Simon

Every now and then, and perhaps a bit more as of late, I will share a photo here on the blog that was directly inspired by a picture I took months, or even years, prior. Part of the learning and growing process, after all, involves building on what came before: learning from mistakes, improving on what worked well, weeding out the good ideas from the not-so-good, and so on. But in that same vein, every now and again I find myself taking a picture that I don’t realize is a continuation of, or a building on, a thread that began long ago. And those times can be really cool :)

Nine years ago I took this photo of some read and yellow leaves in the formal garden just west of the Student Union on the OSU campus. It was shortly after a day of cold rain, and I liked how the water pooled in little droplets on various parts of the leaves as well as how the overcast light gave the whole composition a glistening sheen that made the colors come alive. I shot it with my D7100 and 50mm lens, and at the time I was quite proud of the photo. I still am, and I still appreciate how my aunt Linda printed it and hung it on her wall. (Thank you, Linda!)

Recently I found myself in the same spot, once again taking a picture of the same kinds of leaves in very similar weather conditions, but when I shot the picture I wasn’t even thinking about its near decade-old counterpart. I just thought it was an interesting scene all by itself, and I particularly liked the tiny brown spot on the left leaf that had a way of drawing in the viewer’s eye and giving you, the viewer, something on which to focus amidst the sea of rich reds and yellows. But as I was editing the image in Lightroom–just some minor cropping and color adjustments, nothing out of the ordinary–it struck me that I had seen this before. Deja vu, if you will. And then a few days later it hit me: I really had seen this before. I searched through my Flickr photostream until I finally came across the initial image, and looking at the two side by side it’s pretty clear how the one is a continuation of the other. And I think that’s pretty cool :)

As for this picture in and of itself, I think what was most challenging was finding the right aperture to shoot it. I know that sounds kind of basic, but it’s true: at f/11 the depth of field was too wide, and at f/4 it was just too shallow with almost no room for anything but the small speck of brown to be in focus. It just wasn’t interesting to look at. F/8 was the sweet spot, and after that everything else just kind of fell into place. I found a good angle, and a decent distance, and took the shot you see here. Something about the deep saturated colors really makes this image work in a way that I didn’t quite expect initially, and I like how the thick vermillion veins in the leaf on the right contrast so well against the yellow that it almost looks artificial. This could be a CGI rendering but it’s not–just light and physics, folks. And that’s what makes photography so much fun.

Not that long ago I shared an image of a squirrel here on Weekly Fifty while also waxing at length about how I’m not really a wildlife photographer: I lack the gear, the patience, and to be honest, the fortitude. And yet, since then I ended up sharing a couple more pictures of squirrels almost as though the universe had set out to prove me wrong regarding my own self-assessment. I still stand by my original, and somewhat longstanding, claim that I’m just not that into wildlife photography but I think that makes it all the more interesting and exciting when I am able to take a picture like the one you see here.

This little rodent was snacking on some acorns at the edge of Theta Pond on the OSU campus and I just happened to be walking past with my D750 and 105mm macro lens on a mild winter afternoon. Normally the wildlife near the pond tolerates humans well enough, though they tend to turn away if someone gets too close. Basically, there’s an unwritten rule that you can share the same space but not too much of the same space. As such it’s usually a futile effort to get photos like this without a telephoto lens because the animals don’t want you, as my kids would say, all up in their business. I’m not sure why that was not the case here, but I’m quite thankful that this squirrel either had something else on his mind or perhaps just didn’t consider me much of a threat despite the large lens looming and leering at him while he was filling his tummy.

Everything just sort of worked out for this photo, and I’m super happy with how it turned out. I was able to get close enough (maybe 3 or 4 feet) to get his eye tack sharp while the rest of him faded out ever so slightly with the depth of field afforded by an f/4.8 aperture. I like how the sunlight makes his fur coat glow, and creates a bright glint in his eye as he watches me with great interest. I also really appreciate the background blues and grays that help the squirrel stand out against the rest of the image–something that often has not happened when I have had the good fortune of taking similar shots over the years. I don’t know exactly, but all things considered this could be the be best shot of a squirrel I have ever taken–though again, with the caveat that I consider myself about the farthest thing from an actual wildlife photographer. But who knows, maybe with more practice I’ll get better and eventually find myself doing more things like this in the future. You never know…

I gotta be honest, I don’t really know what’s going on here. I don’t even have a good title for the photo, which is why I just sort of fell back on an old McBain quote from The Simpsons. We’ve got a little protrusion of frozen water, poking up like a periscope from the surface of Theta Pond on the OSU campus, against a backdrop of cypress leaves and a dark chunk of wood. It’s mid-afternoon and the bright sun overhead is making the subject, and the surface of the pond, shine and sparkle with the blue sky reflected brilliantly in the frozen water. But…at the same time this image is just a little weird. It’s got the basic elements of what I would consider a good photo: clear subject, basic but effective composition (i.e. subject is slightly off center, etc.), simple but eye-catching color scheme, and yet something about this image just doesn’t quite do it for me.

And that’s why I’m using it for this week’s featured photo :)

I’m using this not because it’s an outstanding picture, but as a sort of meta-commentary on why I’ve been doing this blog for the past 13 years–and why I hope to continue for years to come. I don’t use Weekly Fifty as a way to showcase my best pictures, or show off my photography prowess, or anything like that I started this blog so I could use it to hold myself accountable for using my camera on a regular basis, that I might ultimately learn and grow as a photographer. And well over a decade later, that same simple idea continues to be the reason I keep doing it. That means sometimes I post images of which I am very proud, photographs that required time, effort, and planning, and pictures that make me positively giddy to share with the world. It also means sometimes the photos are just evidence of the learning and growing process, and those are just as valid in my opinion.

And that’s what we’ve got here. It was fun to shoot this photo–holding my camera barely above the surface of the pond on an afternoon about a week after a couple inches of snow descended on the city–and I like how it almost seems like this little chunk of ice looks almost like a frozen dianoga peeking around at its surroundings. But at the end of the day this isn’t an image I would put in the upper echelon of photos that I would be proud to display on my wall. It’s just a little weird and nonsensical. That’s kind of the point though, and it’s why it deserves an entry on the blog :)

You’ve probably heard me say on more than one occasion that we don’t get a lot of snow here in Oklahoma. Well, none that sticks around anyway. Every now and then we’ll wake up to a serene scene of the grass covered in a blanket of white, but it usually lasts about one or two days before melting away. That was the case the case a few days before this photo was taken, and it fit the pattern quite nicely. Snow started on a Thursday afternoon and continued until late into the night, so the next morning the whole town kind of shut down. I spent so much time outside with my kids sledding, throwing snowballs, and just messing around that I didn’t take a single picture of the snow at all. Not that I regretted it; I was just more focused on my family rather than my camera. Gotta have priorities, right?

A couple of days later I brought my camera to work, as I often do, and went for a walk around Theta Pond to clear my head after four back-to-back Zoom meetings just to be out in nature but also to see if I could get any good photos. Much to my surprise, a not insignificant portion of the water surface was still frozen even though the rest of campus showed no signs of snow whatsoever. It had long since melted, but the frozen pond persisted, which meant I was able to get the shot you see here. It’s a magnolia leaf resting, not floating, on the water with some cypress leaves surrounding it. I couldn’t get very close and all I had was my D750 and 105mm macro lens, so I did end up cropping the composition a bit, but the distance afforded me the luxury of shooting at a pretty wide aperture–something I don’t often do with my macro lens especially when taking pictures of super close subjects.

There wasn’t much I could do to control anything here other than the angle from which I took the photo and the aperture I used. I couldn’t move myself or the leaf much because I didn’t want to actually set foot on the ice, but even so I’m quite happy with how this turned out. The foremost edge of the leaf is pretty sharp, there’s a nice interplay of light and shadow to add an interesting amount of contrast, and if you look closely you’ll see some subtle clues that the leaf is not, in fact, resting on liquid but on ice. It was a fun photo to take and an interesting one to look at visually, and though I’m sure the pond has long since melted I’m going to keep my eyes open for future photo opportunities like this one.

If this picture brings you a bit of déjà vu, you might be on to something. The view from the top of Mount Scott in the Wichita Mountains is one of the most incredible sights in Oklahoma, and is part of what makes this location one of my family’s favorite places to spend a weekend. It’s not always easy to get a specific picture that you have in mind though, and over the years I’ve realized that the way for me to get the most fulfilling (even if they’re not the most technically impressive) photos is to just kind of go with the flow. We’ve gone to Mount Scott in all sorts of weather conditions, and things rarely line up with the photos I want to capture or the gear I happen to have with me. So, the most recent time we visited the area the only camera I brought with me was my trusty little image-creating powerhouse–the Fuji X100F. And it worked great.

After a day of hiking on the Charon’s Garden trail we brought things to a close by driving up Mount Scott to watch the sun lay itself to rest under a blanket of clouds in the brilliant sapphire western sky. Well, that was the plan anyway. Like I said, with this place (as with most mountains) you never know what you’re gonna get. And as it turned out, the mountain cooperated. As the kids climbed on rocks and the sun slowly crept lower and lower, there came a point just after it settled below the horizon when the entire sky was lit up with a bright blue and orange glow with streaks of clouds crossing from left to right like the broad strokes of a master’s brush. I snatched my Fuji from my side, held it to my eye, and popped off a couple of frames to see if I could capture the faintest glimmer of what it was actually like to be seeing the sunset in person.

Then I remembered my fundamentals: aperture, shutter, and ISO. If I wanted a good shot I had to shoot in RAW, which I usually don’t do on the Fuji since the JPEGs hold up just fine on their own, thank you very much. But when shooting vast landscapes like this it helps to have a little extra leeway in editing, especially when pulling data from the shadows like I knew I would need to do here. I dialed in an aperture of f/5.6 to get the scene pretty well in focus with minimal depth of field while also getting enough light to keep the ISO low since I was shooting handheld and needed a fast shutter. I used Auto ISO with a minimum shutter of 1/125 which left me with ISO 640–perfectly acceptable for a 2018-era APS-C sensor, especially since I was shooting RAW, though of course lower is always better. It’s all about tradeoffs though, and that was one I was happy to make.

The resulting RAW file was pretty dark and, to be honest, uninspiring. But a little coaxing with gradient masks and other Lightroom adjustments got me to a result that is pretty close to what the real scene was actually like. I don’t know when we’ll get back to the area and, when we do, what kind of photos I’ll be able to take, but in the meantime this one serves as a great example of what you can get when everything just sort of works out.