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.

Sorry my posts have been few and far between. The upcoming exhibit of my work down in Grand Haven has kinda been a consuming thing. I did sneek up to Waugoshance Point a couple times in the last two weeks. It is a very curious place. A windswept, stony, peninsula that sticks out into Lake Michigan just west of the Mackinac Bridge — part of Wilderness State Park. I think a lot of people drive out there just to see what it's like but not many stick around for any length of time. With a short visit you pretty much get the idea that it's primarily a collection of stone piles, marsh, and small stands of cedar and other scrub trees that have, by some miracle, been able to withstand this harsh environment. But like with many places, if you stay awhile you begin to see it's unique beauty. There are lots of flowering plants (like the Lobelia covered with dew)-- but because of the winds they tend to be small and keep close to the ground. The pools of water are filled with frogs and water skeeters and plenty of other tiny critters.

I'm drawn to places like this — places you have to stay awhile to really get to appreciate. Our culture seems all about the loud, the "in-your-face" type of life — that's how you get your fifteen minutes of fame, right? Well, there are plenty of people out there that are quietly going about their work, serving others, doing it with little complaint, and loving those who aren't very lovable. Those are this world's real heroes — people you have to hang around and really get to know to appreciate. Thanks, Manette, for being a prime example — you are my hero!

Tadpoles

Seems like a pretty precarious existence, living in this shallow sandy pond on the edge of a lake whose waves could easily wash away their home in minutes, but there they are, zipping for cover as my shadow hovers over them. You really can't see them in a photo because they're too small and their olive drab bodies blend in well with the pond floor.

I hope they don't mind that I took a photo of their place on the beach. I wish I had a place on the beach.