Exploring the wonders of creation through a 50mm lens...and other lenses too.

Just outside one of the main buildings on the Oklahoma State University campus is a row of Genti White Clustered Bellflowers which, for most of the year, are large, stately, and decidedly green—or brown, depending on what season. But for a brief period of time each spring they come to life with blinding brilliance, a curtain of white that shines so brightly in the midday sun it almost hurts to look at them. My wife, who is a faculty member at OSU, remarks on them each year as she goes from one building to the next between classes. When the two of us met up one morning to go for a short walk she mentioned to me that these white flowers were blooming, so later that day I grabbed my camera and went to see if I could capture a shot of them.

The most challenging part of creating this image was deciding how to adequately convey the sheer sense of scale on display, and I’m not sure how well I did it. These flowers bloom high above the heads of the college students passing by, stretch on for the entire length of the building. I could have stood way back and took a picture of the entire scene, but that wouldn’t have been, in my opinion, nearly as impactful as what you see here. I would have been just a fairly normal scene of a brick building with some white flowering bushes in front, and students walking by. I don’t think, though I could be wrong, it would have done a great job of conveying a sense of scale.

What I chose to do instead was focus on a single protruding collection of the tiny white flowers and use that as the main subject of the image, but compose the shot in such a way that several other flowers were visible in the background, while also positioning myself so that a few were also showing in the foreground. The result, at least in my opinion, does a pretty decent job of illustrating the scene without showing a whole lot. I’m not sure if it worked exactly how I had hoped, but it did present a fun challenge and I’m glad my wife mentioned it to me and encouraged me to give it a try :)

I wouldn’t go so far as to say this is a tradition per se, but every Spring when these prairie fire flowers bloom around town I relish the opportunity to capture their beauty with my camera. Often these shots end up on Weekly Fifty, and longtime readers will no doubt have seen similar scenes as this one shared here on the blog, but my enjoyment at taking shots like this is in no way lessened by the frequency, or perhaps regularity, with which I take them. To this day my favorite flower photo I have ever taken is that of a monarch butterfly resting on one of these prairie fires just as the sun is coming up on the morning after a nice spring rain. I’m still not sure how I was able to get that, but in a lot of ways I have been chasing it ever since.

This one is not it :) But it is, nonetheless, still a fun type of image to create and one that I continue to learn from as I grow in my photography journey. I shot this in my neighbor Dave’s field, with his permission of course, one evening while the sun was slowly descending in the western sky. I had really hoped to go capture a shot in the morning after a rainstorm, but the one thing you really need for that to happen is, as you might have guessed, rain. And that has been, sadly, in short supply in Oklahoma lately. As you can see from the withered petals on the stalk, this flower and its peers were not going to be around for too terribly much longer so, rain or no, I knew my time was limited. And let’s be honest, these flowers are beautiful no matter what the weather conditions happen to be.

I shot this with my D750 and 105mm f/2.8 macro lens at f/16 and positioned fairly close to the subject. I couldn’t go much wider than f/16 since I wanted as much of the flower to be in focus as possible, but one thing I could easily control was the overall composition–specifically the horizon. Did I want to show just the field, or the line of trees behind it? I took dozens of images from low, medium, and high angles and ended up preferring this one over the rest because it shows more of a sense of place and scale. You get the idea that this flower is in the middle of a large field, and that there’s something (trees? bushes?) off in the distance; the other shots without that dark green line just weren’t as interesting to look at. I also positioned myself such that the sunlight was coming from behind the subject which added a nice glow to the topmost petals.

Who knows…maybe we’ll get some rain and I’ll get to go out again and take some photos, but even if not I’m happy with what I got. And that’s a lot :)

I grew up in Lincoln, Nebraska, and one of the most prominent structures in the entire city, and probably that whole part of the state, is the Capital building. At 400 feet tall, it towers over everything else in sight and dominates the city skyline, and is a welcome sight for tired eyes after a long drive down Interstate 80. I visited the building once or twice when I was a kid, but didn’t really think much of it other than it was a big building where important people met to make laws and look out on the city from the 14th floor observation deck. When my wife and I visited family in Lincoln recently, we thought it would be nice to take our kids to the state capitol building to relive some old memories but also see things from an adult perspective, and hopefully walk away with a renewed appreciation for what those storied halls and rooms represent for our democracy. We asked my parents if they would like to go with, that’s how the six of us spent the better part of our morning walking through hallways, going up and down stairs, and even listening to a floor debate in the legislature from the balcony. It was fun, educational, and even a bit enlightening while also serving as a cool way to show our own kids that participating in a representative democracy is something anyone here in the United States can do.

The visit also gave me some cool photo opportunities, like the one you see here. This is a hallway (obviously) with busts of several Nebraska governors lining one side, and light pouring in from the wall. The stark contrast between light and shadow prompted me to do something I almost never do when taking photographs: shoot in black-and-white. I will occasionally use Lightroom to convert images to monochrome ex post facto, but I can probably count on one, if not two, hands the number of instances in which I shot images exclusively using black and white. My Fuji X100F has what is, apparently, quite a good black-and-white simulation called Acros but I almost never use it because, well, I guess I just like the look of color photographs. This situation, however, seemed to be quite appropriate for black-and-white given that the actual scene was almost devoid of color anyway, and the contrast between light and shadow was so prominent already.

I knelt down to get a low angle, adjusted the aperture to f/4 (leaving Auto-ISO enabled, with a minimum shutter of 1/125 second) and snapped a couple of shots. If I had a tripod and more time I would have carefully created a more considered composition, but as it stands I think the final result isn’t that bad. I like the old-school water fountain on the right side of the image too, kind of like a bonus :) I don’t think I’ll be doing black-and-white photography much more any time soon, but it was, and still is, fun to experiment with every now and then.

Each year we have a few dozen yellow crocus flowers that spring up in our yard, and each year I use them as an opportunity to practice my photography—sometimes re-creating shots I have done before, other times trying new, creative photo ideas, but always enjoying the diminutive little blossoms for as long as I can before they disappear to make way for the green grass that soon takes over. I still enjoy the first shot I ever took of these crocuses back in February 2013, and while lots of the subsequent photos of this scene that I have taken since then are improved in some fairly objective ways, I still remember the thrill of taking that original image with my Nikon D200 and 50mm lens and kind of marveling at the fact that I, a normal person without any kind of special camera gear, could take a photo of a flower in focus with others blurred out in the background. It was a revelation, and has stuck with me and continues to shape my photography even more than a decade later.

Which brings me to this week’s image, of course. It’s a crocus, but shot a bit differently from most. I used my Nikon D750 and 105mm f/2.8 macro lens, which longtime readers will probably not be surprised at, but I also used a tripod in order to steady the camera and compose the shot precisely how I wanted to. It’s a technique I have been using a bit more when doing macro shots, at least when possible, in order to be a bit more intentional and considered and get the shots I really want, not just the settle for photos I’m able to get—as is sometimes the limitation when using my hands alone to steady the camera.

It was just a bit windy so I used Auto-ISO to set a minimum shutter speed of 1/350 second, and at f/9.5 that gave me an ISO of 720. Perfectly acceptable, especially with a bit of Lightroom post-processing to smooth things out just a bit. I used Live View and shot at 1:1 magnification while focusing manually in order to get the tip of the stigma as sharp as possible, and even at f/9.5 the depth of field was far less than a quarter of an inch. While this image might have been possible without a tripod it would not have been easy, and probably a lot more frustrating too.

As I type this the little yellow petals have all disappeared. The days are warmer, the sun lingers longer, and time continues its inexorable crawl. And yet it’s comforting knowing that year after year, no matter what happens these little flowers just keep popping up with the last breaths of winter as if to remind the world that the more things change, the more they stay the same, and things are going to be alright.

There’s a geological curiosity about two hours from where my wife and I live, just south of the Kansas border and surrounded by the kind of windswept plains and endless horizons that make you feel almost as if you have taken a few steps backward in time. It’s…well, I’m honestly not sure what this place is but it’s called Gloss Mountain. Gloss Mountain State Park, to be precise, and it’s one of those places that’s been on our “Hey we should go there someday” list for years but until recently we just never really took the time to make it happen. My wife and a friend went out there last fall, but in February we all decided to take a few hours and go there with both of our families. The weather wasn’t ideal, the timing could have been better, and perhaps the practicality of the whole endeavor wasn’t the greatest, but one thing we have learned over nearly two decades of being married is that if you’re waiting for the best time to do something, you could be waiting forever. And there might never actually be a best time to do something, so you just have to decide whether you’re simply going to do it or not. That’s kind of what we did with this trip: we picked a date, we planned when we would leave (i.e. after the kids were home from school) and we just made it happen.

So on a chilly, windy afternoon in mid-February my wife and our kids, along with our friends and their kids, loaded people, snacks, blankets, and sandwiches into two vehicles and drove nearly two hours out west to Gloss Mountain. Our goal was to make it there in time to see the sunset from atop the plateau, and while there was a bit more cloud cover than we anticipated, we still got to see a beautiful Midwestern painting in the sky, a pale shadow of which I attempted to capture in the above image.

I brought my Fuji X100F, Nikon D750, and 70-200mm f/2.8 lens–a bit overkill perhaps, but I wasn’t sure what to expect, exactly, having never been to Gloss Mountain before and not quite sure what I would need to capture a picture of the sunset. I took lots of photos and eventually settled on this one as my favorite from the bunch. Even though you can’t see the sun itself (We never did, to tell the truth. The clouds obscured it the whole time we were there.) the golden rays off in the distance tell you everything you need to know. I had a few shots without the plateau on the left, but didn’t like them as much because they didn’t really do a great job of conveying a sense of scale–which is the most interesting part of a shot like this, in my opinion. In fact, there were two compositional decisions I made to try to capture the scale of the scene: the first was including the plateau, and the second was to make sure to get the road in the shot as well. I had some images without it but realized that, while artificial, the road actually served a useful purpose in helping the viewer understand the sheer size of all the natural elements present in the scene.

It wasn’t long after I took this shot that we succumbed to both weather and time, and returned to our vehicles for the drive back home. It didn’t take long for us to start talking about a return trip, hopefully sooner rather than later. We might wait for an ideal time, but hopefully we will just decide to make it happen and then do it :)