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.
Much and More — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
After a week holed up in a downtown Philadelphia hotel it was invigorating to retreat to fresh air and wide open spaces. Backing up a spirited afternoon walk I snagged my gear and made for my usual Cedar Run Dock Road location. There’s something to be said for the familiar, for a mental safe haven that lends a respite by way of the known—not unlike an old shoe. Happenstance had me run into a friend down by the boat ramp. Five minutes of banter ensued cast in mutual appreciation of such a comfortable space. As we said our goodbyes it was time to make some photos.
Tonight I broke from my standard workflow. Instead of dialing in a single composition and sticking with it as clouds come and go and sunset color falls away, I bounced from vantage point to vantage point. Making brackets as I went from seven different perspectives. The clouds were moving at pace and I hoped to get different looks as they reflected upon the many pools of the marsh’s sprawling tidal plain. Of course, I wound up selecting the photograph that is more marsh than pool, but so it goes sometimes. In today’s composition the balance is strong between the thick marsh grasses in the bottom left of the frame weighed against the thick tuft of cotton candy clouds in the top right of the frame. In the middle of these two elements sits a calm tidal pool at the balance point, completing the harmony. Beyond that, warm pastel colors energized an otherwise dormant scene on the marsh. Even in February signs of life still surge. Can you hear spring knocking?
The Observer — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
This title and post was made hours before sunset—hours before this photograph was even made. Only I did not know it at the time. Out for a spot of exercise this afternoon between meetings I had finished a light jog and was breaking things down with a cool down walk before getting back to work. With ear buds in and downshifting from jogging to walking I cued up the Introduction to Walking on Headspace. For the past two months I’ve been hitting the app everyday for a daily dose of meditation, and I was curious to hear whatever coaching Andy had when it came to mindful walking. It was much of the usual soft spoken steady support I’ve grown to know, encouraging listeners to bring themselves into the body—to bring their thoughts to the here and now. Comforted I listened. Relaxed I walked.
As the short session wound down and I approached the end of my walk, Andy hit me with a resonate nugget. In dropping an anecdote about staying present to notice the world around you as you trod upon familiar ground, he noted that when you are present and move through focused on the moment the things around you that you see everyday are never twice the same. Through awareness you can walk down the same street, corridor, alleyway, or field of green, and if your present with yourself the moment will never appear a copy. To the observer each time will prove to be unique.
As if the clouds suddenly parted a chord of resonance was struck, finely tuned to my experience with sunset photography. The simple truth that even as I revisit the same locations over and over again, the light will be different, the clouds will be different, the color will be different, the season will be different—I will be different. Photography has brought me into the body and into the present, to the one place life happens—free of the past and unburdened by the future.
In the interest of full disclosure: This is not a paid or obliged endorsement of Headspace. I’m just really impressed by what it’s short meditative exercises have brought me these past few months. Now if you’ll excuse me it’s time for my evening session.
This winter is dormant. This marsh is dormant. My memory card is dormant. My well adored landscape muse has up and left for more colorful climes leaving my inspiration dormant. As bleak as it seems our focus must be challenged to stay on task as we lie in wait for better days. We’re entering what I like to call the calendar dead zone. The two month stretch of winter that spans mid-January through mid-March. Here in the Middle Atlantic when the holiday hangover ends, and we’re left grinding it out through the long dark nights of winter; when the color is all gone and we’re left with little more than a brown expanse of would be life that annually checks out for a long winter’s nap. We on the human side of things are afforded no such dormancy and so we are left awake through through it all—trudging along color blind until spring’s rebirth—far away as it may seem.
Yesterday I had hope things may spark off for sunset. All day long coastal New Jersey was treated to picturesque cloudscapes and crepuscular rays signaling some sundown potential. Unfortunately by the time I made it out to Dock Road the once formidable cumulus cloud features were squashed down to little more than low level pancakes—and I’m not talking about the big boys, we’re talking kid sized silver dollar flap jacks here. With minimal cloud action draping below 850mb it was obvious coloration was out of the cards. Despite the disappointment I took some solace in being out making photos in what has otherwise been a very unproductive month on the photo making front. Here’s to tomorrow.
First Off — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
First off I hope everyone enjoyed a relaxing, joyful holiday season, and that you’re primed and pumped for a memorable 2017. Say it with me now two thousand seventeen! Seriously, where does the time go? My brain is still somewhere in April 2007. But such is the way of things. Before we kick things off in this new year please take a look at my 2016 year in review—featuring my 12 personal favorite photographs from 2016—it’s always my favorite post of the year.
Getting back to the present I realized it was the twelfth of January and I’d yet to make a photograph in the new year. In fact, I had yet to make a new photograph since December 21, 2016. A three week drought? Yikes. Anyway, I made it to Dock Road today just in time for sunset. Instead of going for the usual color approach, I opted for a sepia treatment similar to a photograph I produced back in November. I’m a fan of this monochrome hue and found it appropriate to leverage here. Nothing too crazy, nothing too fancy—just a means to get 2017’s photostream off to a sound start. Now onto number two. Cheers.
Headlong to the Horizon — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
A few thoughts as we get cracking on this here post: Hot damn it was cold today. Snow may still be a twinkle in my eye but the first real shot of Canadian air is hardly a figment of my imagination. As my body struggles to adjust to colder climes I warm myself if only mentally by anticipating the great winter sunsets to come; can’t beat winter color, you guys.
Also on the list of brain happenings while shooting—I’m pretty pleased with this vertically oriented photograph. I’ve talked about it many times before, and while it still rings true, these essential landscape photographer compositions do not come as easy to me. But I like today’s results.
Next item up dealt with some pondering on whether or not I should open up comments on this here website again. I disabled them at least a year or so ago on account that there really weren’t any. Not unless you’re counting spam, of course. Perhaps it’s worth giving it another go? Of course it’s not like I’m in a position to solicit feedback from anyone regarding this decision considering comments are disabled, so, uh, yeah… Send a carrier pigeon or something.
Lastly my thoughts are turning toward a coffee table book. Over the years several people have independently encouraged me to go down this route—especially over the past 12 months. The first dozen or so times I disregarded the idea in its entirety for a host of reasons. 1) Who would want it? 2) It’s a lot of work. 3) What if it sucks? 4) Who can I find to edit and reign in my babbling? 5) Who’s going to print it? 6) Related: what does the supply chain look like? 7) Seriously, who would want this? But after two years of full stop dismissal I am beginning to think it may be worth legitimate consideration. So now I am going to start chipping away at this seven points to see if this is a project worth pursuing. I’ve got all these photographs and all these words about them maybe it’s worth brining them to people’s homes. I’d say leave a comment and let me know how you feel, but yeah…
Gazing east from Cedar Run Dock Road during last night’s sunset while simultaneously treated to a 96% waxing gibbousmoonrise was exactly what the doctor ordered. To far away Tranquility Base, detached from the present day reality of this earthly world, I salute you. Prior to yesterday’s sexy sky business, landscape photography wasn’t even on my radar. Conditions were crisp and cool all day with nary a cloud in the sky. Besides that I was tasked with making some afternoon family photographs—gasp!—of my friend and her parents. (Two super cute doggies in tow.) Despite my total lack of experience the shoot went well enough—I hope. Being out there, exposed outside of my comfort zone yet surviving, had an added benefit: the development of high level cirrus clouds building toward the east. The rusted gears of my mind began to turn and clank.
Leaving the shoot and driving over the LBI causeway bridge back toward the mainland I was hemming and hawing on whether to shoot and where to go. To the west the sky was mostly clear so a traditional sunset seemed out. To the east the clouds kept calling. Further down Route 72 West the exit to Route 9 South approached—reflexively right blinker went click, click, click—I suppose Dock Road it is. Driving down the isthmus and out onto the marsh an unexpected wrinkle was thrown into the fold; a big fat mostly full moon was a few inches over the eastern horizon and the plot began to thicken. Even though prime pastel cloud color was good 20 minutes away, it was a lock that the moon would sit large and in charge amid a cotton candy sky. As an added bonus the wind had died and the water was calm and reflective. For a chilly evening in November everything came up Greg with a sugar pill dose of much needed calm and pleasure.
