The Right Combination

I was at the dunes last week and enjoyed a beautiful calm, clear, frosty sunrise. I spent the first 45 minutes up on the high bluffs overlooking Sleeping Bear Bay and enjoyed the patterns and textures revealed by the exquisite morning light. But I have to admit I probably wasn't as attentive to the visual gifts as I should have been. It was the migrating waterfowl and shorebirds that made me stop and smile. Loons, buffleheads, mallards, Canadian geese, sandpipers, mergansers and others — their individual voices and their splashing bounced off the the flat waters of the Manitou passage.
As the sun burned off the frost on the highest ridges I skidded down through the ghost forest swale to the shoreline. From above I had noticed a slim line of white that defined the water's edge. I had assumed it was just a little ice left from the larger ridges of mid-winter. But as I got closer I noticed its crystalline nature. Beautiful shards of thin ice all stacked at the waters edge just as neatly as if someone had gently broken them and placed them piece by piece on top of one another. Another gift from the Sleeping Bear. As I made my few shots I imagined the perfect combination of events that created this construct. A perfectly still night (and I mean perfectly still) with freezing temps that allowed a thin layer of ice to form, followed by a a gentle morning breeze that raised just 5 or 6 inch swells — just enough to brake the ice and push it onshore. Or maybe it was a passing lake ship that created enough of a swell to make the miracle. I had to remember to not let my curiosity kill the moment. Whatever right combination of things made this happen, I'm grateful and I just need to accept and wonder at it's beauty.

Give Me Time

I find that revisiting things that I started working on months if not years ago can be a good thing. There is something about putting some distance between you and moments of creative energy that helps refine the image. I wouldn't say it's true all the time — sometimes immediacy is a part of the story you have to tell, but in many cases, like the image I put together here, it needed time to "cook." When you're out there in the field there are often a few visuals that grab your attention and you can become a little fixated on just those objects or plays of light, and when you come back and sort through what you shot you are looking for those few visual cues. But given a little time you begin to see new things that were going on and your brain starts to make connections between one visual and the next. Of course those connections often come to me in the middle of the night and then it keeps me awake — but that's another story. I've been reading a lot about Andrew Wyeth lately, and how he set aside paintings for long periods before finally finishing them. If I remember correctly there was one painting that he started and gave up on, then his kids needed a nice flat board to put their toy train layout on, so the back side of this painting served them very well. Then, years later, at the encouragement of a friend he decided to pull the old piece out and finish it up and he was very pleased with the result.
So I've resolved not to be in a hurry to finish my pieces, and to not totally give up on making an image from a piece that doesn't work right away. Just give me some time.

Broken

I have long held the belief that the reason so many people in "modern" society have rejected or neglected their faith is because they distance themselves from the power of the natural world. Many of us work in controlled environments, we get around in our private glass and steel bubbles on wheels with air conditioning, surround sound, navigation systems, and voice activation. We have homes that condition our water and our air and bring us explorers standing on the edge of volcanoes in high definition at 52 inches diagonally — while tucked in our overstuffed chair. We walk to the kitchen and open a door to a cool stash of entrees that can be popped in the microwave for three-and-one-half minutes to provide us an exotic steamed meal.
Every once in awhile we get a pint-sized dose of reality when a thunderstorm interrupts our day at the lake, but we never stick around to experience the full effect of the storm. We retreat to our autos, or cottage, or park pavilion until it passes.
I wonder what it was like to take a covered wagon across America on the Oregon trail in 1840? Out on the great plains you see a massive storm build on the horizon. There is little you can do but hope and pray that it will dissipate before it reaches you. And when it doesn't, you huddle in the wagon. The leaky patched canvas is more a liability than protection as the first violent wind gusts are caught in these prairie sails and rock the wagon from side to side. Your hair stands on end each time the lightening cracks. Deafening thunder seems to roll continuously. Horizontal rain and hail crush the tall grass around you. You are totally vulnerable for most of an hour.

In today's world we're pretty good at avoiding vulnerability.
Looking at Little Traverse Bay this past weekend I marvel at the incredible energy in the form of wind and water that snapped these thick slabs of ice and then stacked them up on the end of the bay. Some slabs were at least eight inches thick and must have weighed thousands of pounds. I think how easily I could be broken, even though I'm playing it safe in the way I conduct my life. I am really vulnerable. It provides a lot of comfort to me that I belong body and soul to a God who is much greater than myself.

After the Leaves Leave

This part of the year is often overlooked in the succession of seasons — after the colors and before the snow. For me, it’s an exciting time -- simply because it is often overlooked. The beauty is there -- it’s just in places that we don’t often look. Since the leaves are gone the sun can filter down to the forest floor. Since we’re getting close to the shortest day of the year, the sun is lower in the sky and the shadows are long. The leaves have made a wonderful carpet on the floor. The sky can be very dramatic as the cold fronts push through. Most times when I head to the beach there is no one else around — I enjoy the solitude. The beach is also devoid of footprints and evidence of other human activity — that’s one thing about the beach — the wind and waves erase the slate very quickly. On top of everything, my schedule seems to loosen up a bit so the opportunity to get out and collect a few images is more frequent.Yes, there are probably a few more grey days than other times of the year --but “soft light” is an advantage in some cases.
So there’s a lot to love about late fall. Greet each other with a warm hug to help take away the chill and let your smiles be the sunshine.

Sky Islands

Returned from Green Valley (just South of Tucson Arizona) last week . Really enjoyed visiting with my sister-in-law and brother-in-law — great people and gracious hosts. It was a visit where we just kicked back and relaxed. The only thing on my agenda was to do a workshop at the Green Valley Camera Club, and that was really a pleasure because I met all sorts of enthusiastic photographers who shared their experiences and encouraged me in my work as an artist. If you’re into photography and looking for a great place to ride out the winter — Green Valley is the place. They have a fantasstic photo club with great facilities (large computer lab and matting and framing facilities) and lots of field trips.
My lovely wife and I did get away for one day trip that included Kirtchner Caverns and Chiricahua National monument. Unfortunately, you can’t take a camera into the caverns, but experiencing the cavern’s forms and textures is inspiring and well worth it.
Chiricahua was beautiful. The National Monument is refered to as a sky island — a place where a series of mountainous peaks rise from the Arizona flatlands. The distinguishing feature of this region are the stone columns or hoodoos that appear to be the ruins of some great lost civilization but are only the result of the forces of nature. We spent too little time there to really get any images that are a meaningful representation of the area but we did sneak in a short hike that we enjoyed thoroughly and I’ll share a couple images with you here.

Hiking the Natural Bridge trail

Grand Marais

Grand Marais

Grand Marais — the name sounds intriguing and colorful unless you know French and understand that Marais means swamp or marsh. I spent a couple days camping with my wife and daughter up at Grand Marais, Michigan (not Minnesota), a quiet little town. There is no longer a marsh or swamp as there probably was when the French voyageurs first visited in the 1600's. It's a nice little harbor — a safe haven between Munising and Sault Saint Marie on Superior's south shore. A cold front was moving through on the days we were there which makes for some "iffy" weather — a real concern for tent campers, as we are, but the positive side is that it can make for some dramatic "atmosphere" for the image maker. So I'll share a little of the drama.

The Green Wave

Big Surf at Miner's Castle Beach (Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore)

Mix It Up

I feel like I've been heavy on "grand landscapes" of late so I'm giving myself some assignments to help break the trend. I told myself that I was just going to take some walks in the back yard (the woods surrounding our house) and just use my 80mm macro. It's one of those contradictory things in life. When you lay out rules it forces you to try new things that in turn boosts your creativity and, over time, broadens the scope of your work. So rules help you break through barriers — interesting.
And lately I've been getting kinda loose with my image making -- more impressionist/soft. So I thought I'd also be a little more hard edged. The result is the image below. A very formal, arranged, sharp, typical camera frame dimensions, type of piece. And I really like it! Just remember rules can be good for you.

Overcast

Here is an image that "just happened" a few days ago. Sometimes you can spend a whole day at a favorite photo hot spot and have just the right mix of sun and clouds and everything you come home with seems uninspired. Then there are the moments that "just happen."
The sky was overcast. I was not feeling particularly creative. So I told myself I'd take a short walk down the beach — the goal; just get some fresh air and exercise. Maybe it was because I was relaxed. Maybe it was because I like the color purple. Maybe the combination of light, clouds, and water never came together in just that way before, at least while I was at the beach. Who knows? For some reason I became keenly aware that the receding waves were a beautiful purplish blue. I pulled out the camera and took just a few shots. I used a slow shutter speed and followed the motion of the waves thinking the softness of motion might enhance the mellow mood of the light.
The result is this image. Certainly not the "immediate" drama of some images -- but for me it really has a strong emotive effect. I hope you enjoy it as well.

Blessings,

Bob

Cold

Every year we get a few cold days in early Spring — days that are deceptively cold. Part of the problem is that we've already had a few Spring-like days where the temps hit 50+ and we run outside with just our hoodies on. Then come the days where it is bright and sunny but the air is more in tune with your down parka. I knew it would be cold out on the beach but I decided I needed to get out there and shoot.
The sky was crystal clear as I headed to Fisherman's Island — around 5 PM. The access road along Lake Michigan is a seasonal road (not plowed) so, as expected, there were remnants of drifts still crossing the blacktop. It made me a little nervous cause the last thing I wanted to do is get stuck way back at Inwood Creek. I know from previous visits that there is no cell phone coverage out there. Anyway, my desire to capture some images outweighed my fears and I wove my way around and over the stubborn ice to road's end.
The one good thing about the cold was that even though the skies were clear, the fact that you could see your breath would keep away most other visitors. Not that I don't like people, it's just that I'm easily distracted when I'm working on images. Growing as an artist means learning about yourself. I attempt to put myself with the right places at the right time to eliminate distractions, AND, even more importantly, I work at getting myself in the right frame of mind. When shooting in familiar locations I have a tendency to visualize the images that are waiting for me. Anticipation has some good points in that it helps me decide what gear to have along and strategizing saves some time when gathering images, but there is a downside. Having a plan keeps me from being open to something new that's just waiting to jump into my camera. I have learned to just slow down and walk round the area for a few minutes before pressing the shutter.
In looking over my images today I'm very pleased with what I was able to capture at Fisherman's Island. I had to endure some frozen toes (I got my feet wet) but it was worth it.

Easy Walking

We often characterize Winter as a time to "battle the elements", but as I made my way out to the beach the other day I found that it was easy walking. It was a comfortable 1/2 mile stroll to one of my favorite spots on Little Traverse Bay. In summer the sand provides a poor springboard — absorbing some of the energy of each forward step, but in winter the moisture in the sand has frozen making my locomotion very efficient — a benefit, not a battle.
But I have to be honest. As in most of life there is give and take. When I reached Menonaqua Beach I felt compelled to walk into the stream to get this shot. No, I didn't have my rubber boots on so I knew my feet would get a little damp. When it's twenty degrees that can be a problem. But you know what? It really didn't bother me so much. There was a bright sky and I was having fun taking pics so I chose to ignore the discomfort.
I think I'll choose to ignore a discomfort today and another one tomorrow. Maybe I'll make it a habit.

Stakeout

Most of Thursday morning last week was spent up on Sleeping Bear Point. There are always beautiful grand landscapes to capture — which I did. Then after my traditional lunch — Surf-n-Turf (a hamburger and smelt) at Art's Tavern, I headed with a couple friends to a beach near the Homestead Resort. We walked the shoreline toward Pyramid Point but unlike our morning excursion there just didn't seem to be any interesting subjects. After the turn-around in the shadow of the point's tall bluff I decided to walk a few yards inland instead of retracing my steps at the water's edge. Sometimes the waves and wind place some interesting objects in the grass. I passed a section of beach that a local camp uses in the summer and noticed this group of stakes — simple, rusty, utilitarian, stakes. Probably there to hold up a volleyball net in the summer months. But I loved their simple shape and their interaction with each other and the shadows they cast. Call me crazy but this was my favorite capture of the day. Maybe not as impressive as the grand dunes with their windswept lines of snow and sand, but elegant beauty in my mind.
Next time you're out for a walk look for the simple beauty in things — especially in the person that's walking along side you.

The First of Many

Gateway to the Hemlocks

I'm sifting through thousands of images I collected during my Artist-in-Residence at the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park. I chose this one as the first of many that I'll probably post here over the next few weeks. One of the most noteable features of "the Porkies" are the stands of virgin Hemlock. But how do you capture a forest? The lighting is a problem because its always very spotty/contrasty. The subjects are these tall objects that are very difficult to place in one image. And often you can't see the forest for the trees -- as in it's hard to find a spot where you can get a perspective of the forest without having to shoot through other tree trunks or branches.
Well here is an attempt. I took an impressionist bent because the lighting reminded me of a Monet painting and I felt that the the textures of the bark, forest canopy, and forest floor would be enhanced by this style. I hope you enjoy this first of many.

Review

Soon I'll be heading for another Artist-in-Residence gig. Before leaving I needed to make some space on my hard drive for the flood of new images that will be coming in. As I reviewed my huge inventory of photos, eliminating a couple here and a couple there, I found images that somehow got lost in the shuffle or I found images that were mediocre and with a little work became something worth sharing — so I'm sharing this one. It was taken three years ago when I was on my way to visit my daughter who was going to school at NMU in Marquette.
Every once-in-a-while it is good to review things. It holds true for my artwork. It holds true for my life. When I look back I see some tough times but also hidden gems — things that I overlooked at the time — good things that came out of being refined by the tough times. When I review I realize that I am blessed — more than I deserve.
I always head to these resident artist opportunities with a little anxiety. What if the creative juices just aren't flowing? What if my equipment fails? Lots of things could happen but history shows that there will be blessings — maybe hidden during the experience, but revealed on review. Just relax Bob.