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.

Opposites

I've always been intrigued by how often nature seems to show contradictory behavior. Years ago, the US Forest Service used to jump to the rescue of the great forests by taking extraordinary measures to put out all forest fires. Now there are times when they let some sections burn or even set forest fires (controlled burns) Why? Because they discovered that some trees and plants only regenerate if they have been through a fire. So something as destructive as fire causes new life — doesn't seem right.
Lots of people nowadays are turning to vegetarian diets (and I can see the wisdom of that choice) but I find it somewhat humorous that the Good Lord created some plants that eat animals — as in the pitcher plant that traps insects and slowly dissolves them into food.
I captured this image the other day on the beach near Petoskey State Park. I was struck by the contrast. The sand was smooth and sculptural while the water was textural and flat. The lighting seemed soft on one and harsh on the other. These results were both caused by the same force — the wind, but with very different results.
It's pretty obvious to me that the Lord loves diversity — well some diversity. He obviously doesn't like both good and evil — so I guess there is diversity about diversity. I think I better stop now.

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.

Looking Up

This time of year it's real easy to spend your time looking at what's around your feet. The woodland wildflowers have just a couple weeks to soak in the sun and tempt the insects with their beauty and fragrance before the canopy of maples and beeches block out the sky. Spring beauties, dutchman's breeches, trout lilies, trilliums, and marsh marigolds are occupying every inch of forest floor and their colors and shapes are intoxicating for photographers as well as insects.
I walked up the ravine to the hills where the big beeches live just to find a place to sit and enjoy the breeze. I've often found that if I just relax and observe for a few minutes I'll begin to see new things or old things in new ways. I looked up at a nearby beech tree that had a muscular trunk and then re-focused my eyes on the twigs of sapling beeches that filled space like baby's breath in a bouquet. I've looked at these beeches for years and I'm sure I've seen these leaves emerging before, but today, I really saw them — I took time to enjoy them.
I always look forward to the arrival of the wildflowers in the Spring and I'm sure I always will. But now there's something new to look forward to.

Not Where I Expected

When I roam the shoreline of Lake Michigan I find all sorts of "stuff" that washes up. Much of it is trash and it really is depressing. I suppose that some of the objects are inadvertent — a plastic sandwich bag that blew out of a child's hands while the family ate lunch on the beach, but other objects are the result of a person's total disregard for God's house. God's house — that's how I view the natural world around me. It must take every bit of restraint that God can muster when someone throws their big gulp cup in the lake. Don't you think God would just like to unleash his/her power to pick up the offender and permanently lock them in a dumpster with moldy garbage? Then again, I better watch out for my judgmental attitude. The Holy One has plenty of reasons to lock me up.

Sorry, I don't know how I got on this topic — a bit of a downer. I guess I was imagining walking along the beach and how often I'm disappointed in what I find, but the other day I was pleasantly surprised. I've seen Pitcher Plant a few times in swampy areas in the woods, but last weekend I came across it about 20 feet from Lake Michigan — not where I'd expect it to be. And seeing it was the middle of November, after many frosty mornings, and exposed like it was on the open beach, I would expect it to be shriveling up, but it really seemed to be thriving. Maybe the juice in the pitcher is like antifreeze. It was a large group that was taking on all the colors of autumn. I love the curves of this plant. And what a marvelous bit of engineering — how it traps insects for food.

I like finding things where I'd least expect them to be — and not just there but thriving. Kind of gives me hope — because often I'm not where I expect to be — and maybe I can not just be there — just exist, but thrive!

Delicate and Strong

What do you do when it rains? Take photos — what else? It's a great time to go to the beach because you don't get trampled by families carrying coolers, bags of float toys, and beach chairs — and did I mention, getting skewered by beach umbrellas?
The light is nice and soft so it's a great time to look for soft subjects. In the back dunes there are little hollows and in the little hollows lie delicate flowers called Harebells — sounds like the beginning of a fairytale doesn't it? The blossoms, although modest in size, seem too large to be held up by their whispy stems. The blossoms shake their heads at the slightest breeze. A pale blue color fits with their simple elegant curves. But looks are deceiving. If you go back to one of my first entries you'll see a photo of a Harebell that I took in November (November 23, 2008) — after a light snow had fallen. Next time you're at the beach take a walk in dunes behind the crowds of sunbathers and look for the delicate and strong Harebell