A Follow Up Visit

I have a day job. The standard two days off a week that might or might not end up being the sort of days that inspire photography if indeed none of life's little obligations has me otherwise committed. If I'm not careful an entire season to pass with almost no new work to show. After letting last winter go by this way I'm hopeful the outing I wrote about in my previous entry Embracing the Elements marks the start of a more productive season this year, establishing a bit of momentum as it were. 

So it was a few days back that an unexpectedly heavy winter blast and accompanying highway closure gifted me with an unexpected day off I felt the opportunity accompanied by a bit of pressure to keep the ball rolling by taking photographic advantage of the situation. This was enhanced by the fact that by the time I had the driveway clear enough to go anywhere the morning light along with the peak of the freshly fallen snow look had both deteriorated into something less photogenic. It was turning into an unremarkable day with some not quite so virgin snow all around. Something could still come of that, you never know, but the slight sinking feeling in my gut told me the best part of this opportunity had already slipped away, taking some of that momentum with it.

Hoping things would get interesting later on when the sun started getting lower again I let the missus talk me into an early afternoon grocery run accompanied by my thirteen year old daughter who was also enjoying a bonus snow day. Still, nagged by the sense I was letting a free photo day get away from me, setting an unwanted precedence along the way, I was at least careful to bring the backpack containing my take-everywhere Iskra along for the ride. Good decision. While skies overhead were just plain bland, from the shopping centre which is much closer to the lake I could see conditions over the water were much more interesting, resembling those I had experienced a few days before when I had gone with the whole RB67 kit in tow. Though today I had only the Iskra and my captive passenger (who offered no words of protest, bless her) it seemed a return visit might be fruitful.

Part of my motivation was simple curiosity about how much things had changed out on the lake. On my first visit I was taken by surprise at how much had already frozen over after an unusually warm December. On this day the ice went out much further still so that an elevated vantage point was required just to see open water. The first thing that struck me was that the ice hills that seemed so massive only a couple days before now seemed rather flattened. This was a bit of a disappointment as on my previous visit it seemed they could easily be worked into some interesting compositions but I passed them up in favour of finding a vantage point that would allow me to include open water in the composition without undue risk of an unplanned polar bear swim. Shrunken as they now appeared the potential they seemed to have earlier was lost.

Knowing this return visit would have to be shorter (what with the attention span of teenagers these days and all) I stuck mostly to the promenade, seeing things from the same perspective I had seen them from a hundred times before, except that with the ice they were not the same things. The sky, while just as interesting, wasn't quite the same as it had been last time either, containing enough blue this time it seemed filters should effectively enhance the look whereas last time everything appeared too monochromatic for filters to matter. I carry contrast filters in my backpack too. I stuck on a nice orange one and left it there.

It was a bit off the cuff, playing with composition including sky and barren trees, sky and not quite so impressive as they were a few days ago ice hills, sky and tag along teens. Handheld shooting isn't my usual M.O. and though it didn't seem like I was likely to get any real keepers it was still feeling worth the effort of coming out. If nothing else I wanted to finally get a new roll of film through the Iskra. The one I was shooting was loaded months ago after I had improvised a few light seals to address a few leaks that had appeared and I was still unsure if the new seals were effective. As we headed back to the car I still had two frames left, which turned out to be perfect. Passing an old concrete structure I had photographed dozens of times before, a deteriorating room sized stand that had once served as a base for some sort of tower back in the amusement park days, I noticed the most unusual combination of sun behind a semi-translucent bank of cloud. The strange appearance was helped by the fact I was wearing my honey tinted polarizing sunglasses, an effect I hoped the orange contrast filter would help me match on film. A small voice inside was protesting, as it usually does, at yet another photo of that old cement thing, but from this vantage point and half buried in ice as it was the shot would be unique and the voice was once again over ruled and I used up my remaining two shots on the roll.

The result is at the top of the post. It was better than what I imagined my little return visit would result in, and I think I like it more than anything I got the first time out with the RB, its full retinue of lenses and pretty much the whole day to shoot. Of the two frames I got only the first really caught the effect I was after. By the time I shot the second that just right blend of cloud transparency and sun was already disappearing. Oh and the other good news - no sign of light leaks.

In the end any sense that I had let any opportunity slip or lost any momentum was gone. Prospects for the rest of the winter still seem pretty bright. It remains to be seen of course, but whatever the case, I'll keep you posted.

The Clouds of Autumn

Growing up in a home where the dining room was regularly turned into a studio and the bathroom could on any given night be converted into a darkroom, I was aware of one constant whenever this time of year rolled around - my parents along with all the other camera people were nuts about the fall colour. Though I never understood all the fuss about taking all those pictures (my seven year old self would be shocked to learn I had become one of the camera people) I certainly didn't mind the outings to the country my sister and I would be dragged out to at this time of year. The world had a different sense to it than at other times of year, one that made even familiar places seem unexplored and the new places we sometimes went feel like visiting the settings I might imagine if I were caught up hearing a great story. What was different, who could say? If I had been introspective enough to ask myself back then I probably would have said the colours. That's what the camera people are going crazy for after all. It seems obvious enough doesn't it?

If so then, black and white guy that I am, Autumn should mean no more to me than the progressive loss of leaves from the trees and a withering of ground cover flora. And yet it isn't that. These days I pay a lot of attention to the sky for cues on where and when to head out with my camera and come this time of year something starts to change. Maybe it's the angle of light, the way clouds form as temperatures begin to drop, or some other phenomenon beyond my meager powers to recon, but no matter the cause it is gets the cogs in the photographic centres of my brain churning. Who knows, it could even be the psychological effect of feeling that first small chill in the air and knowing it means the summer has passed for good, and I'm fine with that even - my psychology is as indispensable to my photography as film and camera.

I first noticed this change a week or two ago, around the beginning of calendar Autumn. The leaves were still barely showing a change anywhere so I know that wasn't it. I can't say exactly what it was but there seemed to be something about the clouds, a quality I swear you'd never see in July. I'm not talking about a bland overcast mind you, but the rolling varied clouds that at this time of year somehow hang there with a new immediacy, the tangibility of their forms giving question to our notions of earth and sky as realms that must remain forever separate.

I don't see clouds like that every day, and though the leaves are reaching a stage of unmistakable change, when the sky is clear and the temperature hasn't dipped too low a trace of summer still lingers, but soon there will be no mistaking it with or without my clouds. The colours will be out in force as we come to the one time of year I feel compelled to do at least be prepared to shoot a bit of colour. Last year that took the form of dragging out the D80 DSLR for what will likely prove it's last hurrah as a tool for creative work. I don't know that the results were all that horrible, but in the immediate comarison with the satisfaction I felt between shooting with it versus my RB67 it did not fare well. As I was shooting, but even more so when I brought the results up on screen and began to tinker with them in Photohop the word I think best describes what I felt is 'hollow'. I don't know that the feeling had something to do with some quality of the images I brought back. I don't imagine I'll ever be able to put my finger on exactly what it was, just like I'll never put my finger on what it is about my Autumn clouds I love so much. It doesn't matter though, I don't have to put my finger on anything. Intangibles are no less real because we haven't explained them.

This year I have a different plan for Fall colour. The pro-pack of Kodak Portra 160 arrived this afternoon in fact along with the C-41 chemistry kit. I have no idea how that'll go. As usual though I'll keep you posted.