So, who else is completely shot? Roasted slow, spinning over open flame and then twice baked in an oven or three. I am spent ash, fiery embers long sent to dust. A charcoal remembrance scribbled upon ever darkening cave walls of a collapsing mind. Once there was life here.
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COVID-19 has taken many things. Lives, livelihoods, lifestyles, and liberties all curtailed as we continue to confront an ongoing public health crisis. It’s been tough and there are few to argue otherwise. A lower tier robbery thieved by COVID is spontaneous fun. The need to social distance to keep group exposure minimized has taken away spontaneous fun. You know, the plans that didn’t exist until you get a text message from a friend like, yo, get here now because we’re all doing [insert cool fun thing here]. And boom, unexpected excitement dropped into your life; the best kind of fun. This tale has in no way told the COVID story. Homebound monotony has long held sway.
This changed for me on Thursday. Ben Wurst dropped a small group text to Jonathan Carr and me saying we should go out tonight for astrophotography. Initially I thought this was a nice sentiment, something fun in theory, but I did not expect it to shake out. I was pleasantly surprised to return from my run to see Jon was in and the game was on. Thursday night in the pines it would be.
Around 10:00 p.m. Thursday we all met up roadside on 539 south in Warren Grove to hike in about a quarter mile to the top of the world. The top of the world is a hyperbolic name given to a small hill outcrop on an otherwise flat bowl of pygmy pines. The pygmies are a unique set of stunted pines found in the southern part of the New Jersey Pinelands. Kept small by wildfire, these bonsai-esque pines stand low—most well under six feet tall. A small sea of mini trees standing sentry for centuries. It’s a cool sight, and this was my first trek out there since January 2016. It had been a while.
From here we tried our best at making astrophotography on a clear, moonless night. The visibility was excellent, and shooting stars dashed the night sky on regular intervals. Honestly, I didn’t even care about the photographs I was making, I was just happy to be out having unexpected fun with friends.
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I was once new
Unseen and strong the becoming
I was once waxing
Energetically growing keen to know
I was once full
Brightly shining radiant life
And now I wane
Aged and worn fated to winter
Upon the last minute recommendation of Jonathan Carr we made our way to a new location to make photographs: Parkertown Docks. This splendid location tucked away along Parker Cove offers 360 degree views featuring salt marsh, bay, bay beach, Atlantic City, and some old pilings. Tons of opportunity here, and no doubt a new go-to spot to watch thunderstorms roll in. Crazy to think this gem has been hiding in plain sight unbeknownst to me in my 27 years living in the area. It’s always a win to shed a bit more ignorance in the face of new discovery.
It wasn’t intentional (sunset was the goal) but we hung around through blue hour for the full moon rise. It so happened to be the second full moon of October, making this a blue hour blue moon rise.
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It is in evening blue light when the day’s last comings glow, ebbing slow each night as the final light of day goes. It is a soft kiss, a gentle embrace as day shares love with her partner night. For a few moments the two poles dance together, igniting passion in the pastel embers of yearning. It is devotion writ large, a passion play painting tenderness on nature’s most dramatic stage. Ensconced our lovers intwine but twice each day, and they are here to teach us whenever we choose to learn.
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Light falls the day gives way to night. A vital coursing of gold ebbs with the sun’s remnants gilded the world in muted blues of peace. Soon, too, this will yield to black. Step through your day and walk ever forward through change. Striding through one present into the next. Cherish the moment of blue serenity as we pivot with purpose from one tangible present into the next.
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The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. A pale sun rose and set and rose again. Red leaves whispered in the wind. Dark clouds filled the skies and turned to storms.
—Bran III, A Dance with Dragons; volume five in A Song of Ice and Fire.
Author George R. R. Martin, in one of his strongest, and most rhythmic chapters in A Song of Ice and Fire brings the reader into long, uninterrupted passage of time. Written with exacting precision, we, along with the moon and the characters therein, cycle through time as Bran trains with the Three-Eyed Raven. “The moon was fat and full… The moon was a black hole in the sky… The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.” The cycle repeats no fewer than three times as readers work through Bran’s journey. Cold and lonely in a cave unseeing yet aware of the cold, cruel world outside. We endure the passage of time with our protagonist. Aware of both repetition, effort and duration. This takes peculiar significance with Bran who himself is able to take over the minds of others, man and beast. As readers, Martin is imploring us to do the same through his language. We become Bran in that cave.
Recalling how I felt when I first read through this chapter I marvel at what Martin had done. His use of language, tone, rhythm and repetition stirring my imagination. I saw the moon. I experienced the time. I was with our hero feeling the burden of the work and paralyzed with the task ahead. I am not a prodigious reader, nor am I schooled in language, grammar or creative writing. Yet this chapter left a mark as though made from a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. It took the habit of reading, and thereby the art of writing, to a new level of appreciation. For the first time I perceived how exacting words can move mind, body and soul. It was tangible evidence that reading is essential to better writing. It is the key to better storytelling. The key to better understanding of our world and our audience.
Standing out on the marsh last week, watching a sunset fade, I saw the moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. Immediately transported I saw all the sickled moon blades I’d witnessed over the years. In the same moment I was Bran. At the same moment still I was reading Martin’s words, seeing again all the sickled moon blades I’d witnessed over the years. Sharp as a knife, black as a hole, fat and full. Anything… everything happening at once, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.
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Saturday, August 6, 2016, the unexpected came to pass. Mrs. and Mr. Weather NJ came by to scoop me for a little weekend dinner action on Long Beach Island. We brought along the camera equipment just in case the sunset would pop. We were cutting it close on time and originally decided that Cedar Run Dock Road would be our best photo destination considering the time crunch. Instead—and in true Jon Carr fashion—the turn for Route 9 South was completely missed and with it so too was Dock Road. Insert audible. With what appeared to be a cloud out at our back we made for Surf City Sunset Park. Crossing the new Manahawkin Bay Bridge my expectations were low.
Upon arrival at the park the place was loaded with revelers and cellphone cameras. I always feel good when I see folks out taking in the sights and taking their shot at landscape photography. The more the merrier, I say. To the south a crescent moon could be seen, while to the west a mean shelf cloud was barreling eastward. We had known a line of storms was heading to the area, but honestly the radar was not all that impressive. Are you noticing a theme of underselling the evening yet? Eager to capture the shelfie, I took out the camera and swapped my 100mm lens for the ultra wide 14mm. It seemed like the prudent move except the humidity had a better idea. Instant fog problems—my lens was immediately coated in moisture. That quickly put the kibosh on my shooting—or so I thought.
As the clocked ticked away the initial line of thunderstorms moved through. Aside from a solid gust front and some dramatic clouds, it didn’t produce any lightning or rainfall at our location. Just a few bolts of lightning to the north. A few minutes later things started to get interesting. About 30 miles to our west, over Hammonton, New Jersey, a storm cell began to redevelop. Radar proof need not apply as its growth was betrayed by a towering cumulonimbus cloud growing before our eyes. Like something off the set of Ghostbusters this monolith of water vapor and energy grew larger and closer. Its cloud tops reaching high enough to begin sheering off into an anvil. It was awesome. The gust front, it seems, provided just enough of a trigger to ignite the latent storm growth. As a shooter this presented the perfect opportunity: an isolated cell from the perfect vantage point with no rain to mess up the shot. Also, by now enough time had passed to free my lenses from their foggy prison. I was back in the game.
From there on it was all about finding the optimal frame to capture the Manahawkin Bay Bridge; the impressive cumulonimbus tower; and the pastel glow that reignited at dusk thanks to the angle afford by the high cloud tops. It was the perfect storm—from no expectations came the best storm setup I have encountered to date. From there on out I put my 35mm lens to work, making long exposure after long exposure, hoping to time up a shot just right with a lightning strike. Fortunately I got some cloud to ground action mixed in with a truly dramatic sky. I couldn’t be happier with how things panned out. I now have in my possession my best storm photograph to date.
Oh, and as for food—an LBI dinner never happened. That, too, was an audible to Element on account of large crowds. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.
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Friday evening I hitched a ride with Jon Carr and we made our way to Great Bay Boulevard. The hope was twofold: 1) outside shot at a well timed break in the clouds for sunset ignition; and 2) with a segment of thunderstorms approaching from the west, lightning captures were on the table. While neither outcome panned out in the ideal the night wasn’t a total wash. Under the gun of days of stiff west by northwest winds, a blowout tide exposed a land bridge and thereby allowed me to shoot from a sand plain that’s far more often than not under the cover of brackish water. Advantage: Greg. This afforded me a rare angle on Great Bay Boulevard’s first bridge, and I did my best to exploit the opportunity.
Surely I wanted some high drama cloud to ground lightning from this vantage point, but considering we were about 20 miles south of the real action that simply wasn’t in the cards. Instead I tried to make the most of the cloud level flashes coupled with the low cloud deck that was bouncing the light pollution in a cool array of orange, pink, and purple hues. One of the reasons I added a 35mm lens to my bag was for some better lightning photography. More often than not the 14mm is just too wide, and unless you have the fortitude to let the lightning get right over your head the bolts are oft too far in the distance. My hope is the 35mm while bring in the right amount of intimacy while remaining wide enough to still capture a good piece of the sky.
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The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural.
—Supreme Chancellor Palpatine
What’s happening, Star Wars fans? For those of you yet to see The Force Awakens I promise this is a spoiler free post.
Making this miniature photograph was a blast! But first let’s circle back to Christmas. I received a Kylo Ren Christmas tree ornament—excellent—and almost immediately had the idea to utilize my macro lens and tripod in combination with a dark room and a red candle; setting the stage for a miniature portraiture shoot with little Kylo Ren. It was my hope to execute a dramatic, lifelike photograph of the next generation of dark side wielders. Discounting the lightsaber, which still rendered several notches better than I expected, the finished product far exceeded my expectations in terms of this picture looking like there’s a real human in there, full of conflict. The eyes behind the mask are piercing right through you, calling you to the dark side, making you see eyes where there most certainly are none.
Initially I assumed I’d go for low key black and white processing, but as I first saw the exposures loading into Lightroom it was clear I should play off the warm and brooding color cast from the flame of an off screen candle. The light not only creates the right mood through shadow play, it also infuses just enough red into the lightsaber to keep things realistic enough. On the ornament itself the saber is quite dark, it was a pleasant surprise to see the candle charge it up quite powerfully. I’m sure someone worth their Photoshop salt could create effects that bring Kylo Ren’s kyber crystal to its full cinematic glory.
All told I managed to end up with a few Kylo keepers. They may make an appearance later down the line on this website, especially one of the extreme close-ups. But if not I can say this: I’m left excited and challenged by shooting macro miniatures. It’s a technique I’d like to experiment with more. Long term it’d be pretty wild to put together whole miniature diorama concepts. Who knows? While I haven’t seen it yet, it’s fair to say I’ve been quite obsessed with the film techniques used in Anomalisa. With any luck you’ve enjoyed this half as much as I did. Cheers!
Oh, and while I’m at it I think I’ll be going to see The Force Awakens again tonight. You know, for inspiration. Cheers!