Walking on Water: A Collaboration

October 5, 2013March 17, 2014 | drawandshoot

The weather has been amazing here. A lingering of summer sun and warmth, but with cool nights and the start of crunching leaves underfoot. I had to go see what’s happening at the creek.

The most interesting things I find are the reflections. I have photographed them in every way, it seems. Still, there is always something new. The surface is a wavering mirror of the seasons. A reminder that everything is in constant flux. The shifts of light and cloud, the variable movements of the water in and out of small eddys, the colours and compositions from the graceful trees. And then there is the debris that lies under the surface and how the light reaches it. Every moment is different. There is something meditative, too, about watching the lazy movement of the creek – as you shift focus through the lens you might wonder if you are watching nature’s own lava lamp.

I came to a place where the tiny water walkers were continually drawing and redrawing the surface. They agreed to allow me to photograph their brief sketches as long as due credit was given. : )

This is the art of walking on water:

I have to say it looked a bit like a game of bumper cars with the zippy water striders all continuously knocking into each other. A beautiful day to play.

[These images are part of an ongoing series exploring surface reflections of water, moving and still: Surface, Submerge: Reflections in Water]

Autumn Butterflies

October 2, 2013 | drawandshoot

The stemmed kind…

[It’s actually Virginia Creeper
growing on a fence,
trembling in the wind (long exposure),
and a second layer of the same thing with camera movement.
Anyway, it made me think of yellow butterflies.]

Breaking Through Fog

September 28, 2013 | drawandshoot

You never know what might be found in those in-between moments, they are worth seeking out.

September Songs 2

September 21, 2013 | drawandshoot

Photographs of the seedheads of Lactuca Canadensis (which sounds slightly more elegant than Canada lettuce). These wild plants are not particularly beautiful at first glance, but as with many things, there is often beauty to be found in the details.

One of these things is not like the others – a layer of raindrops has been added to one image – at this moment I can hear the last day of summer being washed away by the autumn rains.

September Songs

September 18, 2013 | drawandshoot

Whispers in the Garden

September 8, 2013September 8, 2013 | drawandshoot

[Photographs three layers deep.]

Late Summer Seedheads

September 6, 2013September 6, 2013 | drawandshoot

The weather is shifting already and last night we had frost. It seems far too soon(!), but anyway, the flora is shifting with the temperatures, too.

I’ve been photographing these particular type of seedheads from my garden for over a year, through all the seasons (I don’t know what they are called). I can’t seem to make interesting photographs of them when they are still blooming, though. These are just some of the small remnants of summer, each one about the size of my thumbnail. I might try again while there are still a few blossoms left but it seems to be the transforming seedheads that my camera loves.

There are always new shapes and colours developing as the seasons change so I always find them interesting to photograph. I like how the tiny ‘tentacled’ seed forms look a bit squid-like in these images.

Many previously posted images of these (and other) seedheads can be found here.

How Does One Creative Process Shape Another?

September 1, 2013 | drawandshoot

I was poking through archives, thinking about a particular painting I’m working on and looking for a visual reference. Texture, colour, form … Perhaps I over-think these things … In any case, I found a bit of spring, and a bit of autumn. If you put them together it seems you don’t get summer. But anyway, it is these earthy tones that draw me in.

I remember walking among these young trees in the early spring, the water high, and the thin trunks appearing like lanky hoofed legs wading in a river mangrove. Their reflections moving like a deep gentle breath. What sort of creatures would be attached to these spindly legs?

Of course, there is no such thing as a mangrove here, but if there was, it would be in this place where the trees are living on the edge rooted in both water and land.

Like the shifting seasons – one foot here, the other stepping towards the next. Tentatively. So far.
As I write this there is classical music (mostly strings) playing in the background. Would my text be shaped differently if I had been listening to another sort of music? Would I have chosen different words or remembered these experiences the same way?
How does one creative process (in this case, listening) shape another?