The sight of a Stonehenge-like row of graffiti covered Cadillacs planted in the bare earth made me think of a strange dream scenario. It inspired this even more surreal interpretation with a textured teal green or aqua sky.
Anyone driving along Interstate 40 (what used to be the old Route 66) through Texas should stop to see the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo.
"Haiku", Sandia Crest, NM (Limited Edition)
I look at the physical world and try to see with all the simplicity and depth of Haiku poetry. To me, this photograph embodies the beauty of the scene as well as my emotions upon witnessing it and it does it with a minimum of clutter.
Less is more.
I was sitting in a small restaurant with a view of Mont St Michel in the North of France, having the most delicious lamb dish. Hearing a commotion outside I turned to see hundreds of sheep (and lambs) being herded through town. Right then and there, I resolved to: a) come back the next evening at the same time to photograph the scene, and b) never eat lamb again.
Arcadia is the mythological home of Pan and pastoral paradise represented in poetic fantasy. This scene, with sheep kicking up dust in the shadow of a medieval abbey on the coast of Normandy, is my idea of a poetic fantasy.
It begins with a gentle lightening of the horizon. No more than a hint of what is to come. So subtle and gradual is the beginning that it is not always recognized for what it is. It could be the lights of a nearby town or the harsh beacons of a highway. It couldn’t be the dawn. Could it?
There is something magical about the moment when night changes to day. That precise moment is calculated and published in newspapers. The longest and shortest days are celebrated as solstices. Even birds become silent in reverence for that moment.
Then it pounces. Minute by minute the sky evolves and suddenly a new day is born. Each one begins in a different way. Sometimes it’s a symphony of light and shadow blending brush strokes of crimson and pink over a dark, dusky blue. Always changing, never waiting until the camera is in the right place, never hesitating for “just one more picture”.
And sometimes the dawning is cold and dreary. Black drains from the sky to reveal a gray, monochromatic world, as if it were veiled to the eye. Trees float into focus as the minutes silently pass.
When enough of the new light filters through, the day begins in earnest. The wind picks up, birds begin to sing, and people move about. Suddenly, it’s another day.
The dawning of the New Year has always been a time of hope, a new beginning. There is the feeling that no matter how dark and dismal the past has been this day is the first day of the rest of your life. It is a chance to start fresh. Past mistakes don’t count.
But why this day? Why do we not celebrate it on the first day of spring? Or on the day of the first new moon? The fact that different countries and religions celebrate it on different days tells us that it’s not the particular day that is important. It’s the feelings we associate with it. So wouldn’t it be nice if we made a fresh start every morning as the sun slips past the horizon to banish the dark corners of our lives?
Happy New Year. Happy new day.
Check out my latest audio slide show, now on the New Mexico Magazine website, as well as on my own site. This coincides with my story and photos in the March issue of the magazine on the same subject.
This was a fun subject to work on. The costumes were colorful, the drums were hypnotic and the kids were a joy to work with. They seemed as excited to have me there as I was to be there and I was honored that they allowed me to photograph them dancing in front of Dowa Yalanne, the Zuni's sacred mesa.
Our July/August monsoon season seems to have arrived ahead of schedule. Not that we have been getting a lot of rain--especially by my old Kentucky standards--but our typically blue, cloudless skies have seen small storms rolling past periodically each day. For us that translates into cooler afternoons and evening light shows. What rain there is to be dropped, is usually unleashed on the Sandia Mountains within sight of my camera.
I took these pictures during Mother Nature's after dinner entertainment while sitting on our patio. Looking at them I am still awed by what I see. My mind runs through the list of keywords I attached to the metadata. I start with the literal: mountains, weather, wind, clouds, sunset, sky, Southwest, Sandia, storm...
Somehow that seems inadequate. I move on to the more descriptive: alpen glow, pastel, orange, intense, scenic, strength, grandeur, big sky...
Then I unleash my feelings and add a few larger concepts for good measure: Enchantment, dreamy, faith, spirituality, passion, perfection, surreal, vitality, dreams, goals, Zen...
Can't you just see one of these photos on a poster with some inspirational message about reaching for your goals with passion? The point is, if they were languishing in some stock agency with only the literal keywords, the buyer looking for an image to illustrate a concept or inspirational message would never find them.
Awe-inspiring. I never tire of looking at that mountain. I need to come up with more words to describe it.
My photos are a result of my relationship with the subject. Sometimes the relationship is fleeting and somewhat one-sided and sometimes protracted and mutual. At times it is contentious and other times, playful.
While in Milan, it was my intention to get back to the Duomo after dinner in time for the best light. But I could see the golden light fading as we approached. I felt deflated and stood in front of the ornate cathedral in frustration, wondering "what do I do now?" That's when a something red to the right of the Duomo caught my eye.
It was "Toy Building N. 1", a futuristic sculpture created by Italo Rota and temporarily installed in the piazza. Okay, this was cool. I love contrasts and this modern, red, odd shape will frame the centuries-old cathedral nicely.
But then the sky darkened and the sculpture lit up and glowed and became the subject.
Then I played with both shapes equally, playing off the contrasts...
That was when I noticed the mirrors in the sculpture and a soundscape surrounded me with indescribable noises that lent a weird sense of disorientation to the scene. At this point I found myself grinning broadly and probably laughed out loud a couple of times.
The night ended as I turned away from the Duomo entirely and took one last shot of the sculpture before tearing myself away.
I love it when I have a playful experience with photography. In those moments I find it very easy to slip into that Zen state where time doesn't exist.
We can talk about color vs. black and white, we can talk about composition and we can talk about higher meaning. But the bottom line in photography is always light. It is the light that we chase. It is the dull, flat light that turns us off and the magical, golden light that sends the chills down our spines.
Somehow, I found the light in Italy extra special. Even in the middle of the day. I wondered what it could be. Was my perception colored by the affection I have for the place? When I critique portfolios, I caution young photographers not to be blinded by celebrities or foreign subjects. Just having those subjects in a photo does not make a good photo. It must also have the other qualities of a good photo.
After giving it some thought I decided it was because the light bounces around the ancient buildings and reflects off the subtle colors of the plaster. Another reason may be that I am inspired by the things I see and feel while I am there so that I am more receptive to capturing these images.
Whatever the reason, I am thankful.
The Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II in Milan was an exercise in sensory overload for a photographer:
A reflecting pool in the Castello Sforzesco in Milan was a bit more restful: As was this courtyard, also in the Castello:
The Torre del Mangia in the Piazza del Campo in Siena glows red in the evening:
And an early morning shaft of light caught a pedestrian's yellow bag in the Piazza della Repubblic in Florence:
It begins with a gentle lightening of the horizon. No more than a hint of what is to come. So subtle and gradual is the beginning that it is not always recognized for what it is. It could be the lights of a nearby town or the harsh beacons of a highway. It couldn’t be the dawn. Could it?
There is something magical about the moment when night changes to day. That precise moment is calculated and published in newspapers. The longest and shortest days are celebrated as solstices. Even birds become silent in reverence for that moment.
Then it pounces. Minute by minute the sky evolves and suddenly a new day is born. Each one begins in a different way. Sometimes it’s a symphony of light and shadow blending brush strokes of crimson and pink over a dark, dusky blue. Always changing, never waiting until the camera is in the right place, never hesitating for “just one more picture”.
And sometimes the dawning is cold and dreary. Black drains from the sky to reveal a gray, monochromatic world, as if it were veiled to the eye. Trees float into focus as the minutes silently pass.
When enough of the new light filters through, the day begins in earnest. The wind picks up, birds begin to sing, and people move about. Suddenly, it’s another day.
The dawning of the New Year has always been a time of hope, a new beginning. There is the feeling that no matter how dark and dismal the past has been this day is the first day of the rest of your life. It is a chance to start fresh. Past mistakes don’t count.
But why this day? Why do we not celebrate it on the first day of spring? Or on the day of the first new moon? The fact that different countries and religions celebrate it on different days tells us that it’s not the particular day that is important. It’s the feelings we associate with it. So wouldn’t it be nice if we made a fresh start every morning as the sun slips past the horizon to banish the dark corners of our lives?
Happy New Year. Happy new day.
Recent Comments