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.

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.

Uncovered

I came across these stumps and miscellaneous tree parts on the dunes the other day. My guess is that they had been buried in the sands for decades if not longer and recent winds had uncovered them. They really are wonderful sculptures. I feel somewhat disappointed in my ability to capture their beauty. I'm sure I'll get back there to try again. It's like I feel obligated to tell their story. I'm not accustomed to breathing life into inanimate objects but what were they thinking when they just sat there in the dark for years — just inches above them children ran across the sands to play in the lake — they missed glorious sunrises and sunsets day after day. Sorry if I'm getting weird here, but my mind attaches stories/histories to many things.
I guess I feel grateful that I can move (although somewhat slower with age) and am not living in fear of the sands burying me for years. I do have days when I feel buried though. I have a wonderful family that's good at keeping me uncovered and out in the sun.
The image I include with this note I titled "Compass." There are obvious design reasons for its title, but also a tribute to my friends and family who are good a giving me a sense of direction — mainly up, above the sands and uncovered.

Bathed in Blessing

Last week I did a little scouting on South Manitou Island for a photography field trip that I'm leading in October. I didn't plan my trip based on any celestial calculations. The moon was just there — and so was Jupiter. I'm not sure what time it was when I got up — probably 1:00 am or so. I just sat on the log bench in front of my tent and watched the sky and the shimmering water of the Manitou passage. I finally took my camera out and took a few shots just because that's what I do, but somehow my heart wasn't in it. I felt bathed in blessing and process of crafting an image seemed to be irreverent. Some would say that this moment was just coincidence. I believe otherwise.

The cool blue moon provided just enough light to give everything around me a hint of their daylight colors. The waves on the stony shore — no bigger than they were this afternoon — had a new voice that seemed amplified tenfold within the context of the muted landscape.

I was inspired to create what some might call a "minimalist" piece. Minimal in visual elements maybe but when I see it I hear clearly the brassy swash of waves that sung me to sleep on South Manitou.

I apologize that you can't see this image any larger on this blog because the weaving of fine lines of light get lost in this low rez version. This is an image I'd like to fill a wall with.

Blessings bathed on you!

A view from my campsite

Two Views of the Bay — Variety

When I was in grade school my art teacher introduced me to burlap, yarn, and stitching. (Please keep it a secret because it's not considered the most manly of things for an adolescent boy to do). I liked it so much that after the class project was done I begged my mom to go to the local fabric store and buy me a big piece of green burlap and a skein of multicolored yarn. And there I'd be, sitting in my bedroom, pushing a big needle over and under the coarse burlap. I would dash across the burlap with the "running" stitch, and then create a wavy line with the "chain" stitch and then a row of "French knots." I'd eventually lay the needle down and walked over to my friend's house so that we could build a fort in his garage and play army. You can tell your friends about that part of my life .

After the long and lonely stitch lines that defined the length of the piece, I concentrated my efforts on one side of the bath towel sized burlap. The design morphed as it grew left to right. I didn't take the time to create a master plan. I just started stitching. My skill level increased, my concept changed, I experimented with new stitches and new yarns, and when I was in a good mood I created more complex motifs, and when tired or grumpy I would keep the technique simple, not wanting to tempt frustration. For some reason I worked around my intitial stitches that ran the length of the burlap, and in some cases I drew attention to them by building symmetries either side of the stitching.

Little did I know that I was creating a design that would reflect my life. I love variety — morphing motifs. That's one reason I think I head to the beach so often. Wind and water mold the soft sands into new visions by the hour. The waves wash up new subjects overnight. But there are always some threads that pull everything together. Even though I don't like to admit it, I need to be pulled together. Thanks for keeping me together MLD.

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

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.