I took fifteen shots tonight. This was the first. Taken blind from an outstretched arm dangling inches from the ground. Sometimes it works out that way.
Other than purposefully taking this shot wide open it was a crap shoot; a hopeful aim in a general direction—in this case at marsh grass backed-up by the setting sun. I’d say this was a nice change of piece to my usual sunset routine.
Wherever possible I try to get my photos on the computer and processed with little time wasted. Doing so closes out my mental workflow. In a relatively short period of time I’m able to produce something tangible (digitally speaking) to share with you. I, in turn, get to let go and immediately transition my brain to the next shot. Photography is liberating in this way: I build an online archive to record my evolution, quite literally storing the past, to do my remembering for me. Perhaps it’s not without irony that this virtual memory bank releases me to quickly and naturally forget. My past work goes out with the old—paving the way for the new. To chasing the better shot. To knowing I have to be there, at all times, ready to shoot, over and over again; committed to waiting out that perfect light I’ve been chasing for years. Anticipating that future pay-off is what drives this passion of mine. Pushing me ever forward with my craft.
How does this relate to this shot? This is a holdover from last week. Taken on the Eleventh of September. It’s hung with me for a while. I attended my cousin’s wedding (a lovely affair) this weekend, and with the travel schedule this post went by the wayside. Thinking back to that day last week, 9/11, I did my best to reconcile this day. Its meaning. The mighty weight that comes with it. It’s an open wound for us all, and a thousand fold for all our brothers and sisters directly affected.
It’s impossible to find words, at least for me, that do any justice with respect to that day. The best I can do is continue to hope the world manages to find its way and work toward a more perfect future. One where future generations can look back with incredulity at how petty our differences once were. In the meantime, all the best forever and always to the victims, first responders, and family and friends to all who were dealt such senseless wrath.
I arrived home from the foothills of eastern Pennsylvania stretched and worn. Bettered but battered after a long weekend celebrating my cousin’s pending nuptials. A good yet exhaustive time was had by all.
Leaving the cousin’s shiny new F-150 my mind clung to the imminent hopes of a hot shower and a nap—here it is, victory. Or so I thought. Immediately out the truck I noticed 1) my sedum have finally blossomed, and 2) a butterfly had finally come to rest on one my flowers. I’d seriously been waiting all season for this.
With the shower and nap plan on hiatus I grabbed my gear and tried to get a capture. I only got off two shots before this common butterfly was scared away for good—my approach wasn’t exactly one of stealth—and neither of which were from a frontal perspective. Even still I connect with the story this image tells. One of time. The never ending story of the inescapable passage of all things. And somewhere out there is the future we can’t quite see.
After an afternoon palling around with Jon and cousin Dan—a jaunt that included a surprise bridal shower drop-off, some tasty burgers, cigars and some bayside Weiβe bier Quelle style—we made our way to Sunset Park in Surf City, New Jersey, for sunset. The place was happening (always nice to see); young and old, Long Beach Island revelers were out in force to pay homage as we spin from the sun.
Looking back it wasn’t the most spectacular of sunsets, however there was such a subtle late summer calm to the whole scene. Using the park bench in the foreground speaks the perfect narrative for a shore community and a landscape that has brought such great memories to so many. As we prepare to say goodbye to another summer we can’t forget to stop, breathe, take it all in and sit for a moment.
See that tree over there? The sparse one to the left rising up and all alone? Good. I couldn’t stop seeing it either. Everywhere I walked yesterday that quiet, unassuming tree kept reaching out for my attention—intimating its desire to be seen but never at the expense of being the center of attention. It carried a quiet confidence, overcoming its superficial loneliness; with each passing moment I became more and more convinced this tree was perfectly happy with its existence, with its place—hiding in plain sight. I as much as anyone can appreciate that.
Follow the plan, they said.
Don’t break the rules, they said.
Welp. Here I am. Breaker of Rules. Destroyer of Conventional Wisdom. Over and over you’ll hear keep those horizons straight! and get those power lines out of there! And that’s all well and good. Rules exist for a reason. They keep us focused and give us a proven roadmap for success. So whether it’s the rule of thirds or don’t shoot in bad light—ahem, midday—we’re given useful constructs for our photography. And I appreciate that but sometimes you’ve just got to throw the rules out the window.
Just the other day I was chasing down a sunset at my usual Cedar Run Dock Road jaunt and could quickly tell it wasn’t going to materialize into much. Instead of setting up my tripod and stubbornly waiting for the color drama that would never be, I opted for the change-up and went old school handheld. Bugs be damned I was just going to have some fun photo walking for a few minutes. I began taking shots at odd angles using non-standard compositions. To remain off the beaten path I used Trey Ratcliffe’s Adobe Lightroom preset, The Navigator and rendered this post-apocalyptic look.
So get out there and shoot what you feel. Rules be damned, I dig it.
Sometimes you’ve just got to bust out the 40mm pancake lens, set the aperture wide open and let it rip. I was initially drawn out by some interesting storm clouds off to the west but my attention soon turned to my purple coneflowers just chilling in the moody twilight glow; ominous skies have a thing for casting unique light and it’s always worth paying attention to.
With a wide open aperture comes a shallow depth of field—an effect that has excited me since my earliest days of photography (when I first realized what the hell depth of field was and learned how to achieve it). You’re always going to trade-off sharpness and soft corners while wide open but based on your intent it may be just the look you’re going for. Such was the case here.
As an added ode to my 40, since I’ve added this little guy to my bag my 50mm has seen almost no action. I know photographers the world over laude the potential of the nifty fifty but I just never seem to shoot with it any more (as of this post no photos here have been taken with my 50mm). I’m just drawn to the smallness, convenience, and overall versatility of this cheap little pancake prime.
Today was a day for flower macro stress decompression. In between course testing while working from home I picked up the camera and made my rounds throughout the yard. Stopping at the daisies, tiger lilies, and finally my backyard honeysuckle. It didn’t bloom last year so I’m happy to report its blooms are at the ready and won’t be held down this summer. No sir.