The Poetry of Place: June 29 - December 10, 2014

   I've been visiting Little Clemons' Pond for six months now and I thought I would try to distill the hundreds of images I've received from the pond down to a "good crop" of twelve.  It wasn't easy.

   This exercise is always helpful when you become so overwhelmed in a photographic project that you begin to loose sight of the essence of what drew you to it in the first place.

   Poetry was my essence...not documentary.  I wanted to focus on the poetical nature of a place through time.  I chose these twelve images for the personal impact they had on the way I viewed the pond and how that impact altered my understanding and photographic methods in the process.

  Perhaps on another day I would select different images.  Next June, when this project ends and I have to prepare for my show, I will have to make the difficult decision of what to put in and what to leave out.  Some of these will, no doubt, make the final cut...some will not.  For now, these are my twelve images...

The Poetry of Place: A Good Crop: June 29-December 10, 2014

Flowers in Paradise...

   Photographing "Eleanor's Flowers" on Campobello in September had me looking more closely at the flowers on St. John.

   When your eyes are opened to a new subject,  it alters how you approach each subsequent landscape you walk through.  What you would normally pass by you stop and behold.

   Whereas the dahlias of Campobello were so familiar to me, St. John's flora is exotic.  I do agree, however, with O'Keeffe's sentiment above.   We usually never take the time to look into the tiny faces of flowers.
  

   Everyday, as we trudged up the driveway to our car, we walked by these little flowers on the right.  One day, I stopped and really looked closely at them.  The centers seemed to glow with an interior light.  They were absolutely lovely and I couldn't believe that we hadn't noticed their glorious display!

   I think the real lesson I've learned during my stay on St. John is the importance of taking the time to notice the tiny "insignificant" things.  The magnificent landscapes are a wonder to behold but so are natures small miracles, like this flower.  The pink sand beaches and flaming sunsets are mirrored in this delicate flower and the experience is just as stunning.

   I've decided to make my "Good Crop" of images from St. John a collection of 12 of these exotic flowers.  I hope you enjoy gazing into the tiny faces...

A Good Crop from St. John

Monhegan in Monochrome - A Good Crop...

   In many ways, Monhegan is the perfect place for the photographer that loves the monochrome image.  So much of the island is tints and shades of grey already!  The foggy mornings only add to the sensation since fog mutes color.  There are some images that just cry out to be done in black and white so I offer this small collection of photographs to conclude my series of On Location - Monhegan.

Solitary Gull - Into the Wind

   I've chosen 12 photographs - my "Good Crop" - for this monochrome folio.  Some are also represented in color in my Sense of Place - Monhegan folio.  For me, they worked either way.  But a few just had to be done in monochrome.

     If I had to pick just one of all the photographs I made as the icon of my experience on Monhegan, it would be this image of the gull.  The delicate tones of the wing stand in contrast to the rugged texture of the rocks and, for me, Monhegan was a study in contrast...the little fishing village and the dense woodlands....the houses hugging the security of the cove while the cliffs dominate the eastern edge of the island with their dizzying heights and sense of danger...the summer residents who come from "other worlds" and the few hardy souls that brave the winter isolation in this one small world.  Yes, the gull photograph says it all for me.  He is facing into the wind...lifting his wings to soar above the waves...just like this tiny island does every day.  Both gull and island stand in splendid isolation in this landscape of stone.

   It wasn't easy to pick my icon...it never is.  I have to do a lot of thinking about the whole experience and what I find is that the icon is rarely a "pretty" picture.  It wouldn't be what the Chamber of Commerce would choose to represent their town (not that Monhegan has a chamber of commerce of course!).  That's because an icon is an intensely personal expression of one persons experience of a place and a time.  No two photographers would come up with the same image.  That's what makes the exercise of searching for my icon so enriching for me.  It is an exercise I encourage you to try the next time you travel to a special destination.

Monhegan in Monochrome

"A Good Crop..."

Self Portrait in Paris

"Twelve significant photographs

 in any one year is a good crop." 

Ansel Adams 

   The longer I practice contemplative photography the less I am concerned with producing lots and lots of photographs. As I have said before, the "input" is more important now than the "output".  I search for and patiently wait for the one iconic image of an experience or a place.  Nonetheless, I was still amazed when I came across the Ansel Adams quote above.  He considered 12 "significant" photographs per year a "good crop".

The Heavenly Staircase - Rouen Cathedral

   In today's mass produced, mass media culture, where quantity has replaced quality in just about everything (no more rolls of 24 exposure film...memory cards hold hundreds of images!)  Adam's idea is even more thought provoking.  What he doesn't tell us is how many "near misses" he made to get his final 12 but no matter.

   I know that if I have a focus when I am photographing I tend to make fewer photographs.  This summer in France I was focused on light and, of course, its antithesis, shadow.  Not that I didn't photograph other subjects but the idea of light and shadow directed my lens.  It kept me looking more and photographing less which actually had a side benefit I hadn't considered.  I didn't experience France only through the camera.  I have a rich repository of sensory imagery as well. Like my trip to Omaha Beach.  I made no photographs of the beach where my Father landed in 1944.  I walked out through the dunes to bury my token in the sand as a recognition of my father's valor on that day.  I found the sand so soft and velvety.  Somehow I expected it to be grainy and rough. I loved hearing the children playing in the sea, laughing and having a good time.  I thought it very fitting that a place of so much pain and suffering is now a place of joy. I think my Father would think so too.   I collected a tiny amount of the sand to bring home and left my little mica token behind.

The Persistence of Time - Paris

   I've included 2 photos from my French "crop" in this post. (The "self portrait" doesn't count!)  All 12 are in the contact sheet in the side bar. Some I've already posted but I thought it would be good to keep the 12 images together.  I found the exercise of paring down the 100's of shots I made in France to just 12  "significant" images a very illuminating exercise.  Some incredible experiences, like standing on the D-Day beach, have no photograph to document the moment. In that case it was too emotional and I'm content to keep the encounter "unphotographed" but securely planted in my heart.  I did make two photographs in the Visitor's Center and one is included in my "crop".  To choose the 12 images I had to really consider what the trip had meant to me; what I wanted to take away from the experience.

   My 12 choices would hardly count as a documentary series of France...they are way more personally motivated.  These photographs are as far from the "travelogue" variety as they can be but that is what contemplative photography should be about I think.  Over the weeks ahead I'll be reflecting on these images and perhaps I will share some of my thoughts with you.

    I met a sweet couple from Sweden at a Paris cafe and when they learned I was a photographer they asked if I had any advice to give them to improve their images.  I simply said "Photograph only what you love...photograph through the lens of your heart."  That was the best suggestion I could give and the only rule I follow.