Q-104: In the Bleak Mid-Winter.... or Something Like that

Well it's happened… … and as you surfed through other people’s photos you always hoped that it would. You fell in love with the way light reflects off an icicle, you envied the capture of a leaf encased in glass on a mid-December morning. And now it's finally happened. Of course, it's the end of January... and you live in Texas, but nonetheless! The unthinkable has occurred.


An ice storm. For the second day in a row you have texted in that you won't be fighting your way to work this morning (because although you're sure you'd be fine driving... the rest of the state has no clue what to do), and instead of going back to bed like you did yesterday... you go to your closet and pull on a second pair of super-comfy pants. You snag your fluffy fuzzy super-warm socks and lace up your thickest shoes-- the ones with the good tread for better traction. You shed your sleeping camisole in favor of 2 long sleeve shirts, a short sleeve shirt with a hood, and a warm wooly sweater. You don a $1.99 skull-cap that you bought at Wal-Mart back when you lived in a state where it DID get cold on a regular basis, and you top the whole look off with bright purple grip gloves. You trundle out to the living room and start to collect your camera. The Godmother, home on a miracle of DISD genius (hey, Hinajosa has to get SOMETHING right once in a while- Even if it is just cancelling school for an ice-day), grumbles at you as you let in a blast of cold air, and then you're gone-- hunting around the front yard for the perfect composition and thinking perhaps a second pair of socks might have been in order as well. You gingerly test the steps, and nearly obliterate your first perfect winter picture....

But your caution saves you and you move into the yard, scoping out icicles on the roof, on the railing, on the bushes, on the recycling bin... even in the wheel well of your 23 year old van.



The world is encased in a glaze of ice, life frozen in an eternity of cold. Or at least, it feels like it. You thank your lucky stars you're not in Chicago, or Massachusetts, or New York-- where it's REALLY cold. You won't have to dig your car out of the snow--- just chip off some ice... or maybe just let it melt. After all, it's not liking you're going anywhere on the skating rink that you call a street. You pause to get close to the berry plant by the fence, amazed at the perfect encapsulation of leaves and twigs.



You peek into the backyard and realize there's even more to see back there. The sheds that usually keep the dogs dry and out of the rain are covered in rows of icicles,



the deck crusted with ice so solid that even with your large frame and heavy step-- you leave no footprints behind you.



The dogs’ outdoor water dishes are frozen solid-- one even bearing the evidence of a once-drippy faucet left to overflow in the storm.



The backyard is a wonderland of watery crystal and you find leaf after leaf dangling-- frozen drips that didn't quite melt hung suspended in the strengthening sunlight.



You move to the side yard, staring at the flip side of the berry plant you discovered earlier, marveling at the perfect stillness that is this world en glace. A numbness in your fingers reminds you that those gloves don't hold as much warmth once they've met the cool of melting ice, and as you head back inside you catch one of the outdoor cats traipsing behind Abby the dog-- her kitty shadow.



Even as the sun warms the sky, the ice on the deck stays crisp and neither animal leaves signs of its presence-- aside from the long shadows cast in the morning glare. You move into the warmth of the kitchen, upload photos, do some editing. You talk with the Godmother as she stirs-- grateful for the extra hour of sleep granted by the icy weather. As you transfer files you make some breakfast-- grilled egg and cheese sandwiches-- perfect icy weather food. By the time you're done eating and all the morning chores are completed the thaw has begun. Only in pieces and not at all in the shady bits-- but now there are paw prints on the deck-- and footprints in the yard. Some of the dog's water dishes have started to thaw and crack, leaving tiny icebergs afloat in seas of tin. You and the godmother laugh as you shoot the large bird-bath plastic dish-- a waxing moon of 1/2 inch thick ice.



Inside you bundle up again, watch a movie, take a break. You play with the dog, snuggle with the cats and catch up on some sleep. And now it's 3pm and you go outside-- to check on the miraculous thaw... The cars are mostly melted now, and the street looks once again like blacktop. Houses are losing their icicles, and the ice on top of the recycling bin shows dark patches where it has finally melted into water below an ever thinning layer of freeze. The well shaded bushes though are still a gleaming testament to the late night cold-- tiny leafy buds still coated in a sheet of glass waiting for the temperature to be released.



A stray leaf still carries the sheen of an almost melted perfection, stem and body magnified by the frozen water.


All in all the ice has moved onto to another town, another county, another state. And as cold winds and wintry weather make a job of another area, we only hope the Sun will do as well here- before the dark sets in again and still low temperatures drop lower. After all... this was the day for you the photographer-- but tomorrow there will be 2 days of real work piled up and waiting for you to tackle, the kind of work that brings in a paycheck, which allows you to spend your ice-days wandering the yard with a camera catching winter at it's most surprising and most beautiful.

Q-103: Urbanity

A girl from the suburbs, you grew up not paying much attention to what most people call the "urban decay." You grew up around manicured lawns, trimmed trees, and maintained homes-- well not your home, but at least the rest of the cul-de-sac was crack free and well-kempt. But you've always lived so far from the major towns that urban decay was something you merely sped through on your way to the theater, or to another set of suburbs beyond the city.

But you've been living in Dallas for 1 and a half years now, and you've said forever that you wanted to go down town, go to south Dallas, go to Deep Ellum. You wanted to go explore and check out what the real city looks like. You want to go take pictures of something that isn't pefectly formed, perfectly maintained, perflectly loved. You want to see something real, raw, left behind. And then you heard from someone who might want to buy something from such a series. So now it's not just a personal desire, it's a project. But you still don't go there. To start with you used your camera as an excuse... it wasn't sophisticated enough, just the one lens, not enough features to really grab the grittiness of the real city. Until Christmas rolled around and now you're sporting the new Canon and you're still using your camera as an excuse.

Who wants to take an $800+ camera into what most people would consider the... rougher side of town. Besides, you know that the best shots will be captured on foot. You curse that you don't know more poeple yet, curse that you haven't found a girlfriend to invite with you, curse that you don't have the stones to just head downtown and get the shots you really want. But... God provides, in his own way-- and one Sunday afternoon you find yourself in the Godmother's Jeep heading to the store when she say, "Want to go check out Ross Ave? We can seek out some Urban Decay..."

Since you learned your lesson last week-- you of course have your camera with you, packed, loaded, and ready to go. So you head downtown in a Red Jeep Cherokee piloted by the best godmother on the planet, and you unpack the camera, playing with the buttons even though you still don't REALLY know how to use them all properly, and finally decide that for this round-- automatic is the way to go. Thank heavens for Canon Automatic-- almost as good as doing it yourself.

You test some shots on manual and automatic at your favorite local haunt (literally!)

         


And then you turn and head downtown, joking and laugh all the way. You lose track of your location-- the only downside to traveling with Godmother, who knows 5001 ways to get anywhere in Dallas. It means when you go back you'll have to take a notebook to keep track of where you found what. But for now, you snap away from street to street. You curse when the flash fires, and again when it doesn't. You stop counting the shots that won't work, the ones that are too blurry, the ones that didn't frame the way you wanted them because the light went from red to green before you had the chance to properly line it up.

But as the day goes by you realize some of the shots are usable, good even. A cover of patchy puffy almost linear clouds makes a striking backdrop to the decay of downtown.



You find that there is a real beauty to this part of town. Something elegant about the symmetry of decay.



Even places where business still thrives to an extent, the view is fascinating-- a must see if you will.



As the day goes by it's time to head back, north, back to the burbs, back to where construction replaces destruction. Back to where they're preparing for the return of someone's president. Not yours necessarily, but someone's. You wonder how long it will be before the cleanup heads downtown. How long before new construction replaces the heart of the city's history. It's not that you mind-- you can appreciate needing to put the city's best face forward. There is beauty in the newness as well...



There is symmetry and reflection and interest in what sparkles just as there was in what fades

  

But at the same time, you fear that what will really be lost is not just the history, but all of what comprises....

Q-102: Captured... in Post-Edit

Captured in Post-Edit

It finally happened. You did everything you said you would--

You cleared the passenger seat and placed your purse on the floor, you plopped your camera bag on the passenger seat, and unzipped it's lid, flipping it away from you. You pull out the camera and set it up, taking a test shot of the clouds in front of you.

Looking at the result you delay your commute home and exit the vehicle and stand in the parking lot, taking a moment to truly capture the beauty before you.

Then you clamber back in, make sure everything is set and turn the camera off. You place it lens up in the bag, ready to grab so you can pop off the cap adjust your grip, turn it on and start shooting at a moment's notice. You start the car, crank the radio, roll down the window next to you and thank the heavens it's 79 degrees instead of 39.

Leaving the parking lot you wind around the one way streets back to the light that will allow you to make your way to the freeway. You practice your grab and shoot technique at the red light, capturing a funny sign... 

and snagging a cool shape....

You make your way home, take a detour trying and failing to catch a rainbow, get lost making your way back to the freeway, and almost change your regular route until you remember you have a plan.

You snake through familiar streets, wind through traffic until you're there. Approaching the stoplight you pray (for once) that it will be red instead of green. You creep forward and for a moment, you think that all your preparation will be for nothing. The shot is there, not exactly the way it was before, but it IS there. But the light is green and you're coming up in line... and then-- yellow. Roll. Red. Roll. STOP.

And that's it, you grab the camera, pop the lens cap, wrap the strap around your hand and adjust your grip, you fiddle with the zoom, and the car in front of you rolls forward... you panic--- NOT AGAIN! But they're just adjusting... the light is still green... but not for long. You glance at the cross-light-- already on it's left-turn cycle.

You turn back to the birds on your left, snap a few shots and swear-- realizing the shots are too dark. You adjust your shutter, cursing now-- sure you've missed it. The next shots have the shadow of the wires, the shadow of the birds, the next is only slightly better... but now--- Green, Go. People creeping up behind you. You place the camera back in the bag, and move forward. Swearing. Disappointed.

At home you leave it for last edit. You pull the shot up reluctantly, deleting the black-screened captures, and sighing as you bring up the dark dark silhouettes on your program. Suck it up... maybe it's fixable.

You know it's not... not without noise at least. There's only so much a computer program can do. But you try. You decide to dive in with brightness and contrast. See if it's even worth fiddling with anything else.

You drag the adjustment sliders, play with the contrast and hit "ok" as you close your eyes-- too disappointed to look.

But you have to look sometime. You crack open one eye, then the other. You stare.

It's terrible. It's full of noise, and it looks ancient, there's almost no color and one of the birds flapping wings is a blur of action.

But it's your favorite shot ever. It looks purposeful, even.... artsy. You play with saturation, bringing out a deeply buried blue hidden somewhere in the photo's features. You sigh, and try to remember--

Sometimes the best shots--- are just happy accidents best captured in Post-Edit.

Q-101: The Magic Moment

Magic Moment

It's the moment you wait for all day.

First thing in the morning you drag yourself from your bed and get ready for work. You scoop litter boxes (ew), get dressed (Loving the jeans and tshirt uniform of the new job), feed the dog (kibbies anyone?), take the dog out (running late now of course...), and gather up your belongings to head into work.

And now, the eternal question... do I lug the fancy camera to the car, and into the car, and into the office, and back to the car, and back into the house... just. in. case?

And you decide... ok- if I DON'T take it, I'll miss a perfect shot and be really pissed off that I didn't have it with me.

But on the other hand, you haven't bought that perfect carry case yet, and the one you have is bulky and awkward and every time you DO bring the camera you never see a good shot. And what are you going to do? Take a detour after a long day of work to FIND a shot? Pshhh.. NO!

And then you remember-- you want to be a photographer. And that means that you have be do 2 things: 1-be ready and prepared to take a shot.... and 2-take a shot!

So you grab the bag, readjust the lunchbag-purse-camerabag-key-phone grip and head to the car. Except it's freezing, so you turn around and add a sweater to the pile (it would take too long to put everything down and put it on... you can put it on at the office).

You never look for shots on the way to work... too much traffic, too unpredictable, and you're already late-- every. day.

But you VOW that on the way home your eyes will be open, lids peeled for that elusive perfect shot.

The day goes slowly... not much to do for once and you think 1000 times... I should at least take the camera out and play with manual, photograph some office supplies learn how to work it better. But you never do.

And when 5pm rolls around you gather up and head to the car. Lock your purse in the car and go back to your desk because you left the camera bag underneath it. Lock the Camera in the car and go back to your desk again because you left the battery charging on your surge protector.

By 5:15 you've joined the melee, the rush n crush of traffic and you don't remember until you're halfway home that you were supposed to be finding a shot, one shot, ANY shot to take today... it was your whole goal!

You're 20 minutes from home when it happens-- The Magic Moment. You've been stopped at the light for 2 minutes when you look out the window and see it-- birds on a wire. Perfectly perched, beak to you- tail to you- beak to you- tail to you, a perfect back and front pattern. You glance at the light-- the longest on your commute. Shifting from D to P you take your foot from the break, and reach (why did you pitch your camera bag so far from the driver's seat!?). You snag the bag, shift your purse and the box of freebies from ancient returns so there is room for it on the passenger seat. You fumble the zipper but get it open and roll down the driver's side window (no dirty streaks on this picture!!) You pull the lens cap off with one hand and pitch it into the cup-holder...

Your left hand moves to the on-switch as your right hand secures your grip on the sleek black body-- your newly remembered best friend...

You start to move into shooting position (modified, driving style) and movement catches your eye--

And as you pull into the driveway at home you SWEAR that tomorrow-- you'll leave the damn bag unzipped and on the passenger seat so you don't waste the whole stop-light setting up to miss another perfect shot.