Monday, May 17, 2010

On Regression Art Therapy and the Circle of Life


Anybody who's ever had a hankering for photography knows about that weird desire to shoot things with a long lens, depth-of-field next-to-none.  Like an artsy teen with his first camera, there's something about looking through a 300mm lens, twisting its focusing ring, all the planes of view coming in and out of view.

If you get close enough to something (a twig or a fuzzy mound of moss) you might get a scant half-inch of sharpness, the rest falling off into a total blur, a simple wash of colour.  Somehow these kind of photos were always the most satisfying, when learning how you want to take photos.

Once in a blue moon I'll strap on a long lens and get my wide-open-aperture on.  It's a particularly fun exercise this time of year, the colours their brightest, snappy like the universally-overlooked Spring Green in a box of Crayola crayons.

So forgive me while I indulge in a bit of Community Centre Art Class wankery below.

But (if you're squeamish) skip the last photo.  I couldn't resist, for some morbid reason, taking a photo of two little birds whose nest had fallen from under the eave of our outhouse.  Their little hearts couldn't stand the fall, let alone the landing.  A Springtime reality, though sad and surprisingly jarring.  Somewhere on the fringes of our property, hours north of here, a chickadee, once a mother, is mourning.















9 comments:

  1. That last photo is amazing, well done.

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  2. Gorgeous photos - but the last one is too sad. By the way I am the USACE Omaha person that spent 19 minutes on your site - comical. Just found your blog yesterday and it’s amazing. Love your lake house, your apartment, and all the scrumptious dinners/wine.

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  3. Hey Melissa!
    Thanks for coming out of the shadows, and for all the kind words. So nice!

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  4. That just about broke my heart.

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  5. i just found your blog through "sending postcards" and it's pretty fantastic. especially the mustard yellow background. that last pic IS pretty jarring, but to think of a mother bird mourning...

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  6. Hey Molly!
    Thanks for reading/commenting.

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