Still Sandy

On Sunday, we were finally allowed access to the Roger's Beach in Westhampton after the hurricane. Of course, I grabbed my camera and headed down there. What I found, was much different that I expected. The beach was still sandy, wider than before, not narrower. But there were these rivers of water running through it. I decided that the best way to depict that impression was to shoot right up the river. In terms of composition, the angle of view can make all the difference. To see another viewpoint, go to my other blog, Recovery Thru My Lens.

Serenity

No matter how long I live near the water, I still need to remind myself that even in the off-season, when the temperature starts to dip, I can jump in my car and in ten minutes I'll be where the water meets the sky, where there's some serenity for me and plenty for you too. 

In fact if you visit my other blog, Recovery Thru My Lens, you'll read the same words but find another view of this scene. I couldn't chose between the two, so I posted one on each site. Let me know which one you prefer...

Capture

Although I complain about too much technology to the point of creating an entire collection, called Phantoms, to show how it's the demise of society as I've known it, here's an instance where it definitely came in handy.

When I go to the beach lugging beach chairs, umbrella, towels, books, etc, I leave my camera behind to lighten the load and avoid damaging my equipment. However, now that the i-Phone takes such good pictures, I can whip it out if I see something I can't resist.

Sure, I can't control the f-stop, shutter speed or the focus and the file size is limited, but when there's a choice between capturing the image or not, I  succumb.

In this case, if I would have waited to return the next day with my Canon, this creature would certainly have been washed away.

For a more personal take on the alligator, go to Recovery Thru My Lens.

Divide

Here's yet another of my classic beachscapes that I'm writing about for the first time. Like the others, it was taken just after sunset---but at Cupsogue Beach County Park at the end of Weshampton Dunes. Notice how the red fence stands out against the green grass and blue sky. Perfect complements further enriched by the last few moments of twilight. 

It's rare to find a moment of universal harmony like this---the reason why it seems to be a perennial favorite. I've saved it for the last month of summer so I can savor it through the end of the season....always a bit melancholy no matter how long I've lived here on the East End.

Go to my other blog, Recovery Thru The Lens, to read a more personal rendition of this image.

Twilight

Here's another summer classic taken on the North Fork. One aspect of many of these landscapes is that they are taken just after the sun dips below the horizon. During those few twilight moments, the colors saturate and the earth glows pink and purple.

What stikes me most about this image is that the beach plums, usually hot pink, are white and appear to be praying at the waterside. I've written a poem called Whisper to accompany this image that you can read on Recovery Thru My Lens....enjoy!

Wonderland

Sorry to have missed a week of posting here. Here's one of my classic images taken several years back that I usually call Pink Sound but today I'm calling it Wonderland as a tribute to the East End where I've lived for almost 25 years.

As a photographer, I'm so grateful to this part of the world for its breathtaking beaches, intricate land formations and most of all, wonderful light. Sometimes I long for the city streets where there's so much action and so many faces to feast on, but then I picture images like this and remember why I'm here.

To read a more personal take on this image, visit Recovery Thru My Lens.

Signs

This summer many of my posts seem to revolve around the weather. Maybe it's because it's been so unusual, so volatile this year. Maybe it has to do with climate change or our unpredictable economy, but most likely it has to do with my changing perspective.
Since creating my newest blog, Recovery Thru My Lens, I've grown even more connected to the natural world that has always provided so much to see. But now I'm seeing it in a more personal way as signs of what's to come.
While attending a meeting during a torrential storm a few nights ago, there was an eerie yellow light filling the doorway during the break.
"Look, it's a rainbow," someone shrieked.
And indeed, there it was arching over the church next door.
In the middle of a very stressful week, it was the sign I needed most.
To see a more poetic rendition go to Renew...

Magic

No matter how long I take photographs, it's magic never ceases to amaze me. When I finally succumbed and bought a digital SLR camera in 2008, I started to experiment with it by photographing the sky. At that time, I was envisioning a collage about climate change that would require many small images; so I thought it was a perfect application for the camera which offered endless frames, easily deleted unlike the more cumbersome, expensive film process.

That project has not yet materialized, however four years later, I have rediscovered this series and they are resonating with me much more now than when I originally created them. It reminds me that when we feel the urge to photograph something, we must take action even if we're not quite sure why we're doing it or where it might lead. 

So far, two of these images have inspired me emotionally on my more personal blog, Recovery Thru My Lens. Take a look at Help and Bliss to see how....

Island

On a recent trip to the North Fork just before Orient, I noticed this island floating in the Long Island Sound. Since I've been surrounded by water here on the East End for the last 20+ years, it takes something remarkable for me to shoot an image like this these days.

Amidst all the development taking place here, I was struck by the emptiness of this stretch of sea, sand and sky. It seemed that this could be an island floating almost anywhere in the world; in the Caribbean, the Mediterranean or even off the coast of Africa or in the South Pacific---although the sea might not be as calm. And because it's reminiscent of a simpler time, I transferred it to black and white with a hint of amber for nostalia...
For a poetic rendition of this image, visit Recovery Thru My Lens!

Cycles

The first step in taking good photographs is becoming your own best scout.
Here's what I call my signature image; the one I have printed on my business card. Taken seven years ago, I have never written about it although I've told the story of how I scouted it out many times.
That week in June, my younger daughter was suffering from stomach pain. After a day or so, we took her to the hospital and they finally diagnosed her with appendicitis. With surgery scheduled for the next morning, we went out for dinner passing this field just after the sun had dipped below the horizon when I witnessed this wonderful sight. Alas...I didn't have a camera with me.
The following evening after a successful operation, I rushed home collected my medium format film camera and returned there at the same time of evening. Standing in the mud in my white sandals, I captured this image now called Water Cycle.
For a poetic rendition of this image, visit Recovery Thru My Lens!

Drift

There's something magical about sandbars. Usually they appear here at the end of the summer, but this one materialized early in June five years ago. This is one of my favorite beach images, yet this is the first time I am writing about it.
While relaxing on a Quogue beach one afternoon, I noticed how the shoreline appeared severed to the left. The next day I returned with my medium-format film camera late in the afternoon when the light was low. Stationed in this spot, composition ready, I pre-visualized the image and waited for someone to come walking into the scene. After several passed, this couple dressed in white mosied into the frame skirting the inner waterway on either side.
For a long time I had called this photograph simply Sandbar. A few days ago, however, I re-titled it Drift after writing a short verse with it in mind for my other blog, Recovery Thru My Lens. Take a look and find out why...

Serenity

This afternoon I waited until after four o'clock, about 20 minutes before sunset, to drive to one of my favorite local spots, the Quogue Wildlife Refuge, to take a photograph for my New Year's Eve posting. There's a serene spot overlooking the lake that I had hoped would be illuminated by a dynamic winter sunset. Although I try to avoid that particular cliche, I thought I'd make an exception for today.
However, there was only fog to be found when I arrived even though the sun had been out not long before. For a moment, I thought I'd just post a dramatic image taken several years ago of the sun rising over the bay down the street from my home. But then, I reconsidered. This scene, although not nearly as cheerful, seems more fitting for the tough times we're facing and more a reflection of the serenity I hope we'll find in the year to come.

Errands

At this time of year, it's difficult to turn my lens away from the pumpkins blanketing the fields here on the East End. Here's a relatively small display that I couldn't help but photograph outside the Garden of Eve, an organic market in Riverhead where I just ordered a Thanksgiving Veggie Box that I will pick-up on the Tuesday before the big day.

While it cost more than I would normally spend, it's certified organic and takes care of a good deal of my holiday food shopping well in advance. Instead of planning all those recipes, my daughters and I are looking forward to the surprise ingredients the box will hold and the dishes we will come up with.

So this is a reminder to carry your camera with you at all times, even on all those errands.

Ever-Present

On New Year's Eve while driving through Riverhead, a little early for a lunch date, I turned into Indian Island State Park and drove around looking for an image to post for the New Year. Although I haven't been drawn to landscapes lately, I was attracted to this scene, classic for the area because of the common reeds (or phragmites) on the right invading the marsh.

No matter what the season, they appear wherever you look here on the East End of Long Island. Hovering over the dunes, lining the roads and waterways, crowning private gardens, these tall grasses are always waving in the wind. In the winter they become particularly beautiful as their hue turns from straw to auburn and their fronds fill up with seeds becoming ever so bushy.

If it weren't for the reeds, this spot with no leaves, no sign of life would appear bleak. But the cattails (as I wrongly refer to them) lift the spirit. Not only because of their spiky beauty, their tufts of silk, but because of there persistence, their ever-presence.

Obstacle

Earlier this week I was visiting a friend who lives in an old farmhouse in between some wide open fields in Southampton. When I was about to leave at around four o'clock, I looked out the window and was awestruck by the sky. Behind her house the sun was already sinking low, but shooting yet another sunset didn't interest me. So I swiveled around and peered out the front window where I saw the clear, cold light bouncing off a farm structure across the way.

Wrapping myself in my down coat, I pulled my hood on, headed outside, and trod across the frozen earth. When I got within shooting range, I peered through the lens and realized there was a wire fence between me and the image I had envisioned.

Hmmm....what to do? I thought for a few moments. I couldn't remove the obstacle, but perhaps I could use it to enhance the composition somehow. Zooming in closer, I threw the wire out-of-focus and moved to the left. I had created a frame within a frame and transformed the fence into an element that added interest to the image.

Out of the Blue

If you want to capture that special image that pops up out of the blue, the most important thing to remember is to carry your camera with you all the time. If I hadn't stashed my camera bag in the back of my car, I would have missed the chance to capture this magnificent sight.

As dusk descended one evening, I was driving home down Lewis Road where acres upon acres of farmland have been preserved by the town of Southampton. There hanging over the field, a tremendous cloud was set on fire by the sun that had just dipped below the horizon.

As I neared, the cloud loomed larger and more brilliant. Pulling over to the side of the road, I reached behind me pleased to discover that I had indeed left my camera in the car. Knowing that the color would soon fade, I quickly changed lenses to my long one, 55-250mm, pointed it out the window and zoomed all the way in. I also underexposed by about one stop to intensify the cloud color thus throwing the treeline into silhouette.

With more time to gaze at this image now, I'm amazed at what we can see when we keep looking. I see the profile of a man with a full head of curly hair--looks a little like Harpo Marx!