The Sea Moves — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/4 sec
Minimalism with intentional hand made motion blur. I love executing this kind of photograph. Combining a handheld approach with a smooth, confident motion panning from left to right into the sunset. It is much more involved than my typical tripod landscape. The latter leaving me with the sole task of pressing the shutter once I have framed my shot. Meanwhile this technique is visceral, taking me much closer to my own work. Involving me the way a baker kneads the bread—the hands are in there. Kneading it. Working it. Making it. Body, mind, and skill all coming together to produce something personal, something special. This process alone creates an intimacy with the work, and it shows through in the result. Here I am actually creating a thing with my hands. The sea moves right here in my palms.
Let’s Go — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Two Zero Two One, let’s go. You’ve a very low bar to surpass your predecessor’s legacy of pandemics and problems. We’re counting on you for life and health this year.
Last year I was well into April before I shared my first photo on this website. A lapse I hope not to soon repeat. This evening’s banger of a sunset made for a smoldering debut and guaranteed such a slump would not happen this year. It was pure fire over the mirror still waters of Stafford Forge’s front lake. Absolute time well spent; 10 out of 10, would do it again. Skies Like This, let’s go.
What have I been doing lately? Let’s go:
Watching:Bridgerton was a fun time; cool spin on a not so rigid period piece. Finished my second Star Wars Rebels rewatch last night. At its best the show is absolute peak Star Wars. It’s an animated series but do not let that fool you—it’s deep and worthwhile with characters you care about. World War II in Colour because my interests are all over the place.
Reading (audible-ing?): I finished Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere on my walk today. Having read Good Omens, American Gods, Norse Mythology, and The Sandman before it, I must say Neil sits atop my favorite authors list at this point.
Playing:Hades. This rougelite is an outright masterpiece. Easily the best thing I’ve played last year, and that’s saying a lot considering Ori and the Will of the Wisps was phenomenal. I’m over 70 hours into Hades and have made it out of hell 11 times. I cannot get enough. Play Hades!
Listening: the Who is getting an absolute workout right now, and I am properly wearing out Quadrophenia front to back, over and over sans jacket cut slim and checked. In fact I am listening as I edited this photograph and wrote this post.
The Gift of Winter — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
No two sunsets are the same. This we know to be true. Return to the same place over and over again and you’ll be chasing unicorns to hunt down a pure facsimile. It’s best to take each unique moment and capture its joyful light as best you can, while you can. It’s a welcome lesson in the natural function of impermanence. This doppelgänger is impossible to find.
Tonight, however, I came close. In what I can only describe as the spiritual successor to Ruinous Splendor—changed only by time. Made just over five years apart at near the same exact track of bulkhead I give you the best sunset photograph I have made in five years. Recognizing the subjectivity of such claims I defer gracefully if you disagree in preference to another sunset photograph I have made. These decisions belong to us.
Winter sunsets, man. In particular winter sunsets heralding oncoming winter weather near always produce. While tomorrow looks to be a nuisance event with rain in southern Ocean County, winter weather will hit New Jersey tomorrow in the form of a weak coastal low. This, of course, is merely an appetizer for a far larger and more powerful system poised to wreak havoc on the entire region Wednesday into Thursday. Jackpot zones will be measuring in feet. Buried cars, bread and milk in short supply. Still over 72 hours out, where the rain/snow line and axis of heaviest precipitation set up remains up in the air. Stay close to Weather NJ’sFacebook page to keep up with the latest. You can bet I’ll be back out shooting Tuesday to see the big storm’s harbinger sunset.
Shout out to the universe today for giving me exactly what I asked for. This morning, while thinking about my photographs this year, I envisioned how great it would be to have at least one more clear cut entry into my annual best of series for 2020. My output has been solid enough this year, though real standouts have been lacking. Well, my Christmas gift came early. Thank you.
His is the path of solitude. It is a journey not idly traveled, with headwinds, endless thought, and self-critique his only companions. Like a looking glass life reflects back upon him, projecting moments of joy and pain, sunshine and rain, triumph and abject failure. Each and every one a lesson. Through it all he has himself to turn inward. To his fortress mind and hideaway heart, twin suns lighting an island of isolation impregnable to all and impossible to reach. This is a refuge of necessity, a way station of isolation constructed piece by piece through decades of disconnectedness. Except there are no train lines connecting it. It is both inaccessible to find and impossible to leave. It is from solitude to which all his comings and goings take place.
The Winter Look — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Tonight burned. Fast and white hot she torched across the whole of the sky. Racing Apollo to his chariot home above the clouds. Phoebus, she calls in pastel tones heard in angelic beauty, our pantheon awaits. A show of pure passion, glowing heat, and lithe quickness. A holy ember blazing light white hot enough to stop time itself, and humble enough to give it all back. Restraint wrapped around the power, a subtle mastery masked only in its wisdom.
Tonight’s sunset above the salt marsh held the classic winter look. Brooding and intense cloud striations colored in deep, fiery pastels. The cold fans the flames. The furnace burns brighter, truer. The cold clean air of winter sets a crystalline stage producing light shows in nature’s peculiar brand of high definition. Buy this you will never at a big box store. There’s really nothing like it and no Amazon box to ship it in if there were. A unique species unto her own. She’s the afternoon sky fall cloaked in the rainbowed robes of winter. Breathless you watch her leave, eyes transfixed as though you’re only seeing her singular beauty for the first ever time.
Back writing at The Union Market and I have a problem. Sure I have loads of problems but for the purposes of this exercise I am focusing on one. My photography is wholly uninspired. For four years now I have set adrift atop the inevitable plateau of your talent’s going no where. No gains, no challenges, no growth. Only the muscle memory motions of habit fueled machinations left manufacturing the same caliber of work over and over and over again. It’s a cycle of mediocrity. This plain, man. It’s endless. I need off.
Feeling certain something has to give what are my options? Well let’s work the problem with a good old fashion bulleted list. We’ll even pretend it’s whiteboard style. To address my photographic dead end I could:
Quit—pack it in, drop this hobby and drift upon the breeze until something new falls in my lap; this is both decidedly passive and incredibly on brand.
Maintain status quo—stick to my modus operandi and don’t change a damn thing. Hover where I’m at but continue to find the most joy writing for the photos I make; this, too, is an extremely Greg thing to do.
Buy new gear—the capitalist equivalent to let’s have a child to fix our relationship; the short term gain to long term pain.
Identify a challenge—settle on a new photographic skill or technique; considering I only make landscapes and flower macros with the occasional bug thrown in I have mountains to climb.
Step out of my comfort zone—mix it up, meet new people; if you’re the smartest person in the room, find a new room. The surest path to improvement is to surround yourself with people better and more capable than you. Learn from others who’ve been in your shoes. Worn soles long shot, weary treads long tired from their time atop the plateau. While I was never a great musician by any stretch, I got pretty damn good playing guitar, bass, and even the damn banjo, when I was jamming on the regular with musical types way more gifted and trained than me. Their juice finds its way into your bones by osmosis.
Give a talk—combine some strengths! I am a shy ass person, few will say otherwise. Yet paradoxically I love to talk, especially in front of a live audience, and I’m good at it! Bringing together two skills into one thematic packable could be the juice I need right now. In the interest of full disclosure, I had a perfect opportunity to do this but totally flaked out. Great job, Greg. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.
Even though I am not as yet clear on what I will or will not do, I am glad I wrote this down. It helps to get your thoughts out of your mind and onto paper. It creates some separation. Some breathing room to think it through with the problem feeling a little less up close and personal. Change perspective to be objective. Even if a thing looks good it may not be serving us. The question is whether the discomfort is strong enough to precipitate change.
Seated at The Union Market stuck on what to write. I’ve got nothing. An intersection? A four way stop with no signs. The anarchy of an unkempt mind. It’s an odd sort of drift. The shimmering grains of control left to sift right through arthritic fingers. More sand down the hourglass of time. An amortized loss no prospector’s pan can withhold. The Ring, man. It will vanish.
Still this is the big mystery, ain’t it? The exalted drama we each one of us play out with this spot of time we’ve got. Each of us observers in our own unplanned play running on as one big dress rehearsal to life. Except there are no second chances—only better doings. The sand grains, man. They’re ours—though only for a moment—borrowed. Walk upon them where you can. Dance, sing. Bury your feet and run your fingers through past, present, and future. As it comes. As it goes. Ours for a while. Build the brightest castle you can; however you can and while you can. Because the sand belongs to time. It hears its master’s call.
In My Own Time — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Improved is my mood. It pleases me to write this. A combination of self imposed interventions coupled with some good old fashion luck reinforced the levies to keep the deluge of depression at bay. First to thank my friends and family—my people—for hanging in there and supporting me. The treasured and unbreakable bonds forged in love and tempered in the flames of hardship keep me strong. Iron does sharpen iron, and lost I would be without them. I love you.
Reestablishing mindfulness and meditation practices, daily and with intent, served to ground me. Tethering me back to my breath—the single most fundamental essence of life. This is creating a setting of ease and space to cope. I use an app called Headspace to guide this practice, and I recommend trying out anything to help guide you and keep you on track. There’s no right or wrong way to mediate. No beginning or end to meditation. There is only what you take with you. There is only practice.
Disabling my social media accounts for about three weeks proved an enormous boon. While I am back on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, it is only the latter that has its app on my iPhone. Were I able to share photos from my laptop, I’d have no app at all. I strongly recommend a break to anyone considering it. It’s refreshing and wholesome to lose the anxious connection to the impersonal toxicity of the online world. Now that I am back, I have better boundaries, and going sans app reinforces said boundaries.
Audiobooks came to the rescue, too. Starting in an unexpected way. Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman! followed up with What Do You Care What Other People Think? surprised me in their countless life lessons weaved into the narrative subtext. This theme of course being ancillary in their intention to let the world into the mind of one of the 20th century’s most gifted physicists. Richard Feynman was far more than a Noble laureate, though. In fact, there was little typical about him. With intention cultivated himself as a curious, skeptical, and inquisitive observer of life parsed through a scientific lens with no space in his brain for fakers. This proved refreshing. I piggybacked this with Jay Shetty’s Think Like A Monk. An instructive tool for bringing purpose, calm, balance, ease, stillness, and peace into our lives. I don’t typically go in for self help books, but this was a joyous journey, and one which offers numerous tangible strategies to help you find your way.
Therapy remains the key piece constant through all this. A safe place to connect with a professional who brings objectivity and experience to your situation. It provides a place to reflect, open up, share, and discover. As self-awareness grows, strategies take shape to help recognize triggers, execute mitigation tactics against them, thereby minimizing the frequency, intensity, and duration of future episodes. If you have been considering therapy but feel shame or weakness, I do encourage you to take the step. You have the strength. Reaching out for help is hard, but it is always a huge leap worth taking. Complicated and difficult is our world. Our hearts and minds more so. Connecting with people to better understand ourselves, our purpose, and our meaning in this life is a great place to start and essential to wellness.
Thanks for reading, and thank you for your support in this.
