Seeing Spots

Lavender Bee

Those Nice Bright Colors

I can't agree with Paul Simon's sentiment in Kodachrome that "everything looks worse in black and white," but in the week when Kodak announced the end of the line for its venerable color film it somehow seems fitting to drain the colors from Oregon's Painted Hills.

Although I haven't shot Kodachrome in nearly twenty years, it was the first serious film I used, and I will always remember, and be grateful for, those nice bright colors.

Today's The Day

For several years, whenever I drove north out of town on Highway 99N, I passed an old double-wide mobile home that had a colorful mountain scene painted across its backside. There was a gravel parking area next to it, and I always told myself that one of these days I'd stop and shoot a panorama of it. And of course I waited too long, and it's gone.

I'd guess most of us have similar stories, of some thing or someone we were going to photograph next time, and for whatever reason that never happened. If you needed an argument for carrying a camera at all times, that would be it.

So, the Morning Glory, courtesy of my wife's lovely garden, was shot today, in full, unblemished bloom. By tomorrow, after a day bouncing in gusty winds, I suspect the petals will be frayed like a well-thumbed paperback.

And although our new kitten, Poco, will remain cute for quite awhile…nearly imperceptible changes seem to occur overnight, and after the laundry…er, bed…is put away, that photograph likely won't come around again.

These are two simple examples, surely, but they're not going to be nagging what-if regrets when I get up in the morning.

Lighten Up

We didn't think the big rose bush fronting our garden would bloom this year…until a week ago. Now, each day sees it brightening and flourishing, a combination I'm suddenly unable to ignore.

Because, while the rose was hemming and hawing over its annual obligation I was decisive: I loaded the car up Friday morning with stuff I wasn't using, drove to a camera store, and with little regret traded it all for a lightweight camera body.

Sure, there are trade-offs: my full-frame body has (present tense: I'm not selling it) a larger, brighter viewfinder, focuses a bit quicker, and it feels profession…substantial in hand. At 56 ounces without lens, it should. I have to admit, that robustness sometimes deters me from taking it out of the bag. The smaller 40D complements it by simply making shooting physically easier: it's worth it to me for that alone.

Oh, and I changed bags, too. There's a theory that you can never have too many camera bags and at least one should be smaller than the others, so I picked up a used Lowepro Compact AW yesterday. The new camera body and four lenses nest snugly in it and there's room for little else…that's the point.

If I didn't feel so good about all this I'd feel guilty.

Stop & Eat The Flowers

I was surprised yesterday, not by the deer browsing the yard but by the twin fawns among them: normally we wouldn't see youngsters until after July 4th. I suppose it goes with the other abnormalities marking this year (we had a brief tornado warning in the area last week), and gives me a reason to set up my blind close to the taller grasses and be stealthy.

Nothing Special, Except…

I've used a 70-200 2.8 L lens on my Canon's over the past ten years, and have appreciated the sharp results it renders when I do everything right. And there's the rub: I'm not doing everything as well as I did a decade ago.

Hand-holding a camera has become a particular problem. I've never been especially loyal to tripods, although I've owned several: even when I'm not in a hurry they tend to get in the way. So I spend most of my shooting time untethered. Now, my hands aren't shaking so you'd notice…I'm not spilling coffee yet…but when I enlarge shots taken below 1/250 of a second at any focal length to a 100% view on the monitor my keepers rate is waaay down. That's frustrating, and when you're shooting for stock also expensive.

So, when I went to get the paper this morning I was toting a new lens, Canon's diminutive 70-200 4 L with Image Stabilization, or IS. I knew this technology works from an early model zoom I'd shot with briefly, but wasn't aware how much it's improved. I think there are lots of little techie things we overlook that just seem to evolve on their own, and IS is one of them. For the picture above I pushed it past its advertised four-stop improvement, shooting at 150mm at f11 and 1/10 second. 1/10!

In the afternoon, pleased but still slightly suspicious (good things always have a catch, right?) I shot a series with each of the two zooms using an old shed as a subject. I'm mercifully omitting them here (they're on a par with the many brick walls photographed for this same purpose) but take my word: the smaller IS zoom handily spanked the heavy 2.8 lens without stabilization. I also compared the IS at 135mm versus my sharp 135 2L, both at f4. The prime would normally enjoy a visible advantage since it would be stopped-down two full stops while the little zoom was wide open, but…not hand-held by me.

In the evening, as the light was draining from the day, a whitetailed deer appeared across from the house. At this time of year I leave a section of yard unmowed, aka The Salad Bar: the light flattered the deer's coat and contrasted nicely with the surrounding dense greens and browns. I upped the camera's ISO to 200 (the mailbox was at my normal setting of 100) and shot with the lens fully extended to 200mm, at f4…and 1/15 second. It's been well-said by many photographers that IS does not stop a subject's motion: it merely steadies the photographer. And so it is: out of 30 or so shots I had three I was pleased with. But at 1/15 second…and 200mm…how many could I rightfully expect?

I think this little zoom will be in my bag for a long time to come.

Roads

Sunrise across a deserted B6255 roadway, England
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Roads have been rich fodder for artists over the centuries. Metaphorically or compositionally nothing can beat them. Their beds are set deep in our literature and our languages, where a shouted “Road trip!” is to some a sacred calling.

Appropriately, an empty stretch of highway illustrates the jacket of Larry McMurtry’s book Roads: Driving America’s Great Highways, which I recently finished. The reader who rides with McMurtry becomes passenger as he retraces the humbling expanses of the Great Plains and Texas or samples California’s thick urban traffic. McMurtry admits he likes to drive, and drive fast (pointing out that the mileage he covers is frequently flat), and he covered nearly a thousand during one day. Interstates are built for such head-down distances.

Other, slower travelers make their destinations over secondary roads, the wiggly blue highways in William Least Heat Moon’s book of the same name, where it’s still possible to drive through small towns, or what’s left of them. Many of these routes began as primitive tracks carved out by explorers and settlers, and McMurtry, too, felt their history and exhilaration when he crossed the top of the country on Highway 2.

Here in Oregon, my favorite road is Highway 31. It’s short (barely 120 miles), so there isn’t time to become bored. It’s scenic (whether Rand McNally says so or not). And it speaks to me, in sudden, unexpected whispers from a past that’s becoming harder to recall accurately with each passing year.

So I gladly ignore gentle ruts and errant potholes to have the company of ponderosa pines, so perfect in their placements, and the legions of finely-perfumed and under-appreciated sagebrush.

Sitting at this desk tonight, all I need do is close my eyes for a moment or two…

David Schalliol's Isolated Buildings

As often happens on the internet, a search for one thing leads to another. I can't remember what I was originally looking for yesterday, but what I found was David Schalliol, "a sociologist and photographer living in Chicago."

The three photographs here are part of his Isolated Building Studies. Visit his Web site to read about that and other projects he's done in Chicago. You can follow a link there to view the entire collection on flickr.

The Green Grass of Home

It's been a month since I last posted to this blog, and all manner of excuses come to mind for that. I'll spare you those: a real writer wouldn't let a bathroom remodel or the everyday ups-and-downs most of us experience get in the way of…writing.

While I have been quiet, spring has not. Seemingly overnight the oaks are green again and filled with lively birdsong, fat bumblebees are working the rhododendrons, and everyone in the neighborhood has rediscovered their lawn mowers.

I gave up attempting to cut all the grass at one time years ago: there's simply too much of it, self-propelled or otherwise (I'd feel differently, perhaps, if the ground was flat, but it's not). Anyway, if you cut too fast you eliminate many of the tiniest flowers, tucked away in clumps of grass, clover, and the other wild-growing plants we call yard. And what would the landscape be, without a few dewdrops come morning?

Math Sucks

Yesterday morning I was in Monmouth, Oregon, on the campus of Western Oregon University. It was the type of morning that deserves to be called gorgeous: dewdrops glinting on the lawns, quiet, sleepy streets, a couple out walking their dog, and it was Sunday…rest…no classes. All covered with buttery sunshine. All-in-all, the perfect day to burn Arnold Arms to the ground.

I'd expected an old wooden or brick building, in poor shape after many decades of hard living, but when I parked nearby I was surprised to see that the Arms didn't look too bad. Clean beige siding gave it a promising exterior. The shrubs flanking the main entrance were well-manicured. But inside it had one too many minuses (a poor foundation was just the start) and besides, there's always a need for more campus parking.

So, firefighters from Polk County, Dallas, Sheridan, Rickreall and West Valley drilled inside the Arms until the early afternoon, then pulled the hose lines out of the structure and let it go. Dallas Fire's Ladder 101 controlled the flames from the air while several hand lines were operated at the corners: neighboring exposures could easily have been damaged by radiant heat if the blaze burned unchecked (it is practice, after all).

As usual a crowd gathered to watch the fire, cheering whenever a portion of the building collapsed, and no one seemed the least bit sorry to see the end of Arnold Arms. I was finished shooting photos and talking with a couple who'd been students there when I learned part of the reason for the almost festive mood: apparently Arnold Arms had notoriously poor air-conditioning, and when the classroom subject is math, to boot, well…say no more. That's an equation even I can figure out.

Red Rock Dreamin'

It's April and daffodils are the Current Yellow, and I know my thoughts should be springlike, but…

Harbingers

Winter is like that self-centered teen in the comic strip ZITS: it always leaves a mess behind for someone else to clean up. The deer help where they can, browsing clumps of moss that have fallen from the oak trees, but we're on our own with the rest of it. This past weekend, being sunny and quiet, was perfect for tending to the debris of downed branches, leftover leaves and whatever else has blown into the yard since November. As I loaded the pickup I realized there was other work here, as well, and so took out my camera for a short spell. Fresh flowers and feathers not only define spring but are harbingers of another summer, just around the corner.

Depth of Feeling

Every year, as Spring flowers emerge, I amuse my wife with a routine involving the movement of folders, envelopes, boxes, and plastic containers, aka I’m cleaning my office.

So it is again, as I’ve now squeezed the contents of a squat three-drawer file cabinet into one drawer of a larger unit. That’s serious space saving, except the shorter drawers were filled haphazardly and don’t quite fill the longer one, and now there’s a box of folders containing 4000 slides on the floor under my desk. Huh? (They fit really well in a longer drawer. Maybe they’ll fit in that little cabinet, too.)

While doing this kind of work it’s important to pause frequently and inspect the papers and photos that have collected in the folders and envelopes. I call this quality control, and I’m amazed some of this stuff hasn’t been recalled. As I review long-forgotten materials (e.g. “High School Writing Class”) I replace dog-eared folders with new ones (after reading any notes scribbled along the margins in 1985).

None of this had anything to do with depth-of-field until I unearthed an article I’d written about it for Backpacker Magazine back in, oh, 1985. Titled From Near to Infinity, its illustrative photos wrapped around 1500 words on a very dry photographic subject. I didn’t break any new ground in my explanations of how DOF works, being content to show that it simply does. Getting one’s head around the numbers, or f/stops, where 16 is small and 2 is large, is at first confusing but becomes second nature after a short while.

The photo I’ve posted here, of a twisting walled lane in English farming country, is a reminder that every photo presents choices, and aperture can be the most important of those. Crouched between the stones, I felt a narrow DOF served its character, and so chose a moderate 135mm telephoto to isolate the rocks, focused selectively, and made the exposure shooting wide open at f/2. The result is exactly what I envisioned.

Two points here: first, a lens is always open to its maximum f/stop until you press the shutter release, when it stops down to the aperture you’ve set. When I looked through the viewfinder at this country scene I thus saw how it would appear at f/2, wide open. Secondly, a camera’s DOF preview button allows one to judge the depth in a scene (although the button’s sadly gone missing from some newer bodies). Shooting at f/2 I was confident my photo would be as seen, but if I’d chosen another aperture setting (like f/16, say, for increased DOF) I could preview it for effect.

When you understand how aperture affects a photo you can then choose a setting appropriate to your feelings about a subject, and that’s far superior to letting the camera do it for you (via the Auto setting). Used thoughtfully, and carefully, the letters DOF will soon translate into Depth of Feeling.

Character

During the past two weeks I haven't taken any photos, nor been inclined to sort through old ones, and my muse has been on vacation. Agony, no doubt, for those of you who visit here from time-to-time, but barely a blip in the greater blogosphere.

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I've posted a photo today from The Frame that comes from North Dakota: it's one of those moments that's unforgettable for both the subject and viewer. It barely requires a caption to make its point. I cannot imagine (though I could guess) how this boy's character will be influenced by his experiences during the recent flooding there. How will he remember it to his grandchildren?

A Warm Drink Day

It's Sunday morning, the leaves are skipping across the lawn pursued by a dank wind, and my front room is full of screaming women. Who is this Mr. Darcy, anyway? As I told my wife, I'd gladly join her on the sofa if the film had English subtitles.

It is truly one of those days that mark a transition of winter into spring, although it's hard to tell: everything outside is cold, the rain, the wind, the mood. A hummingbird pair who arrived last week are nowhere to be seen, and the regular visitors to the feeders aren't lingering over breakfast. Our horse may be the wisest creature on-site, as he's dry and well-fed: there's no need to venture far from the barn when room service is provided.

I know, as I sit here with a mug of coffee and contemplate the warmth of days to come, that hard-working photographers are now leaning into blizzards and surviving other natural hazards as they capture hard-won landscapes, and the thought makes me slightly embarrassed here in my softer surrounds—but only for a moment.

The hubbub is subsiding somewhat now, so I'll chance a quick dash to the kitchen for a refill. At least I won't run into Hugh Grant.

Railroad Spur Line, Utah

Cottonwood, Zion

That's Quite Alright, Thank You

Four Apples

My wife keeps an assortment of fruits on this plate, on a kitchen counter that receives soft, indirect daylight. I'd noticed its subtle effects before, but yesterday these apples were too classic to ignore, and so I jammed my tripod between the stove and shot with a 50mm lens at a variety of apertures. To better balance the apples I cropped a portion off the frame's right side, which was nearly black. I also removed a few cat hairs from the tray in Photoshop (now, how did those get there?), and did a bit of dodging and burning. I considered shooting the setup with a small strobe but rejected that idea since I felt the natural light couldn't be improved upon. I enjoy the photo because of the lighting and simplicity, and the contrasting cool/warm colors.

A Tuxedo Cat

Scooter came into our lives eleven years ago, when I caught her scavenging in a garbage can. She was small, scared, and wouldn't have lasted long on her own in our woodsy area with its owls, fox and hawks. We'd seen her on several occasions in a neighbor's barn, where she was born (I'm guessing in a wall space): her mother was a manx and domesticated, but all the kittens in her litter were wild. When they were weaned and mostly ignoring her, I picked Mom up early one morning and took her to a veterinary office to be adopted, while one-by-one the kittens disappeared. After these many years in our house she still suspects something's up, although she does share her chair and allow us grooming privileges.