The Bridge at Riverbend Ponds Natural Area

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I like the idea of large panoramic photographs, though they seem a bit impractical.  This photo is roughly 80 megapixels and 500MB, on paper it would measure to 78 inches long at 18 inches high.  I captured 240 exposures, of which I used 168, then compiled and tonemapped those down to 24 (7-stop brackets) to create this 180 degree view.  That may seem like overkill but I used art school math and Kentucky windage to hedge my bets.  Processing all those photos and stitching them all together was quite the experience as well.  If you experienced the lights dimming or sudden black-outs in your neighborhood, it's probably my fault.  Anyway, I think it turned out very pretty and strange.  This wooziness I'm feeling is most likely the result of number cruntching with an artist's brain.  Time to get some fresh air, perhaps I'll go for a walk.  Maybe you'd like to do the same?

Riverbend, Plate 4

Ideas, like leaves, scattered to the floor

Lay clumped in effluvial eddies.

Swirling away, in a breath of air

Will they walk or do they drown?

Evening Events

Ever find one of those places that you don't want to leave?  I set up my tent and sat here for nearly a week.  Most of the recent photos are from very close to this exact spot.  In the afternoons, I'd head into the mountain (literally), but mostly... I stayed close to this spot.

Riverbend Series, Plate 4

A couple of nights ago, I woke up from a dream.  It was more of a nightmare, but since I forced myself awake, there wasn't that normal continuation of panicked feelings.  In the dream, I was standing on a large rock that was barely sticking out of the ocean.  There was a great white shark circling the rock and being very aggressively inquisitive.  I turned my head to the person who was with me on the rock and said, "If the tide rises, we're fucked."  Then, I looked at my wet feet.  I was wearing shoes.  This is when I woke up.  When I was a small boy, I was very afraid of sharks.  It was an irrational fear, because I lived in Pennsylvania, but the mind of a child isn't a rational thing.  I couldn't close my eyes in the shower, because when I did, I would see a shark's mouth coming toward me.  As a teenager, on the swim team, I used to imagine sharks swimming in the pool during a race.  Fear of sharks, actually, replaced my fear of tornados.  Seems there's always something to fear.  Being an artist is strange thing.  I get ideas and make things.  I had this idea to make a series of prints around the central themes of water and distance.  Would you lose respect for me if I said, this project has it's own tide?  I hope not.  Anyway, you probably know what I mean, though.  Sometimes you lose sight of the idea as it's building.  You know it's there, but it's far off and a little past the horizon, now.  It may be getting closer, I can't really tell.  Damn-it, it's right there, you know you can catch it… but… you're going to have to get a little wet.

Riverbend Series, Plate 2

The second image from the series "Riverbend".  No luck on a new title, yet.  However, I was lucky to find several willing subjects in a single outing.  When I get an idea stuck in my imagination, it is clear and solid and tangible and definite.  Often, though, I cannot use words to express the idea and instead will use the sounds I hear associated with the flashes of colour I see when the idea comes into form.  Well… maybe art is like sausage, great on the plate, but you don't want to know how it got there.  I'll be direct, instead.  A stone cannot swim against the tide.  In order to create something, I have to let go of something.  This is an honest personal truth.  If you can accept that as the inception of my images, I can suggest  another truth.  In order to understand something, you have to let go of something.  A cloud cannot hold itself together.

Riverbend Series, Plate 1

I've completed the first image in a new series.  Riverbend.  The more I type that title, though, the more easily bored I am with it.  About a month ago, I was trying to write an "artist statement" for a local gallery.  When trying to speak about my use of colour, I had to visualize my own reactions to colours I remember from landscapes I've photographed.  Not being able to completely draw any one experience that defined those reactions, I instead, explored out from the feelings I have when moved by the light in some of the more dramatic areas I've worked.  This new series was born in the mind of a painter.  If you can hold an ounce of paint in your hand, it is a small world of colour.  As much as this dollop of paint has depth it can be explored, so much as it spreads around your hand it can be experienced.  The image above is based on a memory I have of being bathed in pink light during a predawn shoot.  The moment was powerful enough to completely stop my work and send me into a playing, dancing, hopping frenzy.  Lately, though, I've been listless as the season tries to change to spring.  A few weeks ago while out for a walk, I became very interested in the shoreline of these local ponds.  The intricacies of the submerged patterns was an amusing diversion, I was able to swim away into a pink memory, and float briefly, above the stones of winter.

Hook & Moore Glade Moonrise

During the holiday break, I took a break.  Long story short:  I'm back, let's move on.

It's been a long time getting back into my  work pattern and coming to a complete halt for two weeks was exactly what I needed.  The day after Christmas I went out on a hike in a local Nature Area to check it out and maybe find some places to make images.  Great hike.  Not very cold, shallow snow, minimal mud, and not another person around.  As far as the images... a lot of maybe's, really depends on the right sky to give them life.  So, I'm holding on to the ideas for late spring to see how they germinate.

All afternoon the moon was sneaking over the prairie in a playful hike'n'seek fashion, teasing the sun and the photographer alike.  The above image isn't from the hike.  It's from the drive home.  The hogbacks and the small rolling hills I was hiking just weren't coming together for me.  I saw the moon in one way and the hills in another and there just wasn't a composition or compositing technique that was gonna make them come together to meet the picture in my head.  Kind of the problem with a good imagination.

So, I made some snapshots and kept walking.  Eventually getting back to the Jeep cranking the Mahler and heading home.  The playful moon wasn't done though, and started peaking under the drip cap kinda tugging at my shirt.  I handled it calmly, though.  Knowing full well I needed the D3 to get the right files, I watched the hogbacks and just rolled along until I found it.  When I got home I checked the moon phase calendar (full on the 31st) and planned to return in a few days.  Then checked the weather (snow over the 30-31st) and rescheduled for the following evening.

The image above is made from ten separate image files.  Tonemapped and composited to construct the image.  All ten images were made from the same spot and collected in a five minute period.  Why?  Well, one good exposure of this scene would provide only the expansion or compression of whichever lens I chose.  In my head the grand open landscape is a giant playground (14mm), but the moon is huge and giving me a great tug of war for my attention (200mm).  Only one answer for me... HDR technique for lovely glowing late afternoon cold sunlight, HDR for the subtlety of the moon (& essential for matching the colour and luminosity in the sky), then a well executed composite.  Just enough weight in the foreground to keep the eye bouncing around, like a giddy playmate.

I'm off to work on another project, which doesn't require any imagination.  But that doesn't preclude the lack of playfulness, so I'll have some images from that shoot to post soon enough.

Thanks for checking in...