Give Unto Others As You Would Have Them Give Unto You.
For your esteemed consideration, a brief list of gift possibilities that have nothing whatsoever to do with endless asphalt parking lots, elbow-throwing shoppers, overworked credit cards, feelings of anxiety and resentment, and/or inevitable, near-horizon additions to your town’s overtaxed landfills.
If I could give the sort of gifts that I would love to receive they would look like these.
These gifts might not cost anything in dollars, but in each case they would cost their givers in time and awareness, and intention, which really, seem far more valuable as currencies.
From the very edge of the earth . . .
Flavorful medicine for the chills of winter and the senses of the imaginative soul:
An invitation to consider what lies beneath and to risk letting it be seen:
A reminder to live beautifully wherever you are, to draw warmth from the coldness of others and nourishment from the very air you breathe.
And so it goes, you see…
Of course, not everyone would understand such gifts, and some, inevitably would see them as uncool and unfair, as ‘cheap-outs’ or tight-wadded attempts to save their givers money rather than deeply thoughtful gestures that were intended to be delivered with a story and an implied, “I see you and love you.” Perhaps you will be able to see some of the gold that this soul suspects would result if each of us began to celebrate all of our holidays in closer accordance with that magical golden rule, giving as we would most like to be given to. And really, unless you just hunger for some useless, five, ten or twenty dollar trinket from WalMart that comes bubble-wrapped in plastic and that will be broken beyond any usefulness within a few weeks, and then headed for the landfill, why, why would you, or any of us ever resort to such gift giving inanity for someone else, just so we could check them off our gift list? Perhaps it is time to reclaim the essence of gift giving, investing the time you’d otherwise spend working to pay off the credit card bill generated by purchasing some of those silly gifts and instead, thoughtfully gathering and making, and weaving a personal story for your loved ones.
Which, if any of these gifts would you most like to receive? And what is the first of this type of gift that you imagine giving? Would there be some inherent metaphor or message behind it, or would it just be a simple gift of beauty?
(And for those interested in such things, all of these photos were captured on an iPhone 5 using the Camera+ app and then processed in the iPad version of the same app, because it has more variables and control. All of the items were placed upon a sheet of kraft wrapping paper and lit with a single, affordable, incandescent Tota-light, diffused by a white cloth.)
Further iPad camera explorations and ruminations . . . Now with inanimate objects.
I’m quickly coming to the realization that the form factor of an iPad is really no more strange as an image-capture device than an old-school view camera. In fact, ergonomically it’s actually probably less strange, but also less familiar. And there, I suspect is the basis for nearly all that makes it seem ‘strange’. Truth is, most of us will get over any aversions we harbor toward the iPad camera’s differentness pretty quickly as we work with it a while, especially as we fall in love with some of the beautiful images it affords us. But like any other new camera or image-capture medium, you know there will be some who will inevitably need to step atop their soapboxes and with great surety and passion bemoan all that is wrong with making pictures in this godfersaken, newfangled-ish way. I imagine it was the same with Polaroid when it first arrived on the scene. For these bleating naysayers, defining themselves by the negative space has always been deemed, in and of itself an act of high art. Sometimes it is the only act of art they are qualified to render up. (Think bacon grease, here). Don’t let them sway you, my friends. Try making pictures for yourself and let the results be your guide.
The first step for me was shooting a few handheld, snapshot-y type photos with the iPad and discovering just how good the camera’s lens actually was when combined with the Camera+ app’s precise exposure and focus controls. These first few pics made the creative lightbulb come on for me, which left me then wanting to try more deliberate sorts of pictures . . . pictures that actually gave that camera, in its strange, print-sized shape, a chance to really shine. It did.
First thing on the list:I needed a way to attach the darn thing to a tripod.
I looked at several iPad holders of various over the top prices and goofball designs, and finally settled on one of the simplest and surprisingly, least expensive that I had seen, The NOOTLE tripod mount at www.grifiti.com. Here’s a look at their page …
A few days after ordering it, my new nifty Nootle arrived along with a bonus, free, Big Ass, (yep, real name), rubber band and an actual, hand-written thank you note. I immediately liked these people!
I can’t say that the iPad has become my ‘go to’ camera at this stage, but I can report that it has been winning me over a little more each time I use it. Mostly I use it for other things, like during workshops and shoots as a place to import photos shot with other cameras in order to include others in the discussion and viewing process. When hooked up to a projector, the iPad allows all of the participants in a workshop to view each others’ assignment image captures along with a show-and-tell classroom critique about what works and what doesn’t quite work in individual shots. On photo shoots, I find that being able to import a few photos from the camera to demonstrate to the subject what we’re getting on camera, or to stimulate a more informed discussion with the art director can really shorten the learning curve substantially, delivering us far more efficiently to our goal line.
But I digress. We’re here to talk about the iPad as camera, and more specifically, to explore the other half of that team of two photos I shot a few days ago and posted up together: Consider yourself reminded.
Here’s how the still life of those beautiful, maroon and gold, ‘Holden Clough’ iris looked straight out of the camera: clean, sharply focused and saturated with delicious color.
Over time, one learns that the best solution for a problem is not always the prettiest solution … or the most true. It feels as if to work side-by-side with the antique-looking portrait, this still life needs to feel cooler, more blue tones and cyans… and it needs to feel as if it is more of a long-ago memory, softened and faded by time.
Having added the curved-edge white border to set off the photo and provide enough white space to add the flower’s Latin nomenclature beneath it (we’ll add this later in Photoshop), it occurs to me that we need yet another level of ‘frame’ for the picture to finish it. I add that touch, still working in the Camera+ app, by adding a styled border called “Vintage”, then save it and run it through one more time to tweak the colors.
Once I’d gotten to the soft, cool look you see above, I saved the image and then opened both it and the self-portrait in Photoshop, where I gave the portrait its own frame, butted the two pictures together and added copyright notices and the storytelling typography elements. Lots of steps. Lots of ‘practice’. And for what? Love? Money? Nada, unfortunately, on both counts. It could just be that I’m nuts.
Ahh well, at least I’m constantly stretching myself, join’ out there on the limb, where the fruit grows. At least I’m trying things, experimenting and giving myself permission to play, and fail, and grow.
I’m hoping you’ll be able to glean something for your own creative ventures from this journal. If you’d like to workshop with me to develop your own iPad photographic workflow, stay tuned. I am working on the elements necessary for both a lecture and a workshop on the topic, and you would, of course, be most welcome to attend.
It’s been a few years ago now since I shot this image. Actually, it was one of more than eleven hundred captures made that warm, mid-summer day at Jello Mold Farm, in the Skagit Valley. This particular shot was conceived in the early evening, which, since we had begun the day at first light, meant both Dennis and I were really starting to drag a bit. But you see, it was still too early to quit, and we still had several more shots to do, so we took a little energizing play break, instead.
Had we set up a video camera to record the whole scene, you would doubtless have heard me teasing Dennis, pleading with him to help me enact a little remake of Andrew Wyeth’s famous masterpiece, ‘Christina’s World‘ and then you would have heard him, a natural adventurerer/comedian, happily consent. I took about six exposures, figuring one of them would work as my base image. Moments later, the lovely, Diane Szukovathy came over to see what we clowns were up to, so I put her on the bicycle you see in the background there behind Dennis, while he watched contentedly from his vantage in the grass, and in the next few minutes, we created one of my favorite shots of Diane from the entire day.
An hour and a half later, thoroughly exhausted, I packed my gear into the truck and headed down that dusky road back to Seattle. I slept like a baby that night and awoke refreshed, but life happened, starting that next day and a zillion other things pulled me into a zillion other orbits. This unfinished picture simply sat on a hard drive, awaiting its moment. Finally, today, while pulling photos forThe 50 Mile Bouquet book, there it was. Hello, old friend.
I know I probably shouldn’t have taken the time today to play with it. I shouldn’t have spent the hour to finish developing the pun, not with several deadlines looming. But that is exactly what I did, letting my imagination jump the tracks and run off into the playground, reliving a sweet, long-ago afternoon with two of my favorite flower folk, knowing how easily this picture might fall back beneath the fray of daily responsibilities, to be forgotten yet again.
I’ll need to stay up a bit later tonight to make up for this playful detour, but I’m willing. It’s a price I’m happy to pay to keep encouraging this sort of behavior from the kid in me. I’ve learned that being a grown-up doesn’t demand one no longer do these sorts of things, it just requires you be willing to stay late, if necessary, to make up the difference.
So, that’s my story, friends, and I’m sticking to it. I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse behind the curtain. And thanks again, especially to you, Dennis. Namasté.
Though, admittedly it did take another 1 1/2 hrs to put it all together & post it up here.
So here’s today’s little shared photo and networking lesson. I went outside this afternoon at about 1:30 to breathe in several chilled lungfuls of fresh air and generally get away from the photon-induced daze those danged computer screens were laying down, hard, upon my good-naturedness and wellbeing. And while I was out there I decided to tarry for a few contemplative, productive moments in the raspberry patch, cuz somehow my Heritage canes are still managing to push out a few of those precious, tasty crimson fruits, even in the first week of December. By 1:45 I was headed back into the house with about a cup and a half of tangy, ruby-red love, and that is when I decided to quickly make a picture, and kick out a fresh tweet before getting back to work. Ahhhhh, Mission Creep, you naughty, beguiling siren’s song, you.
As you can see, my quickie setup was marvelously simple. A kitchen table, a window with overcast skies beyond, a blue cup and saucer (I had come upstairs, originally, to make myself a cup of green tea in that blue cup), and the patinaed old broiler pan and a cookie sheet from my trusty little counter-top convection oven. I shot with my iPhone for a couple of reasons: first, being that it is the perfect, self-contained tool for a quick ‘shoot-&-post’ project like this, and second, because I am constantly on the lookout for iPhone photo lessons these days, with which to populate a lecture/workshop series I’m working on. Here’s one you can attend for free.
OK, well that gets us up to the point of actually sending the tweet, which happened just a few minutes later. I shot and then processed the picture above right in my phone with a wondrous little app called Camera+. Costs an arm and a leg, you know, a whole $1.99 and does things so beautifully that I sometimes import pics from the big cameras into my iPhone just to work on them and finesse their ‘look’ in one of these frisky little apps.
In this particular case, I ran the picture through the software three times, saving it each time so I could build up the look and the framing. And now, because that’s just how I like to roll, I’ve decided to take you through each of the steps I used to get to approximately that same look again, only this time with the “how he did it” photo I shot concurrently on my beloved little Canon G-12 (with the help of the self-timer and a tripod).
So, there you have it: From backyard to my kitchen table, and on to the twitter-verse in about ten minutes. Actually, it might have been more like thirteen, but that just wouldn’t have had the same poetic flair, now would it? The point is this: You don’t have to limit yourself to sloppy, half-hearted snapshots just because you don’t have a fancy-ass camera or a whole hour to spend getting it right. Teach yourself to play more generously, to see ever better what is possible . . . and if you do have an app-capable smartphone, practice, practice, practice. This may not be Carnegie Hall, friends, but think about it. If you’re still reading along all this way down the page then someone’s imagination has probably been getting stimulated with creative thoughts of their own. And on a gray winter day like this, that stimulation alone could make a troubled world seem just a little bit warmer and kinder. So, pass it on . . .
As always, your feedback is treasure to me, and quite often, to every one else following along, as well.
I know, I know. It has been months. Several silent, weird months. And though some part of me is mortified by that fact, another knew instinctively, when iWeb, the blogging software I’ve so loved for its playful visual properties finally choked on one too many picture heavy posts, that it was time for change. Drastic change.
. . . how I felt when it all came apart.
You see, big chunks of that corporate assignment work that had been subsidizing all those ‘labor-of-love’ hours I was putting into producing A Photographer’s Garden Blog over the years began to dry up, if not completely, then let’s just say, SUBSTANTIALLY, and at just about the same time the blogging software went wonky.
A sign from the universe? Who knows? I certainly couldn’t prove it one way or the other. I will admit though, it certainly did get me listening.
Drizzle atop that lethal, one-two combo, the announcement that Apple, in their “Progress, dammit! Warp speed ahead!” rollover to ‘the Cloud’ was no longer going to support revenue-insignificant little iWeb and it was like, “Bingo . . . perfect storm.”
No, no, not like Katrina, perfect storm. Less. Much less. Absolutely no one died or was injured when Davey’s little garden blog choked on some malfunctioning byte of software sausage-ness. Still, it represented a blustery storm in my world, and in the vacuum of its wake, a tempest in a few of your teacups, as well, or so I’m told.
All in all, it was just perfect enough a storm to immediately stop all forward momentum for a five year old blog with far more weekly followers than a hundred of me could ever count on my toes. Suddenly A Photographer’s Garden Blog was dead in its tracks.
Can’t really blame Steve’s crew for choosing to focus on selling bazillions of groovy iPhones and iPads, and Air-lappys instead of tinkering with a tiny insignificant little blogging software program, especially since blogging these days is like, so fifteen minutes ago, but, sniff, it did sting a bit. Which, conveniently brings us forward (we’ll just pretend here, ‘cuz I don’t want to bore you with the whole drawn out story and because I’m shy a killer transition to get us there otherwise), logically and chronologically . . . to right now.
Well, I’m clear that I still love the creative platform a blog allows, that more-layered ability than, say, mere Facebook to combine words and pictures, and at times a bit of impassioned smartassery, into stories that might actually be worthy of the time they take to encounter. But I also know how completely our information world has changed in the five years since I first started blogging, and that most of us no longer follow anyone’s blogs, post by post, or most days even read an entire essay more than two hundred words long. (Sheesh, I’m well past that already.) So it’s clear as gin; the way I was doing things needs to change.
And then there’s that aching need I’ve had for a place to offer up ‘stuff’, you know, a store, an emporium of the odd, the published and the beautiful. And would it be too much to ask that it be connected to my blog without damnably destroying its artistic integrity through clutter and blinking ads, and unbelievably great deals on male enhancement drugs? Let’s let someone else hawk the snake oil on their sites. Here we’ll offer t-shirts and mouse pads mocking them. Heh, heh . . . You know you want one a those Snake Oil shirts.
It seems to me that this store should be a place that allows you to effortlessly sign up for the photo workshops and the seminars I’m building and offering in your region, as well as a place to purchase your very own copies of some of the groovy, wearable designs I’ve been imagining, and a place to order books. You remember books don’t you?
Did you know that The 50 Mile Bouquet, which I’ve been working on for the past four years with author Debra Prinzing will finally be available for purchase in April, 2012 and is being published by the very soulful and eco-savvy, St. Lynn’s Press? Can I get an Amen on that brother/sister?
So, in addition to being able to order your own personalized, specially autographed copies of our “slow flowers” book right here, it seems like you should also be able to click through to Amazon or Powell’s to order it, unsigned, or purchase other e-books and apps that are in the works, and yes, even delicious, custom prints for your walls.
I also think it would be cool, if, when I’ve found something I think you might really find useful, say, photographically, to provide a way for you to click through & order it without needing to jump from this site to a search engine, to yet another site and through a dozen exasperating, time-consuming hoops.
Need a source for translucent cutting boards that double as light diffusers for your garden photos, anyone? Stay tuned.
Well, there you have it. That’s what I’ve been thinking about and what I’m working toward. It is long past time to sideline my decade old corporate website and replace it with newer, more representative work, a portraiture section (yes, I love doing portraits), a literary section (uhhh, huh, more on that later), the new iteration of A Photographer’s Garden Blog (which, face it, may need to be renamed), and finally a multifaceted product and workshop storefront.
Over the next few weeks you’ll see me experimenting with different pages and different approaches, tinkering and finessing, and trying to get it right. Eventually, we’ll get there, once again carving out a safe, uncluttered space, so your visits can continue be the haven so many of you came to expect, a soulful, thought provoking respite, accessible at any moment’s exit along this screaming highway we know as the internet.
( PS: You’ll notice below here are all of the blog posts from the previous version of A Photographer’s Garden Blog, sans photos. Ughhhhhh. In one of many dead-ended wild goose chases trying to fix/save the blog and preserve all of your comments, one company promised to make a smooth transition from iWeb to WordPress, saving all the comments, intact. Goombahs, they never mentioned that their solution did not save the pictures, as well. So, now I’ve got the essays and the comments saved in WordPress here, but none of the photographs or typographic graphics or captions. For the pictured version of the old site with comments, you can still visit here until mid 2012: A Photographers Garden Blog, and for an archived version of the site that will remain intact, though sans comments, here: A Photographer’s Garden Blog (Archive). What a mess that we can’t just have the posts and your comments all together. Breaks my heart, still.)