Familiar jaunts to familiar haunts. The road back to a place that shaped me. Long before photography was the marsh. Long after photography the marsh will be. Ever present, forever here unyielding. Soft sings the subtlety of change slow molding even the deepest firmament. Its work known only to the keenest eyes draped by long years put to the service in the knowing.
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Saturday night brought the goods. A smoldering burn presented as the centerpiece of a summer salt marsh bouquet. Things are not fine but the lighting is good. A moment of peace in the otherwise steady stream of turbulence that is our current times. My wish is only that the headwinds fade and the sunsets keep burning lest we all go to ash together.
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That green. That blue. That pink. Total chef’s kiss bliss. I’ve written early and often about the June color palette that dials it up to 11 each June here in southern Ocean County. There is nothing quite like the way newborn marsh grasses radiate a fresh green far beyond anything I have the ability to articulate. I’m never sure what to call it; nor am I worthy to give it a name. It’s something of a perfect merger of chartreuse and emerald. The dance floor of life. It last but a few weeks and there is nothing like the way it plays at sunset. It dances in perfect step, leading the grooving blues and pulsing pastels to waltz in triumph at day’s end. May this look never get old.
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I called 9-1-1 this week. Tuesday, May 31, 2022, at 11:25 p.m. Hopefully a first time, last time situation. I was sitting on my couch playing Hollow Knight when my left side chest tightened and within moments my heart rate spiked, and I felt as though a 200 pound person was standing on my chest. A contradictory numbing yet tingling session worked its way down my left on. In a panic I called my mom.
Even though she was on her way to check on me—we live in the same neighborhood—my condition deteriorated. The pain and pressure increased, and I feared I was going to lose consciousness. As I did on March 17, 2022, in Epcot. Worried and frightened, thinking I was having a heart attack, I dialed 9-1-1.
Within a few minutes of interview style questioning, my mom showed up. Immediately followed by a police officer, and then followed by two ambulances and five paramedics. Fortunately by the time everyone was there the acute chest pressure had nearly subsided in full, and my heart rate was back in check. From there it was standard procedure: EKG, blood pressure, some standard issue question and answer. Upon first look there was nothing wrong but I still took the ambulance ride to the hospital. My second such ride in 10 weeks. It’s not what you want.
No one knows what went wrong. Why it went wrong. Or how it went wrong. I guess panic attacks can result in this kind of chest pain and pressure? The lack of answers is unsettling, and I have been dealing with heart issues for years now, which deepens my fears. Diagnosed with atrial fibrillation in 2016, followed by hypertension, followed by high cholesterol. Suffice it to say my ticker ain’t it, and it really bums me out. Now I sit here and can only describe my headspace as shaken.
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Folks, it’s been a while. I’d like to send a shoutout to whatever or whomever helped float a mote of motivation across my frontal lobe. However it happened something triggered the following series of seemingly unrelated events: a five mile evening run soundtracked by Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy (Book III: Lesser Evil); followed by mom’s chicken tender face stuffing immediately nullifying said run; followed by a wholly unplanned and long overdue drive out to Dock Road—camera in tow. This moment of spontaneous inspiration proved useful as those storm clouds were rolling and the light show was doing that whole sunset drama thing. It was all happening.
I have to be honest, though, part of me wondered if I still knew how to do this whole landscape photograph thing. I am happy to report it was like old hat and all that. It felt good to be back. Good to be rolling on. Oh, and the motivation is still going strong as I even edited and posted my shot same day! And yes, as if it wasn’t already painfully obvious, I am a total Star Wars nerd.
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Here we are, or here I am, anyway, whiling away an unremarkable Friday night in mid-February, cracking a beer or three, looking through old photographs. Overthinking my overthinking. Trying to unwind after another week on the grind. I’ve been sitting on this photograph since November. It’s from the last batch of pictures I made in 2021, and it’s sat in the digital dustbins since. Somehow processed and ready, but sitting on ice. The Lightroom equivalent of all dressed up with nowhere to go, I suppose.
Somehow this high powered sunset sat on indefinite hold. In a way I am glad. It’s given me something to do this night. I’ve been itching to make photographs these past few weeks, but there’s been a bit of a lull in the natural light show. To wit: hooray for the unposted backlog. All this has me thinking—what other hidden or forgotten gems remain lingering in my hoard? For the longest time I enjoyed the process of making photos and immediately moving on to this next round. A real never look back approach—something entirely anathema to my typical modus operandi. Yet now I’m questioning the current validity to this application. Does it still serve me? What of all the other past glory I’ve let slip through the five hole? Should I revisit the thousands upon thousands of photographs to see what’s hiding in not so plain sight? I honestly do not know, but for tonight I’m sure glad I did.
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OK, so more like the hundredth… or three. Either way, if you’ll afford me the license of the British English use of round in around’s stead, I can proceed. This blurry pan shot demonstrates how technique significantly changes the look of two near identical photographs.
I made this blue hour photograph within a minute or so of my last posted photo—Winter Turn. Despite color, light, and composition being near identical, panning left to right renders a whole new feel. The image is darker, more intense. Perhaps even a touch brooding. The single exposure made while moving the camera deepens the purple, giving it a more sanguine tinge. More of the Tyrian purple reserved for royals and tyrants. It also darkens much of the snow pack tucked away in the fore- and middle-ground. There’s just enough highlight to let you know the snow is still there.
To touch on Winter Turn one last time: It’s another example subjectivity and surprises. That photograph far exceeded my own expectations. People seem to be all about, even though for me it’s only an all right shot. Not bad by any stretch, but hardly remarkable, either. Of course that’s only my opinion, and it’s a good thing my opinion doesn’t count for everything, even if it leads me back a second time round.
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Short and quick post this evening. It’s late, been a long day, and I’ve got some maximum couch relaxation to do before calling it Wednesday. First week back at the grind and all that after a much needed end of year break.
South Jersey saw its first snow Monday. A true South Jersey express. The type of event where the bulk of New Jersey—geographic and raw population—goes about its day without so much as a flake. The southern third of the state saw anywhere from four to 12 inches, with my hometown Manahawkin coming in at about six. It was the perfect end to my two weeks off. I am, if nothing else, a certifiable snow lover, and therefor I am pleased.
Fast forward to yesterday evening (Tuesday), and I made my way out to see what was doing on the Dock Road salt marsh. I lucked out. The snow and ice formations spanned out to the horizon, with even the tide pools icing over. It’s been a few years since I had this look. As sunset moved into blue hour, the colors painted over pure relaxation atop the wintry scene. It was a long slow burner, too, with this set of seven brackets coming some 25 minutes after sundown. The lesson, folks: Don’t pack up and leave immediately after sunset. More often than not the real goods take time.
Lucky me, more snow is in the forecast for Thursday overnight into Friday. Another quick hitter event with South Jersey set in the cross hairs. It’s January and that means little more to do than sit back and take in the winter turn in stride.
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Here’s a little break from the motion blur pan shot motif I’ve been running with of late. A return to the familiar if you will. Tack sharp sunset shots from the salt marsh with loads of unwanted alliteration. The old familiar. Like putting on a well worn pair of jeans everything feels as it should. Comfortable. Familiar. Ready.
I made this photo on November 7, and as this image suggests the first sunset of daylight standard time was, in a word, lit. 360 degrees of pastel wonder. Cotton candy gossamer stretched across the sky. A big warm blanket ready to welcome you home. The kind of bed canopy you wish you had.
This is like couch time after a long day of work. And seeing how there’s been long work days a plenty, and I finally got myself a couch, well, you’re stuck with similes like this. But don’t worry, fans of said motion blur pan shots, I made some of those on November 7, too. I will look to have them up and on this here blog in the coming days. In the meantime I do hope you enjoy this precursor to the powerhouse sunset season that is winter.
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