Views from the bridge.

Over this three-day Labor Day weekend, I walked each morning to the Kensington Parkway bridge over Rock Creek, with a telephoto zoom lens on a full-frame digital SLR.


Saturday morning:

Sunday morning:

Monday morning: 

(click any image for full-screen)

Not once but twice last week...

Not once but twice last week, in the early evening, I suddenly saw a beaver swimming towards me; by the time I could retrieve my camera, all I could capture was the back of the beaver's head, moving away...

Heraclitus, revisited. (Or, sorry I haven't written lately; what's been happening this month?)

I've written recently about Heraclitus, and my goal of taking photos of Bucky that are distinct.

Sometimes, though, like when he stands in the window-light at the top of the stairs and looks into my portrait lens, images from different days can be pretty damn similar:

(19 October 2014)

(27 October 2014)

So, it was nice to get a chance (at bedtime) to snap a shot that is different:

(25 October 2014)

Thanks, Bucky.

(Click on any image for full-screen.)

"...close to music..."

"The true content of a photograph is invisible, for it derives from a play, not with form, but with time. One might argue that photography is as close to music as to painting."

- John Berger, from "Understanding a Photograph" (1968).

Bucky, December 2010. (Click image for full-screen.)

The Bucky Variations*.

Heraclitus said that "Everything changes and ... you cannot step twice into the same stream."

If, however, you take several photographs of the same stream – or dog – they may not look all that different.

But what if you use different lenses?

Here is Bucky standing at the top of the stairs, as seen through three different lenses** (click any image for full-screen):

Fuji X100S***, 5/28/14.

Nikkor 105 mm f/2 "defocus control" lens****, 8/9/14

Lensbaby LM-10*****, 8/12/14.

And there you have it: Three different views of Bucky at the top of the stairs.

I admit that these may not reflect three different ways of being, a la Heraclitus, but instead may depict three different ways of seeing, a la John Berger. But, for most of us, ways of seeing are ways of being. And, as for me, I am grateful to Bucky, who has taught me new ways of being, and of seeing.


__________________________
        *  With footnotes.
     **   And cameras.
   ***   Built-in 23 mm f/2 lens (35 mm equivalent focal length = 35 mm).
 ****  On a full-frame Nikon digital SLR.
***** On an iPhone.

Under the influence.

Heraclitus said that you can't step into the same river twice, but sometimes I wondered whether I was photographing the same dog twice, thrice, and more.

I like to photograph Bucky. Sometimes, though, I found that I would take a photograph of him, and it would look very familiar:

(July)

(October)

(November)

(Click any image for full-screen.)

Old dog, new photo. If you photograph the same dog, repeatedly, how different can any new photo be...?

Last weekend, I visited the Yousuf Karsh exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery (USA). In spite of my familiarity with some of Karsh's truly iconic images (his portraits of Churchill & Hemingway, for instance), looking at his prints moved me. Wow. What exquisite compositions! What use of light - and darkness - to frame, and to highlight!

After visiting the exhibition, I took these two photos (click any image for full-screen), indoors, by available window-light; I think they are different from all my earlier photos of Bucky:

Thank you, Mr. Karsh!

And thank you, Bucky.

Such ugliness should be an opt-in, not a secret vice. (An open letter.) [Puzzling color corruption in uploaded images turns out to be Google "auto-enhancement."]

Dear Google, please consider making the "auto-enhancement" of uploaded images an opt-in choice, rather than a hidden default.

I like your picasaweb cloud-based photo-hosting service, which I've been using for years. Recently, though, I discovered that I had a problem: newly uploaded photos had corrupt colors. Ugh. I tried deleting and repeating; same problem. What could the issue be? Was this a color management problem for which I was somehow responsible? Actually, no. Turns out, it was something that you, Google, see as a feature.

A few months ago, I found that it was necessary to upgrade my Google account to a "Google plus membership," in order to attend a meeting via a "Google plus video hangout." So, I did. Turns out that you processed all my image uploads thereafter using a feature that you, Google, call "image auto-enhance." Those bad colors were your idea of "enhancement:"

"ENHANCED"

"REVERTED TO ORIGINAL"

(Idiots.)

I've now cancelled the "enhancement" of those photos (individually, as you gave me no way to do so en masse; I was relieved that I did not have to re-upload everything). And I've also turned off the "auto-enhancement" of newly uploaded photos, going forwards.

In general, I do not alter my photographs. Light goes through a lens, and hits a sensor, and electrons get happy, and a file is written; that is what I want to see. How dare you, Google, presume that you should "auto-enhance" any image that I entrust to you for storage? And how dare you, Google, presume to do so without even telling me?

In closing: Dear Google, without mentioning that you would modify the images I uploaded, you made them ugly. I've fixed this issue with respect to my own image uploads. I respectfully suggest that in order to spare other people similar ugliness, confusion, and delay, that you please make image "auto-enhance" an opt-in choice, rather than a hidden default.

Respectfully,
Jim Pekar
Kensington, Maryland, USA

(It's no wonder that camera sales are falling.)

On a recent visit to south Florida, I took some iPhone snapshots of waterbirds (and their reflections):

White Ibis.

Limpkin.

Tricolored Heron.

(Click any image for full-screen.)

O Lucky Man!

(self-strangling morning glory; 
no cameras or photographers were harmed making this photograph)

I am very fortunate. 

I recently came upon a Serious Warning in my camera's user's manual: 

"Sunlight focused into the camera when the sun
is in or close to the frame could cause a fire."

And another: 

"When operating the viewfinder diopter adjustment control with your eye to the viewfinder, care should be taken not to put your finger in your eye accidentally."

I am very fortunate! Taking photographs – many photographs – without having heretofore consulted these Serious Warnings, I never set the camera on fire, nor stuck a finger in my eye. I shall give thanks for my good fortune, next month on Thanksgiving, once I get my finger out of my ear.

How to Put the Large in Large Mouth Bass

Satisfied

 

Stoked

 

It all depends upon your perspective.