NOTES
Autumn in the Swamp
It's not New Hampshire but it's still pretty!
In one of the few nature outings I did this past fall, I focused on the dying leaves and other evidence of seasonal change that occurs here in Louisiana (yes, THAT Louisiana). It's not the rust colored beauty of the mountains in Vermont or New Hampshire but it's still nice to look at.
I photographed this short series in the early evening. The croaking of frogs and the crunching sound of squirrels scrambling across a blanket of orange and red colored leaves resting on the cool ground accompanied me as I set up my camera on the tripod. I love these moments, being alone, breathing in the cool air and listening to nature doing its thing undisturbed by my presence.
*Click on photos to view full frame.
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Losing Myself in Joshua Tree
Salvation in the desert while the U.S. is in conflict.
In the darkness of night, we had lain on the blanket, covering the desert sand that had begun to cool. The coyotes had been barking and howling at the crescent moon but then it stopped, the wind followed soon after, no longer brushing the dry leaves of desert plant life. Aryn fell asleep and then I was alone, staring at the scattered patches of tall grass and cactus. It was silent. My heart began to race and soon I could hear it, blood coursing in my ears set to the rhythm of my ever-increasing heart rate. My body and mind had never before experienced true silence. I was caught between panic and relaxation of a world without sound; the rhythm of the desert at night.
Before this day, I hadn't experienced the desert. I wasn't even sure that I'd like it, knowing that the wilderness of trees, brooks, hills and mountains was my preferred natural environment but I wanted to see it. I wanted to experience the dry heat and the hundreds of miles of sparsely inhabited land, a temporary isolation knowing that my stay wouldn't be long. It was like holding a firecracker and letting it go before it could explode in your hand.
Joshua Tree, California was an unexpected stay during the last week of our trip through the West Coast. We had wanted to see the desert but had figured we'd pass right through on our way to Las Vegas. I felt that I wanted to see more of it so we booked a room at a desert bungalow on the outer border of the Joshua Tree National Park.
That first day, we sat on the porch with the owner of the bungalow as well as another guest. We stared out into the desert. After some talk, we dipped into silence. A large-eared rabbit hopped throughout the front of the property. Mourning doves sitting on a power line cooed overhead and the wind blew intermittently as I inhaled and exhaled my breath. It was a peace I hardly knew. Meanwhile the outside world seemed to be falling apart with bombings, absurd statements from presidential candidates, shootings of American civilians and more. I felt then that I had no desire to return to the world from which I had come.
We stayed for two nights and although it was so very hot, I hardly remember what it felt like. Years ago, when I had gotten my first tattoo, I had wanted to get a piece that meant something to me. It was of a gecko. I later learned that it was a symbol of the desert, synonymous in some Native cultures with freedom. That's exactly how the environment of Joshua Tree and its surrounding region felt -- free.
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Multnomah Falls, Oregon
One of those, "I can't believe it's real" views.
Nature removes the veil between civilization and the human spirit. I thrive in these environments and when I return to cities, I'm reminded of how uncomfortable I sometimes feel in them. This desire to return to a natural habitat grows stronger as I get older. Wandering the streams, waterfalls, mountains and trees makes it so much easier to quiet the mind and meditate.
We made it up to the overlook of Multnomah Falls where I let my bare feet get massaged by the drift of the cold stream emptying out from the high cliff. I sat on a large boulder, closed my eyes and listened, with all of my being, to the sound of water running through smooth stones and echo between the trees. Amazing.
We eventually made it to the Vista House, overlooking the Columbia River Gorge. The scene looked unreal...literally not real. It makes you feel small. It makes you feel that whatever we do to this planet, it will, as George Carlin said, "shake us off." Mother Nature will be fine, we're the ones who are screwed.
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Social Commentary Street Photography from New York City
Social commentary through street photography. This week's subject is New York City.
There's a reason why we usually think of New York City when someone mentions "street photography." The architecture make great backdrops to the frenetic energy that affects everything from people to dogs to the pigeons and rats that live together. With up to 12 million people interacting with their environment and eachother every day, there's rarely a moment when anyone notices you. It's the benefit of often being invisible to the crowds of people who are too busy and in too much of a hurry to pay any attention to the photographer walking around taking pictures.
When I go to New York for work, I make sure to take 2-3 days to roam the streets, easily clocking between 10-16 miles of walking through every corner. The Financial District is my current favorite neighborhood to photograph. When I previously mentioned that you are invisible in New York, you are TOTALLY invisible when you're in Lower Manhattan. This part of the City is dually a tourist destination and, obviously, the financial capital of the world.
The photos below are my observation of the disconnect I see between humans living in such dense and energetic urban environments and the tranquility and spiritually invigorating elements of nature. This may evolve into a bigger project but for now, it's what I've been doing during my visits.
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