Sunrise

A few days after posting the sunset image, I woke up to a panoply of color outside my window that catapulted me out of bed to find my camera. With just a few moments left before it would fade, I found the best spot to frame the scene atop a second floor staircase just outside my laundry room facing east. Again, I used my telephoto lens holding it steady for a relatively long 1/25 second exposure.
They say that things come in threes, so I imagine I will see another display of winter color sometime soon. Perhaps at midday?

Oasis

Between storms I had the opportunity to take a brisk walk with my dog in the sunshine yesterday around noon. Instead of circling the block as usual, I headed toward the tiny marina at the end of my block where the town launch is located--a busy place during the summer but quite desolate during the winter.

This time of year I'm always surprised to see islands of ice floating in Shinnecock Bay in lieu of cabin cruisers, sailboats, and jet-skis. But this time I was drawn to this group of pilings standing at attention, some cushioned by pools of water.

Its an oasis, I thought, just like this place where I can always find something new to behold in the sky, in the water, or on the dock.

Hide-and-Seek

During this January freeze, it's often difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel, to believe that warmer days are ahead. For that reason, I was particularly attracted to these overturned rowboats stacked on the shores of Sears Bellows Pond the other day.

Skimming the surface, the sunlight was elusive, seemed to be playing a game of hide-and-seek. When the light is low and the contrast high, it's a challenge to replicate through the lens what we see before our eyes. In this case, I had to overexpose by two stops in order to render any detail whatsoever in the shadows.

The result is an image that appears black-and-white although it was taken in color. Apropos for the stark days and nights this month.

Accumulation

Just when the foot of snow dumped in my yard last week is starting to melt, they are predicting more for tomorrow. This winter is surely bound to set records for accumulation here on the East End. Imagining how treacherous it's been for commuters over the past few weeks, I feel fortunate that I work from home and can find images, if need be, by just stepping outside and looking around.

After the last storm when the sun finally came out, I tromped around in my back yard looking for something noteworthy. Since I've lived here for almost twenty years, it's quite a challenge to see things anew on my property. But once again I was surprised when I gravitated toward a line of bare lilac branches that hung down under the weight of all that snow.

As I zoomed in close, the ratio between the spindly branches and the amount of snow accumulated there magnified before my eyes. It's a wonder of nature that I doubt I would have noticed without my camera.

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.

More Snow

As February draws to a close, I was hoping to move onto more spring-like subjects, but when I sat down at my desk this morning and saw more snow out my window, mother nature dictated.

Here is an image I captured after the last snowstorm while walking around my tiny town tucked amidst "the Hamptons" on eastern Long Island. While most of the world envisions this area as a seaside resort, those of us who live here year-round experience small town living that in the off-season resembles any little place in the Northeast.
Aside from the snowy path canopied by trees trailing into the distance, what I like most about this picture is the rusty maple leaves on the right catching the midday sun and throwing the composition a little off-kilter. The long shadow from the telephone pole falling diagonally across the foreground also disrupts the symmetry of this typical scene drawing the eye in.

Inside Out

With the wind howling outside my window and snow blanketing my yard, I find myself sitting inside again writing about shooting during the winter. Another alternative to charging outside into the cold is to aim your camera at your window.

Windows provide a natural frame that we rarely notice since we’re usually focused on what we see outside. However, if we shift our perspective inside, something interesting may come into view that we hadn’t noticed before.
One of the favorite features of my house is the grids set inside the casement windows. During a storm, they contain the chaos outside calling attention to patterns forming on the glass and how the light varies from one square to another.
To capture this image, I picked up my Canon Rebel setting the zoom lens to about 35 mm – the “normal” focal length for my digital camera. Then I stood far enough away from the window so that the grid filled the frame.
Next, I flipped the dial to shutter speed priority with a setting of 1/30 of a second – the slowest speed that I can hand-hold without shaking. It’s suggested that a tripod be used when shooting at longer intervals than 1/60 of a second.
In my opinion, however, that choice depends on the steadiness of the photographer. And most important, the flash must be turned off so the image isn’t washed out and the nuance of natural light shines through.