Midas on the Marsh — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
What is it about gold? It’s beauty renown; it’s appeal universal. Coveted across cultures and throughout ages, gold transcends. An economist may chalk it up to scarcity. A philosopher may cite an intrinsic modality difficult for lesser minds to parse. An historian would describe it as a mechanism to transact both conquest, trade, and subjugation. While the artist muses on its form. A keen jeweler lauds its malleability and costly demand. The scientist matter of factly notes its place among the stars.
I like to think humanity has somehow known gold’s unique origin. An inbred sense of understanding its special creation. A creation that happens in the immediate aftermath of an exploding star. This is where the heavier metals come to be—the cauldron of a supernova factory. Through this gold shines through, connecting heaven and earth, culture and tribe, epoch and epoch. Whether in the search of avarice or beauty, gold calls to us all.
Come Again — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
No two sunsets are the same. It is known. Yet in my half decade of chasing light, either patterns, clouds or color often share a degree of similarity. Last night felt different. Driven by three distinct cloud decks, a high level layer of cirrus sat above low level clouds arrayed across most of the sky. Undercutting those two distinct cloud decks was a fast moving marine layer firing near ground level clouds westward off the ocean. Three levels, each moving in different directions at different speeds.
A three-tiered cloud deck isn’t something I happen on too often, yet on its own is not exactly uncommon. Helping to stage the rarer setting was the well spaced gaps marking the reticulated cloud pattern. I’ve done this enough times to know the sun wasn’t getting underneath this layer of clouds. Which is to say they were not going to color up thanks to an unworkable angle. However, the high cirrus deck exposed behind the breaks in the lower level clouds offered a backdrop that could color up vividly. And that’s exactly what happened. A sunset light show ignited high above a layer of clouds that could have otherwise sent me home without a shot.
It was not only timing and spacing working in my favor last night. Nature threw out another solid by working in hints of purple. Purple is the color I happen upon least in all my sunset expeditions—which is now well in the hundreds. I am certain there is a physical explanation for why purple shows itself least. Perhaps owing to having the shortest wavelength and highest frequency of all visible light? I don’t know. Regardless hints of it worked into last night’s palette. You can see where the pink pastels begin to fade back to a deeper violet hue. This is most visible toward the top of the photograph, in the center. It’s reflected in the tide pool marking the foreground.
All in all it was a great night shooting—one I want to come again.
Summer rode hard and fast. It was seldom visible. A blink or two and you missed it. August heeds the call to yield to September and the mercy of our fate turns toward fall. Year over year the pages of life’s daily calendar flip with increasing speed. Sure the pages tear easier yet its harder and harder to discard the time. Time we will never see again. It’s on this I reflect.
Every summer starts with grand designs. I’m going to carve more time for me. Get out on the water. Enjoy the beach. Clean up the house. Cultivate to the garden. Tend to my photography. Take some time off. Grand plans devolve to monotony and old habits. Work. Weekend obligations. Growing to-do list of chores. Traffic. Would be photographs going unmade. The annual dereliction of me—with plenty of sunshine to illuminate the fact.
Life stands now in opposition to the carefree childhood. A boyhood I cherish dear. Days never saw an end. Responsibilities were non-existent. It was a kaleidoscope of good friends, bike rides, swimming pools, rough-housing and sports. Throw in a vacation with the grandparents and plenty of backyard barbecues, too. For about a half-hour each evening the ice cream man owned the neighborhood. Long shadows doubled our party and seemed to linger with us for what felt like hours. With the flicker of lightning bugs came the close of the day. At the last the stars shone bright and sleep was the surest mechanism to bring about tomorrow. The morning would strike clean and bright and a quorum of friends would reunite. It was glorious.
The juxtaposition to 30-something missing all those things is stark. Yet as I said earlier it’s all time we are never to see again. So instead I am trying a new plan. I will go easier on myself. There is no reason to harp on past glory reminiscent of a Mark Twain yarn. Instead, I will let go of what I didn’t do this summer and focus on what comes next. For what comes next is the only sure thing we can change.
There and Back Again — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
A swollen tide with ease to lend Face kissed with salt the sweet scent friend. Your heart beats slow about an oxbow bend To the place you take there and back again.
And in the Evening — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Today is July 2, 2017, and I’d like to drop a historical nugget. Some eager beavers contented by their cache of fun facts (re: me) will care to remind you today is the actual anniversary of U.S. Independence. On July 2, 1776, the Second Continental Congress brought Richard Henry Lee’s motion to break with Britain to the floor for a vote. After several days of much cajoling, New York’s delegation finally acquiesced to abstain from the vote. This critical concession thus allowed unanimous passage of the resolution. Congress knew nothing less than a unified vote cast all in favor would carry the weight needed to bring the ensuing independence to pass. And so it went with a vote of 12-0 with New York agreeing to abstain.
While we all prepare to celebrate another Fourth of July Weekend, let us not lose sight of the momentous vote that took place on this day in 1776. Under the stewardship of brave men at the behest of their constituents this newborn nation embarked on the most consequential break in history. Thus casting the die for revolution and cradling the birth of a nation. I leave you with the words of John Adams, Massachusetts delegate and committee member for writing our Declaration of Independence:
The Second Day of July 1776, will be the most memorable Epocha, in the History of America.
I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more.
John Adams sure had the right of it—albeit two days early.
A Marsh Life — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Take a minute. Look upon this photograph. Absorb the green marsh grasses. Feel the blades as they crunch below your feet. Calm yourself as you take note of the sky mirrored below, bending motionless through the sedge as a silken veil masquerading in still water. Now look up to that sky. An explosion of color, texture, power and allure beckons you. A visual display worthy of only the most perfect of sun downs. Mesmerizing cloud shapes are comping coming and going, splayed and stacked to unknowable depth. Finally you find yourself sitting out back of your coastal marsh home. The perfect kind of place that through the travel of years has become an edifice to your very existence. Breathing deep the sweet salt air transposed by the cacophony of colored calm that’s so ensconced your very existent. Fleeting as this minute will be you will take this gift and cherish it as a brief moment in your most perfect existence.
The Life Spectrum — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Life has returned to the salt marsh. Sea birds eager to feed. Chasing down fish schools and insect hatches if not willing yet able to provide said feed. The salt scented breezes lend rhythm to sedge grasses reanimated with life. Few things stir the soul like the nascent green of marsh born anew. Fresh color courses with unmasked energy as the circle of life finds its zenith. Only then when paired with the golden hue of the late day sun does nature pull back the veil on life resplendent.
It was just so out on Dock Road yesterday. The culmination of light, life, and timing. A sublime joy found in the realization of a patient annual wait. For the next six weeks or so we’ll find refuge in the glory of the salt marsh come live.
Since Friday, March 3, I have spent far too much time playing in digital worlds. In a long awaited departure from the real world The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild has consumed me. Total entrenchment. I even bring real world proclivities to Hyrule. Whiling away the hours making landscape photographs during Hyrule’s luxurious sunsets. Dutifully documenting every being (friend or foe), item, weapon, and morsel of food. Even in make believe I am still meant to make photos. It’s almost as if Kyoto made the Sheikah Slate camera app for me alone.
It’d be wrong to call myself a gamer, but video games have been a part of my life since the 80s. As something of a Nintendo fanboy I’ve stayed close to my beloved Zelda, Mario, and Metroid franchises. Relishing in each installment. Jonesing in anticipation for each release. I’ve played some great games of the years, but few have grabbed me like this. And none this strong in over a decade. It’s something to find yourself at 34 head over heels in good old fashion escapism.
I put down the controller this weekend to do some actual adulting. Things like filing taxes, visiting a bierhalle, partaking of brunch, and watching the Yankees. It was a strange, albeit welcome change of pace. I even closed out the weekend visiting the old Dock Road stomping grounds. I made this photo at an oxbow section, a replicate of a shot I made last June. As for tonight? Well after a spot of dinner I’ll be dashing back to Hyrule for more photographs and conquest—there be Rito to find. May we meet upon the mountain, and may we dance upon the shore.
Join me if you will as we travel back through our internet time machine to revisit January 20, 2014. A rather cold day if I recall. Tonight I broke off from my normal photo workflow to take a stab at reprocessing an old shot from the early days of this website. It’s something I’ve never done before—up until now I have not looked back when it comes to my photography. And while I clearly remember my enthusiasm about this Dock Road photo back in the day, it has become clear to me over time that my processing game has improved. Eager to tone down the bombastic HDR I had thought I’d go ahead and apply my current techniques to make a better, more realistic image. Instead I found something even better.
Somehow I found this photo, which not only is stronger compositionally than its counterpart, it also has better colors igniting the sky. I mean just look at those purples. Before I even went about reprocessing the photo I went through all my online archives to see if I had posted this shot. I assumed it had to be online someplace. I even had this marked with five stars in Lightroom, something I rarely do. Yet everywhere I looked this shot didn’t show up. Inexplicably I missed it. Now, I had originally processed this photo using my old bad habits and that was sitting in Lightroom. Reborn I ran it through my current workflow to render this new found firestorm. What a pleasant find.
There are a few lessons to unpack here: 1) With enough practice you’re going to improve over time making it worth revisiting some old favorites you’ve already made; and 2) Sometimes, when we’re caught up in the moment of going through a day’s photographs we may overlook something. Don’t be afraid to retread and old crossing to see what treasures may be hiding in plain sight. One thing’s for sure, this has me wondering what other photographs I’ve “missed” over the years? Worthwhile shots left to sit around collecting digital dust bunnies in my Lightroom catalog. Of course sifting through tens of thousands of photographs isn’t exactly an afternoon’s work.
Something I am now chewing on is whether to revisit some old shots occasionally on this website. Perhaps start up a redux series? It wouldn’t be too often, but there are some images I’d like to take another crack at. Not to mention it can show how my work has evolved over the years. Besides, in looking through old folders I may uncover a few more gems that never saw the light of day.
