...more captured FUN @ I should be folding laundry
Showing posts with label You Capture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label You Capture. Show all posts
6/11/10
6/3/10
5/12/10
mellow yellow
We visited brother-in-law G last week at his summer house in Fennville, MI. Jeff's parents were visiting overnight from the chicago burbs so we spent our Saturday an hour south, hanging in the rural-ness of summer scenes. G's cottage is tiny and quaint, filled with green pottery, landscape oils, a miniature wooden sailboat, beach glass and dune rock, figurine birds and fish and deer, and a retro 1950's chrome and formica kitchen table and chairs(I covet). G is an antique dealer, which explains why I love to hang out with him.
While Jeff and Dad were golfing, Mom, G, and I drove to the big lake, stopped at a yard sale, picked up a peach pie at Crane Orchard, and asparagus at the open market. These are the dandelion stairs to the beach...it was overcast and 10 degrees colder at Lake Michigan so we didn't stay long. More pics later.
Meals are always fresh and healthy at G's. Grilled brats, Mom's German potato salad, freshly harvested MI asparagus, beer and warm peach pie. See the orchards at Crane's...that's where we bought a straight-from-the-oven peach pie. The scenery from their parking lot is special. You look over rolling hills of apple, cherry, and who knows what other trees and plants, growing happily for years in a small valley nestled between farmland. Notice the dandelions dancing here too...
Back to our house and more yellow:
Ahem! Yellowstone, 1969 camper...
sits in our driveway awaiting last minute repairs so this outdoor lover can enjoy peaceful forest photography with husband and dog at nearby state park...long overdue!
more yellow photos for You Capture @ I Should be Folding Laundry (and I really should be).
PEACE,
~L
5/6/10
you capture: 4 states of Spring
I saw her colors
smelled the approaching rain
learned a red winged song
spied red tails hawking
did not feed the elk in the grove
along the road traveled well
through four states
of spring
blankets of spring greens
winning the leaf race
dotting landscape and every pane of glass
reflecting welcome relief
and anticipated renewal
blues fading to blueberries
and fluffy skies
bare branches extending arms
toward lengthened light
paint strokes on shade trees
yellow, orange, red, brown
black slashes on trunks of white
standing ground
delicately mounted in fresh soil
hanging at the edge of Heaven
season's portrait
'Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature. It will never fail you.'
--Frank Lloyd Wright
4/15/10
Fresh perspective
I am re-posting an essay/letter I wrote four months ago, when I realized that I wanted to buy a digital camera and revive my photographic view. This contains personal accounts of my childhood, however tame, but if you (family) don't want to relive them with me, no worries.
Photography...seeing is believing.
I started shooting as a grade-schooler. Remember the multiple flashcubes on a stick? The Kodak pocket camera with the winder to advance? Then the Polaroid let us shake the card into a photo. I asked for cameras for Christmas and birthdays. I filled albums with snapshots of our family at Disney in 1976. I recall how the album pages crunched when I opened a space for our poses. My brag book contained wallets of fourth grade friends whom I would not see again. And shoe boxes have been filled ever since.
Dad started my addiction to peering. He carried a heavy, black, delicate camera inside a felted, camera-shaped leather case on a long strap. Every trip to Santa's Village or Lamb's Farm or the Milwaukee Zoo included the black strapped camera. Dad's choice of developmental medium was slides. I keep memories of the thrill I felt watching myself shine onto the blank living room wall, larger than life, and the anticipation of which pose would follow. I can hear the unique sounds: the hum of the whirring motor, the clatter and crash of the tray locking onto the machine, the clicks of slides dropping into place, the snap of the remote controller. I wanted to advance the slides, hold the small rectangular box in my hand and control the tempo of our show. That job belonged to dad. His perspective, his order, his show.
We three kids would sit on the carpet, legs crossed, patiently awaiting with our craned necks pointed at the blank wall. Our home stills showcased family vacations and outings, Christmas mornings and New Year's Eve parties, out-of-state visitors, pool parties, neighborhood cook-outs, training wheels to two wheelers, the yellow duckling, calico cat, and white terrier, Mom's decorated homemade birthday cakes, stockings on the mantle, hand sewn Halloween costumes, egg hunts and Easter dress-up, Grandma's gathering porch, the Falls, the Dells, the zoo...the three musketeers lined up by age and size, on our bikes, in our sleeping bags, floating on rafts, riding on the carousel, snoozing in the back seat of the car, holding up our favorite gifts, holding hands, shading our eyes, saying cheese, waving, smiling...lots of smiling.
This week I realized how I can fill a crack or two in my perspective. I'm going to shoot again. And again. And again. Without conscious decision, I gave up my passion for searching. Searching for movement in the crowd, for the unique within the ordinary, for the spontaneity in the routine. And, most importantly, searching within myself for more.
I dug out my telephoto lens. The one I bought several years ago for the used Nikon my brother gave me. Found 5 rolls of new film too. Film! The camera is a gem. The clerk at the local camera shop enjoyed cleaning it for me. I guess the glass lens is a rarity today and I should take good care. The camera took good care of me. Took me to places I didn't know existed. Seeing is believing...the colors crisp, the movement clear, the expression tight, and the joy of giving away part of me. My production signed, sealed, and delivered to any and all unsuspecting subjects. Delightfully dabbling in the development of my talent.
So the camera started acting up or maybe it got sick. I stopped. I put the black parts into my leather satchel and placed it strategically at the back of my closet. And my talent took a nap. The old Nikon will stay put for a while. She'll have the film to keep her company. I'm moving my perspective into the next generation of convenience.
Much more to explore...digitally.
all photos taken from my yard
in the past week
front, back
high, low
blessed to live
in Michigan
fresh blooms
acting fresh!
fresh air
freshen up the joint
fresh clouds
I started shooting as a grade-schooler. Remember the multiple flashcubes on a stick? The Kodak pocket camera with the winder to advance? Then the Polaroid let us shake the card into a photo. I asked for cameras for Christmas and birthdays. I filled albums with snapshots of our family at Disney in 1976. I recall how the album pages crunched when I opened a space for our poses. My brag book contained wallets of fourth grade friends whom I would not see again. And shoe boxes have been filled ever since.
Dad started my addiction to peering. He carried a heavy, black, delicate camera inside a felted, camera-shaped leather case on a long strap. Every trip to Santa's Village or Lamb's Farm or the Milwaukee Zoo included the black strapped camera. Dad's choice of developmental medium was slides. I keep memories of the thrill I felt watching myself shine onto the blank living room wall, larger than life, and the anticipation of which pose would follow. I can hear the unique sounds: the hum of the whirring motor, the clatter and crash of the tray locking onto the machine, the clicks of slides dropping into place, the snap of the remote controller. I wanted to advance the slides, hold the small rectangular box in my hand and control the tempo of our show. That job belonged to dad. His perspective, his order, his show.
We three kids would sit on the carpet, legs crossed, patiently awaiting with our craned necks pointed at the blank wall. Our home stills showcased family vacations and outings, Christmas mornings and New Year's Eve parties, out-of-state visitors, pool parties, neighborhood cook-outs, training wheels to two wheelers, the yellow duckling, calico cat, and white terrier, Mom's decorated homemade birthday cakes, stockings on the mantle, hand sewn Halloween costumes, egg hunts and Easter dress-up, Grandma's gathering porch, the Falls, the Dells, the zoo...the three musketeers lined up by age and size, on our bikes, in our sleeping bags, floating on rafts, riding on the carousel, snoozing in the back seat of the car, holding up our favorite gifts, holding hands, shading our eyes, saying cheese, waving, smiling...lots of smiling.
This week I realized how I can fill a crack or two in my perspective. I'm going to shoot again. And again. And again. Without conscious decision, I gave up my passion for searching. Searching for movement in the crowd, for the unique within the ordinary, for the spontaneity in the routine. And, most importantly, searching within myself for more.
I dug out my telephoto lens. The one I bought several years ago for the used Nikon my brother gave me. Found 5 rolls of new film too. Film! The camera is a gem. The clerk at the local camera shop enjoyed cleaning it for me. I guess the glass lens is a rarity today and I should take good care. The camera took good care of me. Took me to places I didn't know existed. Seeing is believing...the colors crisp, the movement clear, the expression tight, and the joy of giving away part of me. My production signed, sealed, and delivered to any and all unsuspecting subjects. Delightfully dabbling in the development of my talent.
So the camera started acting up or maybe it got sick. I stopped. I put the black parts into my leather satchel and placed it strategically at the back of my closet. And my talent took a nap. The old Nikon will stay put for a while. She'll have the film to keep her company. I'm moving my perspective into the next generation of convenience.
Much more to explore...digitally.
4/10/10
double entry of "You Capture"...
Last week's You Capture subject matter was FEET...
Can you guess who these belong to?
Ginger
our 10 year old mixed bag of wonderful,
Napping in the sliver of sunshine
that has fallen through the family room window.
COMFORT...this week's prompt:
Isn't she sweet?
Like our sleeping children
when we sneak a peek
through the doorway at midnight.
Isn't she sneaky?
convincing
conniving
cajoling
her boy to let her on the couch.
And he would, if I wasn't watching.
Who can deny that face?
I love you Ginger
...and your boy.
see more captures @ Kidnapped by suburbia
(temporary home because Beth birthed a baby boy...cheers!)
4/1/10
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