Together Again

I'm sharing two photos that I took this week with my first digital camera. That camera was a Fuji FinePix V10 that was introduced in 2006. It boasted a 5MP sensor and a large 3-inch display screen. Reviewers called it quirky but praised it for its high ISO performance. My motivation for purchasing it was that it was priced $300 cheaper than the Nikon entry-level DSLR. Price was a critical element in my decision to move from film to digital. My concern, at the time, was how I would embrace digital after shooting film all those years. The feel of my sturdy metal Nikon FM did not engender confidence as I held the plastics found in the new entry-level digital DSLRs. Would digital stay, or would it go the way of New Coke?

I charged the battery, and the 20-year-old Fuji lit up once again like familiar old face -- together again.  I took it to morning coffee to show a friend what digital looked like in its genesis. While there, I took the photo below. The metal chair backs at the coffee shop had cutouts of coffee cups. Their design piqued my interest, prompting me to photograph one and enhance the cutout portions by applying a dual warming filter to add some vibrancy. The result struck me as looking like a logo for the place. That quirkiness the reviewers expressed in their reviews perhaps referred to the buyers of this camera. 

While driving home, I encountered the dogwalkers walking down a rural road near my home. I was impressed by the number of dogs present and how each walker successfully controlled the eight dogs they were walking that day. They were spread out across the narrow country road and no tangled leashes were noted. Since the little Fugi was in the console of the car, I called upon it to capture a scene as it did some twenty years ago. When I got home and reviewed the photo, I noticed that there were four walkers. The fourth walker is hidden behind the middle walker, bringing the total number of dogs to thirty-two. I was also impressed with how the dog's eyes were fixed on me. I wish it were that simple to photograph groups of humans in the same way. 

My title for this week's blog emerged from the deep "hillbilly" recesses of my subconscious, bringing to mind the old Buck Owens country classic "Together Again." 

The love I once knew
Is living again
And nothing else matters
We're together again

 

Suddenly, Squill

Each spring a small, vibrant, blue plant emerges abruptly and carpets the ground before the grasses take over a week later. Their appearance each spring is an assuring and magical sight.  It is as if elves were granted power to landscape secret places for only one week. Most spring signs emerge in soft pastels, but the Siberian squill bursts forward with intense color, trumpeting spring's return.

The small flowers stand as testimony that there are recurring patterns in life that remain steadfast even when our daily lives seem much less predictable.  As we approach Easter, the story of resurrection gains prominence, bringing the promise of hope and abundance. For this reason, the true blue squill brings me awe and comfort each year. 

              “Where flowers bloom, so does hope.” — Lady Bird Johnson

Reflecting On Picasso 

The photo featured this week is one that I took last year while on a photo walk.  It isn’t the type of photo I planned to take that morning, nor is it the type of photo I normally create.  It wasn't until I got home and reviewed all the photos taken that morning when I noticed I had been photobombed by Picasso's cubism style.  I would not have even known how to create an example of cubism in photography.  However, there it was on my computer screen making me wonder what is happening in the remote recesses of my mind to make this connection courtesy of Pablo Picasso. 

Picasso was an influential 20th-century Spanish painter and sculptor who lived in France.  Art scholars have grouped his life's work into several periods. His cubism period was from 1909 to 1919 and included works such as: 

Bouteille, Clarinet, Violon, and Journal,  Girl with Madolin, 

Still Life with a Bottle of Rum, among others. http://art-picasso.com/1910.html.   His work was both applauded and reviled.  

This photo appeared to me essentially straight out of the camera, with only some minor color enhancements and minor light balancing for highlights.  What I liked about the photo is the way that the store's interior is blended with the reflections of the street immediately behind me. Its is as if the past, present and future all came together exactly where I was standing.  The rectangular shapes of the interior store lights and the architectural reflections of the street suggest the Picasso's cubic style. I am considering printing it on a metallic paper to enhance its detail and color to create a greater 3D effect. For me, photography has a mysterious way of conjuring up associations that are unknown to my consciousness.  My experience with this photo is one of the reasons I enjoy photography and take pleasure in creating images like this that allow me to break free from what I refer to as "my normalcy."

 Hanging Around With Winter

Just when I can feel Spring on the horizon, a blizzard passes through and emphatically presses the point that Winter still rules.  I believe that each day's weather has an influence on the attitude we bring to that day's events.  When several cloudy and chilly days are strung together, it is hard to remember the warmth that sunshine brings to the soul and the optimism that returns with the smell of fresh earth and the emergence of spring's earliest buds and blossoms.

For this week, my camera wants to point at the monotony and cold textures and tones all about me.  I have to look hard to find the beauty in the soft colors within morning and evening skies and those simple agarian structures that serve as monuments to hope for another planting season  and harvest.

In this photo, the sky is today's message of hope and the silos are a secondary supporting feature.  To make the sky the main feature I warmed it a bit and placed a softening texture over it to bring a moody but sanguine feel. It is my means of moving the viewer's eye toward the most compelling part of the image.

This is rural Illinois in winter.  It is solemn, resolute, and stark, but those qualities highlight the subtle pieces of color and warmth which push their way into my frame as they covertly photo bomb this dreary scene.  "What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” ― John Steinbeck

How do you like them tomatoes?

On Photo Contests and Exhibits

Over the weekend, I had the privilege of judging a juried photo show at a small regional art center. I was fortunate to judge with two other photographers who were not exactly like me, and our individual differences made our choices more balanced and well considered for the participants and more reflective of the various types of photography within our area. 

We viewed two hundred entries with the understanding that the physical capacity of the gallery was one hundred photos. Each of the judges viewed every photo multiple times individually and finally collectively as we attempted to choose the final ten. Our task was made easier by competent supporting people at the art center who made sure we understood the system, answered all questions, and provided spreadsheets and completed all calculations for our individual scores. They never tried to influence the judging and worked exclusively to support us in the decisions we made. I learned a good deal from the experience that will stick with me as both a person and as a photographer.

This week I want to share just a few simple thoughts that may help a fellow photographer as they consider entering a photo into a contest or photo exhibit. I always enjoyed Letterman's humor and his use of top ten lists, so I borrowed his format but will not promise ten items.

Selecting Your Photo

1.  Select a photo that will appeal to a broad audience. Viewers may not read your emotional attachment to your photo, so provide enough context to identify your subject or clarify your message. While you may photograph subjects for your own satisfaction, exhibits require you to photograph for a broad audience

2. Photos that feature the interplay of light and shadow strongly or softly have a better chance of connecting with the audience (who will be non-photographers and fellow photographers). Your use of shadow and light giving dimension to a flat medium is more important than saturated colors and slider mania in post-processing.

3. Prepare your print well in advance of the submission date so you leave time to make any needed adjustments. Sometimes the photo you see in print has color, brightness, or other issues differing from what you recalled on your home screen. Photo flaws sometimes can be easier seen in printed form rather than digital form.

Selecting a Substrate, Mat and Frame

4.  Your selection of a mat and frame should complement your photo, which is the star of the show. As a judge, the primary focus is the photo, but a poorly cut mat or the placement of the photo within the mat can change how your photo looks to the viewer. If you use a colored mat, select a color that makes your photo stand out for the viewer. 

5.  The frame, be it elaborate or simple, is nothing more than a border for your photo and a structure to hang it on the wall. The physical size of an image can complement or distract from the overall impact of the photo, but bigger and fancier frames alone won't make an average image look better. However, keep the framed image clean from dust and any debris between the glass and print.

6.  I've seen many great photos ruined by poor choice of a substrate. This is a problem that I have witnessed in nearly every show I have attended. I think people fall in love with the novelty of the substrate on which the photo is printed while forgetting the importance of the image. Remember to select a substrate (canvas, glass, metallic paper, etc.) that enhances the photo's best features (details, tones, and colors) of your photo.

At The Exhibition 

Stop, look, and listen!

7.  Stopping and Looking         At the last photo show that I entered as an exhibitor, I took the time to look carefully at each photo and try to put aside my biases to fully see what other photographers found important to exhibit. I look for a photo's overall impact and then try to define those elements that make it so by temporarily putting aside any criticism. I note the different types of photography displayed, finding that its variety is telling for future shows I may enter, and it provides clues to what kinds of photos within the show may seem underrepresented. New subject matter and creative perspectives help me shape my future photography and stimulate risk-taking.

8.  Listen to the Comments      During the show, I may stand discreetly in proximity of my photos and listen for unsolicited and spontaneous comments from viewers to other viewers. This unfiltered feedback is raw and informative. All performers and artists require a mix of detachment and vulnerability if they hope to succeed. It is extremely gratifying to overhear others discuss those same elements/clues you thoughtfully placed within your photo. Likewise, it is good to know when you miss the mark.

Being both a judge and an exhibitor in a photo show is a worthwhile experience. My preference is a show that emphasizes curation over competition. I would never be one to suggest that judges are purely objective no matter how hard they try to be. That is why I appreciated having two other skilled photographers to make decisions with me. Our collective knowledge of photography conventions and photographic experience provided a useful framework to consider each entry. It is also important to understand that every exhibit or contest has a framework in which it is designed. The trick to judging is to produce a show that aligns the exhibit's theoretical structure and the individual artist contributions to meet both the interests of the artist and the sponsoring organization.

 Watercolors of Spring

This week's photo is my attempt to bring a watercolor look to a landscape photo I took last April.  I liked the scene because the light played upon the different layers of grass giving a contoured and peaceful look.  My current goal was to mute the colors in a soft way that watercolors do so well.  With the exception of the blues in the sky, I think I achieved that muted, flat look while retaining enough texture detail just like my favorite landscape painters create in their art.  Another subconscious motivation is that I am trying to push spring forward on a calendar that seems stuck on the drab colors of winter. 

This past Wednesday was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the Lenten season, a season of sacrifice and hope.  For Lent,  I gave up winter, and my kindergarten grandson gave up spinach. Gotta love that kid!

 Outback Time Machine

How do you know when cabin fever and the winter blues have taken control of your mind and daily routines? This week's photo gives me pause to discover that I find myself captivated by things that normally would seem trivial. I present my photo for this week as evidence of that point.

To overcome the winter blues, I have experimented with many things, such as instituting "Mandatory Fedora Fridays," performing daily inspections of frost-etched windows searching for the faces of former presidents, and placing supermarket coupons in the church pews instead of restocking them with those monotonous offering envelopes. Even the library book club, which initially seemed to help ease my boredom, has grown increasingly blasé. I crave those vibrant firsthand experiences that spring, summer, and fall offer so naturally.

So, this week I joined a car wash club. It seemed like the perfect way to get out of my house while still hiding from the extreme cold. Perhaps I could experience life at its edges from the cozy heated seats of my old Outback. I could achieve the necessary chore of cleaning a salt-encrusted car and also demonstrate my civic commitment to public safety by driving with crystal-clear windows. Upon entering the carwash for the first time, I was mesmerized by its spinning brushes, currents of churning foam, and bright flashing lights. It was like being in a rocket ship as it launches through the different layers of Earth's atmosphere. As my car glided through the wash, it produced a dreamlike sequence similar to a near-death experience, as it steadily proceeded down that narrow tunnel toward a distant glowing light.

It's curious how these seemingly mundane experiences take on an elevated status during the cold, dark, dreary days of January and February. While science recognizes cabin fever as a folk syndrome rather than a medical diagnosis, it has documented the mental boredom that causes the brain to crave any kind of engagement, making irrational behaviors and thoughts seem appealing just to break the monotony. Therefore, my plan for next weekend is to return to the carwash while listening to the Strawberry Alarm Clock bang out "Incense and Peppermints." How great will it be to drive through that rainbow of lava lamp colors and strobing lights to re-experience those mellow days of the 1960s?