Shutter Speed, Art and Ancestral Memories?

This photographic image was taken in Acadia, where I’ve spent a lot of time musing on the magic of this magnificent national park.  I’m particularly drawn to where the ocean meets the craggy shoreline – so mesmerized by this subject that it’s pushed me to explore new ways to photograph it, to try and make art of it.  And it’s also caused me to think more about the source of this seeming universal connection many of us have with the sea.

Acadia Morning

The sea is the subject of a lot of art – paintings, poetry, novels, movies, and even photography.  But how do we define what we see as art?  If you search the internet you’ll find a lot of grand opinions and big ideas.  And then there are the “rules” of visual art – like composition and perspective, lines and form, shapes and color and tone.  For photography, of course, it’s about the light.  But what does art do for us?  Some say it brings us natural beauty and emotional power.  Some talk about portraying the human condition and connecting to feelings that we all have in common.  I always liked Picasso’s view that it “washes the dust of daily life off our souls.”  And I was intrigued by a recent interview with Francis Ford Coppola, where he said that art is about risk and producing something that hasn’t been seen before.

I’d like to explore that latter point as it relates to photography.  The camera does have an incredible capability to produce unique images – ones that can be beautiful and emotionally powerful; but maybe, more importantly, the camera can deliver new visual experiences that we literally cannot see with our own eyes.  Your eyes can’t see the detail of a hummingbird wing in motion, nor can they stop a speeding bullet as it exits an apple.  But a camera can isolate such visual realities as they occur in a thousandth or a ten thousandth of a second.  Amazing to be a true witness to something you cannot see for yourself, without the collusion of a camera. 

On the other end of the time and shutter spectrum, a camera can lay down a digital image of an elongated reality: in real time you might be mesmerized by the waves of an ocean crashing on a rocky shoreline, inexplicably captivated by the scene. Using the adjustable shutter (and a few other tricks), the camera can record the roiling sea for 20 seconds and paint one mysterious, static image, showing you something you’ve never actually seen before, but may have felt at another level.  You might be drawn back in time to some ancient, ancestral memory of surviving as a hominid species on the seacoast, protected from predators by open space and nourished by plentiful resources from the mother sea.  (That last speculative sentence inspired by a recent read of Blue Mind – google the title – a scientific discourse on our affinity to water.)

Or you may just be mildly intrigued by the contrast between towering, finely detailed shoreline cliffs and the smooth water-worn boulders below, crafted by millennia of pounding surf. The latter illustrated by a very slow shutter speed capture.

Either way, or neither way, I shutter [sic] to think what a boring (and artless) world it would be for me without a camera.

Puffed Up for Valentine's Day

On Valentine's Day 2016, many temperature records were broken.  In South Salem we were below zero and wind chills even lower.  These two red-shouldered hawks took roost in a tree about 50 yards from my studio window. Handheld their capture through a window pane and screen.  One said to the other: What the heck are we doing out here in this subzero weather?! The second one replied: Just puff up your feathers and you won't feel the cold!  Not sure this was working since in about two minutes, both took off for a warmer, more hospitable place.  Probably their home next door. 

These two hawks are pretty familiar to us.  They live next door, in a big tree next to my neighbor's house.  Now I'm not sure whether these two birds are the parents or perhaps one or two of the offspring.  Families of red-shouldered hawks have raised their young there every Spring for a number of years in the same nest, in the same tree.  These hawks are known to be monogamous and can live as long as 20 years.  

We feel a little ambivalent sometimes, watching these creatures play out their roles in Nature's ongoing drama.  We have a bird feeder in the backyard, a very busy one all through the year.  When the hawks fly over or roost nearby it's amazing how quickly the bird feeder becomes deserted.  Haven't seen any prey interactions as yet and have made a few requests of the hawks to forage elsewhere.  But you do wind up asking yourself: how do you root for one creature over another in Nature's theater of survival? 

The Art of Flying

Birds have often been the subjects of my photography—sometimes perching and sometimes in flight.

Sitting ducks are fun to capture but it’s the airborne egret or hovering hummer that really sets my spirits soaring.  Birds in flight are amazing engineering marvels.  The variety of nature’s adaptations to get such a vast array of bodies off the ground is incredible.  The shapes of wings, the hollowness of bones, the features of feathers.  Think about the differences among turkeys, pelicans and eagles.

Even if it’s engineering that enables avian flight, the end result is an opportunity for photographic art, in at least two ways.  First, and usually with the help of a long lens, one can record the fact of flight closer up than we can usually witness.  By showing the position and the shape of the wings that empowers swimming in the air.

The second possibility for finding the art in flying lies in portraying a feeling, an impression of flight.   With a flock in front of the lens, using black and white, and letting the shutter show the motion, the camera found the art.  The eyes didn’t see it but the artist knew an artful flight of fancy was to be found there. 

You will find a larger version, as well as some other examples, both facts and impressions, in my gallery “Wings” by clicking on the partial image below.

Wings

Fine art photographs of birds.

Art among the Healing Arts

Many of us, if not most, have been to the hospital. 

Whether as patient or visitor, we’ve valued the miracles of the medical arts practiced there.  But any way you look at it, by the very nature of why you’re there, it’s usually a scary, worrying encounter.  I personally know a couple of doctors who, after switching roles – being patients rather than practitioners – have shared with me their new perspective on the hospital experience.

 One hospital has thought about transforming visits in a small but important way by combining art with the healing arts.  I know about this because of a partnership between ArtsWestchester https://artswestchester.org in White Plains and the Westchester Medical Center http://www.westchestermedicalcenter.com in Valhalla, NY, and I’m very pleased to be a part of the program. Together ArtsWestchester and WMC are developing a collection of contemporary artwork by Hudson Valley regional artists for display in treatment areas throughout its Valhalla Campus, a core component of WMC’s Healing Arts Program.   The vision is to employ integrative arts therapies and complementary healing practices to enhance the health and well being of patients, family members, visitors and caregivers.The idea is to soften what is often a cold and clinical atmosphere with something to disrupt worry and concern, at least for a moment.  Something visual to help one stop, breathe, relax the shoulders, be diverted, catch and connect with a moment of calm.

Usually in my emails I present one of my images.  But here is a picture of one of my pictures, on one of WMC’s walls.  Can’t help being happy with the disruptive crosstalk between the photo’s softness and the cold, but color-coordinated medical cabinets (photo credit Kathleen Reckling).

My large photo (36x24) "Peony" exhibited at Westchester Medical Center

Waiting for the Right Leaf

Fall is a good time for watching leaves fall.

Everyone knows that.  But did you know that leaves – specifically Maple tree leaves – have very specific patterns of falling to the ground.  (Apologies to that insurance company.)The image below captures one of the most unusual forms of leaf drop among Maples, in my humble opinion.  Well, actually, more than an opinion – my statement is based on the empirical evidence derived from several hours of observation.  You may think I have too much time on my hands, but patience and photography go hand in hand.  And choosing to wait purposely to uncover Nature’s designs sure beats aimlessly anticipating the arrival of some mysterious person named Godot.  (Great play by Samuel Beckett btw.)  

Below the image is a discourse on how I captured this photo as well as a possibly tedious treatise on different ways leaves reach the ground.  After scouting out the scene days earlier in Ward Pound Ward Pound Ridge Reservation, I chose a perfectly clear crisp fall day and arrived about two o’clock to set up.  I wanted to be ready for late afternoon sun to cast its magical glow on the Maple’s orange leaves and reflect the beautifully textured rocks in the wall.  But to make the image special I was hoping to add just one leaf falling on its way to the ground to contrast with the thousands already there.  And wouldn’t it be great if the leaf were a fully familiar frontal view of the five points of a Maple leaf.While I was waiting for the light, I started looking at how the leaves were falling from the tree.  (You can observe a lot just by watching.)

 I began to see recognizable, repeating patterns of leaf descent: five basic configurations of flight to be specific. In still air the most frequent type are Floaters, defined as falling mostly straight down, the leaf back facing the ground with little or no horizontal circular movement.  They may wobble a bit but the back is always to the ground.  I theorize these leaves are mostly symmetrically shaped with the five points of the leaf slightly curved upward to provide airborne stability.  They have very short stems.

The next type are the Tumblers.  As the name suggests they flutter down, back and front of the leaves trading places on their journey down.  Interestingly they mostly fall straight down or maybe at an angle, but if at an angle, the path directly follows and maintains the angle.  Tumblers probably don’t have equally sized leaf points or are deformed in some way I believe.

Then there are Twirlers – kind of like Floaters but they tend to spin on their axis, keeping their backs to the ground and often form tight circles in their descent.  Reminds me of those colorful spinning plastic things on a stick we had as kids.My favorites are the Sailors, which are like Floaters, but they are reluctant to reach the ground.  Instead they steadily weave their way back and forth, much like gliders but without the updrafts to keep them up.  They can stay aloft for as much as ten seconds.  Their major identifying structure is a very long stem, which acts like a leading rudder, and they tend to be among the larger and broader leaves.

But the rarest of all Maple leaf falls are the Stones, ones that plummet straight down, stem pointing to the ground, face to the camera, points outstretched.  The one that I waited hours for.  The perfect leaf.  For you empirical types out there who might want to try and replicate my observations, remember they only apply to Maples – you’ll have to gather your own data on Oaks, Hickories, Tulips, Birches, etc.  And the air has to be completely still – wind of course can cause wonderful leaf dropping entropy.  In a breeze you might find Floaters occasionally twirling a bit and Sailors taking a disorderly tumble now and then.  Either way if you’re lucky enough to be sitting by a window today with a view to some trees bathed in light, take a moment and watch Fall falling.  It’s satisfyingly hypnotic.

Super Moon Total Eclipse

In case you missed it, the sun, earth and moon lined up last night to put on a show, sometimes referred to as the “blood moon.”  A rare event, the last time it happened was 33 years ago.  Rare because two things must occur at the same time: the moon has to be at its perigee — closest to the earth in its orbit, called a "super moon"; and the moon has to be totally eclipsed by the earth.  The red coloring occurs when some of the sun’s rays get refracted through the earth’s atmosphere, landing on the shadowed moon.  Something about how different colored light has different wave lengths that get scattered less and more.  Similar to what happens during beautiful sunsets.

Don’t worry if you did miss the show in person — put the next one on your calendar:  October 8, 2033.  Don’t you love it that our part of the universe is so predictable, ordered and precise?  And that someone knows how to calculate these celestial movements?