Don't Leave Home Without It-The Camera That Is

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Every time I am tempted to leave my camera at home, I think about the many times when I have regretted that decision. One never knows what the light will be, what the world will offer, what moments will unfold.

Still, when we head down to Cub Lake for a walk, I often think, “Gee, the camera is heavy. I don’t need it. I have more photos to process than I will ever finish. I should spend more time walking and less time photographing.” You know the dialogue.

Lately, I can almost never leave the camera behind. I suppose that I one day I may have to forego the camera, just to demonstrate to myself that I am still in charge.

Dry Creek

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Saturday afternoon, The Husband and I drove to the neighboring town of Arvin to look at outbuildings. No. I most certainly did not say outhouses. Goodness! Where is your mind?

What has us thinking about outbuildings? Well, that recent dip in the economy and the big slide in the housing market just as we were relocating put a kink in our budget and we had to let go of a few dreams. One of the casualties was that charming barn we had in mind. While it would have looked great, more importantly, it would have provided shelter for the horses, hay storage, and a tack room. As things turned out, the horses had to settle for the mare motel, while The Husband is making do with the tarps and cinder blocks for hay storage along with a corner of the garage as his tack room. For a slight improvement, we have our sights on some outbuildings made by a California company called Dry Creek Mini-Barns.

Arvin is “just down the road a piece” and I love the drive down through the base of the Sierra Nevada’s and ranching country to the farm country and oil wells in the San Joaquin valley. Traveling through the foothills entails a never-ending display of delightful colors and flowing, sensuous shapes. The greens of spring are an unearthly electric green and the oak trees, for a short time, are a pale and remarkable lavender. But for much of the year, the hill sides are golden. By summer, the grass is starved for water and baked to a rich gold by the California sun. I never tire of the spectacle. My one sadness is that, on the road through the mountains, there are few places for pulling off the highway to enjoy the countryside, and there are precious few side roads for exploring. Mostly, these are scenes that one must hold in the mind; or, in my case, shoot like a mad woman from a moving vehicle. Occasionally, my crazy experiments yield something that pleases me and brings back the feelings of awe and peace that I draw from the landscape.

Why Not an E-book Experiment

Open publication - Free publishing - More test

I am experimenting with e-books and I thought I would see what I can do with just Blogger and Issuu. The current sample is a mess, frankly. I rushed through this today with some photos I have posted here earlier, and I didn't bother to change some things from my SoFoBoMo project. There are typos, in abundance; the page footers are incorrect; and, you many find any number of gremlins that I haven't even noticed yet. But, it's the beginning of something that has been on my mind for a while. We'll see where this leads.

Macro Special Effects by Nature

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Most of the time, no camera movement is necessary for this effect in the Tehachapi Mountains. You would quickly go broke renting wind machines to photographers in Bear Valley Springs. We can always count on a slight breeze, at least, and the gusts occasionally threaten small structures and rearrange garden furniture.

I had become fond of macro photography before we moved here and, occasionally I get a tad frustrated by the still relatively new-to-me conditions. Fortunately, I also like to experiment with photos like the one above. Yesterday, I had gotten in a little shooting before the slight breeze gathered strength, then decided to stick around for something different. After all, the Red Harvester Ants hadn’t found me, and I was giving their bed a wide berth. Since my enemy and I were coexisting peacefully, I let the wind show me a few tricks.

Of course, the downside of this session is that I now want a neutral density filter for my 100mm macro lens. The desire for more gear is a lot like the wind in the Tehachapis: a constant.

Macro Photography With a Touch of Pacino

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As I walked to the kitchen, a couple of mornings ago, I took a second, as I always do, to admire the view of the mountains to the south and the horses waiting for breakfast. I was delighted to see that the first rose had bloomed on the rose bush that The Husband planted a couple of months ago. Naturally, I was excited about getting out to the patio for a closer look and maybe even a photograph before the wind picked up.

In my enthusiasm for the delicate new rose, not to mention the hollyhocks, the geraniums, and the sweet wild daisies, I began wandering about in the untamed area off the patio. It is, unfortunately, typical of me that I was looking through the viewfinder and not thinking about my feet. I took my time enjoying all the offerings of our little yard and was headed back inside to prepare breakfast and begin the day when I felt a sharp stabbing pain under my left arm and a strange burning sensation that rushed across my upper body in the direction of my breastbone. It was like nothing I had ever felt before and stopped me in my tracks. I said to The Husband that I felt strange and sat down. Within seconds, I felt another of the pricks on the right side just below my waist and once again the burning sensation ran toward the center of my body. I was feeling pain—although minor and mostly peculiar when The Husband got up and said, “Don’t move. There’s something in your hair.”

Well, let’s cut to the chase now. I had stepped in an ant bed and the little suckers were getting even with me. After my shower with the ant-infested clothes safely in the washer and an antihistamine in me, I looked at the ant bed The Husband wanted to point out to me. (It’s pretty obvious, by the way. Just a stupid moment on my part.)

I didn’t get any photographs because almost the moment I stepped outside the wind had picked up and I had to wait a couple of days for my photographs. But, I learned that the ants we have at our place are large, mean, and pack a sting that my immune system doesn’t handle well.

It turns out my attackers are Harvester ants. (While doing research on the web I found this charming little tidbit at http://www.painfulbite.com/red_harvester_ant.php : “Red Harvester Ants can be aggressive and have a painful sting that spreads through the lymph nodes, sometimes causing reactions, especially in those allergic to their venom. In addition to their potent sting, Red Harvester ants can bite ferociously.” I can vouch for the accuracy of this information as well as the fact that they are creepy ugly.)

I may not know much about these beasts, but I know this: I want them dead. I want their mothers dead. I want their fathers dead. I want them all dead. I can deal with the ground squirrels that eat flowers and burrow under fence posts and the house, for crying out loud. Heck, they are cute and I am a little attached to the one who has the penthouse outside the window. But, the ants? Those guys bring out the killer instinct in me.

This morning, I got brave enough to once again venture out to the wilds and actually got some pictures. This time I didn’t make a move without checking first to see where I was about to put my feet.

A Creative Itch

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Do you get little warnings before you about to enter a new phase of your art? In some instances, I experience signals that are difficult to describe, but I sense that something is coming ‘round the bend. It’s vaguely similar to that feeling when you are really busy, then become aware of your stomach even before you know you feel hungry. Or, maybe the instant you know you are going to sneeze before you actually do sneeze. Or, fragments of a dream that hover on the edge of your consciousness, just beyond reach. There, but not there. Promising to come within reach, even while fading.

That’s where I am at the moment. There isn’t so much as a ripple on the surface yet, but underneath there is activity. There a change coming. I am not certain where I am going, much less why. It may be a move so subtle as to be almost imperceptible, or it may be an abrupt shift. It may arrive full-blown one day—a fait accompli, or it may emerge only as the germ of an idea that takes a months, or years, to mature. It might start strong in one direction, then suddenly veer off in another. Let’s face it, whatever this is, it could start as a blast out of the gate, only to fizzle out to a big, fat nothing. I have no clue where this is headed. But, something seems to be brewing.

I’m curious about others. Do you get these warning rumblings? Maybe you are more prone to sudden shifts that come out of the blue. Or, is slow steady growth more your style?

Living with My Photography

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Recently, I mentioned the joys of hanging prints in our house and the more I thought about it, the more I realized how important it is to me to have some images on view.

Because our previous house was small, there weren’t many places to hang a 16x20 framed piece and I had never hung a 20x24 frame there. It was those old days of severely limited display space that was uppermost in my mind when I made those comments a while back, and I am getting a big kick out of seeing prints that previously were only hung at shows, or never before even printed, much less hung.

On the other hand, even back then, with more limited options for display, I was surrounded by prints. In the last couple of years that we lived in that house, I had come up with a makeshift way to keep me focused on what I was doing and why. I collected test prints, some of which were proofs either for clients, or pieces that were to be shown somewhere, and some that I had printed out of curiosity, after experimenting with a processing technique. Most of the proofs were 4x6 or 5x7, but, in a few cases, I printed 8x10.

The next step involved what I first came to know as “museum stick”. This reusable adhesive (one brand is Handi-Tak) had long been a staple item in our home. (In earthquake country, you want to have something around that holds valuable items secure when the earth starts rockin’ and rollin’.) One of the beauties of this sticky stuff is that it won’t damage finishes. (It’s always a good idea to test any product like this on the back or underside of a surface before proceeding. But I will say that I never found anything damaged by it, and we used a great deal of it.) Thanks to this handy adhesive and a stack of prints, I put prints in little nooks and crannies where I either couldn’t have, or wouldn’t have, thought of hanging a framed print.

Mostly, I stuck those prints on the insides of cabinet doors. The beauty of that casual treatment was no unsightly clutter on the outside and no need to matte the prints, much less frame them. Flexibility was a major bonus. I could change my display on any old whim. If I opened the medicine cabinet seeking relief from a tummy-ache, or some way to deal with a small cut that couldn’t be handled with a wad of tissue, I was greeted by a photo of our purple geraniums. A trip to the linen cabinet might include photos of beautiful horses galloping about, or standing just so with ears forward and eyes flashing. Reaching for a glass in a kitchen cupboard yielded a reminder of a favorite scene from a road trip.

It was an informal, simple, flexible, inexpensive (to say the least) way to display photos—dozens of photos, and I hadn’t realized how much I was missing that until we began hanging the larger framed pieces here. Now, I just have to find that museum stick-um that’s in one of those boxes somewhere. On second thought, maybe I’ll add it to a shopping list.

NOTE: Handi-Tak is available at Michael's Craft Stores and, today, I found QuakeHold! at Amazon.

Lost and Found Department

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For me, one of the small aggravations of moving was the number of items that were lost. Well, not really lost, but definitely misplaced. And let’s face it, misplaced means you can’t use the darn thing.

One of the casualties was my Canon G7. The camera, charger, and case had simply vanished. I knew it was here someplace, but for the life of me I couldn’t find it. Eventually, my greatest dread became finding it a couple of years from now ruined by an old and leaking battery.

Several days into my recent moving-in marathon, I opened a cabinet and discovered a tote-bag that was suspiciously heavy considering what I first saw was a small tablet, a magazine, a paper napkin (!), and some other odds and ends that I would have used on a road trip. Sure enough, at the bottom of the tote was the leather bag holding the G7. I was even more surprised to find that the battery was still charged and I was able to immediately take some test shots. Because the camera hadn’t been seen in at least eight months, my confidence in the G7 battery shot up a few notches.

I never used the pocket camera a great deal. When I bought it, I had been committed to shooting RAW files for a long time and had suspected that I might find it frustrating to once again shoot jpg’s. Besides, I found it difficult to give up my viewfinder. From the beginning, I carried my bigger camera, unless it was totally impractical. Still, there were times when it was most convenient to put the long strap on my shoulder, or the camera in a jacket pocket and be prepared for casual grab shots.

Friday night turned out to be one of those occasions when it seemed ideal to own such a camera. We were scheduled to go to the BVS Equestrian Center Lounge for a meeting of the Horseman’s Association to hear a talk delivered by a lady-historian whose work we know. Originally, I had been excited about the opportunity to hear the historian’s talk; but, I was still feeling the effects of my work marathon. My back was hurting and I hadn’t slept well the night before. I was close to bailing out, but didn’t.

By the time we got to the Center, I was noticing that the evening was beautiful and I was glad that, on a last minute whim, I had grabbed my handy-dandy pocket camera. It certainly wasn’t an occasion for lugging the 50D. The sight of the light on the building, trees, and grass immediately lifted my spirits and it was easy to make a snapshot.

A few minutes later, we sat mesmerized, while the delightful Gloria Hine Gossard told us tales about the earliest settlers of Bear Valley Springs. The Husband and I were already familiar with Ms. Gossard’s style and passion for history, since a friend had generously given us a copy of her book “Three Valleys of The Tehachapi-Bear, Brite, and Cummings”. Seeing Ms. Gossard in person and hearing stories in her voice brought all the characters even more to life. This lady has lived many decades, yet exudes a “joie de vivre” that would shame someone half her age. Her enthusiasm for her subject and depth of knowledge were inspirational. As the evening went on, I began looking forward to getting a picture of Ms. Gossard; but, she left the gathering while the meeting was in session. As her friend pushed her wheelchair from the room, my heart sank. Some things aren’t meant to be. Still, I wasn’t tired anymore. I had caught some of Gloria Gossard’s vitality.

The photo above was my first snapshot taken with the G7 in our new territory. (And, no, I didn’t boost those greens.) Who knows? I may carry my pocket camera more often now. After all, I may not have gotten a photo of our Bear Valley historian, but at least I got a picture that will remind me of my evening with her.

Out of Touch

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Normally, during periods when I don’t post I am at least reading and posting comments at the sites of other bloggers. Not so during my most recent moving-in week. I wasn’t even taking time to read my e-mail and that is highly unusual for me. Over the next couple of days, I have plans to take breaks and treat myself to some blog-browsing.

There is one positive thing about not keeping up with fellow bloggers. When I do begin my rounds, I am apt to find not one, but several posts at some of my favorite sites. Somehow, the motivation to linger longer at a particular stop makes the visit even more delicious. It is not just the delayed gratification. It is the difference between a brief chat with a friend (during which you are quickly exchanging recent updates) as opposed to settling in for a leisurely visit and savoring a rich collection of topics. Or, reading a good novel by rushing through a few paragraphs at a time compared to settling in for a few hours to totally lose yourself in the characters whose lives you are following.

When I have time to keep up with the latest, I lack the discipline to delay gratification. Instead, I eagerly rush to check for daily tidbits and miss the quiet moments of quality time spent with the thoughts of a friend. Perhaps my brief absences aren’t such a bad idea, after all.

Owning My Space

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About the photo: Night, once again, registering his fury at being left behind.

Where have I been and why so quiet? Well, the short answer is I have been working hard and so tired I couldn’t see straight, much less write a couple of somewhat coherent sentences. If you have read a few entries in my online journal, you know that we moved a little less than a year ago and you can definitely put us in the class of people who move into a new location in stages. In other words, unpacking priorities are determined by the demands of the moment. Essential kitchen utensils, basic clothing and bath requirements, as well as office equipment (that includes some of the many books) came first. Stage two included the items absolutely necessary for making this feel just a little more like a home rather than a roomy motel. For the last week, I have been deep into stage three—making this feel like our home. That has meant hours of digging into boxes filled with those various and sundry life-treasures one collects over the decades.

I admire people who relocate and within a month their house looks as though they had lived there for years, but I can’t identify with their speed and efficiency. I could offer age and reduced endurance as an excuse—not to mention three art shows in a row and SoFoBoMo— but that would be a bald-faced lie. It has always taken me time to get to know a house, come to terms with it’s quirks, and work out my relationship with it. A vastly different house from the one we lived in for twenty years and in a very different setting has meant a new version of our interior landscape.

Most of the work has been pretty close to sheer drudgery in physical terms (yesterday, I couldn’t name a part of my body that didn’t hurt), but the bright spot is hanging more of my prints because I have never had the pleasure of seeing this many of them on our walls. And, I am not finished. After I enjoy a brief breather from my unpacking and hanging marathon, I need to reprint and frame another piece that sold. Because that piece happens to be one of those we most want to display in our main living area, I get to print and frame it twice. Next on the agenda is digging into files for more images that will make this uniquely our space.

Thanks to hanging a number of prints, I have a greater sense of the value of printing and displaying my work. Certainly, seeing a sizable number of framed prints in shows and viewing them amongst guests is exciting, but displaying them in my environment in a semi-permanent arrangement is far more satisfying. I have a feeling that seeing more of my pictures on a daily basis and having the opportunity to develop an ongoing relationship with them is going to affect my photography. How? I’m not certain yet. That may take some time. But, that’s all right, along with another three or four more stages of moving in, I expect many more opportunities to refine my relationship with my cameras.