Happy accidents are a thing. Bob Ross was right, because, well of course he was. Made on August 18, 2019, this photograph happened on your typical balmy late summer afternoon. Heat and humidity do wonderful things to camera and lens gear left napping within under cool, air conditioned climes. And by wonderful things I mean annoying, undesirable scientific reaction type things. Cool glass, you see, is want to put on a water condensation show and fog up with pride.
This is all rather bush-league on my part, having thought I learned better long ago. Even though the preflight checklist remains the same, a lazy oversight is bound to happen. Nevertheless, it was with fogged 100mmmacro lens in hand I made some soft, almost fantastical photos of a Black-eyed Susan in my front yard. Coupled with soft focus, shallow depth of field, and boatloads of bokeh, the ample fog sets us adrift. Unmoored, we slow down, detached from our present world invited into a softer, kinder land. There is possibility here, the rough edges worked out by soft and inviting flower petals. A warm touch from a welcoming hand, asking us to join in the splendor otherwise shrouded by clarity.
Until Next Season — 100mm | f/3.5 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/800
It is now September. This more or less puts a wrap on flower season for 2019. I have a few photographs from summer to publish here yet, but making new flower photos is all but done. Looking back on this summer’s flower shooting, I’m pleased with where I’m at. I spent more time with my 100mmmacro lens than I have in years, and made at least one photograph certain to make the 2019 best of list. I am hereby allowing myself a pat on the back.
Random musings:
The New York Giants defense is terrible; after one game in Dallas it seems we’re onto next season
The New York Yankees are good; a deep run of October baseball will be my football
I am currently listening to Mornings on Horseback on Audible; excited to learn more about Theodore Roosevelt
Did a run of Star Wars audiobooks before that (with The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy mixed in)—Thrawn: Treason, Master & Apprentice, and Dooku: Jedi Lost; all were excellent. With music, sound effects, strong production values, and expert narration, Star Wars novels lend themselves well to an audio format
Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night was a good video game
Hollow Knight is an exceptional video game—easily in my top 5 favorites of the past decade
The Mandalorian is going to be great; all in on space western sci-fi
Despite my disappoint with The Last Jedi, I am pumped for The Rise of Skywalker
Starting my fourth week of HelloFresh™, impressed and satisfied so far
Honey bees! Working, buzzing, collecting. Pollen clinging and clumping in large, impressive blobs stuck about their legs. Dutiful, the bees worked over one flower head after another, nonstop in their quest for pollen. They did not seem to mind my presence much, either. Showing no ill will toward my camera intrusion. Though getting tack sharp focus was not the easiest considering they never slow nor settle.
But seriously, I cannot believe I have honey bees. There must have been dozens milling about the flowers strewn about my property. I never remember seeing this many honey bees in an entire season, let alone on a single day, and I have been photographic my yard extensively since 2012. My little black and yellow buds were doing their best work on my other little black and yellow buds, my Black-eyed Susan blossoms. It was awesome to watch.
A solar eclipse is coming. You know this. On August 21, 2017, cutting a 70 mile wide swath that will stretch from Oregon to South Carolina our Sun will bow before the Moon. For those along its path totality will last less than three minutes. In less than a blink in the cosmic eye observers will see existence as never before; eyes wide, forever changed. The universe and their sense of place therein forever altered, perspective transcended.
Reflecting on this heavenly vision wonders sketch upon the corners of my mind. What a remarkable coincidence we humans care to observe. That in a moment our lone satellite orbits at perfect proportion. Passing through a gravitational sweet spot. An exacting position poised to blot our mother star with mathematical precision. A coincidence made more profound considering the Moon’s drift from Earth since its violent inception. Through the eons the Moon has been on a path outwards; as though adding length to the spinning lasso the mechanics of gravity are at work. We stand at right place at the right time to observe a perfect distance to size ratio rendering Sun and Moon as though identical in size. The incomprehensible unlikely hood that we are in the here and now, sentient and able to process is astounding.
I carry this reflection further by drifting back deeper into the past. My thought experiment settles on the effect this must have had on our species sans scientific enlightenment. This supernatural feat could only have been the work of the heavens. Powerful gods. Deities exerting their will to bring night where there was once day. Like the arrival of a comet observers must have cowered before ominous portents. As best they could the wise would convey esoteric messages upon their people to explain away the signs. Yet in our darkest periods there may not have been systems for any such explanation. At some point before oral histories passed this would pass as unique and terrifying event. What a time to be alive that we can observe this event and appreciate its machinations as they are. With humble understanding we are but a spec standing on a precipice of unbelievable timing and circumstance. Yet as it was in our more primitive past there remains so much we do not know. And so the eternal journey of waking continues.
In the Flower of My Youth — 100mm | f/3.5 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/320
The flower’s life moves with speed. Governed by uncontrollable forces from dust to dust it will rise, flourish, and whither. Rejoining to the earth bearing the wear of a life well lived. Brief as that life may be. At its height a culmination of beauty, strength, and vigor owns the spotlight magnifying the magnificence of life. Anchored by our frame of reference onlookers glimpse life for what it will be, is, or once was.
Ruminating upon my own flower this reality has come into particular, and ofttimes uncomfortable focus. Viewed against a litany of health problems experienced over the past 13 months I face the age of 35 at month’s end. Throwing into high gear the acuteness of transition from is to what once was. My youth is fallen from me. Torn from my fingers without even a moment to slip. Like all transitions change augurs uncomfortable truths. Yet facing the truth brings the necessary knowledge for the next step—the next triumph. Honor what once was and embrace what wisdom awaits.
Picked by You — 100mm | f/3.5 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/400
Oh beloved flower macro forever I hold dear. Time and again I’ve written about macro’s special place in my photographic journey. Were it not for my 100mm lens during 2012’s daily photo project I’m most positive I wouldn’t be the landscape photographer you know today. In truth, I wouldn’t be any kind of photographer today.
Specific credit must go to flowers. A legacy of my home’s previous owners—my parents—is an array of perennials the liven up the property from April through October. Cutting my teeth in 2012, flowers, beautiful and without judgment offered an approachable muse for this shy shooter. Allowed to hone my posture, technique, and stillness I took to handheld macro shooting with some dexterity. Learning to depress the shutter between breathes as becoming an able marksman.
From there I built upon composition principles. Applying the rule of thirds, maintaining balance and symmetry in my frames. It was during this nascent stage my eyes opened to the mechanics of bokeh and depth of field. Once oblivious I had no idea lenses produced areas of non-focus in such an appealing manner. Taken by this effect with earnest, I’ve been an advocate of open apertures for my entire body of non landscape work ever since. I even made a connection to my adolescence as a struggling painter. In all my works I tried to paint all aspects of the composition with perfect rigid detail. Had I eased and let non essential portions blur focus I would have brought more attention to the subjects that mattered. This is vital in portraiture or a still life that features a key subject—akin to the flower above. It’s remarkable to learn your lesson over a decade later from little expected places.
To come full circle I made this photograph at my parents’ new house. Ensconced yet again by a rich array of perennials. Here it was a breed of Black-eyed Susans that called to my camera and me. You may recall I published one photograph already from the batch of photographs I made last Sunday. I was glad to dust off my 100mm macro lens to revisit from whence I came.
Editor’s note: Shout-out to everyone on Instagram and Snapchat who came to my aid. You helped me decided between color and black and white for this photograph. This title is a hat-tip to you. More news: I published a column for Breaker Zine’s debut Beta Issue and my article is now online. If you enjoy reading about how I got started with photography be sure to check it out. Thanks!
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.
It’s funny how the mind recognizes patterns and builds associations. You’ll see, smell, or touch a thing and, boom, the mind’s eye reflexively retrieves a memory. Anytime my macro lens and I get low to go side-on with daisies or coneflowers familiar MIDI sounds of my youth start humming, and my brain renders a primordial 8-bit Mario jumping from mushroom platform to mushroom platform. You know? These guys. So here I am transforming an innocuous Black-eyed Susan chilling in my front yard into the digital joy of my youth; smooth, clean flower petal edges become jagged lines of a pixelated past. Brains, man.
How about you? Have any examples of when you see (smell or touch) a thing, and your mind works naturally to retrieve another?
Your Moment in the Sun — 100mm | f/4 | ISO 400 | EXP 1/2500
Most always when shooting macro I rely on the camera’s autofocus system to home in on a single point of focus of my choosing—within the camera’s autofocus grid selection, that is. But for this shot I switched over to full manual focus. The system was struggling to capture optimal sharpness of the fly—if anyone can identify said fly that would be great!—so I took matters into my own hands. Literally.
All factors were ideal for the making of this shot. Wind was no issue, keeping the Black-eyed Susan still; there was a happy little fly confident enough to sit motionless for well over a minute; and lastly, a lone sunbeam illuminating what otherwise was a bed of flowers slumbering in the shadows with a welcome dose of drama. Altogether creating one of those moments were all I had to do was steady the hands, take a deep breath, and depress the shutter before the exhale.
