Archives for December 2008

“You can’t get too much winter in the winter.”
(Robert Frost)

  

It is bitterly cold outside.  The new-fallen snow is deep and more is predicted to come down tomorrow, accompanied by even higher winds than those of yesterday’s storm and bringing with them the bonus of negative double-digit wind-chill temperatures.  But it is fitting since tomorrow is the shortest day of the year, the Winter Solstice, that ancient celebration of light that ushers in the winter season. 

But today, at least for a little while and perhaps in anticipation of tomorrow’s joyful candle lightings, the dank, overcast skies have given way to small blue spaces through which the low sun’s rays are shining brightly.  The icicles hanging from every possible surface are dripping steadily on the southern exposures; from my vantage point here in the dining room I can look across the living room and out the big front window and see their bright drops and hear their soft tattoo as they hit the ledge outside. 

It is a very pleasing thing, this quiet, light-filled moment.  Though in the backyard the furballs are out in force, making up for yesterday’s lost foraging time and reveling in the warmth of the sunshine high in the leafless treetops.  I was out there with them a little while ago, happy to see all of my most-loved cast of characters and taking advantage of the photo ops they provide.

I haven’t forgotten my little holiday project, however, and it was very late Friday night (or very early Saturday morning) when we went out to hunt down one of the sights on my list.  It was after midnight when we got there (on purpose, certainly not because of the travelling distance) and I was a bit disappointed that all of the other small lights at this home were not turned on.  But it is the tree – The Tree – in front of this house that in small part prompted my project so I fitted Matilda with the smallest (widest angle) lens, mounted her on the old tripod and trudged off to find a suitable vantage point.

The middle of the road here is often the best place to shoot the houses, and you’d think that at midnight there’d be no traffic.  Not my luck.  I caused a great deal of laughter from our local police when they came cruising by on patrol, clipping along at a speed that made us wonder if they were going to stop or run me over.  In reality, they probably just wanted to get close quickly since from a distance and from behind I probably looked in distress as I knelt there in the road, oblivious to all but my goal of capturing the view in front of me.

But fortunately for Bob’s heart it wasn’t from the road that I was able to get the daily shot I wanted:

 

 “The only competition worthy of a wise man is with himself.”
(Washington Allston)

   

The still life challenge made me realize yet again that I’m very much a conservative and a traditionalist when it comes to photography.  Just because an object isn’t moving, i.e. that it is “still”, doesn’t necessarily make it a true still life image.  There must be a strong element of Art contained in the composition and while I found many of the entries interesting and often great, from my personal definitional perspective it is a stretch to give them such a moniker.

But to each their own and it’s all about trying.  As DGrin’s contest motto wisely says, “Win.  Lose.  Learn.”  The winner, though, vindicated my personal preferences when it took the lion’s share of votes, winning by a double-landslide. 

After my own first still life shot last Sunday, I decided to continue to pursue this genre for my next few daily photographs.  I was intrigued by the question of just how much use I could make of the beautiful light from the front window and the big, glass coffee table.  The vision of glass on glass, as it were, was bringing out my inner ferret to revel in all this “shiny stuff”. 

The softness of the morning light was again used for the second attempt in this little series.  This time the subject would be some dried flowers in a small, narrow vase that originally caught my eye as the late afternoon light slanted across the top of the fireplace mantle to illuminate it a few weeks ago.  I wanted to make sure that the flowers would not simply be in silhouette so pulled out the small Ott light and positioned it to gently cast some light on the front of them; from the east and set about 45 degrees north of the angle of the cloud-covered sunlight behind the drawn draperies.

 

Later that same afternoon the sun actually appeared and, with my focus still on that glass coffee table, it was time to try a mirror image of the morning’s shot:

  

The next morning was another gloomy day but I wanted to carry on with the glass on glass idea so pulled out a small vase that contains feathers.  Some of them were gathered on one of our trips to the Seney National Wildlife Refuge, and the “bouquet” includes a couple of exquisitely-marked quail feathers.  Of course the markings would not be a focal point; indeed, they are not even readily visible in the final image, but was it nice to see them again since the whole little arrangement normally lives in the back of the china cabinet.

 

 

I wasn’t thrilled with this variation of my theme; in fact, I don’t think it’s very good at all, especially compared with the first two.  This is an idea that needs more thought and more work to pull off so come late afternoon, I was feeling a bit disappointed, to tell you the truth.  But Bob had built a roaring fire and as I sat here working, I happened to glance up and noticed the glass pitcher on the glass coffee table.  From this angle, even with the light thrown onto it from the dining room, it looked interesting enough that I got up and walked into the living room and realized that there were possibilities from the vantage point of the antique sofa.  I set up the camera and carefully took some shots. 

I was very, very happy with the dramatic change of pace:

 

There would be no way to top this one, so the next day I took what will be the last pitcher photograph for a while:

 

It is only now I realized this shot is filled with subtle, personal meaning for me.  The pitcher gave me a different perspective, it re-opened my eyes to another angle; a fresh take, so to speak.  And the greenery, which initially caught my eye as appearing to grow out of the pitcher’s reflection, representative of my growth through this little exercise.

So I’ve won (my challenge entry was a finalist), I’ve lost (to a most worthy challenge contender), and I’ve learned. 

I like that.

“It was a place where nothing yet had happened – an utter emptiness. There was neither light nor dark: there was nothing here but emptiness.”
(Clifford D. Simak)

  

I said I was going to try to shift my shooting focus during this gloomy weather period and so awoke this morning thinking about both my self-assigned skills-expansion project and the latest challenge posed in the Smugmug forums.  I had an idea for the contest in mind, prompted yesterday when I saw the results of Bob’s fine efforts to spit-shine the living room back to normal now that all of the squirrels have been relocated. 

The contest assignment is to shoot a still life.  But the challenge is that there is no post-processing allowed.  No cropping, no adjustments, no sharpening.  Nada.  What goes onto the digital negative is what must come out as the contest entry.

This means, of course, that all of the basic elements of a good photograph must be in place when the shutter clicks.  The overall composition, lighting, focal point, etc. have to be considered before pressing the button.  In these days of high-tech point-and-shoot cameras and Photoshop “magic” such basics often seem to come as an afterthought, yet attention to them is what makes the difference between a “good” photograph and “great” one.  Though I often allow extra space around the focal point of my own photographs and therefore crop to appropriate printing size (or am forced to allow it since wildlife doesn’t always consider posing an appropriate activity), as I continue to work on honing my craft I am continually reminded that without solid, basic and elemental quality in a photograph, no amount of post-processing “magic” can create a really great image.

As is the norm, this morning I padded into the kitchen for that blessed first cup of hot coffee, then sat down here in the dining room at the computer to electronically assess the state of the world from my computer.  And as is also the norm, my bleary eyes often wandered away from the monitor and across to the living room, where the early light was beginning to brighten the reflections thrown by the big glass coffee table and the soft shine of polished wood.  On these dark grey mornings, everything slowly comes to life in monotones remiscent of a vintage daguerreotype, the silvered sepia tones exaggerated by the golden oak floors and velvet drapes and the deep tan walls. 

Though it has been a year since we redid the living room, I still find such sight of it enchanting.  This morning was no exception.  And it dawned on my sleepy brain cell that what I was seeing this morning was exactly the still life I wanted.  The D70 was sitting on the dining room table with the superb 80-200mm f2.8 lens attached.  It’s all about the light and though I hadn’t yet finished that first cup of coffee, I went to work to try to capture the scene before me:

 

There is a moody, introspective loneliness to this view that I find compelling.  Aftertones; the emptiness haunted by memories waiting to be filled, as do our own morning awakenings anticipate their fulfillment by the day’s activities.   This, then, would be my contest entry.

Because all of the basic elements needed for a great image are contained in it, I then had to do only a bit of cropping to narrow the focus and its intended emphasis on the elements of emptiness and waiting and so end up with a very satisfying start to my little daily photo project:

 

And all of this before breakfast.  Rather feels like I’m on the right track.