This is a different My Space. This is MY space. Its my workshop. I hang out here. I build stuff (or I try to). I paint (sometimes with my fingers). I have a stereo, magazines, my hot glue gun, Dremels, a sewing machine, my cordless drill (thanks, honey) and, of course, a Christmas present from a few years ago–my miter saw. I also have my flowers, some of my photos and, in the right forefront, my brand new porter cable circular jig (thanks again, honey).
My laptop can pick the main computer’s network up here, which is WAY great. This space is the upper level of our smaller barn. It has a beautiful view of the property, which I’ll share in another post some time soon. I burn lovely smelling candles up in my workshop, and that makes it even more pleasant and inviting to me.
No boys allowed, by the way–at least not without permission!
Unfortunately, I do share this space with some of the biggest, baddest looking spiders I have ever seen in my entire life. Its not heated (yet), and there are plenty of other things that need to be done to it if we stay in this house and on this property. We’ll see. It also heats up about 10 degrees higher than the temperature outside. Today, that would have been close to 100–so I am either going to sweat or not be in my space in really warm weather.
I am very fortunate to have a space like this–a treehouse, of sorts. I actually refer to it as my “studio”. I find it to be one of the most calming spaces I have ever been in. I am not sure why–perhaps, because, I can go to my studio and do whatever I like. Paint, draw, sing. Saw, hammer…sit and have my coffee. No pressures. Just escape, for a little bit. I can put up with a few badass spiders for that (actually, I keep a small wet-dry vac up here and suck them into oblivion when I catch them staring at me with their eight, beady little eyes. Whoosh! Spiders all gone 🙂 )
I hope you have a space of your own, whether it is behind your lens, in your garage, or a quiet place in your mind where you go and can be still. Someplace that you can meditate and rejuvenate. Some place where you can create a new part of you or encourage the growth of something laying dormant inside of you, waiting for the opportunity to show off.
Everyone’s an artist at heart.
All children are artists. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up. –Pablo Picasso
This solitary soldier of the meadow greets the morning with open arms, standing tall until the sun begins to slip behind the horizon. Part of summer’s beauty.
Have a great day.
From time to time, I like to play artist with my photos–that is, I like to use them as a starting point to create something beyond what my camera captures. I suppose what I am really capturing is what I see in my mind’s eye.
I have a fascination with farms and barns. I really love tractors–Farmalls, in particular (red tractor, left one in the photo above). I’m saving for one–god knows why, we only have two acres. (Hey, not everything needs an explanation!). For now, I satisfy my longing for the rural by capturing what I can with my lens.
Farming as an industry seems to be fading fast in our country. Many farmers have a difficult time making ends meet nowadays. Jon Katz does a wonderful photo essay series on dairy farmer John Clark, who decides to sell off his herd and farm no longer. Mr. Katz is an excellent writer, but the photos are powerful. The message is clear. We’re succumbing to our own efficiencies and urgencies. There is little room left for small enterprises. Make way for mass production.
My camera provides me with an opportunity to catch a vision which may soon be a memory. I hope the future brings a resurgence of local farming. I hope I can bring a little color back in to some of my farm pictures. At least, in my mind’s eye.
I have a lot of fun hunting down photos which are appealing to my eye. Landscapes with great color or significant perspective. Animals with stoic looks on their faces. People in silhouettes.
This is neither. Nothing particularly appealing about this to me, photographically. As a matter of fact, at first glance, it looked like nothing more than a spit in my pond. But the serenading croaks and crottles heard all evening long sing a different story. A story of froggy love. And what you see here are the love children, in all their fetal glory. I do have the annual pleasure of watching and listening to the amphibious love stories of a whole gosh-darn coven of froggies. A few weeks ago, while clearing some surface debris from my pond, I found the little cluster of eggs. Some may make it to full froggy freedom, many are likely to be eaten, sunny-side up, by one of the many goldfish who dwell in the small but lively ecosystem. Whatever their fate, I am forever fascinated by the cycle of life and grateful to be its witness.
Marlin Perkins, look out–I’m living in the Wild Kingdom…lol. 🙂
There’s nothing like a warm summer morning, filled with haze and sunshine. While I sometimes curse the fact that I’ve tossed and turned all night in heat that wraps itself around you and won’t let go, I simultaneously feel afoul the very moment I see summer slip slightly toward cooler weather. How is it possible that summers of youth last many more months than summers of a later age? The days pass much more quickly than those days when I frolicked into the evening hours, counting the fireflies that lit my way into night. Now, a summer seems as quick to pass as that fireflies momentary light. On and then off. Bright and then dimming, onward to the next season.
Sitting in my camera bag is a $500 100mm macro lens. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve pulled it out of my bag–I want to shoot wide open with the lens and, seemingly, this is when I get the shakes. I can’t get a sharp picture to save my life. I know, tripod, tripod, tripod.
For what its worth, sharp or not, here she is–the bumblebee. She was resting on the bee balm in my herb garden. A patient poser, she stood as still as she could whilst I twittered away at her, modeling one pose for me after another. I wish I could tell her a star had been born. Instead, she remains simple, as nature intended her. A gatherer of pollen and nectar.
Sometimes simple is best. We’ll try again another day.
Or we’ll sell the damned lens.
Have a nice weekend.
I got off my lazy behind tonight, heading out with the warmth of the summer’s evening and my Canon. Plenty of companionship for me. The evening was warm, but the breeze’s touch was soft and comforting. This was the air of many a childhood night spent playing on the front lawn until darkness (and our mothers) beckoned us to our bedtimes.
I have to travel just a few miles to reach the lake’s shores. I was anxious to take some photos. The sun was just beginning its final decline, like the fiery ball on a New Year’s Eve with Dick Clark. I had a little bit of time. I love a good countdown. I prepared to shoot, quickly taking the first shot to meter for just the right light. A family splashed in the waters beyond me, dancing in and out of the sun’s reflection against the great lake. I sauntered my way along the shore, snapping at will. Enjoying the comfort a peaceful summer’s night brings.
As light turned to dusk, I returned to my car, heading home with my night’s treasures. Time to develop the photos. Time to see if justice was served in at least one or two of my captures. And yes, there were a few photos I really liked. But this one–the one I’ve posted–this was my metering shot. The quick one I took to adjust my settings. I wasn’t paying attention to who was watching me back. A slight crop reveals that I wasn’t the only one out on a watch tonight.
But I was the only one with the camera. Lucky me. 🙂
Perusing through my winter photos, I came upon this snapshot. I took this one winter’s morning at a time I’d normally have been at work. Lo and behold, I discovered why I was going through so many 50 pound bags of sunflower seed. Nary a songbird in sight, I am apparently feeding all the local wildlife. As the weeks wore on, five additional tom turkeys joined this group on a morning and evening feed. We enjoyed them for many weeks until such a time as spring came upon us and mating became more important than food.
The squirrels, for better or worse, are daily visitors–no matter what the season!