So wet, in fact, that our street flooded on a rainy Friday evening. We got back from a family gathering and there was a city worker out in the street, knee-deep in water, clearing out the storm drain.
“It’s like this all over town,” he told me.
When the leaves fall, they clog those drains, and with all the rain we’ve had, it was a recipe for a river.
After one rainstorm, everything was glistening and damp in the yard, so I headed outside with the trusty Nifty 50mm to grab a few photos.
Created with RNI Films app. Preset ‘Kodak Gold 200 v.5’
Created with RNI Films app. Preset ‘Kodak Gold 200 v.5’
Created with RNI Films app. Preset ‘Kodak Gold 200 v.5’
Created with RNI Films app. Preset ‘Kodak Gold 200 v.5’
Created with RNI Films app. Preset ‘Kodak Gold 200 v.5’
Created with RNI Films app. Preset ‘Kodak Gold 200 v.3’
Created with RNI Films app. Preset ‘Kodak Gold 200 v.5’
The way we treat our phones now, I supposed getting my iPhone 13 mini was like getting a new camera.
So I took it for a spin on a sunny Sunday in late September, a few days after receiving it in the mail. And just as I figured, it was just as my iPhone SE was: a camera. Simple.
The new wide-angle lens on this iPhone is fun to play around with, but it’s not really my style. I’m more of a 35-50mm guy. Having that wide of a view may be good for landscapes and dramatic shots with fun angles, but it doesn’t fit my photography. In fact, I wish the mini iPhones had the Pros’ telephoto lens instead. I’d use that much more.
That said, I may be able to use the nifty portrait settings on the front-facing camera to try out some people shots. Here’s me with a fresh haircut:
Not bad, considering the subject. The fake bokeh is pleasant, but the high-key options are a bit garish.
The only thing I’m missing now is a tried-and-true photo editing app on the iPhone. My beloved Filmborn is MIA from the App store, VSCO is a confusing mess, and that leaves RNI Films and Darkroom in my list of go-to editing apps.
In these waning days of summer, we took a walk to the nearby elementary school. This one was built in 1952, but a brand-new school just went up next door, so the old one sits empty. Out with the old, etc.
Personally, I love the look and feel of these mid-century schools – the way they used green space, and their institutional sturdiness. The new school is all shiny metal and modern touches, though the larger parking lot will be a nice change.
It had me thinking about my iPhone SE, the 2016 first-gen model based on the iPhone 5S body design. I’ve had this phone for five years now and used the ever-loving heck out of it. It’s survived two jobs, a new kid, and a new house, along with everything else I’ve thrown at it.
But today I ordered the iPhone 13 mini – not for any of its fancy new features, including the new camera system. It’s mostly because I need the extra storage space; 256 GB will get me a lot farther than my current 64 GB does.
The truth is, my iPhone SE camera works just fine. I point, I shoot, I edit a little bit (using mostly Filmborn these days – which may be abandoned software), and I post. Maybe I’ll enjoy using the ultra-wide lens on the 13, maybe I’ll find a use for those studio lighting settings, or maybe not. Maybe I’ll continue to use my iPhone camera like I do my other Canon cameras: simply, with no fuss.
I will miss the SE’s classic design and small size, and Touch ID. But five years is a lot of value out of a modern-day device.
When your favorite band or musicians compiles a greatest hits album, it’s usually a collection of their singles and fan favorites. Over a long career, a productive band or artist will have enough singles to make a good greatest hits record. Take Genesis or the Temptations – multi-decade output combined with hit singles makes for a representation of the artists’ career.
Now, a greatest hits album may not include your favorite song from that musical act’s portfolio. For me, “Supper’s Ready” is my go-to Genesis song, but it’s not considered a “greatest hit” on their album. Too long or too weird, I imagine.
How about for visual artistic output? How does one compile a list of “greatest hits” in photography, painting, or video work? Do you pick your favorites, or someone else’s favorites?
Brooks Jensen at LensWork had me thinking about my own work, and what I would consider my best pictures. In fact, I recently submitted a few images to Flickr’s World Photography Day contest. I had to think about what are my best people and nature images, out of all the hundreds and maybe thousands I’ve taken over the years. It was a tough exercise, combing through and wondering, what are my “greatest hits?”
Do I pick the popular images? Or the ones I consider to be my best? If I start picking my favorites, it could be a random picture of one of my kids, one that I hold dearly in my heart.
It’s the same if you’ve ever had to develop a portfolio of images to share with others: your best wedding photographs, or your top artistic representations. How do you pick?
Like musicians, it could be a combination of popularity along with your own personal tastes that make a “greatest hits” collection. If the Rolling Stones don’t want to play a popular song, they leave it off the playlist – no sense in spending effort on a song for which the band has no passion, right?
Looking at photography and our best-of list, we can use the same metric to guide us: what do people like? What do I like, too?
Even though our local county fair has a new layout, and even if I was a bit nervous being around so many people, I used the return of our fair as a photo walk.
Over the years, the county fair has been one of my favorite photography subjects: the bright colors, the summer haze, the motion, and the prime people watching. For one night, we did the family outing, and for the other night, I went by myself to concentrate on photography.
I took my trusty Canon 5D and three lenses – 20mm, 50mm, and 100mm – to add some variety. In the end, I wound up mostly using the reliable 50mm, but the 100mm allowed me to get some people shots from a (social) distance.
It was a hot, sweaty night, as it usually is in August, full of fried smells and flashing lights.
Living in Michigan, no matter where you are in the state, you’re never more than an hour or two away from one of the Great Lakes.
Our proximity to these bodies of water inspires so many of our summer family vacations. This year, we went north to the Traverse City and Leelanau Peninsula region. We love our Door County, Wisconsin vacations so much that we wanted a similar experience this summer. With its apple and cherry orchards, numerous lakes, and varied landscape, the peninsula provided everything we look for in a holiday.
Despite the rain, we had a great vacation – a great mix of playing outdoors, relaxing by the lake, and exploring M-22 and the Sleeping Bear Dunes.
A funny thing happened at the world-renowned dunes: we visited during a particularly foggy day, where all of Lake Michigan was enshrouded in a heavy vapor. From the top of the dunes, you couldn’t see the lake at all.
We all looked on in amazement. It’s like we were staring at the edge of creation – down the dunes, you would fall off the end of the world.
Luckily, further north along the dunes, we did find a place to sit on the beach and swim in Lake Michigan.
Our state is fairly average in almost every way – except the scenery. If this is the edge of the world, we’re happy to be here.
While it’s a bittersweet emotion, nostalgia can be used to “counteract loneliness, boredom, and anxiety.” Think of that feeling you get when you flip through an old photo album, or listen to a favorite album. Nostalgia, while wistful, helps you think of good memories. It’s grounding, and gives you roots.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been on a nostalgiafest here lately. In the past year, I’ve made a point to relive things from my past that, at one point, I knew I loved. The feeling is especially strong with movies: I watched (and continue to watch) a ton of movies growing up. Now, I’m revisiting those late ’80s and early ’90s films that I watched over and over again (and haven’t watched since), primarily comedy classics like Major League, Funny Farm, and Naked Gun. For one, they’re funny, and those movies brighten my mood.
And two, I have great feelings associated with those 30-year old films. With the pandemic and all the anxiety surrounding it, it’s nice to dip into the past and relive something that’s fun and frivolous.
It’s the same with classic books – Frog and Toad with the kids, say – and albums. I’m even browsing through my Lightroom catalog from years past and scrolling through my iPhone photo library to remember the times when I took a ton of pictures. Remember that?
I think about that scene in Inside Out where the memory globes become bi-colored – both joyful and sad. Memories are rarely pure joy or pure sadness. Nostalgic feelings, especially, have twinges of melancholy with the feel-good moments.
That’s how I feel: a little good, a little crummy. So I’m feeding that with nostalgia in all its forms.
Mostly, I still feel like I’m in my early to mid 30s. Thirty – now THAT birthday felt monumental: buying a new house, switching jobs. A lot changed that year.
This year? We’re still stuck in a pandemic. I’ve felt on hold for the last 12 months. Maybe I can just skip this birthday?
No, of course not. But mentally, I’m not 40. Perhaps it’s denial. Halfway through life, I feel like I’ve done a tremendous amount of things. Knowing me, I’ve got many more projects on the horizon.
Like my “Thirty Six” project. I just remembered I have that one still unfinished. Time to look through some film photos from four years ago…
Sunshine, a great lake, and lots of fresh air – we needed it.
After Jaime and I took a trip to South Haven a few winters ago, we swore we had to come back. To see that heaved ice hanging onto the shoreline, to see that frost-encrusted lighthouse again. Maybe grab another beloved shot of strangers trudging through the cold.
The lakeshore is like another planet: a mix of sand and ice, and off in the distance an unfrozen lake. The ice in the pier heaved, like the lake was breathing – a living, swelling mass of ice.
I brought along my seldom-used Tamron 24-135mm zoom lens to give it some exercise. I’m usually a prime guy, but with scenery like this, I wanted to be prepared for whatever came up.
We dragged the kids along with the grandparents with us, too. The children were constantly on a precipice: one slip, and we’d lose them to what felt like the void.
On the ride home, we could’ve all fallen asleep. We were tuckered out. All that cold and fresh air did us good.
I love a good, old-fashioned photography blog. Flickr is great, Instagram is mostly trash, Twitter still has some good photography sharing – but a blog? That’s a place I can visit when I want that’s dedicated to the craft.
Take a simple photography blog like Just a Little Patience. Super simple design, minimal text – it’s a place where Johnny Patience shares a lovely picture and a location or a quote. Nothing else. Photos, one after the other.
Because I’m a writer and a photographer, Patrick LaRoque’s blog appeals to me too: it goes deeper, with updates, thoughts, and (plenty of) opinions on the state of the world, the photography business, and his family.
My heart goes to blogs like Just a Little Patience because I appreciate its minimalism. It lets the photos speak for themselves. But my head says I have to do the essay-for-every-photo format. My blog has landed somewhere in the middle, but either way, it’s the sharing part that’s important.
Show your work. Talk about it if you want, but above all, put it out there.
In March, we planned on remodeling our bedroom. And boy, did it need it: wood paneling, dark, drop ceiling. In all fairness to the previous owners, it used to be a back porch. Then it became a bedroom, but that was decades ago. Now it’s our turn to make it right.
Why not start now? We need something lighter and sunnier in our lives right now. Sure, it means we have to sleep in our breezeway for the time being. It means contractors in the house, with their noise and drywall dust. But we’re considering this project our early Christmas present.
Everything is harder these days. My photography has certainly taken a hit. I feel it in my bones – a kind of creator’s guilt, ever-present. Not much blogging, not much newsletter-ing, not much of anything. With the pandemic and the post-election stress, it’s been hard to wake up in the morning, let alone take photos.
Now we have a new look to our bedroom, and with the light coming in, it felt like a good excuse to get out the camera and document the progress.
I’m searching for some serenity in all this chaos. Luckily, we have had a pleasant autumn so far, and we take evening walks to shake off the dread and anxiety.
Now daylight savings has changed the light, and we wake up in the sunshine. It’s good, and much-needed, because the sun won’t be around much from now until spring. I’m trying to capture it as much as possible before the darkness comes.
School has shut down in-person learning until after Thanksgiving. COVID-19 is spreading as usual. The election is over and yet not over.
There’s too much death in our world right now. Here in my own country, 150,000 unexcusable, mostly preventable deaths.
Here in our yard, we’ve noticed a lot of life this summer: we have two new skunks roaming our bush edge, a couple of aggressive squirrels that eat our bird seed, and now a gangbuster garden.
My garden memories go as far back as my memory goes: digging potatoes with my grandpa as a toddler, eating fresh green beans my grandma would cook southern-style. As soon as I had a home of my own, I planted a small garden in the back lot.
When we moved, this house had three years of not-great gardens. For one, the neighbors’ mulberry tree shaded the plot too much. And for two, maybe the weather? It’s hard to say.
But this year, it’s the biggest, healthiest garden I’ve ever had. It’s so big, it’s creeping into the neighbors’ yard. I told them whatever grows on their side of the fence, they can keep.
So I grabbed the macro lens and captured the texture and tendrils of this banner-year garden – the fuzzy stems, the searching vines, and the green and light-thirsty leaves.
Growing a garden has its benefits, of course. It’s good to get your hands dirty. It’s great to eat healthily. And the convenience factor – it’s so great to pick fresh lettuce and make a salad for lunch.
Along with cider, the garden has been my escape from the pandemic. Growing a garden is mostly a passive activity. You just let the water and sunshine do their thing. But I do wander out back to check on its progress, make sure the bugs aren’t eating all the greens, and picking whatever is ripe and ready.
My other hope is that, someday, the kids will remember eating fresh veggies from the garden – much like I did as a kid – and then want to grow their own.
It’s not much, but as the plague and politics and craziness gets worse, it’s good to grow something for a change.
When the coronavirus pandemic hit Michigan in March, it threw our situation – like everyone else’s – into chaos: no more office commute for me, no more in-person schooling for the kids, significant changes to my wife’s music therapy practice.
Those early days were a whirlwind. We had to develop new routines just as spring was warming up. We had to adapt to this new reality.
Along the way, I photographed our home and our lives as we lived it, and I have a selection of those photographs on display at Ella Sharp Museum’s new Adaptexhibition, exploring artistic responses to the pandemic. My series, “A Change of Seasons,” looks at our changing home life, changing routines, and changing light as March turned to April and winter turned to spring.
The exhibition is online for now and features great local artists with exciting work. Next week, starting July 21, I’ll have three photos on display at the physical museum when they open back up.
I always thought one of my community portrait projects would be my first chance to appear at Ella Sharp Museum, but the pandemic threw everything into the air, including my expectations. Still, I’m proud to be on display in the Adapt exhibition with so many other talented local artists.
