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.
A Farewell to Flowers — 100mm | f/3.5 | ISO 400 | EXP 1/160
Some pink to delight. A touch of green to soothe. An easy beige to calm. A spread of brown to hasten. Fall is upon us as much as this colorful bouquet would show otherwise. If looks could deceive this quick fire hydrangea would take a bow in the starring role.
Come spring this bush blooms plain enough. Simple white flowers open up, as unassuming as they are unremarkable. Over the next few months playing host to a litany of eager pollinators. As the days turn to weeks and the weeks turn to months, a most curious transition occurs. Once simple white flowers transition into a colorful panoply of pastel beauty. A shield device painted by the unseen hands of the master power. By late fall the color sets in a striking kaleidoscopic array. One last reserve serried up in full regalia ready to wage one last battle of life before winter takes the war. And winter always takes the war.
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.
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.
The Small Blue — 100mm | f/3.5 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/500
Editor’s note: [July 29, 2017] This is not a small blue butterfly. It is an eastern tailed blue butterfly. It’s the small thin tail that earns this distinction. Shout-out to Dave Blinder who coincidentally posted a shot of an eastern tailed blue on his Instagram today thus unveiling my error. It’s always good to learn something new. I’m keeping the title as is—it’s still a blue butterfly small in size.
A favorite bug friend came to feast upon a favorite flower. Macro serendipity multiplied. It’s been years since I’ve photographed a small blue butterfly. (Note: This is not a small blue) So you can imagine my happiness when I spied it doing its nectar thing atop a purple coneflower.
Outside with my gear I got to work making photos. Pleased the dive bombing carpenter bee that was harassing the silver-spotted skipper earlier had left its post, the little small blue eastern tailed blue was able to feast unmolested. While small this little fella packed plenty of courage. He paid me no mind as it drank about the coneflower, dexterously darting its tongue amid the orange spires. With notable discipline the small blue eastern tailed blue worked clockwise about the coneflower stamen at a steady pace. The predictable clockwork fashion aided my shooting. I was able to get close and anticipate its maneuvering with ease.
From here I worked the full midday sun into advantage. It afforded fast shutter speeds to aid handheld sharpness. More beneficial, it infused the exposure with strong contrast. This creates the deep blue-black behind the small blue and amplifies the dramatic streak of highlight running atop the edge of its wings. Lending a theater quality that might shine upon the actor during her soliloquy. The small blue eastern tailed blue muse was not lost on me.
I made the most of strong midday sun and an anxious butterfly battling for a sip. While I may have contributed to this silver-spotted skipper’s general unease, to be sure it was a dive bombing carpenter bee who proved the true villain. Selfish to the last this boring bee, not content with undermining wooden structures, also suffers from an insatiable need to dominate the local plant life as well. Unprovoked harassment aside, the skittish butterfly proved tenacious and drank surreptitiously upon a purple coneflower nectar in fits and starts.
As the drama unfold I remained the steadfast dispassionate observer. Channeling my best, albeit deficient, Sir David Attenborough, I permitted nature’s battle unmolested. Instead of meddling in the travails of bugs I sat back with my 100mmmacro lens and popped off exposures. I worked close and fast relying on handheld work to make my frames.
Five minutes feel about 20 when you’re front and center with nature. Time dilation further magnifies when viewed in macro. Tunneling focus sets in as your whole world collapses down to lens physics making large of the small. It’s as if descending into an enlarged world of minutia brings with it a slower perception of time, reinforcing its relative nature. It is not without other lessons. The speed of the big world evaporates. The worry over text messages, tweet storms, and emails that need answering two minutes before receipt fades in full. It’s as if nature is trying to tell those who will see what does indeed matter.
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.
