Molten Lava Sky

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Absolutely minimal processing. One tweak of exposure. A tiny bit of noise reduction because it was shot with the G7 at ISO 400, at least. Maybe 800. No Kidding.

We were on our way back from Los Angeles, Thursday, and The Husband decided on a whim to take the all-freeway route back home. We had both just commented on what a beautiful day it had been with the air still clean and fresh from the rain earlier in the week. We were crossing the Mojave Desert when the sun began to dip to the horizon and we could see we were headed for a lovely sunset. We couldn't have known we were in for this treat. The Husband pulled off the freeway in the Mojave Desert and we stood, for some time, gaping at this giant cloud looking more like molten lava than any cloud I have seen. I wish I had been carrying a wide angle lens and a camera to do this justice, but just watching this marvel was reward enough. Any record at all was a bonus for me.

Good News is...Good News

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note: fixed the link

Last week, we did two trips to Los Angeles. Wednesday was a long day with loads of questions, more appointments scheduled, and lots of sitting in offices waiting. But, we headed home with a big piece of good news and filled with gratitude. On the way home, we stopped for a bite to eat and took a short walk. The lovely sunset further buoyed our spirits.  

Canon Tough

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I take reasonably good care of my cameras, but I most certainly don't baby them. They sit about the house, ready for action, and seldom see the inside of a camera bag. If we are going farther than a day trip, then I pack both the 50D and the now backup 40D along with extra lenses, flash, filters, extra batteries, battery chargers, tripod—the whole kit and kaboodle. Camera bags are the only sane way to go in those cases. Otherwise, you would find one or both cameras on a table or shelf close to the action. In the case of day trips, the camera is in my lap if I'm the passenger; and, if I'm driving,the passenger seat holds one (or both) cameras. You can see that I loathe digging in a camera bag when the impulse to press the shutter strikes.

Conversely, I don't treat my cameras roughly. I handle them with some thought, almost never change lenses outside the house or car, and it takes a quite compelling scene for me to use a DSLR in extremely windy and dusty conditions. All this means that I never really wear out a camera. My sadly outdated original Canon Rebel is in excellent condition.

Still, my 40D is strangely accident prone. When the camera and the 24-105mmL lens were only a few months old, The Husband and I were walking alongside a two-lane road in the mountains of Colorado. Naturally, I was absorbed in the scenery around me. Naturally for me, unfortunately, that meant that I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been to where my feet were. We were walking on uneven terrain that was at a slant anyway and I hit a patch of loose gravel. Before I knew what was happening I went down on the pavement, camera first. Eventually, I was grateful to find that the lens hood took the brunt of the blow—for the camera that is. I ended none the worse for wear—other than wounded pride—and the camera functioned beautifully the remainder of the trip. 

Late yesterday evening, I grabbed the 40D—that's where the 24-105mm lens was attached—and headed for the back door to see if I could catch some of the rich coral and lavender in the sky. To the west, the sunset wasn't anything to write home about. The clouds in the east, however, were a different matter. Quickly, I stepped outside and failed to give much attention to Galen who, of course, dashed out with me. "Whoopee! Outside! Playtime!", he thought. The pup sprang up, caught his foot in the camera strap that dangled down and Crash! Yet again, the 40D hit the concrete. It was a horrible sight. I saw the lens hood smack the patio surface, bounce, then it was the camera's turn. Shplat! With a thud the whole thing finally settled in a heap. 

Now, I really love having a second camera. Mostly, it's that lens-changing thing and I learned once that I don't want to be without a backup camera. Unfortunately, I can't brush off the cost of a new DSLR and a replacement L lens. My heart was right there on the concrete beside the camera gear. I scooped it up—the camera that is. (Who remembers rules about bending from the waist in a situation like that?)  Nothing obvious in the way of serious damage. A sizable ding on the body and some rather nasty battle scars on the lens hood, but the camera seemed to focus, the zoom functioned, and when I tried multiple buttons everything seemed to be in working order. Of course, I will do further testing of the battered gear today to make sure everything works, but I am reasonably assured that I got lucky.

Thanks Canon for making an affordable DSLR that will take some body slams and continue to do the job. Now, if you could help me learn to watch where my feet are and keep my camera strap out of puppy range....

Sunsets and Repeated Themes

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A few days ago, Paul Lester posted his thoughts about the themes some of us repeat in our photographs. I admitted in my comment on his post that I sometimes think, from the beginning, I have been endlessly repeating the same five or ten photographs. Sure, I produce some pictures that have subtle variations in details and sometimes I manage larger changes that might briefly fool the casual observer. Even then, it wouldn’t take a genius to see that the scriptwriter is rehashing one of the same old familiar plots—just trotting in new actors—maybe even tossing in a few new set pieces or turning the opus into a period piece.

From the beginning, sunsets have been a dominant theme of mine. Periodically, I vow to myself that I will close the door on this phase and declare, “Enough. I could supply a city full of amateur photographers with sunset photos.” My effort is wasted. Ultimately, I never can resist going for one more.

The truth is that, while a part of me wants to resist photographing sunrises and sunsets and “move on” to a new subject, I never grow tired of losing myself in that splendor that marks the beginnings and endings of each day. For me, those final moments as the sun sinks out of sight are always particularly touching. Another day has slipped away and those hours can never be retrieved.

Some days end with no fanfare, and I find that touching in itself. No fanfare. No eye-filling displays of color. The sun simply slides behind the curve of the planet and the day is fundamentally gone. Then there are the days when the sun, in a last fierce blast of energy, belches color across the sky and the west erupts in a dazzling display of golds, purples, and pinks. Not all days give way quietly to the darkness. I am always awed by the drama.

I know my fascination with sunrises and sunsets has something to do with my keen appreciation of story and, after all, all stories have beginnings and ending. Great stories, (the ones we tuck away in the backs of our minds, so we can take them out and relish them now and again) have beginnings that grab us and say, “Come with me. Forget everything else. You don’t want to miss a moment of this!” The endings or resolutions of those stories are equally engaging and tend to stay with us. They often persist in our minds because they are spectacular. But, perhaps most of all, those endings that are satisfying incorporate events that are not fully predictable, while still resonating with us as ultimately inevitable. We have all read novels or seen films that were weakened by endings that didn’t meet these criteria. Sunsets always seem to be fitting endings. They are certainly predictable to a degree, but you just never know what delicious surprises may be thrown in during those last few moments.

I notice that my fascination with sunsets grows as I age. That’s probably because, like everyone else, I become increasingly aware of my mortality as the years pass. Sunsets are also about transience. No day, no matter how much fun, or how significant—or how awful, for that matter, lasts forever. These are not morose thoughts. They are simply some observations that were floating through my mind while I processed this photograph and marveled at the beauty and splendor that is there for us to enjoy each evening as one day fades into the next.

SoFoBoMo Considerations

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It’s not that I haven’t been thinking about SoFoBoMo, but since I can’t get out with the camera, I am still thinking only in broad terms and don’t have any specifics to talk about. Some people are excellent at determining in advance precisely what they will shoot and how their project will look. I can't fit myself into that mold. I will have to start shooting and discover the theme as I go.

All I had committed to was that I would shoot outdoors in Bear Valley Springs possibly as far away as Tehachapi and mostly landscapes with a few macros. Furthermore, I had thought that I would include some of our local critters. Beyond that I had planned to let my discoveries in March and April lead me. I am living in a place that still has many surprises for me, and I look forward to a great deal more exploring.

It turns out that I may have to rethink even my vague plans depending upon my healing time; but, since I had not made a firm choice, that means no major disappointment. Besides, I firmly believe that limitations promote creativity. Whatever physical restrictions I have to deal with may prohibit some things that I want to do; still, those restrictions are likely to force me to try things that I might not have thought about without the boundaries.

I had hoped to start May 1, but it depends now on how mobile I am when I get out sometime next month for a test run. If I have to wait for a June start, that can work, of course. But, I confess that I will be frustrated. On the other hand, I have never lived here in either May or June and maybe June will be a better month for shooting. I will know soon enough.

What it all comes down to, is I know only that I will shoot a project one way or the other. But, I probably won't have even the beginnings of answers to any more of my questions for at least another week.

Looking Back

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Obviously, I am missing those dramatic sunsets we saw so many of in December. Today, I find myself wandering through old files and stopping at sunsets. Our skies have been quite tame through most of January. But, the forecast calls for an end to this little vacation from weather. A week from now we are supposed to be once more in winter mode.

Light Shows

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Yesterday, Paul Lester shared an experience that triggered a memory. A few months ago, we had one of those long days driving to Los Angeles and back. One of the errands was picking up the last vehicle that had been left at a repair shop in LA. That meant that, during the drive home, rather than being in the passenger seat free to indulge in my drive-by photography, I would be behind the wheel and forced to keep my attention on traffic and the road. By the time we got on the road, the sun was low, and it was obvious that we would see a spectacular sunset. Sure enough, a phenomenal light show ensued. This was one of those that wasn’t just a striking sunset. It was a 360 degree light extravaganza. It just kept getting better with every passing minute. I was in serious emotional distress. I desperately wanted to be outside my car with my camera.

The Husband was driving the ‘76 Scout that we had picked up from the shop, late that afternoon, and, in both our minds, there lingered questions about that vehicle’s total reliability. (Indeed, it was ultimately headed for another pit stop with a mechanic closer to Bear Valley Springs who specializes in Scouts.) We both wanted to end the drive and be safely home with the all the questions behind us. As we sailed along the crowded freeway, I knew it wasn’t a good idea to call The Husband on his cell requesting a detour for photographing the gorgeous colors and breathtaking light. He is amazingly indulgent and supportive of my obsession; still, he occasionally puts common sense ahead of photo ops. Go figure.

That put me in an odd position. On one hand, I was fervently hoping nothing would go wrong, the Scout would prove sound, and we would soon have a somewhat nerve-frazzling trip behind us. On the other hand, I desperately wanted to stop and get at least one shot. I toyed with the notion of concocting the need for a bathroom stop at the first service station out there in the desert. That wouldn’t have worked—he would have had one look at the camera in my hand and easily seen through my ruse. While I tried to come up with a convincing reason to stop, The Husband called me.

One of the reasons for our uncertainty over the Scout was the recent discovery that the old gas gauge was less than reliable and the call was an announcement that we would be exiting the freeway for a fuel stop. Yippee! Never mind that it was bitter cold by that time and the wind was howling, I was elated. We pulled off the freeway making our way to the service station, and I began scouting for my best vantage point. (This display was still good for about 180 degrees.) The moment my wheels rolled to a stop at the station, I jumped out of my car and hot-footed it to a spot across the exit road we had just turned off on and beyond the distractions near the station. I had a few seconds to shoot some of the final moments of the light that I had been enjoying for the past hour. Fortunately, the remainder of the drive was uneventful—except that, while the darkenss closed in, my mind’s eye was still full of all that glorious light and color that I had had witnessed.

Quiet Periods

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The sporadic postings over the last few weeks, remind me that I have been in one of those periods where I don’t have much to say. Rather, nothing that I can justify saying—or think that anyone else would be interested in reading about.

The snow is gone. We have had positively balmy weather compared to what we had before and after Christmas. I finally finished the greeting card project that ate December, but another similar project is ongoing. I have taken on the graphics and advertising department for The Husband’s farrier business. Creating the business cards, thank-you cards, flyers, and postcards, along with various stickers and marketing schemes has kept me busy and it has been a satisfying venture all the way around. The Husband is adding clients, and I enjoy seeing my ideas in print. Can’t beat that.

In the meantime, I don’t find as much time to process photos for posting, and the time that I do have to spend online I tend to spend reading the posts of those who do have something worth saying. One thing that I am still taking time for on most days is photo walks. However, all too often, I complete the basic processing of a photo in ACR with firm intention to post the shot here at the blog, then I wander off to another project. When I browse back through old posts, I see clearly that this is my pattern. I post frequently for a week or so, then I get quiet for a time. I don’t suppose there is anything that I need to do about that.

More Thoughts on Audience

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We certainly don't get this sort of light show every evening, but we get our share. Still, each one fills me with awe and gratitude.

Meanwhile when I am not gawking at sunsets or sunrises, admiring swooping hawks, or laughing at ground squirrels (so long as they aren't eating my geraniums!), I digest and adjust. Along with settling in physically, I am still very much in a gathering mode—reading, looking, finally taking a few more pictures, and processing more ideas than photos. For one thing, I am chewing on a number of topics that have been much discussed recently by the bloggers that I follow. For example, several whose thinking has long inspired me are talking lately about audience—a topic that has long been fascinating for me.

From the time that I first picked up The Husband's new then, but now defunct Canon A70, I was clear about the attraction of photography. I had no intention of beginning, so late in life, a new career, nor did I imagine that I would burst on the art scene and create a sensation. Primarily making images was a tool for dealing with some old hurts and losses that had barely faded with time. I had no idea how effective making images would be in that healing role, much less what lay ahead on my journey. Ultimately, my still budding relationship with a small parade of cameras has begun to play an ever-increasing part in answering questions about still another me and who that is.

If I begin to fret about whether others will find meaning in my photographs or whether they will approve, I am almost instantly paralyzed. This is an exact parallel to acting (I am convinced that it holds true for any creative endeavor). Indeed, it holds true in the everyday business of relating to other human beings. We all know people who are so busy trying to appear confident, smart, and witty that whoever they may actually be is smothered by the phoniness and the desperate need to be admired. They are so busy trying to please their audience they can't simply be.

It was a struggle with most actors I taught to convince them that during execution it was only by letting go of the need to please that could they could be freed to thrill, delight, and entertain their audience. When we are consumed by the need for approval, that becomes the intention and the focus. Then, there is nothing to be said other than, "Look at me, I desperately want to please. Like me; please, please like me." While any artist must hone the basics of craft, inspiration and creativity do not succumb to commands and needs. Creativity flourishes only when we risk yawns of disinterest, even outright rejection.

Of course, I am keen to improve my skills, so I may make images that better capture what I saw. After all, as so many others have already pointed out, I may end up with an audience of one: me. Since that is the only audience I can be certain will "show up for the show", its the audience I had best connect with.

By the way, I don't see that my claiming I aim first and foremost to be clear in communicating what I saw and doing so in a way that delights me, negates in any way the satisfaction that comes in pleasing others along the way. I know some want to make this an either/or situation. In other words, you are dishonest if you claim to create for yourself, while also making your work public and taking enjoyment from knowing that others take pleasure in it as well. I don't see the conflict. For me, it is a simple fact and quite logical that I take the photos first for me. If I am not happy with them, I have failed in my intention. When the result pleases me, I feel the effort was well spent. Yet, there is an eager embrace of a further bonus, when the work connects with another person. It isn't a required validation, but more of a buzz that comes from having sent out a signal and then getting back a signal from a kindred spirit. It's a little like that satisfaction that comes from "Did you see that?!" "Yes, I saw it too. Wow."

An Evening Treat

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Tonight was a treat. We took off for an hour and a half and wandered around down by Cub Lake, enjoying the swallows, ducks, dragonflies, horseback riders, dogs, and kids along with a wonderful sunset. Not bad for one evening. Since this is one of those areas that also warrants an early morning outing, I am delighted that it is so close to our house. In fact, we can see our house from the lake—which is actually more of a pond, but don't tell anyone here I said that.

I certainly hope you are clicking on the link for the larger images. These thumbnails on Blogspot are pretty sad.

Laying Low

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Another voice from the recovery ward. I thought Paul Butzi phrased it perfectly when stating that a couple of days ago he was “in the post-SoFoBoMo recovery”. While there was a flurry of activity on the blogs throughout April, I have noticed that many of the participants in the project have been quieter than usual since books were completed. I suppose the dialogue will pick up again once the May group gets rolling, but apparently I am not the only one moving rather slowly for a while.

I am a bit overwhelmed with some things that aren’t nearly as much fun and not nearly as exciting as another photo book. But, this won’t last forever.

Bitter in Los Angeles

Once again, the bad guys have ruined something the rest of us treasured. The gang that recently converged on Gabrieleno Park leaving their garbage behind after firing their weapons (either at one another or in the air, who knows) have shut down the park for evenings. Effective immediately, the entire area will close at sunset. Still another example of why so many of us flee what were so few years ago vibrant, family-friendly neighborhoods. While we don’t live in the area adjacent to the park, many of our friends do and the park and the surrounding area—including the arena, have been favorite places for us. If I were staying here, I would be fighting mad. As it is, it just makes me terribly, terribly sad that we stand by and cede our cities to outlaws, while a law-abiding citizen must risk a fine—or something far worse, for wanting to stay out on Haul Road long enough to drink in moments like the one above.

I know it’s not smart to write about such a hot topic when overtired and steaming mad. But, this kind of stuff keeps chipping away at our lives and it’s infuriating.

Distracted—Again

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Last Friday, we went to Bear Valley for a couple of days and came home to hold an Open House with our realtor. Then I had a day of feeling rather dreadful. The combination of experiences has knocked me totally off my game. Today, I feel much better and because I did manage to get a number of chores done yesterday, that at least shortened the to-do list.

Over the last couple of weeks, we had adjusted to having two offers on the house fall through, then last week the fellow who had committed to buying The Husband’s business—a fellow who had, for years, been asking for an opportunity to buy should the business ever be for sale—how do I put this delicately? Well, he turned out to be jerk and not a man of his word. His whining and backtracking on his offer finally wore us down and we said, “Get lost.” So, it was back to another offer that had been rejected and fortunately that buyer appears to be eager to complete the deal with all the money up front. So, we are off again.

I was already somewhat nervous about this retirement idea, and as much as I attempt to stay focused on this grand life adventure, I occasionally slip into anxiety about our future. That phrase, fixed income, is about to become shockingly real. Since leaving college, I have always shared equally in earning household income and reveled in my sense of self-sufficiency. This will be brand-new territory for me.

The only concrete thing I accomplished yesterday related to SoFoBoMo was some experimentation with color correction on files using the Blurb profile, and I caught up on the reading I missed out on over the long weekend. The time I spent on color correction convinced me that I will not print this version of this book. For this project I would rather spend the time shooting, editing, and writing. This time around it will be a PDF.

In the meantime, I am picking up all sorts of information about out-sourced printing, color management, the thought process behind projects, and the list goes on. So far, it’s still a great ride.

Caution

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CAUTION - PHOTOGRAPH AT YOUR OWN RISK!
These rocks have been photographed by the top
landscape photographers in the country.

Your work WILL be compared to the best of the best.
Management is not responsible for any embarrassment,
or regret on the part of reckless photographers who proceed
beyond this warning to press the shutter. Should you
proceed, you are urged to keep your photograph
hidden safely in a drawer.

I’m quite certain I saw this sign posted in Sedona, Arizona. As you can see, I decided to live dangerously. After all, the picture brings me pleasure and reminds me of that color-filled evening and the wonder of those rocks. But, let’s just keep it between you and me, okay?

Real and Unreal

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My first impression of this picture, as I browsed the archives, was, "Wow, I must have gotten carried away with processing on that one." Curious, I checked and, surprisingly, there was minimal work done on the file. As it turns out,I had brought the raw file into Lightroom and I hadn't touched the vibrance slider, or any of the color sliders. I had brightened the shot a tad and added a smidgen of fill light. That was it.

The experience reminded me of one of the favorite stories told by the head of the drama department where I got my undergraduate degree. He chided us to study nature and to be more bold with our choices in lighting designs. He delighted in telling us that after living in the southwest for a time—being an east coast native—he returned to the northeast to work in theatre. While he was certain he was holding "as ’t were, the mirror up to nature", his lighting designs were met with derisive comments, and he was frequently asked to alter his plans. He told us that more than once a director pointed to the stage and informed him that, "That light outside the window looks fake. I want something much more realistic."

At first glance, I was certain that this image wasn't "realistic". It was lovely to remember Mr. M.—all my memories of him are fond ones—and pleasing to remember that sometime sunsets really are that spectacular.

That Blasted Hourglass

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Some people (Let’s face it women, mostly. Because, over all, we do more housework than men do. ) talk about housework being conducive to a meditative state. After all, you don’t burn a lot of brain cells dusting and scrubbing. The greatest percentage of your mind is free to wander.

Lately, I have been doing A Lot of housework and my mind is wandering in ways that are not necessarily productive. Now, some of the woolgathering is devoted to soul-stirring images of life in Bear Valley. Pictures of sunsets replete with breathtaking clouds swimming in shimmering golds, hawks swooping down in the meadow grass just beyond our back door, deer wandering across our pasture land and stopping to graze, our horses gamboling in the field with the Tehachapi’s as a backdrop—pretty sweet stuff. On the other hand, some stuff creeps into my head that is not so comforting. Lately, one image that returns all too frequently is that of the blasted hourglass of time. (Natuarlly, this is partially connected to The Book. SoFoBoMo, that is.) But, here’s what’s troubling. That sand in my hourglass isn’t passing through to the bottom slowly and smoothly, as it should. The darned thing is functioning more like a funnel—and I’m talking about a biiiig funnel—one you would use for flour, or rocks, for crying out loud.

Sunsets and Surprises

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For several days, we had planned a work-trip to Bear Valley for some errands. We needed to deliver a few boxes we simply had no place to stash (the storage unit is bulging and forget the garage), plus we had to buy The Husband’s tractor. It was looking like a pretty routine trip, except for the snow we knew we would find, and knowing that there’s a reason they call the hill between the house and the main gate “Domino Hill”. (Picture toppling dominoes, then substitute cars on a slippery road. Got it?). So, we scheduled the trip, canceled it due to closed highways (snow), and kept working. I was looking forward to seeing the house for the first time without someone else’s things in it. In a moment of giddy anticipation, I teased The Husband that when on the momentous occasion of finally entering our house—meaning it finally would no longer be just the house, but our house—he should carry me over the threshold. Sure enough, he narrowed his eyes and shot me one of those sideways looks that said, “Don’t hold your breath.” I went on with my endless sorting and packing and pondered whether I might see any of the critters we had heard about on our last trip. We had heard tales of raccoons, Betty, the Hawk (who perches on our roof scouting for taste treats in the meadow grass), mountain lions, brazen coyotes, king snakes, deer, and I-don’t-what-I-may-have-left-out roaming our little piece of heaven. The prospect of getting a picture of any of the above was delicious, so I stole time over the two days before the trip to format a couple of CF cards and charge batteries. Two days after the cancellation, we had a sunny day and took off. Ever the optimist—I stashed some camera gear in between boxes. I was hoping for a few minutes to do a little shooting before the light was lost and maybe a nice sunset, or even to spot a critter. There were a few surprises in store for our humdrum work trip.

After the long, but uneventful drive, we got past the desert and climbed to the snow. It was surprisingly deeper than the last time we were up there. Still, we zipped through the tiny town near our valley, and moments later we were at the entrance to Bear Valley. The moment we passed through the main gate, I began trying to remember how far it was to the infamous Domino Hill. But, before I had time to get anxious, we were there. The snowplow had done its job, and we continued to breeze along enjoying the winter scene around us.

Finally, Our House. Right there in our own Big Sky country. Then, as we made the turn off the road to our drive, we jolted to a stop. The small berm just off the road that had been left by the snowplow was a little high and six inches of snow covering our drive had not been cleared. Fortunately, it turned out to be a brief hesitation. The tires of the SUV (I had been thinking ahead when I picked that car) grabbed some traction, and over we went, then on to the back of the house where we planned to enter.

As we crunched through the snow toward our back door, The Husband suddenly stopped in his tracks, turned to me, and said, “Wait.” I stopped, not knowing what to expect as he approached me. Then, lo and behold, he swooped me up in his arms, and carried me inside! You should have heard the music swell! What can I say? The man is full of surprises—and many of them are deliciously pleasant. I wandered around for a few minutes in a daze, simply glowing. I was stunned by the princess-treatment, but mostly reeling from the realization that The Husband had actually heard something I said—and remembered it! As I regained my equilibrium, I watched the Prince, himself, begin to glow. Naturally, he wasn’t beaming with the satisfaction of having carried his princess over the threshold of his castle—thank goodness there are no stairs. Oh, no, nothing of the kind. He had easily forgotten about princely gestures. While I had basked in my princess-hood, The Husband had handed over the check to the previous owner of our house and was, as of that defining moment, the proud owner of a like-new New Holland TC29DA tractor—with a whole bundle of accessories. (Do they call those things accessories?)

It was a wonderful day—sunset and all. I think we are going back for Valentine’s Day.

Endings

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This sunset image taken at Dead Horse Ranch State Park is another of my favorite shots from the Arizona trip. Since it was one of our last evenings in Arizona, I was already feeling a little sad about that wonderful time coming to an end. I am experiencing some of those same feelings about saying goodbye to this place where I have spent such a huge chunk of my life.

Ranches and Palm Trees

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After all these years in Los Angeles, I'm still taken aback by a view including a ranch-type gate and palm trees. This gate is at the stable Jim manages in Lake View Terrace.