martin Guitar, Gordon Woolley shocked us all. With superb showmanship he bound to the stage and thus produced a harmonica from his pocket. With perfect timing, two strangers book ending two generations worked a sublime duet. The only thing that called into question the spontaneity of the moment was how well the two performers merged. It was as though they had rehearsed this little number several times beforehand. Swept away, the crowd swooned. It was the perfect finish to a wonderful night—all grills aside.
Yes this was published on a Monday, but yesterday when I was making what I’m ready to declare my best series of flower photographs in years was in fact a Sunday. I have it on good authority that not only is Sunday is a day that ends in ‘Y,’ it always precedes a Monday. Allegedly. But don’t take it from me and always check your sources.
My title is an exercise in layers. At the surface is a shot out to Trey Ratcliff and the eponymous Lightroom preset, Sunday Alone. Next, and as already worked over in paragraph one, I made this photo on a Sunday. As it so happens on a Sunday I was feeling particularly alone. I assure you the pairing of chosen filter and said mood was one of pure coincidence. The last layer is not without a touch of irony—the Black-eyed Susans pictured here are hardly alone. This is a thriving bloom of eager and lively coneflowers packed together in close quarters. Since Saturday I’ve been in full swoon when I first noticed this rudbeckia variety aside my parents’ walkway. I see you Saturday, coming before Sunday like you’re all that. Alone on a Sunday as I may have been, these flowers are serving up a healthy dose of joy.
I proclaimed at the outset that yesterday, a so-called “Sunday,” was my best flower photo shoot in years. With any luck you’ll feel the same as I am going to be posting at least three more photos—though more are likely. Most will be more compositions of Black-eyed Susans, but there will be at least one hostamacro in here.
Shout out to Sassafras Hill Farm for coming through with the identification on the rudbeckia so praised here.
