Training for New Careers

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On the way back from Bridgeport, I started teasing my husband that I was working on my technique for shooting out of helicopters. That would explain all the shots I took through the windshield or hanging outside the window, as Jim guided the RV along the 395 at roughly 65 miles per hour. This one wan't quite straight and there was more than one throwaway shot, but it was a great learning exercise. My technique for quickly setting exposure improved another notch. This experiment also increased my appreciation for IS lenses.

Rain, Rain, Stay and Play--Come Again Another Day

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This afternoon, I stood inside the door and deliriously shot pictures of plants covered with beautiful raindrops. Yes, I am giddy. You can't imagine what an amazing and welcome sight this rain has been to those of us in southern California. It's been a long time since we had anything more than a fine mist--just enough to to remind of what we were missing. And the sound! As exquisite as any symphony I have ever heard. Could this be the beginning of the end of this drought? That's something to dream about tonight.

The Road To Bodie

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I have added several images to the Eastern Sierra Gallery and I hope you will drop by to visit. (If you click on the image above, you will be taken to the higher resolution version of the shot and you will be at the gallery.)

I have been raving about the region and advocating a trip to Bodie, the ghost town near Bridgeport, CA. I thought I would mention that if you make the trip, Bodie is about twenty miles off Highway 395 and you will have to endure scenes such as the one above for the entire trip. (Believe me, it will get you through even the three miles of dirt road at the end.)

The Hoosegow

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Based on what I have read about Bodie, it was a fairly typical gold-mining town—meaning the jail was rarely empty.

Although you can't walk into this building, you can peer through one window to get a fairly good look at the cell door. I managed to poke my lens between the bars and get a shot with the help of a little fill flash.

Twilight

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I took this shot after sunset while we were at an RV campground in Bishop, CA. While you are at the Eastern Sierras Gallery, look for a couple more shots from that evening (including the rising full moon).

Tribute

This is at least a day late, but i just got it today and had to pass it on to viewers. Take a moment to look and you won't be sorry. It is a beautiful tribute.

Leaning Outhouses of Bodie

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Plenty of structures in Bodie need a little help remaining (somewhat) upright.

Remembering 9-11

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I decided to remember that September 11 in 2001 by posting one of my favorite photographs of Old Glory. I'm old-fashioned enough to get a little weepy each time I see her. Long may she wave.

Night blossoms, Frustrations, and Lessons Re-learned

One my favorite things about this journey with my camera is the continuing high of learning as I discover more about photography and, simultaneously, explore the creative process. For several decades, I have been teaching acting and writing about the acting process. Part of my fascination with my work has always been the endless exploration of the nature of creativity. Tuesday night, I had one of those painful and confusing, yet invaluable learning experiences that one hopes never to forget.

For a few days, I had watched the progress of the night-blooming cactus ensconced in its massive pot outside our backdoor and waited for one of two buds to open. Timing is critical, since this amazing white flower opens when night falls and begins to close with the light of dawn, never to open again. The splendid celebration lasts one glorious summer night, then it’s gone forever. I had hoped to do something different the next time I had the good fortune to participate in the one-night fling of the pungent white blossom. Late Tuesday, I checked the ripest bud and I was convinced that it would thwart me by blooming on a night when I would be unavailable to shoot. At about 10:30pm while I sat robotically processing images, because I was too tired to get up and get ready for bed ,my husband announced, “Your cactus has bloomed.” Rather than relishing what should have been welcome news, I was almost paralyzed by disappointment. Why at a time when I was already too tired to move? Why had I not checked immediately after the sun went down? I began to stumble about looking for the lights, flash, (the batteries were dead, of course), off-camera cord, reflector, tripod, and—most of all—some energy and serious motivation. I swore at myself—again—for not having reorganized gear since returning from the Eastern Sierras trip and for never having dealt with buying a reflector stand and some type of light stands. By the time I finally had my gear set up (something that, ideally, would have been completed a full half-hour before the flower opened), I couldn’t fully connect with my original purpose for shooting.

To make matters worse, for some crazy reason (exhaustion I suppose) the dull logical part of my brain took over, and I struggled against dreadful obstacles to light every petal evenly, get all the elements in focus and just finish the wretched job. All this with no end of frustration. I had failed to check my CF card and filled it with two test shots. Another delay. There was no way on earth for me to turn the pot toward a light source. The plant is at least ten feet tall and I have no idea how much the pot weighs, but I wasn’t going to find out. I experimented with off-camera flash trying to solve the seemingly hopeless lighting situation. Every shot looked over-exposed, under-exposed, or out of focus. The flash cord was annoyingly short. I didn’t have enough hands to do everything. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Once, I smashed my right index finger between the camera and tripods, because in my cloud of fatigue I loosened the wrong knob. Yet another reason to give up. The pine tree was in the way on one side. A second cactus dared me to move too far in another direction. I wasn’t prepared and I began seriously trying to wriggle out of the shoot. I just wanted to go to bed! Nevertheless, some stubborn part of me knew I had to follow through on my resolution to catch the next “grand opening” and to move beyond the basic “catalogue shots” I had gotten of a blossom last summer.

After fumbling through what was never fun for one moment, I finally felt I had satisfied the inner demons who had demanded that I take the photographs and fell into bed about 11:30pm tired, dejected, and certain that the entire procedure had been a waste of time and energy.

The next morning, I was in no mood to view the results of previous night’s debacle. Why ruin a perfectly good morning with a reminder that I have along way to grow? However, a kind of morbid curiosity ultimately won out. Why not end the misery and put it behind me, I reasoned? Lo and behold, when I unenthusiastically opened one lone frame in Lightroom, I was shocked to see that my subconscious had somehow managed to take over and there before me was an image that looked very much like what I had imagined two weeks ago. Sure enough, viewing another three images demonstrated that—almost in spite of myself—I had managed to get some elements in focus, not everything was over or under exposed and I had succeeded in seeing the night-blooming cereus in a slightly different way this time. While my intellect had served mostly as an impediment, my subconscious—like it or not—had obstinately persisted with the assignment I had given myself. Self-discipline is a wonderful thing. Sometimes, years of training won’t let you stop or get in the way even when you are determined to throw in the towel. Sometimes it leads you by the nose regardless of how much you squirm and squeal.

The experience was exhausting and humbling. Still, I wouldn’t take anything for the beauty and inspiration of the lesson re-learned. Trust the creative process—a concept I preach to my students and strive to live by. I read, recently, that John Houston the film director once said some of the best moments in his films were the results of accidents. While my product from Tuesday night’s exercise in frustration and discovery may not fall into a class with Houston’s iconic work, the lesson reflects his keen and honest observation. While there can be no doubt that Houston knew his craft, and committed always to full preparation in anticipation of nothing short of excellence, he knew that, in the execution, one must let go and trust the unconscious—the creative voice/vision—to function as the brilliant “heat-seeking device” it is and allow it to find its target. Most of all, we must embrace the unexpected. We must abandon once-and-for-all the desire for full conscious control over every element of the creative process. In a nutshell: never stop learning; do everything necessary to prepare; and then, in the moment of truth, Get. Out. Of. The. Way.

I hope you enjoy the night-blooming cereus.

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Critters

I suppose I will use the holiday as an excuse for beginning the Eastern Sierra Series with some "silly" stuff. We spent four nights at Mono Village near Bridgeport, CA and were amazed at the number of critters who freely roamed the campground. Jim spent a portion of one evening "training" chipmunks to take peanuts from his sock. The next three shots give you an idea of his success.

"the bait"

"Hmmm. Peanuts. Yum."

"Is that all you've got"