Wild Hydrangea Portrait August 25 2017
I am putty in the petals of a wild hydrangea.
P.S. Please don't ever pick flowers from a public space. I shot this photo in the wild (at Little Grand Canyon in the Shawnee National Forest) this morning and edited out the background later.
Cicada Mandala August 24 2017
Where I live, a special brood of cicadas recently emerged after living 13 years underground. Thirteen!
Given this hero's journey, it's no wonder that cicadas are symbols of hope, resilience, and new beginnings. You see now why I had to make this wing mandala1.
No cicadas were harmed in the making of this mandala. After meeting their fates at the paws of nature, they leave behind only these wings2 to admire.
Spent Flower Blossoms as Fireworks June 15 2017
American 4th of July decorations and fireworks have been on sale for many months before the actual upcoming holiday. (I'm not condoning this, people--just reporting.)
But these red, white, and blue bursts below are no such things. Instead of being actual fireworks, they are rearranged, colorized versions of my beloved dead-and-dying clematis blossoms**.
In summer, after the wide flower petals drop, the spindly but elegant skeletons stick around for weeks or even months.
** Here's the starting point for this whole thing, a flower skeleton in its natural habitat:
Brutal Beauty (Abstract Black and White) May 24 2017
I loved that wavy line and used some phancy photo phootwork to bring out the contours. But what *is* it? (Let's just call this thing "nature related" for now. But for adventurous souls, contact me to guess or find out what it is.)
P.S. I caved and created a "making of" slideshow, which is probably not for everyone. But if you are *both* curious about this photo *and* generally circle-of-life-ish, it might be for you.
Being Independent Together December 12 2015
Just in time for the holidays, a photographic paraphrase of Hermey's invitation to Rudolph:
Downtown Philadelphia, September 2015.
Rocks, Braques, and Time Travel November 18 2015
RIGHT: A few short years ago, I saw this little oak leaf skittering across flat, wet rock at the top of a nearby waterfall.
LEFT: A century before that, painter Georges Braque completed his cubist masterpiece, Violin and Candlestick.
MIDDLE: Like you, I had been a Doubter of Time Travel. But how else could a painter in 1910 have seen this photo from the future to copy it?
CONCLUSION: Time travel . . . There! Is! No! Other! Way!
A Little Blue, a Little Wobbly October 26 2015
"Quiet but content" is how I saw this sturdy little tree in the topside world.
There it was, mid-week, minding its own business as it rose from the lake shore around sunset. Its dentist appointment wasn't until next Tuesday.
Seconds later, I turned and caught its reflection in the water: A little blue, a little wobbly, a little off-center.
Who hasn't been there?
Courage in a Tiny Moss Roof September 04 2015
Dear mystery person who built this tiny woodland house at the base of an oak tree in an out-of-the-way place along the lake shore last week . . .
Sticks. Stones. And -- for the love of all that's good in the world! -- you made a full, tiny roof out of moss. A roof.
You give me courage.
Liver-Eating Aliens. Just One. In a "Leaf." August 27 2015
I've heard your complaints: Too much imagining of "things" in other things.
But come on . . . in what way is this NOT a space alien coming to eat your liver?
If someone tried to hire me to design a new flower, here's what I would do:
With a mysterious smile, I'd slide their money right back across the table. Then I'd slowly reach under the table and pull out the old blueprints for this ancient columbine* blossom.
It wouldn't be an outright lecture about the folly of trying to improve on Nature, but they'd get the point. It's all pretty cinematic.
* Aquilegia canadensis: This specific blossom above is from a friend's garden, but these wild columbines grow all around the Shawnee National Forest (and elsewhere) in late spring.
What Will Become of Me? April 28 2015 2 Comments
Looking to the sky, searching his soul, this shaggy dog pauses for spiritual reflection:
"What will become of me during The Rapture?"
"Have I not been devoted?"
"Will there be peanut butter?"
The Dignity of Experience March 24 2015
It is the season for fresh, ephemeral spring wildflowers to pop up all along the forest floor. They're glorious.
But have you seen a more dignified seed pod at the end of winter . . . holding its head high, standing tall in the midst of treachery: spider webs, sleet, snow, hail, and kangaroos* trying to bring it down?
* Kangaroo swarms: A grave and under-appreciated winter risk in Illinois.
Orange Is the New Contrail March 19 2015
You know those intense streaks in the sky often left by airplanes . . . "contrails"?
One night last week, conditions were just right* for these two to burn as bright, deep orange through the trees, as the sun had almost bid us adieu until morning.
Cyanotyp-ish: From Ann to Anna March 16 2015
I know you're ready to party like it's 1799, because on this day, in that year, Anna Atkins came into the world.
A mad pioneer, she combined her expertise in botany with a (literal and metaphoric) vision for how a new "making pictures with light" technology could help advance science. Welcome the cyanotype. Atkins was one of the first to publish a book of cyanotypic photograms, creating images of what any reasonable person would start with: British algae, of course.
I'm not a cyanotypist or a cyanotypographer . . . or really even a cyanotypophiliac.
Still, I wanted to honor Atkins today, so the image on the right is a simulated cyanotype effect of a shy little flower standing next to an oak tree in the woods today.
(On the left is just an inversion, because I'm kind of -- you know -- artsy that way.)
Map of the World March 12 2015
Last week, a storm swept through with artful ice to create a Hokusai-themed window. A few days later, in the wake of snow plowing, some nearby ice on a gravel road began to melt -- in a most uneven and untidy way.
This is exactly the kind of mess I can get behind.
Below are micro-remnants of that mess: A thin, lacy top1 layer of ice, with muddy gravel underneath. The cutout shapes were so, well . . . continental that I had to turn this into a real map2, with a quick switch-out of color.
Things Whose Colors Are Like Other Things March 04 2015
You know how sometimes you're taking pictures of ice accumulating on a window and then all you can see is color? And a famous Japanese woodblock print from the 1830s? It happens.
Here is my iced-over window with its Hokusai-like colors in 2015, and here is The Great Wave at Kanagawa from around 1831-ish. Both are reproductions.
Next week: More icy shapes in Map of the World.
Everyday Minimalism February 25 2015
For No-Frills Wednesday (is that a thing?) . . . Simple drinking straws, straight-on, resting on top of a water glass.
Prescription: Tostitos February 18 2015
Minutes later, he heads into town, aiming to dull the pain with Milk Duds and Hint-of-Lime flavored Tostitos.
Bless This Archway January 29 2015
Joyous Though Egocentric Outburst: If I were a certified Blesser of Things, I would bless this archway.*
On Second Thought: No need. I'm pretty sure its serenity has blessed me instead.
Third Thought / Policy Clarification: Joyous outbursts always welcome!
* Tilt your head 90 degrees to the left to see that the archway is formed by the combination of a tree branch and its reflection, as the branch submerges into a partially frozen lake. On the left (top when head tilted) is the melting ice and on the right (bottom when head tilted) is the unfrozen part of the lake.
Rainy Day Brain Hijacking and a Club That Will Never Have Me December 30 2014
Out on a rainy day walk in the familiar woods last week, I heard myself thinking, "There's nothing new to see here today."
What? What?! Who hijacked my brain and spouted this lament of The Perenially Bored (a club that would never approve my membership application)?
Two minutes later, along came this "nothing new" -- the edge of a forest reflected in the rain-covered hood of a black car. The horizontal lines on the right are trees in a different plane of reflection, as the car hood sloped downward.
Reflective readers can find more reflections here.
Minty Cool, Ruggedly Handsome Winter Palette December 21 2014
Now comes winter, and the dogwoods are tired. It's the time when the Color Dial gets turned down low but the Sparse-and-Angular Dial is cranked high, all the way up to 11. I love the world-wise, been-around-the-block kind of beauty** in these stems and dried berries.
I picked them up to bring home, along with this minty-green autumn leaf already in my hand.
The Many Faces of a Lakeshore December 18 2014
Wardrobe Background: Getting my shoes muddy a few weeks ago for this shot made my day. I get that this sounds sarcastic, but it's true. My dog is the only one who really objected to the mess. (That last part about my dog is not true. Why, why do I lie? Shock value, I guess, because mud-averse dogs are basically unicorns.)
Guided Tour of this Photo: As I stood on the shore of a little inlet a few weeks ago, these half-underwater fallen leaves at the bottom of the frame caught my attention. Then on the lake's surface, I noticed the reflection of a single tree growing behind me, which you see in the middle of the shot. Still farther out, at the top of the frame, were reflections of the tree tops from the other side of the inlet.
Metaphor Out of Nowhere: And the circle was complete.
More stories about trees and leaves here.
Personal Virtue, Plus Holiday Tip for Justifying Champagne December 10 2014
Self-Centered Intro: My love of peony blossoms, ants, and their relationship is not the absolute best thing about me, but it's definitely in the top 5.
Key Question: Would this peony blossom have been possible in April without the ant in the middle? With vigor and passion, some gardeners say no, that ants are required, helping peony buds to open fully.
Conclusion of Convenience: That may be only a garden legend, but I like the story and the celebration of teamwork . . . so I say let's roll out the tiny ant-sized red carpet and champagne!
Nature, Master of Disguise November 30 2014
Sometimes when it comes to Nature Things, I can be pretty naïve.**
I had looked (and even walked) down the stairs leading to this "dock" for years. However, it was only a few weeks ago that I recognized those colossal back legs as belonging to an enormous grasshopper.
** My fiercely loyal dog recommends focusing on Nature's sneakiness vs. my own naïveté. See how self-esteem-y that is?
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