Ah yes, the sea – that progenitor of all life, that mystic, omnipotent force, that bosom of nature from whence we came. There are, I’m sure, as many views and thoughts of the sea as there are human beings on the planet, and likely more. Well, here is one of mine:
The Mighty Pacific
It’s a curious thing, but to me seagulls say “the sea” more effectively and completely than anything else. Here, a couple of gulls frolic above the wash, looking for a snack or more.
Thank you for visiting.
Random shout: Mabry Campbell, award winner. Bravo.
I liked this scene when I stumbled on it at a stop sign in the Davisburg area of southern Alberta. I liked it when I got out of my car to take the picture. I liked taking the picture and I liked the picture.
But not quite enough to stop myself from getting all artsy-fartsy on its ass!
First I rendered in a little clarity – a slight adjustment in contrast and saturation. That effectively obviated all those distracting details at the front of the image.
Then I added the vignette – the subtle shading around the perimeter of the scene.
Then I dipped into my palette of effects and dug out the Dynamic set, in black and white. “Why not?” I reasoned, “it’s a gothic scene – what better for a gothic scene than mist in black and white? Colour is just too noisy.”
The result is this dramatic pastiche of the Canadian prairie landscape – a simple farm as you may never before have seen it.
I hope you enjoy.
Just like a writer, the photographer’s primary function and desire is to strongly suggest what the viewer wishes to see. The photographer has a great deal of influence in this. First, simply by turning off the auto focus he can tell the viewer whether to focus on things which are close in, or on things which are further away. In this image, for example, the focus was on the foliage.
In this one, the photographer wanted the foliage to act as a frame for the rest of the elements.
This one makes use of the speed of the vehicle I was in, and of the rain which was beading on the car’s windshield. By focusing on the rain drops I was able to make use of the outline of the road and the trees in the background to create quite a different effect.
Use of the elements
Finally, focus can be manipulated in ‘post-production’ by use of an app or software program. Here I took a simple photograph with subject and background, and using the central focus feature of the app I was able to reinforce the way the viewer’s eye is drawn to what is most important.
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Submitted for your approval: Davisburg, Alberta, just south of the city of Calgary. Home of the old South Calgary Airport – or, as it was known when it was not defunct, the RCAF Station De Winton – serving proudly as an elementary training facility for RCAF pilots during the Second World War.
Oh, and last week I found this misty morning visage – just down the road.
Random Shoutums: click here
(Continued from… Barriers)
Across the yard
Mitch closed the gate behind him and trudged slowly, reluctantly through the yard toward the old barn. He felt no joy at this journey. The long walk from the gate – carefully skirting the slough on jagged rocks, watching his step for hazards seen and not – seemed to take a lifetime.
Ever since the argument that morning he’d played this through in his mind and now all that disquiet festered in his belly like a bed of smouldering coals. With every faltering step the old barn loomed ominously before him, each footfall measured with a memory of its own: childhood frolics, teenage angst, burgeoning manhood, all finally settling in a wash of resistance – a defiance of the old order.
The old man held his mind no longer. The battle to prove it was yet to come, but the young man’s heart was already moving on. Even as he trudged up to the barn’s main door his thoughts were of other places, future times. The battle must be, but the outcome was inevitable, and even as the confrontation loomed his methodical mind was building him a future.
You can’t see wind, but you can see what it does and where it goes, and you can see its effects on people in how they respond to it.
Here, a friend of mine is responding to thirty knots plus a 50 knot headwind on the ferry between Tsawassen and Vancouver Island on Canada’s west coast. You can see all his self-preservation activities: braced, hidden, sheltered, holding on, muscles tensed, loins girded. You can almost hear the swears, too, as the hoodie deflects the worst of nature’s inconvenience.
Fighting the Wind
A photograph cannot show wind, but it can certainly show the battle against it.
Maybe you have to be Canadian – or at the very least from one of the snow-bound contiguous States – to appreciate this scene. Maybe its intense symbolism is lost on those who do not suffer six continuous months, every single year, of the natural Frigidaire.
To me it says warmth and beauty. It says come here and relax. The deep azure sky and the allure of the tropics symbolized by the palm trees invite me, beckon me, lure me to a place which, for all winter sufferers, is just about as tense as any place can be.
This place offers its fine, warm, tropical splendours to the extremely winter-beset. And to me, with every warm winter breath, I hear the word carefree.
When the April Sun started to rise this mountain stood out as one of the most intensely beautiful I had ever seen. As I recall, my jaw even dropped.
So what do you think? Is it the snow pack that pops your eye, or the sky – that deep, deep blue, still reminiscent of night?
Rocky Mountain Sunrise
Thanks for stopping by.
Sometimes it’s not the hands, but what they’re holding.
Maybe if I really concentrate
More than meets the eye?
There’s something about this house that’s a little different. Not what it’s made of – that’s all pretty standard fare – but what it is – or what it seems to be.
This kind of thing has happened quite a lot, but I remember one particular night last January when I was out with the canid for his evening constitutional. It was dark and cold, and I am not reluctant to tell you that as I walked past this house I suddenly felt completely uncomfortable. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I felt tingling up and down my spine as I stopped on the sidewalk and peered into the upper bedrooms. Light from a distant street lamp cast weak, eerie shadows on the house, but it was that sense of being watched – of interacting with something unknown – which was the most unsettling. I must have stood there for a good five minutes, staring. It was as if I were transported, contemplating, waiting for something to happen.
It didn’t. Thank goodness.
The house has been for sale many times over the years and I’ve often wondered why.