Imperfect

On a drizzly spring day a few weeks ago, I was fortunate to be invited for lunch at my friend Ellen's home. It's always a treat to receive that particular invitation because Ellen is a private chef. Spontaneously, she can throw together a meal from whatever she finds in her fridge and garden that's more scrumptous than any restaurant around.

Beyond the wonderful fish chowder and deer tongue lettuce sprinkled with chive flowers, I was delighted by what lay on the table. Longing to photograph the two pears bathed in natural light, I chided myself for not bringing my camera. But there, beside my napkin lay my iPhone. Dare I stoop to that level, become just another iPhone shooter.
You have no choice, I told myself pressing the silly "app." Although one pear is marred, the rooster's head is cut off and the file is half the size of my Canon's digital capability, I couldn't get this image out of my head. To read a more lyrical rendition of this post, visit Recovery Thru My Lens.

Savannah

After more than two weeks on the road, I've returned with about 200 images to edit for my Phantoms series. But before I get down to work, I'm posting this image of the Spanish moss that hangs over Savannah like a veil of protection preserving its history and its unrelenting charm.
Despite the trendy shops and internet cafes scattered about, I was enchanted by the gothic architecture, welcoming verandas, and the city's 22 squares arranged in a simple grid. And it didn't take long before Phantoms began to appear; I soon learned that the city is indeed haunted by thousands buried in mass graves due to two devasting fires in 1796 and 1820 and a yellow fever epidemic around the same time.
Ironically, this image was taken on a bike ride in Bonaventure Cemetery. Built on a plantation just outside the city, it's known as one of the most beautifully haunting in the county.

Miracle

It's a miracle! That's the best way I can describe what I saw through my lens when I leaned over some shallow ice in my favorite park yesterday around noon. I had been circling the pond at Sears Bellows Park in Hampton Bays. With the temperature below freezing, I had thought I might find some interesting ice formations, but on my second loop around nothing inspired.

Then as my dog, Copper, skidded across the ice, I looked down and noticed an array of leaves frozen beneath the surface. Moving my lens in and out, from side to side, I started to create a variety of collage-like images.

Then this frosted heart appeared before my eyes. I know it sounds corny, like a bible story. But it was so divine Tiffany couldn't have come close. At first, I thought it was my imagination. I zoomed in closer and closer examining its many facets, its three chambers. It loomed larger, captured my fancy.

But moreover, it presented the perfect metaphor for this holiday season when so many have broken hearts, have lost hope for the future. Yes, times are terribly tough, many people has lost their jobs and their homes, the tides are rising, the war continues...

However, if we all just take a few moments to stop, breathe, and look around, miracles can happen and will if we just believe...

Please share this with your friends and family through e-mail or on your Facebook page if you are so inspired...the link is www.merylspiegel.blogspot.com

Nurture

Yesterday while wandering around the Bayard Cutting Arboretum in Oakdale, known for it's ancient weeping beech trees, my eye gravitated to a line of coleus plants popping up at my feet. I sunk down to my heels and moved in as if a magnet was pulling me close.

One, two, three...I counted three hearts beating against one another. I thought of my daughter, Lauren, her little boy, and the new baby now growing inside her. I thought of her vibrancy, her thirst for life, her relentless energy. I thought of her glittering smile mixed with quite a bit of mischief.

But mostly I thought about how she nurtures her child so seamlessly, is able to balance the demands of the outside world with her maternal instincts. And I'm thrilled that it's so much easier for her than it was for me...now that's progress!

Tomorrow is Lauren's birthday, she will be 25, what a beauty...

Holy

In observance of Yom Kippur, this seemed like the right image to post today. Although I don't go to synagogue like I did in my youth and find other ways to connect spiritually, this highest of Jewish holy days still weighs on me. Marked as the day to atone for our sins and memorialize the dead, I still try to fast, but usually don't make it to sundown.

Interesting how this sad day falls in September, the most beautiful time of year here on the East End. The water has warmed, the air has turned crisp, and the ski seems bluer. As I walked along the beach in Westhampton the other day, I took pictures observing all three. But then I came upon this black rock that had washed up on shore and was shimmering in the sand, soft to the touch, filled with pores. I leaned in close, was again captivated by all the nooks and crannies.

Gazing at it now, I wonder if those are my sins or the people I have lost. Whatever the case, it's definitely holy...

Peach

Peach is one of my favorite colors. While most houses here on the East End are painted grey or tan, mine is painted a pale peach. And my living room which I redecorated about two years ago is covered in a more vibrant shade of that hue. After a few trips to Mexico, I was inspired to brighten up the long, wet winters here by the shore with some color from the tropics.

So when I was walking my dog last weekend and spotted this splash of peach, I stopped and sank down to my heels trying to get as close as possible with my camera. Within a few moments, I was lost in the color and texture; the nooks and crannies grew more interesting to my eye than the object as a whole.

While I usually specify exactly where I unearth my images, I'd like to leave this one up to your imagination. Leave a comment below telling me what you think it is and where it was discovered...

Twofer

One of the first things I learned when I began to take photography seriously was that you have to take a lot of pictures in order to get one photograph. Years ago while in a workshop with Joyce Tenneson, who is now a renown art/fashion photographer, she said that if you find one good image on a roll of film with 36 frames, you're doing well.

After discovering the couple under the red umbrella that I posted last week, I was surprised, therefore, to find another captivating pair on a patch of sand adjacent to that same pier that afternoon. Spread out on their backs, scores of horseshoe crabs lay there glistening in the sun, their golden color so different from the steel gray, much larger specimens I had seen on that beach before.

"Look at the color!" I immediately blurted to my student.

"What happened, why are they all dead?" she asked.

"I have no idea," I said, "I've never seen this variety here; bigger, darker ones come here to spawn in the spring." Maybe it has something to do with climate change, I thought.

Lifting our cameras, we moved in close and started shooting. I was immediately drawn to this mother and her baby, cuddled together, soaking up the sun, perhaps hoping it would bring them back to life. The baby appeared to be smiling, maybe just happy to be close to its mother until the very end.

Iris

As May comes to a close, it seems fitting to end with the iris, the most spectacular of flowers. Around noon one day last week, I couldn't take my eyes off the phosphorescent petals just outside my front window that had just bloomed.
Envisioning all the pictures of irises I had already seen, I was reluctant to grab my camera. "But these purple and yellow ones are so special," I thought, "and they're mine." Within minutes I was leaning over the tall specimen in the middle of my front garden experimenting with the composition.
As I zoomed in, I decided to focus on the purple patterns at F5.6, letting the yellow petals fall into a blur. However, the lightness of that blur overpowered the darker elements I was trying to highlight. So I set my digital camera on manual and underexposed by a little more than one stop. Presto...without Photoshop, I had toned done the yellow and created a more dramatic image.
It's no wonder that of all the flowers that blossom on Earth, they named this one after the color of the eye.

Getting Close

After all that rain last month, this May is one of the most beautiful I can recall. The air is filled with the sweetest scent and wherever I look buds are bursting with color. However the problem with spring is that it passes in the blink of an eye. So while I'm blinking, I try to capture what's most memorable.
Last fall I planted a row of 40 tulips bordering my front garden. Having forgotten about them during the long cold winter, I was excited when they poked through the soil even though just a dozen appeared. But a week after blossoming, their petals were already drooping. Within a few days, they were completely spent. While tulips are one of the most fetching flowers, they are also one of the most fleeting.
To preserve the sight, I cradled one in my hands, carried it to my back deck and laid it out on a bench. Then I focused up close filling the frame with color.
Sometimes the secret to a good image is simply getting close.

Tree Down

After several sunny days in a row last week, when spring seemed to be just around the corner, I planned to attend the St. Patrick's Day parade--a big event in Westhampton this time of year. With green in mind for this blog, I conjured kilts flashing by or four-leaf clovers reflected in store windows. However typical of March's schitzophrenic nature, a major storm gathered forcing officials to postpone the event until next weekend.

As the wind whipped and the rain pounded on Saturday, my fair-weather visions vanished. So I practiced patience (not easy for me) and waited for something, anything to replace them. I was already late in posting. Then just before dinner as the sky darkened, the power went out...
Sunday dawned with nothing new in mind and still no electricity; so I surrendered and reviewed images already taken, particularly those with a hint of spring. When the rain finally stopped in the afternoon, my daughter and I went out for a while. Driving home, we came upon a large tree blocking the roadway.

"Hey Mom," Jackie said, "why don't you just photograph the tree?"