You need to think about more than just tripping the shutter.

How many times do you come across an eye popping scene? I mean something that you really stop to look at and just stand there awestruck? You get out your camera, bring it up to your eye, and depress the shutter...Hey! that image is really lacking the impact of the scene here that I am staring at....

Your eyes see differently than a camera. They have a different field of view, and they react to the light differently, so you need to be more than just a shutter snapper. You need to be a PHOTOGRAPHER. One of the skills you need to exercise is being a translator. You need to translate the scene for the photograph. There are many other senses involved in what you see than just your eyes.

What you hear, what you feel, what you taste, and what you smell all go into the overall presentation of what you are seeing. "How is that possible?" you might be thinking. Bear with me here. I'm going to exaggerate for effect.

You are at the seaside, and witness a beautiful scene of some flowers on a dune. It's incredibly beautiful to you at the moment and worth capturing to your CCD or film. Wait. Think for a second. What else is making the scene so darn "scenic" to you? You smell the salt air.You feel the ocean breeze on your face. You feel the sand compressing under your feet. You hear some gulls squawking as they ride the breezes overhead.You taste the salt in the air. All of these things are contributing to how you feel about what you are seeing.

Now what you need to do is translate this feeling to your image. Have you ever wondered why some images that appear to have such great potential look so "sterile"? No feeling. No passion. No vision. No heart. They just don't stir anything inside of you. Lousy translation.

Your next question is "OK Mr. Smarty Pants, how do I do this "translation" thingy you are talking about?"

I'm not telling you. I'm not telling you because I can't tell you. I don't know what you are feeling and seeing and hearing at these moments of epiphany. Only you know that. It's your job to tell me.

You're the artist, so art.

You need to be more than just a mechanic.

Waterlogged

The last several times that I had planned a morning walkabout, my hopes had been squashed by unwelcome precipitation. Even though rain had settled in on us for the last couple days. I had my alarm set for zero dark thirty this morning in hopes that the mist and drizzle would subside for just a little while.

Just as the black outside my window was starting to turn to a slightly less black, my four year old strode into the bedroom to tell his mother that he was up. She very nicely reminded him that daddy wanted to get up early today to go out with his camera, so he walked around the bed and put his little hand on my shoulder.

Gently shaking me, "Daddy, do you still want to get up early?"

I trained my ear to the outdoors and could hear the rain thumping on the roof of the shed in the yard. Like an unwanted house guest that didn't know when to leave, the rain was really starting to annoy me. I peeled my eyelids back, and sat up on the edge of the bed, contemplating a plan of action. "Get back under the quilt and go back to sleep" was leading in the polls, but "Get your butt up and go out shooting anyways" came up from behind to score the surprise victory.

I got myself dressed, and threw a few logs into the wood stove. Grabbing my camera bag and tripod, I stopped at the refrigerator for a can of Coke to infuse my system with some much needed caffeine. As I walked out the front door, I was greeted by the cold, wet, dark air. Going back to bed was sounding better, but I was already this far. No sense turning back now.

I haven't shot in three days now, and my trigger finger was getting itchy. Speaking of shooting, to top it all off, it's deer season too, and I'm out in the dark dressed in black. I'm going to have to be careful out in those woods.







“I'm a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work, the more I have of it.”
Thomas Jefferson 1762-1826

We Now Return to our Regularly Scheduled Programming

Halloween is over, so we can put aside the silliness for another year. No more Trick or Treating, haunted hayrides (or hayrides of any sort), wearing goofy costumes, or being forced to listen to "The Monster Mash". It's nice to have the brief respite every year where kids of all ages are allowed, and even encouraged, to act ........ well ....... silly, but it's time to get back to the business at hand.

There is a certain elegance to autumn. The air is clean and crisp, you have to wear an additional layer or two of clothing, and the smell of wood burning in fireplaces permeates the air. Life is winding down and preparing for the long New Hampshire winter. Root systems are recalling the life force from the vegetation to store it for next springs rebirth. Flowers and leaves dry out, shrivel up, and fall, finding their way back to the soil from whence the sprung.

I'm not real big on the leaf peeping foliage stuff, but I do enjoy a good shriveled up flower or leaf. You see so many spring and summer flower shots, and they are nice, but it's kind of like shooting fish in a barrel. "Ooooooooooooh, ahhhhhhhhhhhh, pretty flower". How can you go wrong? (I take that back, I see plenty of them go wrong.)

I challenge you to photograph something dead and make it into art. Stretch those artistic muscles. push the envelope on your creativity. Feel free to post your photographs of "Dead" in my blog comments. FAIR WARNING: Photographs of people will be removed.

"Trio"

By the way, does anyone have an extra Kit-Kat bar? I'm all out of the small ones and the big ones won't fit through the hole in my Halloween mask.

UPDATE: There have been a few people take me up on the challenge. Here is what they have come up with:

Beth Peardon
"Death is Coming"

from

House of Six Cats


"Light Luck"
Judi Fitzpatrick


"Dead"
by Ashlyn


Untitled
by Karen Casey Smith


"Broken Gate"
by CVH

Happy Halloween

I very rarely post about anything not photography related, but today I make an exception. This is just too much fun to pass up.....

Slow Down and Look Around

I know you're busy. I'm busy too. Everybody is busy. We are all busy. But for cryin' out loud, take a look around. Open your eyes and focus. See all that is around you.

I look back at my body of work, and with the exception of my Mexico images, everything else is something that you walk by every day without looking at. Well, you may look at it, but do you really SEE it? If you are willing to SEE, there is really so much around us to be seen.

Many times at my exhibits, people will stare at images and talk to their friends "Where is this, it looks so familiar?". Unable to come up with the answer, they come to me and ask the question. Usually, when I tell them the location that a certain photograph was taken, their reaction ranges from astonishment to bewilderment.

"I walk right by that spot every day and never really noticed that." People are so "connected" now, that they hardly notice anything. Turn off the iPod, put your cell phone in your pocket, and just walk. Listen to the sounds around you, and see what there is to see. Spend a few minutes with yourself. You might be surprised what is out there.



"Cigar Store Indian"
Limited Edition Fine Art Photograph
by Scott Bulger

"Everything has its beauty but not everyone really sees it." - Confucius 551 BC - 479 BC

Sanctuary

Hiking through the woods at this time of year is a unique experience. While in the summer, it is typically several degrees cooler when you come upon a stream, once it starts to cool off in October and November, it often feels a few degrees warmer once you reach the banks of the flume.

The streams are swollen with turbid water as the lakes are being drawn down for the winter. The banks are saturated, and strewn with colorful leaves that float to the ground when the breeze kicks in, creating an audible rustle.

The extra water holds the frost at bay, and nourishes the moss, keeping the streams banks green while the woods turn brown and yellow. The water swirls and splashes, buffeting the rocks and downed trees, yet amongst the violence, sanctuary has been found.

In the hollow of an old branch on a felled tree, a family of five has set up house. The curious youngster peeking over the wall to see what is happening, while the cautious father hovers over the others to protect them from whatever may come their way. Their footing is precarious. A rise in the water level would wash them out of the sheltering depression they have rooted in. Unable to flee, they wait.

"Family of Five"

"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."

Robert Frost

Where Did the Last 30 Days Go?

Thirty days since my last blog post and I sit here wondering what happened to the last month. Time seems to go by faster and faster and you have to wonder what you must be missing each time you blink. The last lunar cycle has been packed full of activity, and if I had thirty six hours to each day instead of the alloted twenty four, it still wouldn't have been enough time to get everything done.

Most recently, my oldest son, a 20 year old junior in college came home for the first time in about eight months. His two little brothers (4 and 9) were very excited to see him, and they spent a lot of his four days home hanging out together. It was great to see them all playing together, laughing out loud at every goofball joke that the four year old perpetrated.

I didn't get any real quiet time with him until driving him back to the airport early Sunday morning. His plane was leaving at 9:00, so we figured that he should be there at 8:00, which meant we would have to leave the house at 7:00, so my alarm went off at 6:00. It was a chilly morning, with the temperature hovering around freezing. We talked a lot on the trip to the airport, him excitedly telling me about his future plans, and me offering my sage advice that I'm sure went in one of his ears and right out the other. That's ok, it's a fathers job to talk whether or not the kids actually listen. He usually humors me by at least acting like he is listening, his eyes focused just to the side of my head, one eyebrow furtively raised with deep concentration. Of course, he's probably thinking about what he can make himself for dinner once he gets back to his apartment, and whether he left any milk in his refrigerator.


Once at the airport, he assured me that he would be able to manage his own way inside, practically throwing a verbal arm bar across the door so that I couldn't get out, "You don't have to park Dad, I can manage my own way through an airport." And that quickly, he was out the door.

So I found myself out and about at 7:45 on a Sunday morning without a designated time to be somewhere else. How was this possible? I cast a quick glance into the back seat to make sure my camera was there and off I drove. To quote Ferris Bueller, "Life goes by pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

I really enjoy just driving around with no particular destination, just seeing what there is to see, and attempting to record these little rectangles of the world with my camera. A camera gives you liberty. It creates a shield between you and the world. When looking through the viewfinder, you are watching the world unfold in slow motion, scenes transpiring at your own pace, with the use of your own personal hand held time machine.

Driving through the woods, a clearing appears on both sides of the road, early morning light filtering through the trees, glistening off of the heavy frost that has settled on the grass. Pulling my truck over into a clearing, a large flock of turkeys makes it's way across the road in front of me. I grab my camera and open the door. The cold morning air fills my lungs like a "Slushie" fills a big plastic cup. I'm not a big fan of the cold, but there is something invigorating about these autumn mornings.

I walked through the fields, small patches of icy marsh crunching under my feet as the thigh high grass drops its frost on my jeans. I pick a few scenes and fill my frame. A heavy wind kicks up and a large flock of birds take off, cackling and squawking as they circle the field, momentarily lighting in a snag, and then circling again before flying out of sight.


I'm very proud of my all of my boys, but I'm very proud of the man that my oldest is becoming. I think he can find his own way through the airport.