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.

Halo

The earth is the LORD’S, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it — Psalm 24:1

Sometimes the Lord has remarkable ways of reminding us of the verse above. Mention the word "halo" and today's kids might think of a video game, but for oldsters like me we tend to think of those glorious paintings of saints from centuries ago that always included the circle above their head to signify their holiness/innocence. At the beach the other day there was this interesting cloud formation and my thoughts went directly to holiness or being blessed. I just had a week where all my children were back home to celebrate my second daughter's (third child) wedding. I felt so incredibly blessed as I watched them sing, work, play and celebrate. My heart really could not contain the joy and gratitude I felt. I think the Lord sent me this image to help me express some of what I felt. I hope you enjoy it too.

blessings

Bob

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.

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

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.

Give Art

Like Brooms of Steel
The Snow and Wind
Had swept the Winter Street ...

I love that imagery of Winter by Emily Dickenson. Those words are true of the last few days here in Northern Michigan. After an exceptionally mild November, we have rushed headlong into winter. I found the brooms of steel at work in the parking lot of the local state park. What an eclectic bas-relief created by the wind scouring layers of sand, snow, and gravel, with the addition of some formal structure via human intervention. Little did they know, those folks in that last vehicle of the season — the last vehicle before the gates were closed — that they were creating art. But I think that creating art happens all the time by people who are unaware that they are doing so. It's art when you give someone a hug. It's art when you bake some cookies for a friend, and it's art when let someone with fewer items go ahead of you in line at the grocery. Give art this Christmas season.

The Problem of Beauty

Why is there beauty in the world? There are many days that I feel that I don't deserve it — to be blessed by it, but there it is.
I was walking along the beach thinking that my excursion was going to be a wash-out. I didn't particularly feel creative or inspired. I was trying to think positive — telling myself that at least I was getting some exercise. It wasn't the right time of day — mid-day — to get those nice shadows and warm colors. There were too many people enjoying the beach that day — good for them but they only interrupted my concentration. I didn't even pull out my camera until 20 minutes into my walk.
I waded into a puddle formed where sand had blocked a stream from making a quick entrance into the bay. I had been at this location many times and in my cynicism I was thinking that I had pretty much explored the place from every angle possible, and that anything I created that day would just be a repeat of something I had done before. I stood on the edge of the pond looking at some broken beach toys that were half buried in the sand. I slowly turned around and saw the image that accompanies this blog entry.
I noticed that stirring the water with feet caused beautiful ripples on the pond. Who had left their lounge chairs on the beach? Why had all this dark sediment settled on the bottom of the pond creating a reflective pool? Why was this stretch of beach vacant when every other inch of sand seemed occupied?
Just accept the beauty Bob! Enjoy the moment. You are blessed.

In a Ditch

Q: Where can you find some of Michigan's most beautiful wildflowers?
A: In a ditch.
In order to position myself to capture the image I had to place my feet, accompanied by my favorite sandals, in stagnant, slime capped, water. The mosquitoes were in my ears. Just four feet from my camera bag, cars, motorcycles, and trucks kicked up stones. My imagination played a movie of a startled bicyclist losing control and falling on top of me. All in a day's shoot.

I would guess that on a clear summer's day couple hundred vehicles drive along this stretch of road, and being a favorite bike route of the local folks, an equal number of cyclists pass by. How many ever stop to appreciate the incredible beauty that lives here? Purple Iris, Lady's Slippers, Marsh Marigolds, Forget-me-nots, Damsel Flies, Leopard Frogs, and Salamanders, are just a few who inhabit this ditch. We will travel thousands of miles to see canyons and mountains, but won't stop the car and take a couple steps to see an equally grand landscape. Yes, I know, it's not "grand" in size, but if you scale down your perspective, it's equally majestic.

A ditch is seldom referred to in positive terms. A ditch is the unhappy conclusion to a story of traveling on slippery roads, and digging ditches is considered one of the most menial of tasks. No one particularly likes being in a ditch and I hope and pray that you don't find yourself in one of life's ditches. But I have found that when I am "in a ditch," I often see, appreciate, and experience the grace and glory of God in new and exciting ways. Example: I know I can count on the love and support of my brothers and sisters in Christ, especially my church community, when I am in need. Yes, there is beauty in the ditch.

Michigan is in transition from Winter to Spring and I guess I'm feeling the tension. The battle rages — one minute it's Spring and the next it's Winter again. Maybe that's why I created this image. Can you feel the tension? There are always new sculptures along the beach as the ice breaks up and refreezes.

Beach Berries

It was a rainy day in Petoskey on Sunday — as it was in much of the midwest. It wasn't a "beach" day in the ordinary swimmer and sunbather sense, but foul weather only serves as a challenge to my creative spirit, so for me it was a beach day. I put the all-weather cover on my camera and headed for the State Park. On my ten minute drive I was conceptualizing the images — the concentric ring patterns left by raindrops as they hit the surface of the small backwater pools or beads of water sliding down slender blades of beach grasses.
You would think that my artistic genes would tell me to explore some new stretch of the park, but here I was making my way along the same old stretch of Little Traverse Bay. It was a surprisingly pleasant stroll. The wet, firm, sand lessened the walking resistance and the rain was light. I figured I had at least an hour before my jacket fabric would begin to saturate and chill me.

At my usual turn-around point I make a slight detour inland to a bank of vegetation that held a mound of dark soil. It was the deep red leaves that first drew my attention — then the fleabane and the berries. The water on the leaves added color saturation and some highlights for some excitement. It wasn't what I imagined I'd be taking pictures of but the unexpected is good creative nurishment. I saw a very rich tapestry. What do you see?