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.
So we went back to the spot we loved two years ago: Door County, Wisconsin. Same cabin property, same bay on Lake Michigan, same rustic charm and isolation that we needed so badly then and now.
And socially isolate we did. We rarely left the property, opting instead to hang out by the lake, eat Wisconsin cheese, drink Wisconsin cider and beer, and let the kids play in the water. The few times we did go out to explore the peninsula, we stuck to state parks and little shops. We ate out twice. We played it safe.
It was nice to not think about what was happening elsewhere in the country, or work, or anything else. We made new family memories, enjoyed our solitude, and drove back rested and refreshed.
The weather was perfect: lovely Great Lakes sunsets, never getting hotter than 80 degrees during the day, no rain. We stayed in a new cabin (next door to the one we stayed in last time) so I could explore the summer light.
It’s easy: grab three bottles of Simply Apple, a bit of yeast, mix them together, and then wait a while. A week or two is enough.
After that, add something else. This spring, I’ve tried blueberries, grapefruit, mixed berries, and now honey. A few reusable bottles, a bit more time to mature in the bottle, and you have yourself a nice summertime drink.
It keeps me busy. I have the process down pretty pat by now. And with all this time on my hands, I’m experimenting with more fruits. Maybe a pineapple, maybe a peach when they come into season, or some tart cherries if the crop survived our late spring snowstorms.
These days, it’s easy to appreciate whoever came up with, “Children should be seen and not heard.”
It’s barbaric, of course, especially now that we recognize children are miniature people. They have thoughts and feelings. They’re more than field workers or inconveniences.
Still, with every minute of every day spent with the kids, it’s an adjustment. Before, we worked all day, and we spent time with the kids in the evenings or on the weekends. Now it’s all day, every day.
Soon there will be no school work, no Zoom class meetings, no nothing. Just unstructured summertime. Luckily we’re in a nice time of year when staying outside and playing is a possibility.
Outside also means avoiding social media and the news. The kids don’t have any idea what’s going on in the world today. If they did, it’d be difficult to answer their questions. The virus? They know about that. They know its name. Everything else? Blissfully unaware.
Working as I do, each day at the kitchen table, I can watch them play in the backyard and live out their own adventures. They are little people, and as much as that old English saying makes me laugh, I don’t believe it. I didn’t get to hear it so much before. It’s good to hear them out there, playing and laughing and crying.
Inside, I can barely work because of my anxiety at the state of the world. Better for them to be outside.
We didn’t get much of a spring here in Michigan. After a flurry of snowstorms and chilly days in April, we transferred right into the heat of the summer.
That’s a shame. Spring is my favorite season, but seeing the lack of apple blossoms on the neighborhood trees, plus the pandemic, and some historic rainstorms, it’s feeling like spring never happened.
I may have gone a little far on the snark in my last blog post. It was born out of frustration, and the all-too-human need to correct those we think are wrong.
It’s not like me to do things like that, but then these are weird times, aren’t they?
I’m facing a summer’s worth of working from home, no school for the kids until the fall (maybe?), and dumb people doing dumb things with little concern for the safety of others.
To stay occupied, I’m trying to pick up my camera more and try little things: taking photos outside while we enjoy the fresh spring air, or grabbing some macro shots of the hyacinths and daffodils sitting on the kitchen table. It’s something.
Each new day is just a day. We watch and wait for some good news in the world, but we’re more often disappointed.
Last week, to get out of the house, I did the uncool thing and headed downtown to see what it looked like with our governor’s shelter-in-place order.
As Florence sings, it was a city without seasons. March is the November of spring – the weird in-between one. No leaves on the trees, no flowers blooming just yet, and streets as empty as can be.
The truth is that downtown Jackson is pretty empty on weekday nights after 5 p.m. But last week it was extra desolate. I stopped a person or two wandering around downtown, just like me.
Things really got interesting when a guy noticed me taking pictures. “Hey, want to take photos inside the theatre?” This is Jackson’s Michigan Theatre, the city’s lone operational classic theatre. The man was wearing a protective mask. I’m not sure what his role was at the theatre, but he had the whole place to himself. I got the sense, as I was taking photos inside, that the guy was simply lonely. Or he wanted to show off the place. I had to excuse myself after 10 minutes, or else the man would’ve given me the full tour of the place.
So I headed back outside, into the sunshine, to photograph our empty downtown.
With spring coming, and with more light, it’s nice to have the option to get outside and walk around.
Fresh air may be the best hope we all have of staying sane.
We have our routine down pretty well now. Wake up, eat, check-in, watch some TV, do live stream music with mom, go outside, lunch, quiet time, back outside, dinner, play, bed. Repeat.
Work is definitely challenging these days. The kids are feeling cooped up. It’s hard not to chat with the neighbors, except from a distance. And the streets are so quiet.
Every day we’re a little more anxious about everything: our health, our families, the economy, the Executive Branch’s dipshit handling of the whole situation. We feel phantom symptoms and worry. We’re trying to make the groceries we bought two weeks ago last a bit longer.
I did start a new batch of cider. I took a photo field trip that I hope to share later. The weather is warming up, so I’m sitting on the front porch listening in on conference calls while the kids dig their bikes out of the garage.
Every little thing helps us not think about every big thing.
Everything’s weird. From the power continuing the flicker, to the quiet streets, to the strange sense of calm – inside the house, you wouldn’t know the world is working its way through a pandemic crisis.
I’m working from home most days. I one of the lucky ones whose work sits on a laptop, mostly. Though I did travel in today (a Friday) just to get some fresh air and get out of the house for a bit. The parking lot is nearly empty.
At home, the kids don’t know any better. For them, it’s a longer spring break, and – strange for them – more time with dad at home. I did my best to set up a new routine that includes fresh air, some form of learning exercise (disguised as art projects), and some pick-up at the end of the day.
We’re as prepared as we can be for the long haul.
[All photos shot on my iPhone SE and edited in Filmborn.]
Now that the whole world is under quarantine, what’s a photographer to do? Especially if you’re stuck at home? I think this is a great time to work on a few photography projects, and here are a few ideas to help keep your mind off the outside world.
Photograph Your Surroundings
This time of year, the light is changing dramatically. Photograph your home, your yard, your neighborhood, and pay special attention to how the light transforms. I’ve made this a hobby inside a hobby. It’s how I explore spaces and get to know a place.
Photograph Your Family/Friends
Take advantage of being closer to the people in your life, now that most public events are canceled or on hold. Sit your significant other down next to a window and take their portrait. Photograph your kids, now home from school, at play. Invite friends over for drinks (nothing celebrates global chaos like booze) and make it a project.
Tidy Up Your Camera Gear
Now’s a great time to dust off your old gear, wipe down your lenses, empty out your memory cards, and clean out your camera bag. I know my Canon 5D has a notoriously dirty sensor. My batteries probably need a good recharge. Grab your gear, turn on some music, and get to work.
Take Care of Your Photo Files
My Lightroom catalog has folders and folders full of unedited photos. My iPhone photos could use a backup. My whole photo collection could use an external hard drive backup. It’s a great time to take care of organizing your photos, updating your metadata, and caring for the digital side of your photography.
Print Your Photos
Whether it’s individual prints or a book, now that you’ve organized your photo collection, you can put those beautiful pictures on paper for safe-keeping. Snapfish sends me an email every day talking about their photobook sales. Why not take an album full of your 2019 photos and make a photobook? You can even do it on your mobile device.
Get Online
Edit your photography website. Pre-write a bunch of blog posts with idea starters. Update your social profiles. Do some digital housecleaning.
Try a New Thing
Always wanted to try out film photography? Or take a stab at still life? Now’s the time to try something new – or, more accurately, it’s always a great time to try something new.
What’s easy for me? It’s easy to brainstorm an idea – to come up with a creative project that I want to see out in the world.
It’s also easy to ship that idea once everything finished, to cross the finish line with the idea and have it live in the world
What am I not good at? The middle. The gut check, the finer details, or thinking through the unthought-of things. The implementation of that original idea.
For example, in a photo project, coming up with my subject theme comes naturally. I want to photograph creative people in my community.
But what then? Where do I start? How do I find subjects? What do I do when things get difficult?
Once I have that figured out, it’s easy for me to take the outputs and put them together in a finished product. I get a deep thrill out of that final crunch to ship something on a self-imposed deadline.
In the middle, I know I need help and guidance on getting something started. Imagine pushing a car that’s standing still. It’s easy to figure out I need to move it, and once it’s in motion I know where I want to go. But getting past inertia? It’s tough for me.
What works in that middle is to find a person – a colleague, or a family member, or friend – who provides good, honest feedback and advice. I’m humble enough to know when I need help, and humble enough to ask for it when I’m having trouble getting going.
My wife’s family is Disney Crazy – movies, merchandise, housewares, everything. And that includes a bi-annual trip to Disney World in Orlando, Florida.
I skipped the last trip, in 2018, but went along this year. That seems sensible to me – once every four years. Two years is a bit much.
This time, though, my wife brought the whole family: cousins, in-laws, brothers and sisters. In all, 14 of our people spent a week in the most Magical Place on Earth™.
And while I’m cynical about the whole thing, when you’re there, the magic really does affect you. Well, that and the 80-degree weather and sunshine. You do get swept up in the excitement. Having small children sure helps.
We found new things to do, and filled our schedules. There was the new Star Wars park to explore, and new rides, and a few days off just to relax, swim, and shop a bit. Us grown-ups even got a chance to leave the kids with the grandparents and go out for a night of adult fun.
I first came to Disney World when I was five years old, and visited again in high school and my young professional life. Last time I took the trip, in 2016, I explored the parks photographically, with my family, seeing these wonderlands with new eyes.
This year, I mainly focused on the kids and creating memories for them, but I did find a few opportunities to see the park as a photographer, looking for those little quiet moments in all the hub-bub.
Our local art and history museum has an annual summer event, the Art, Beer, & Wine Festival, which features those three things on a (usually) beautiful June day. I often wonder about participating in the festival – maybe as a way to get some of my photography out there, promote my books and projects, and meet more people around town.
But then I think about the whole art fair crowd, and what you need to do to appeal to a mass audience like that, and I wonder if my work is the kind of stuff that would be interesting. My portrait projects might be good conversation starters because they feature local creatives doing interesting things – many of whom are usually at the fair.
The cost is fairly minimal, but you do have to devote an entire day to standing out in the sun. It’s a fun event, one of the big draws on Jackson’s summertime event calendar. And there’s always the try-it-out-and-see-how-it-goes philosophy, where if it goes well, great, and if it doesn’t, I wouldn’t do it again.
The benefit would be spreading the word about my latest musicians project, as well as reminding people about my artists project. I might sell a few books, and get some subscribers to my email list. Would I make some photo prints to sell as well? If so, how many, and how much do I sell them for? Do I want a bunch of inventory sitting around after this festival is over?
When I approach a project like this, it’s best to keep a clear goal in mind.
This year, it would be to promote Musicians In Jackson, and remind people about Artists In Jackson. In conversation, I could ask for suggestions on my next project, too. Have some photos of the musicians and artists on hand to see the final products, and offer the book for purchase.
Keep it narrow. Keep it focused.
Many artists are fine with making their work and leaving it at that. For my projects, since they are about the community I live in, part of my job has to be to let people know about the work. A bit of that is personal outreach, a bit is letting the musicians and artists promote the project to people they know, a bit is local media efforts.
The festival could be a new way to get the word out: taking my photography directly to the community, in person, where I can talk about my goals and spark discussions.
The art fair-type approach to selling my photography is not appealing; I don’t think I’m that type of photographer. But if I look at the festival as a public relations tactic, I can keep the whole experience in focus with clear goals.
