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.

Weather the Weather

I've been on the road for the last three weeks. First, I went to the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park as Artist in Residence and with a quick turn around headed to Sleeping Bear Dunes to serve as a workshop presenter and field trip leader for a NANPA (North American Nature Photographers Association) event. At both locations I had to contend with some pretty "rough" weather. Wind, cold, and rain seemed to be a forecast staple. I'll admit that it wasn't always easy to get out of bed at 6 am to go collect images, but I reassured myself that no matter what the weather I would get good shots.
Necessity is the mother of invention — right? And likewise, a challenge is the mother of creativity. The weather forced me to think differently about what I was shooting — a good thing. And the Porcupines had been very dry most of the summer so the forests and critters needed the rain — a good thing. Well, I better stop there or I'll sound like a positive think guru. Getting real — the weather was tough to endure at times, and I did ask why me, why now? But it was part of a plan and I've learned to be humble and accept that plan, whether I understand it or not.

Showers of blessings

Bob

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.