stuff... and inspiration

I always feel guilty wishing for more stuff, because I have so much stuff and there are so many who don't even have the necessities, let alone stuff. And to be honest, the word wishing is not accurate; I'll save my wishes for more important things.

All that said, I have received and will receive some nice stuff. What does all this have to do with photography? Two books... that I hope will bring me inspiration: "American Ruins" by Arthur Drooker and "On This Earth" by Nick Brandt.

looking

"The fact is that relatively few photographers ever master their medium. Instead they allow the medium to master them and go on an endless squirrel cage chase from new lens to new paper to new developer to new gadget, never staying with one piece of equipment long enough to learn its full capacities, becoming lost in a maze of technical information that is of little or no use since they don't know what to do with it." - Edward Weston

only love

can break a heart

sway with me

photographs tell a story
the story can be in the details..
the time, the place, the light
you leave a trail by the images you capture.

night shapes

'tis the season

making lists

making plans

can you wait another week before shooting a Christmas ornament?

Marina is ill...

Marina, one of the beluga whales at the Georgia Aquarium is ill, isn't eating and has lost her sense of direction. Sigh....

Beluga Webcam:
http://www.georgiaaquarium.org/exploreTheAquarium/webcam-beluga.aspx

this eye

she needs a little repair
to become clear again
and go on seeing

refresh

Although we're well into Autumn and the roses are long gone, this image reminds me to hit the refresh button once in a while... clear the cache.... try new things... take a new path.

travelling

simple

little time for photos this week and it's making me ill.

when I woke up this morning

your creepy fingerprints were all over my photographs

I want you to go away

slither back under your rock

floating

for now...

don't ask...

for advice, you won't get anything you can use....

for time, they're too busy....

don't ask

my buddy

nothing to say about photography today, except.....

Does everyone have a camera (or more than one!) today? It sure seems that way; and the question repeated, is there anything that hasn't been photographed? Everything from the moon and the stars to the raindrops on your window has pictures of it stored somewhere. And still we click...

P.S. I hadn't read Stephen Fry's post at T.O.P. when I wrote this...

the point is.....

pinkness

on a style

I'm not sure if I have yet developed a 'style' that is recognizable by others. I do think that style is irrelevant of subject matter, although one's expertise may be stronger in one area than another. There are styles pertaining to a classification, landscapes or portraits for example, but that is not the same as a personal style. If two (or more!) photographers shoot the same subject, technical knowledge notwithstanding (we assume each will get focus, composition and lighting), the resulting images should differ with regards to their individual styles.

What I do know, is that there is a moment when I open an image file or view it in-camera, when I realize whether or not the photo has what I believe is my signature. I can't define it and certainly not every photo that comes out of my camera has it, which is frustrating. As long as it happens more often than not, I'm satisfied.

sunset

wait until sunset....
to decide
to breathe

inspiration

Photographic technique is no secret and – provided the interest is there – easily assimilated. But inspiration comes from the soul and when the Muse isn’t around even the best exposure meter is very little help. In their biographies, artists like Michelangelo, da Vinci and Bach said that their most valuable technique was their ability to inspire themselves. This is true of all artists; the moment there is something to say, there becomes a way to say it. -Ralph Gibson

tagged

out

quiet

before and after

I've been dabbling in super-saturated color lately. Not sure why, it just appeals to me at the moment. Maybe the pendulum is swinging as far from black & white as you can get; although I would counter that the contrast is still there. Maybe it's the end of summer and I expect Autumn to bring riotous color before the drabness of winter sets in and I'm storing up the chroma for those dreary months. ;-)

Whatever the reason, it makes me "ooooh and ahhhhh" - for now.

solo

one shot

Black sky: clearer than blue... more pure than white.

fences

All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travellers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken. Thomas Wolfe

every which way

untitled?

Actually, no. The original title was "White Shoulder, Black Tulle". Not very clever, I know. I think that's one reason I've stopped giving titles to my photos and only occasionally add a word or two as a description.

P.S. Re: yesterday's post.. I had been in bed all day with a migraine.

had a headache

..... finally got rid of it

survivor

autumn redux

Autumn has arrived (again) finally.... the windows in the house are open.... quilts on the bed are pulled around my shoulders in the middle of the night.

The skies are a deeper blue.. no longer the white hot of summer. Only a few golden or reddish leaves have fallen... we still await the full spectacle.

like a moth to a flame

Mama always told me not to look into the sights of the sun

Oh, but Mama, that's where the fun is

I was blinded

I was blinded

I was blinded

changing weather

some things change

.... and other things never change.

cotton candy moon

autumnal equinox, baseball, tequila, apples-to-apples

sunrise

fallen

Funeral services were held yesterday for Spc. Christopher Patton, killed in Iraq on Sept. 1. He was a 2005 graduate from the high school that Brandon attends.

I heard a statement the other day that soldiers being sent to Iraq today, were in middle school when this war began. Shameful.

summer storms

The thunderstorms have passed, but the sky is an odd pinkish color. The whole day has been odd... and the week has been one of those oh-my-god-can-we-start-this-over-because-I-can't-believe-what-just-happened fiascos.... seeming to get worse at every turn.

sigh

I need a story.... or a poem.

a summer day

A good friend sent a poem about a summer day to me today... it was beautiful and just what I needed. I hope he returns soon.

leaves

finally

smile

trust

When all is said and done.... trust your self.

streams

"Those who had seen him living saw no trace

of his deep unity with all that passes;

for these, these valleys here, these meadow-grasses,

these streams of running water, were his face."

~ from "The Poet's Death", Rainer Maria Rilke

summer waning

The days are getting shorter; Fall baseball will start soon.

endings.... beginnings

shades this week

I have never been one for doing things on command and I like being one of the herd even less; which reminds me of a poem:

The Calf-Path by Sam Walter Foss

One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;

But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail as all calves do.
Since then three hundred years have fled,
And, I infer, the calf is dead.
But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.
The trail was taken up next day,
By a lone dog that passed that way.
And then a wise bell-wether sheep,
Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep;
And drew the flock behind him too,
As good bell-wethers always do.
And from that day, o'er hill and glade.
Through those old woods a path was made.

And many men wound in and out,
And dodged, and turned, and bent about;
And uttered words of righteous wrath,
Because 'twas such a crooked path.
But still they followed - do not laugh -
The first migrations of that calf.
And through this winding wood-way stalked,
Because he wobbled when he walked.

This forest path became a lane, that bent,
and turned, and turned again.
This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load,
Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half,
They trod the footsteps of that calf.

The years passed on in swiftness fleet,
The road became a village street;
And this, before men were aware,
A city's crowded thoroughfare;
And soon the central street was this,
Of a renowned metropolis;
And men two centuries and a half,
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.

Each day a hundred thousand rout,
Followed the zigzag calf about;
And o'er his crooked journey went,
The traffic of a continent.
A Hundred thousand men were led,
By one calf near three centuries dead.
They followed still his crooked way,
And lost one hundred years a day;
For thus such reverence is lent,
To well established precedent.

A moral lesson this might teach,
Were I ordained and called to preach;
For men are prone to go it blind,
Along the calf-paths of the mind;
And work away from sun to sun,
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track,
And out and in, and forth and back,
And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do.
They keep the path a sacred groove,
Along which all their lives they move.
But how the wise old wood gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf!
Ah! many things this tale might teach -
But I am not ordained to preach.

send rain

an archived shot from January 2004

tell me a story

of falling stars and wishing on them

and sailing moons and wispy clouds

and secrets hidden and treasures buried

and golden rings

lost forever

sun in b&w

So many people just talk, talk, talk about photography; others fumble through other artists' galleries, stealing ideas. Just take your cameras, switch them on and start shooting! Or... put some flowers on your scanner bed. ;)

look

Look what they've done to my song, Ma

Look what they've done to my song

Well it's the only thing I could do half right

And it's turning out all wrong, Ma

Look what they've done to my song

running

from or to?

a very good day!