Another Wu Wei Winter...

Be Still

 Be Present

 Be Patient 

The Three Be's of 

Contemplative Photography 

 It seems to be shaping up to be another Wu Wei Winter for me.  The storms, frigid temperatures, wind chills in the -25 degree F range as well as achy joints (Hmm...is there a correlation?) have kept me in-doors the last couple of weeks.  Good time to practice one of my favorite photographic sage exercises, Wu Wei.

   Wu Wei is literally translated into "doing by not doing" or sometimes as "effortless effort".  For me, it means photographing only what comes to me.  In this case, it was a plump wild turkey!

   What has changed this winter though is my willingness to embrace the abstract elements of my subject and apply a more painterly and color focused approach to this south end of a north bound bird.  I loved the patterns and colors of the overlapping feathers.

   Then I was blessed by a visit from a barred owl.  In all the years I've lived here, one has never come this close to the house and stayed for so long.  I watched him watch me for a few minutes.  That was a real treat! Now that I think about it, an owl would be the perfect metaphor for my three B's above!

   I may not be able to get to the pond for the time being but clearly my experiences at the pond over the last nearly seven months have gotten to me!  If you want a quick brush up on the Characteristics of a Photographic Sage, including the practice of Wu Wei, here is a link to all the relevant posts.

The Characteristics of

 the Photographic Sage

Exploring the Edge...

   Borderlands are especially important in Celtic Spirituality.  The place where two ways of being touch are deemed sacred.  Edges, between light and shadow, water and land, sand and grass, are all around us everyday.  This one was just 50 feet from my back door.

   The winter landscape allows these borderlands to be especially vivid.  Their elegant simplicity can be striking.  There is a decided zen feeling to this one I thought.  Minimalism personified.

   It was the twig, frozen in the snow that was particularly appealing for me.  Blown off in the recent high winds, the tiny bud ends will never spring into life now...their potential gone.  Yet the reflected light in the deep shadows speaks of hope and renewal.  Beneath this blue and white quilt of frozen snow are all the bulbs I planted in the autumn.  They are there...waiting.  This reminds me of a Rumi quote...

Don't think the garden loses its ecstasy

in winter.  It's quiet, but the roots are

down there riotous.

   Here is a link to another post I did last year on borderlands....

Dig Deeper:

And I recommend Esther d Waal's wonderful little (and it is indeed tiny!) book, To Pause at the Threshold: Reflections on Living on the Border.  I took it on my Threshold Pilgrimage last year and it is a valuable study of these border places.  You might also like to re-read my posts from my trip to Ireland and Scotland here.  You will have to go to "Older Posts" after the first few...there are 30 posts in total!  Pour yourself a cup of tea!

Gathering Breadcrumbs at the Museum...

   When I first entered the Harvard Art Museums lobby, I was transfixed by the stairwell and spent quite a bit of time photographing the shadows.  I find that when something enters my consciousness as strongly as this did, it stays with me for a long time.

   This was certainly the case at the museum.  As we walked through the galleries breathing in the beautiful art, my eye would wander to the shadows created by the sculptures.  The reflections and simplicity of this Chinese vase was one of the breadcrumbs I picked up.

   As I gathered them, I reflected on the illusion of shadows that describe but do no define what they are a shadow of.  It is all illusion and changes as the light does.  But I love the soft light and varying tones of the multiple shadows and thought I would share a couple of them with you.

    Shadow patterns are a wonderful contemplative possibility.  In the museum, with all its directional lighting, they were quite intricate in some cases.

   Luckily, the museum encouraged non-flash photography so I was not at a loss for inspiration.  For more shadow inspiration, visit the following link:

Beautiful Shadows

Gathering Breadcrumbs in a Frozen Backyard...

   We are getting storms every 3 or 4 days.  First snow, then freezing rain which is sculpting the landscape in wonderful ways.

   A friend who was here over Thanksgiving had shoveled a winding path so his little dog could have a place to run in the deep snow.  It's filled in now but the area has taken on the appearance of waves on the ocean.

   I decided to gather some breadcrumbs in the backyard; just appreciate the smooth and polished surface of the snow.  Depending on the time of day and the degree of cloud cover, the light and tones on the snow varied from cobalt blue to lavender.

   Each breadcrumb was a small part of the whole but in its intimacy it created another dimension of my frozen backyard.  The cat sculpture buried up to its nose...the ice chunks fallen from the roof...the stark simplicity of the Rose of Sharon bush surrounded by what looked to me like whipped cream...the footprints from the man who helps with my shoveling...all part of the frozen whole.

   When you gather your breadcrumbs over the course of two or three days, as these were, the picture...the whole...becomes more complex...more multidimensional.  Now I can see the snow in softer terms, as snowscapes.  For those of you from warmer climates, here is a link to 80 frozen landscape photographs.  Pour a cup of hot tea and enjoy!

Frozen Landscapes

Gathering Breadcrumbs on a Woodland Walk...

   I can certainly empathize with Louis Agassiz.  My small backyard offers endless opportunities to explore.  I took a walk on a pleasant Sunday just a few days before hunting season would make this far less enjoyable for me.

   It was quite mild and wonderfully quiet in my little wood a few hundred yards from the house.  I seemed to fixate on the moss and lichen on this walk.  Every walk brings some new point of view it seems.  I've lived here 19 years and I always find something new.

   A friend sent me a notice about an exhibit, Walden Re-Visited,  in which contemporary artists use Thoreau's Walden Pond as an inspiration for their work.  Every time I walk in my woods or visit the little pond down the road, Thoreau is in my mind.  His influence continues to be felt 160 years after the publication of his seminal book.  Here are a few more of my breadcrumbs from that walk and a few Thoreau quotes as well...

An early-morning walk is a

 blessing for the whole day.

 

 

Every creature is better alive than dead, men and moose and pine trees, and he who understands it aright will rather preserve its life than destroy it.

 

 

In human intercourse the tragedy begins, not when there is misunderstanding about words, but when silence is not understood.

 

If a man walks in the woods for love of them half of each day, he is in danger of being regarded as a loafer. But if he spends his days as a speculator, shearing off those woods and making the earth bald before her time, he is deemed an industrious and enterprising citizen.

 

From the Shore: Gathering Autumn Breadcrumbs...

   After my lovely afternoon at the Shaker Village, I drove home by three lakes.  The sky was turning quite dramatic so I decided to see how the light was effecting each lake I passed.

   The first lake I came to was Sebago and I made this photograph from the causeway in Naples, Maine.  The lake tour boat was docked and the light was so enchanting.

   The second pond I came to was Moose Pond outside of Bridgeton, Maine.  By then, the sun had peeked out from under the billowing grey clouds and illuminated the shore line with stunning light and color and the still air turned the water to a mirror.

   Sometimes, I hesitate making what could easily be called "postcards" but then I remember Dewitt Jones' urging to create random acts of beauty and, well, I think these would qualify.  Not that it is me that is creating the beauty.  I am merely receiving Nature's beautiful creations and recording it as best I can.

  

   The third pond is only about 3 miles down the road from my house in Brownfield, Maine.  It is called the Burnt Meadow pond.  Further south than the other two, the sky wasn't quite as cloudy but the light was still spectacular.  The pond has a small island in it that brought the light and color a bit closer to me.  Again, the complete absence of wind made the water's surface smooth as glass.

   Of course I had to drive by my house and continue on to "my" pond, Little Clemons Pond, to see what the late day light was doing to it.

   I found it amazing that only four miles apart the light could change so much.  My little pond was sunk in shadow with just a hint of light outlining the hill top.  But Little Clemons Pond nestles in an interval between the hills, a few hundred feet lower in elevation than Burnt Meadow Pond and that, of course, makes all the difference.

   It took me about and hour to travel from Sebago Lake to Little Clemons pond and during that time the landscape treated me to an amazing show.  I've never before gathered breadcrumbs in this way but it was fun.  Each body of water was so different, so unique.  What a gift!  I am truly fortunate to live in such a lovely area!

Gathering Breadcrumbs in Connecticut...

  It was a whirlwind day...a kaleidoscope of diverse experience.  It was not, in many ways, a very "contemplative day".  But, as always, there is much to contemplate in the photographs, the breadcrumbs, we gather along the way. 

The Soul speaks to us through images.

- Carl Jung

   We began with a ride on a beautifully restore steam train in Essex.  I had a flash back to my first portrait, of an engineer in Fort William, Scotland back in 2005.  The billowing steam was wonderful and I decided to revert to my "monochrome mode" for his image.  I will think about why, of all the train photographs I made, this partial view with half the image obscured by steam, is my favorite image.

   We next toured the eccentric castle of actor William Gillette who portrayed Sherlock Holmes on stage for the first time in the early 20th century.  The landscape, overlooking the Connecticut River, the building itself, all were stunning but I focused on a small, stain glass window in one of the bedrooms.  In many ways, we don't choose the images, they choose us.  There is something happening within us that turns our eyes, and hence our lenses, to certain things.  

The Soul never thinks 

without a picture.

- Aristotle

   Our final stop was the Abbey at Regina Laudis in Bethlehem, Connecticut.  We were there, you might say, on a mission.  (You can read about it in my photojournal entry for the day here...)  My two final breadcrumbs were gathered there.

   The first was a somewhat abstract rendition, in black and white, of the tree shadows on the side of an outbuilding on the abbey grounds.  Somehow, it seemed to compliment the photograph of the steam train I'd made earlier.  

   I think all my abstraction work at the pond recently has tuned my eyes into seeing these possibilities more clearly.  You would be rather hard pressed to know what it is you are looking at in this image.  The faint grooves in the siding are just descernable. I loved the subtle lights and darks.

   The final image is my icon for the day.  And in this case, it was actually one of the last photographs I made.  We had had an incredible day with so much to remember and think about but it was this gentle image of the two sheep bathed in the luscious late day light that will stay with me.  My friend and I plan to return to the abbey for a retreat in the months to come.  I hope to again receive permission to photograph in this lovely and contemplative landscape.   

 

   I think the day proved

to me that it isn't the number of photographs you make that matters but the quality of the experience you have in any given place.

   I love this final quote from Edward Weston that really speaks to the need for us to turn off the left brained analytical side of our self from time to time and just melt into the experience of the place.  Some places are meant to be felt rather that seen.  The abbey was one of those places for me.

To consult the rules of composition before making a picture is a little like consulting the law of gravitation before going for a walk.

  

Gathering Breadcrumbs at The Center at Westwoods...

   The Center at Westwoods is an amazing place.  My friend and I spent a lovely hour or so walking the grounds recently.  My fist thought was that it would be an ideal location for contemplative photography.  The landscape is thoughtfully and exquisitely laid out with various locations you can visit and enjoy for their peace as well as their contemplative possibilities.

   Sculptures, like this stone spiral dot the landscape and you can feel the energy flowing everywhere you walked.  The following are a series of "breadcrumbs" I gathered during my short visit.  I wish I had had the time to walk the amazing labyrinth.  Or I should say, I wish it hadn't been so hot in the sun!  I will return on a cooler day for that experience.  In the meantime, I can reflect on the breadcrumbs I gathered this day...

   The breadcrumbs I gathered were all very muted, one even black and white, until I got to the Koi pond.  The sunlight was a bit glaring but I was mesmerized by the color!  The sweet little green frog on the yellow lily pad, the blue water etched with the reflection of the metal sculpture beside the pond and the stunning orange and yellow fish all came together in a riot of color.  This is a place I could return to again and again and never run out of inspiration.  Like my pond here in Maine, I have a very similar experience every time I visit.  Do you have a contemplative landscape that fascinates you?  One you can return to over and over again?  Isn't it time you found one!

  

Living in the Border World...

   The monks at St. Joseph Abbey live in a kind of border world between the sacred and the worldly.  They have chosen a life that tries to walk the difficult line of being of this world but not in it.  Retreatents are given a small glimpse of this border world.

   The Trappist order is a cloistered order and the monks never venture outside the monastery except for medical reasons. It is a lifestyle that is hard to fathom for most of us but it certainly has it appeal.  They live a completely stress-free existence and we could all do with a bit less stress in our lives.  That is one of the reasons I stay in monasteries whenever I can.

   For the vast majority of the world, these brief respites are just that, brief.  At some point we have to return to the "real world" and deal with it all.  I found a breadcrumb that I've mulled over quite a bit since my return.

   It wasn't so much the dried grass that filled the crack in the sidewalk but that it seemed to separate the old, faded asphalt from the newer, dark section...a border world in miniature.

   I'd walked on this sidewalk several times already but this time it caught my attention and made me stop and look at it.  That is the real definition of a "breadcrumb" for me.  It is an image that makes you put the brakes on...an image that interrupts your day and says, "Hey...you who are in such a hurry.  Stop and look at me!  I have something to tell you!"

   The grass was soft looking and inviting...Nature bridging the gap between the old and new...blunting the hard surfaces with its appealing texture.  The asphalt was hot in the sun but the grass was many degrees cooler.  It seemed a good place to be.

   The monks, here at St. Joseph, live in this kind of world, this border place, and for a short time I did too.  Then it occurred to me that living in a "border world" is a choice I could make.  I could partake of both, the dark and the light, and rest serenely in between.  It is my choice, it has always been my choice.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnote:
 
    The monks acquire this land in 1950 and moved their monastery here when the one they were living in in Rhode Island was destroyed by a devastating fire.  They built it entirely with their own hands using the native field stone they found all over the property, mainly in stone walls that criss-crossed the landscape.

   In a video presentation I watched about the history of the abbey, I learned that the monks designed the buildings and built the entire monastery in less than two years. It was a finely crafted and beautifully designed group of buildings and I was extremely impressed. 

   In a way, this place reminded me of the Shaker Villages I have visited and that also represented an attempt to create a "heaven on earth".  The monks have succeeded admirably, I think.  To a much less extent, that is what I am trying to do with my garden...gardens are my idea of heaven on earth.

  
 

Gathering Breadcrumbs at St. Joseph's Abbey...

On my window sill...

   I had brought three books with me to St. Joseph's Abbey for my weekend retreat.  I planned to do a lot of reading during my stay.  I also planned to do a bit of "reading" of the landscape around the retreat house through the lens of my camera.

   Gathering breadcrumbs, my contemplative practice of randomly receiving images as I stroll through a location, is a way I read the "text" of that particular place.  Everywhere we find ourselves is like entering into a vast story book of place and time.  Gathering breadcrumbs is like flipping through the book and letting our finger come to rest on a single sentence.  It is not the whole story, just a tiny part.  Each person will find and respond to a different sentence in the story.

   Each breadcrumb is an opportunity to reflect on meaning; both personal and universal.  It is a dialogue with world around me...whispers from the landscape.  They can occur indoors or out but they all are moments of pause.

In the early evening sky...

   Some breadcrumbs are subtle and gentle, like the solitary leaf on the window sill of my room in the retreat house.  Some can be dramatic and evocative, like the jet trail in the sky about the monastery.  There is no need to go beyond the obvious...I saw this, it made me pause.  Metaphors, interpretations, the process I call Photo Lectio, can be done later...sometimes much, much later, sometimes not at all.

   The world is a vast, unending novel for me.  Each location another chapter.  But there is an undercurrent, a theme that runs through it all and that theme will be different for everyone who walks in the landscape.  It is a theme that each of us brings with us, along with our camera and journal.  Here are a couple more of my breadcrumbs from my time at St. Joseph's...

Hanging from a tree branch...

In a Mirror's Reflection...

   Tomorrow I will discuss one breadcrumb that had special significance for me...

My Daily Practice of Zuihitsu...

   Zuihitsu (随筆) is a genre of Japanese literature consisting of loosely connected personal essays and fragmented ideas that typically respond to the author's surroundings. It is roughly translated into "follow the brush".  I think it is a very apt description of my practice of gathering "breadcrumbs" in the landscape; something I very often do wherever I find myself.  In my case, zuihitsu is more like "follow the lens".

   Now that I think about the analogy, this entire blog is an example of zuihitsu!  My daily posts meander shamelessly from topic to topic and that is how I like it.  It is really how my mind works in most things so, why not this blog!

   I prefer to think of it as a kind of stream of consciousness thing.  One idea leads to another and you end up finding yourself in the most interesting and unlikely places.  Like the photographic breadcrumbs that lead me through a landscape.  

   This blog post was connected to a passage I read in a book, a breadcrumb I picked up at the pond, some signs I saw on Star Island, and a digital collage I made of them...talk about random!  But, like this photograph of the branch, there is a connection.

   All the topics I pursue are connected by the thread of my contemplative practice...my seeking metaphors in the landscape and the joy of finding commonplace enchantments wherever I am.  So, I must ask you...

  ...for that is where you will find your inspiration, Here & There and everywhere!  No need to travel to faraway places with strange sounding names, as the song goes.  Your contemplative landscape is as near as your back door in fact, you don't have to leave your house at all!

   Follow your internal GPS and make the ancient Japanese art of zuihitsu a part of your contemplative practice.  Who knows where it will lead you?

Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying,’ she said: ‘one can’t believe impossible things.’

‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

― Lewis Carroll

   Now, how in the world did I get from zuihitsu to contemplative photography to Wonderland?  Curiouser and Curiouser....

 

 

Gathering Breadcrumbs along the trail to Diana's Baths, North Conway, New Hampshire...

Crossing the Threshold

The Tiniest of Toads

Leaf Lace

Tree Scar

Contemplating the Falls

Roots and Rocks

The Final View

   There was so much to see, to stop and photograph, along the trail to Diana's Baths.  My favorite one, however, was the final image, the one of the water reflections and river rocks.  I think my time at Little Clemons Pond, enthralled with those reflections, had "primed the pump" so to speak. We are always the sum total of our past experiences.  I spent some time just gazing into the hypnotizing undulation of light and color.  Quite mesmerizing to be sure.  Gathering breadcrumbs along the way always leads you to your final destination and this was mine that day.

More Breadcrumbs from Star Island...

You can find sanctuary in the most unlikely places...

Don't forget to look back...

The Oceanic Effect...*

   The wonderful photographer and winter caretaker on Star Island, Alexandra de Steigeur, used the term "Oceanic Effect" to describe the sensation of vastness that overcomes her when she is sailing or alone on the island during the winter months.  It makes one feel incredible small in relation to the immense expanse of the water and sky.  It puts one in one's proper relationship with Nature...

Gathering Breadcrumbs on Star Island...

What's Holding You Back?

Biting Off More Than You Can Chew

When the Student is Ready the Teacher will Come

Gathering Breadcrumbs in the Parking Lot...

Where There's a Will...

   Nearly stepped on this little crabgrass tuft as I got out of the car.  I've never been a huge fan of it since I wage a constant battle with it in my flower beds but you have to admire this kind of determination.  The crack in the concrete was very tiny yet it found a way to sprout.  There is a lesson here...

Cherish the cracks in your life,

that is where the light gets in.

Gathering Breadcrumbs Around the House...

 

   I recently had the old wallpaper striped from the hall and for the first time I was able to appreciate the lovely shadows cast on the freshly painted surface.  They were always there, of course, but the pattern of the wallpaper obscured them.  I made this image just a couple of days after Robin Williams sad death and the shadows inspired this wonderful Rilke quotation that I found especially poignant.  This is the is the power of synchronicity at work...you receive the images you need when you need them...without fail.