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...

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.

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....

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.

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...

Present

The most important ingredient for taking good photographs is being present. It doesn't matter what kind of equipment you have if you're not aware, living in the moment.

This image of my daughter taken last weekend just before her sister's college graduation ceremony is a perfect example. We had arrived over one hour early at the campus to stake out our seats for six people. At the time, the closest ones to the stage were smack in the middle, directly in the sun. As we waited, amid the crowd, sweat beading on our foreheads, I fretted about how I would get a shot of the graduate through all the heads as she walked down the middle aisle.

Then I looked up and saw my older daughter's smile set aside Healy Hall, the oldest building at Georgetown. Lifting my camera, I took three shots. This one, the last, of her wistfully glancing sideways as if she knew exactly how I was framing her, is my favorite. If I had continued to fret, hadn't been present, I wouldn't have this precious momento.
For a more poetic take on this image, go to Recovery Thru My Lens.

Rugelach

During the holidays, any holiday, one of my greatest pleasures is cooking with my kids. Here's a plate of chocolate raspberry rugelach baked yesterday by my daughter, Jackie, and photographed overhead using natural window light.
I'm sure most of you have seen or eaten these cream cheese cookies traditionally baked on Hanukkah, but available in bakeries year-round. Yesterday while walking with my friend and author Julie Sheehan, I expressed my "trans-cultural" delight over the fact that Jackie had baked 150 ruggelach to be wrapped in sets of a dozen and presented as Christmas gifts to her boyfriend's family.
"Rugelach, what's that?" she asked.
"You know, those little crescents I had at my Hanukkah dinner."
"Oh those," she said, "I didn't know what they're called; how's it spelled?"
Never quite sure, I looked it up when I returned home. Here's what I found: Rugelach ( /ˈruːɡələx/; Yiddish: רוגעלך), other spellings: rugelakh, rugulach, rugalach, ruggalach, rogelach (all plural), rugalah, rugala (singular), is a Jewish pastry of Ashkenazic origin.

Natural

There's nothing like natural light.

On Saturday at my grandson's birthday party, my job was to take care of his new baby brother. Amidst all the ruckus--rock music blaring from gigantic speakers and 20 four year-olds dancing around us--I laid him down on a leather chair near a window to let him stretch out and noticed the beautiful light falling on his face.

Since I was trying to take some photos too (my usual job), I grabbed my camera and attempted to capture him without a flash. Fortunately, Blake is a very mellow fellow so far and stayed still for the 1/10 second exposure required.

It was also lucky that these two balls happened to be right there on the chair coordinating with his outfit and mimicking his cherubic face.