Working Class Hero — 100mm | f/4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/1250
Dutiful honey bee plying her trade. Drinking her nectar and loading her pollen basket, she works with intent. With energy and purpose she minds her craft. Even alone the hive is on the mind. Her community needs her; needs her singular focus to feed and to provide. To sustain the group. Bounding atop pistils by day, she works the land spending hours at the harvest. Undaunted she holds fast to her task. Mindfulness dams distraction. Even the focused lens of the observer matter little to our indefatigable worker bee. She need not pay us any mind—she strives for the hive.
As ever, thank you, John Lennon, for enriching our lives with joy. Thanks for your classic song connecting to this lyrically inspired photo. A working class hero is something to be(e).
Courage to Grow — 100mm | f/3.5 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/250
Challenges move as a summer wind. Storm clouds smoke to the horizon. Roiling cloud tops bubble and push to the sky, a fierce beacon girded in unyielding white. It makes a stark contrast to the gray underbelly paved in turmoil beneath. An archetype of the inevitable, the storm will rise. The gust front heralds its great coming. A flush of wind and the onslaught gale meets to the crack of thunder, our souls left scoured in the windswept rain. Life and land buckles, the seas pick up, and our world holds fast.
And then, as if in an instant, the power yields. The wind sits, the clouds break, and the late day sun works through, driving a shaft of light to chase off the din. Passed is the storm; subdued fear left in its wake. The world wakes up—resilient and renewed. Bathed in rich light all is brighter, thoughts are clearer with purpose resolving in sharp contrast. Our spirit tempered and charged. Battered by the storm and buttressed by a resolve before unknown, left purified in the waters of renewal we find the courage to grow.
On Dark Matters of Contrast — 100mm | f/3.5 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/50
Black, white, and all the shades of gray coloring the in between. Mix in a dash of soft focus and toss with a hit of certainty in a cauldron of abstraction and you have yourself a recipe for creation. While it may not jive with many folks, I love this kind of photograph; varied shades of grayscale values distilled down to abstract forms painting with light and movement.
In this photograph I am making creative use of daffodil stems. Photographed at close range, a distance of about 15 inches, with a 100mmmacro lens with an f/3.5 aperture. This arrangement allowed me to execute a shallow depth of field, juxtaposing the foreground of focused daffodil stems flowing free while rendering plenty of bokeh across the photo’s blurred background.
When I look upon this photo my mind sees the flowing movement of long grasses underwater. Submerged and swaying with the rush of the tide. It’s a balanced fluid motion, a soft rocking back and forth carrying us away to far off places. Relaxing spaces full of soft beds, kind hearts, and unbridled hope. Just because a thing is void of color does not mean it is void of life, energy, complexity, and passion. Let this be a lesson in all things.
A boy’s fascination runs deep. For as long as I can remember streetlight worship of steady snowfall has been a most welcomed seasonal companion. Growing up obsessed with snow I would eagerly strike days from the calendar in anticipation of winter weather. Winter was magic, and snow the tangible proof. Countless hours I’ve spent whiling away watching snowfall from any window that would have me. The daylight hours afforded easy, unobstructed viewing of my favorite weather. Come night fall, however, the snow scaled back to a more demure display. Hidden by darkness only in streetlight could I once again lay reassured eyes upon the flakes.
And so I would watch for hours on end, eyes focused sharply between finger wide gaps in the window blinds. No curtain was safe, no window dressing untouched as I bounced from window to window, streetlight to streetlight, maintaining an ever watchful eye on the falling snow. Mixed with the sense of wonder, small fits of worry would work in as I’d fret over the snow letting up. Inevitability taught me early what is good must always end, and so I took to my post with purpose in hopes to maximize as much snowfall watching as possible. Sensible adults would often chime in with raised brows noting I’d grow out of this first love with age and responsibility. Wait until you have to drive in it, they said. Wait until you have to shovel it, they said. First came the shoveling responsibilities, and I loved it—still do. Then came the driving responsibilities, and I loved it—still do. I suppose Miss Snowfall is a keeper, fickle as she may be.
All these memories came flooding back last night as I walked under the streetlight amidst a snow globe style snow squall. For 20 minutes my hometown was transformed into a convective array of heavy snowfall. Precipitation moved in and out just as a warm summer storm, but for a few minutes at least I was kid again standing tall at all those windowsills.
Tend Your Craft — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 160 | EXP 1/30
So this is how pots are made—or fired, anyway. Last night I dropped on by the old yacht club—Long Beach Island Foundation (not a yacht club). Ceramics lead guy and all around bearded fellow, Jeff Ruemeli, was working the soda kiln with an eager assistant whom I do not know well enough to use her name without permission. Over the next few hours I watched the taring of scales; encountered esoteric recipes as ingredients were weighed, measured, and mixed. Saw water boil—with my own eyes! Even listened to some Journey. Then there were (was?) the burritos. Not the edible kind which was a real bummer since I was hungry enough to eat a fist. Apparently after you mix all the powdered chemical ingredients with the boiling water you lump them out onto old newspaper and wrap them like burritos. Cool enough from a learning perspective; hardly satisfactory from a hunger perspective.
Once these machinations were complete I made for my trunk and grabbed my camera—also not edible. Behind LBIF we stood around the soda kiln in almost ritualized fashion. My mind turned to our ancestors from a far distant past. There is something quite literally ancient about pottery. While I don’t know much I do know this—its roots are firmly entrenched in a past long gone, and little has changed throughout the millennia. Was this how it was for Athenian potters? Laboring tirelessly under the yolk of a towering Acropolis and roundly dismissed in their time? Like too many other masters their skill and higher purpose was not recognized until they had long passed on. To the vested Athenian these were mere vessels for keeping grain and wine. Complete myopia beyond functional utility. Historical perspective brings a greater meaning to the here and now where three people who have never been in your kitchen found themselves on Long Beach Island honoring proud traditions born of misunderstood beginnings.
Back in the present and on my way home I stopped for Taco Bell.
Circular motion will be something of a recurring theme as we spiral toward the 2016 Labor Day Weekend along U.S. the eastern seaboard. Recently named Tropical Storm Hermine is spooling up in the Gulf of Mexico as she creeps slowly toward the Florida Panhandle. While it’s hardly locked down there’s growing consensus that after initial landfall the storm will look to spin its way up the east coast, potentially wreaking havoc on weekend plans, fresh hairstyles, and coastal communities up and down the seaboard. Prolonged rain, wind, and tidal surge will open the door to disruptive conditions for the foreseeable future. Such is the way of things, the way of the weather.
Subject to storm surge and flooding is LBI’s own Long Beach Island Foundation—also known as the place I made this photograph. Scattered about the grounds are a litany of visually appealing and thought provoking sculptures. I was particularly drawn to a vertical array of circular forms orderly arranged on a ladder type apparatus. If my memory serves me the whole piece was in the ballpark of three feet wide and nine feet high. I tucked in close with my 35mm lens set wide open at f/1.4 to create a shallow depth of field image that accentuated the form and contrast of the circular disks. This one is all about form fleshed out through light and shadow play.
In The Abstract — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/1600
Real talk—
This—black and white photography brought to life in shallow depth of field, presented in a brooding low key light on abstract terms—is my favorite type of photography. Yes, the sweeping landscapes are great, and I am far better technician than I am a creative right-braining on the more artistic side of the room; but there’s just something about the weirdness and soft forms, not to mention my lifelong love of black and white mediums, that draws me to this type of look. Now don’t get me wrong I wish I was better at it, and more purposeful in my execution of photographs like you see above. I have no process, I just wing it. There’s no real plan until I look at the viewfinder and have a very ground floor superficial thought of hey, this looks cool. This photo was no different. I was barreling up my hydrangea plant from ground level with my 35mm lens and simply liked what I saw. A happy accident you might say.
Admittedly while I like this kind of shot more than my typical landscape I become increasingly insecure about posting shots of its ilk. Not so much here on this website, more so on my Facebook page which frankly reaches more eyes. The People like my landscape work, anything else is more or less a crap shoot that runs the gamut from yawn to completely ignored. The burden of expectations. I get it, of course, this style is far more niche and lacks the widespread appeal of a stunning marsh sunset. As a result I’ve been sitting on this shot for over a month now, but I can wait no more. Be bold. Be removed from the comfort zone. Be. If nothing else it’s good to weigh the merits of popularity versus personal fulfillment. I don’t think it’s a binary choice, instead it’s more about finding the right spot on the great sliding scale of life. (Let’s see how all of this shakes out since I’ll be following this shot with another square formatblack and white picture. Gasp!)
It’s been a good long while since I’ve made a black and white photograph. A quick look at the archive reveals other than a onetime blip back in April, it had been since August of 2015 that I had made a proper black and white. Too long!
Interestingly enough this photograph was yesterday’s output of no more than a five minute photo detour I took along my parents’ side yard before transitioning to camera-less Fourth of July activities. It’d be wrong to categorize the 16 exposures as throw-away shots, but I’d be lying if I said I knew I was going to walk away with at least three keepers from the brief session. The lighting seemed unremarkable and the wind was blowing just enough to frustrate any handheld macro shooter; and yet the results populating my Lightroom catalog run entirely to the contrary. (A good reminder that I still have plenty to learn.)
I really like black and white, and I really like this shot. It’s sporting all the key ingredients required for a well executed black and white photograph—macro or otherwise. The composition is strong, moving the eye from the deep darkness of the bottom left corner up and through the stamen and pistils of the hibiscus flower. The selective focus adds moodiness and depth to the photograph, enhancing the sharpness of the pollen resting atop its anthers. But what really kicks this into black and white overdrive is the contrast; the dramatic shifts from near total black to the intensity and brightness of near total white. The image runs the grayscale gamut and locks away the final dimension necessary for a fine low key finished product.
Oh, and check out this post if you’d like to learn more about the anatomy of a hibiscus flower. This will help clear up some of the flower parts I referenced in the paragraph above if you’d like to further your learning. The post features some solid macro photos, too! Related: I can’t believe this is the first hibiscus photograph I’ve posted in the now two and a half year history of this website. I would have definitely lost that bet…
