Speed makes all the difference
So they say seeing is believing. But seeing what? We want to believe the nature of reality is that it is perceiveable, that we can look out and see what is really there. But what is really there?
The one dimension we think is unseeable is time. The other three make themselves obvious with any three dimensional object, but time is perceived as the now, a unitary thing. We can’t “see” the past or future, we simply see NOW.
Unless we have a camera. Two shots above, one taken at 1/8th of a second, the other at 1/640th of a second. Both of the same subject, within a minute of each other, both a NOW.
Which is the real fountain? Photography enables us to “see” different versions by freezing time at a moment (or very short duration) and examine what’s happening. I stared at this fountain for a bit and neither of these images was apparent to me – I saw something in between. Yet here’s proof of a reality imperceptible to me. So it must exist.
What else is going on around us that seeing doesn’t reveal?
Much of this part of Wisconsin has been farmed in one way or another. Only the wetlands have generally escaped being plowed and cultivated. Doesn’t mean there isn’t plenty of trees and parkland around. As farming became more concentrated the small plots were left alone or acquired by towns. Over time these have become places where the landscape of the Upper Midwest starts re-emerging.
As such, wander around the woods enough and you’ll spot signs the woods are a recent return to nature. Old foundations, lingering roads, straight lines of trees or shrubbery all indicate people had a hand transforming the area in some way. Sometimes you don’t even need an imagination – the signs are obvious.
Farm implements left in the woods – out of place and yet the right place to put equipment that once had its day on this ground but is now surrounded by returning natives.
All that remains of the distant autumn is a paper-thin leaf on which is written the trials of the passing winter. Emerging new leaves will push this survivor off the twig to the ground, taking the history of the season to a quiet end in the face of new life.
Sticking to the card theme. Here are a couple more I’ve put together.
Landscape photographers debate whether their images are intended to tell a story or simply document a scene. I’ve seen compelling work in both genres but feel my bias is to the latter. Maybe it comes from growing up with National Geographic magazines where photographers worked hard to simply show what’s out there to an audience that wasn’t able to travel to distant and exotic lands.
Initial my interest was to capture in my images the iconic scenes at places I was able to visit. I think it was a comparison thing – could I make an image as good as the one that drew me to the location in the first place. I still do that a bit but now I’m also trying to find my own perspective, a look at the scene that I find interesting. Not as extreme as some photographers who go to great and crazy lengths to make images literally where no man has gone before, but rather a view of a scene that is not the iconic. One that shows a sense of the place different that the postcard version (yes, ironic to turn them into cards, I know).
The Half Dome scene in Yosemite is from the valley floor; usually Half Dome is portrayed from Glacier Point high on the wall near it. I chose this location because it shows how immense the feature is above the ground and adds a peaceful sense to the foreground compared to the wild nature of the granite wall.
The scene in the Gorge is just a typical fall color profusion. I wanted to show the horizontal bands of color with the white trunks cutting through to reach upward. The nice thing about fall colors is I could have stood right on this site a week before and a week after and gotten three different images. A good example of an iconic image but not an iconic location in time or space.
I forget sometimes not all photographs have to be of “something” in order to be interesting. Shapes alone can intrigue the viewer, revealing positive as well as negative space. The unusual begs a longer glance, a lingering view to bring context and realization. Repeating patterns, small and large, offer a sense of rhythm, implying an underlying order and meaning. Do we look to understand or simply to wonder?