Cool on your (Castle) Island

Tags

Art, Castle Island, Photography, South Boston, Travel, Writing

Near Logan Airport, there is an ancient Fort nestled beneath the flight path of all incoming planes. Castle Island (and subsequently, Sullivan’s Take Out) are located in South Boston and are frequented by joggers, fishermen, and apparently, goofball photographers. Aces.

Yeah, it’s a fence post. I know, nothing to see here. Still, Castle Island is a nifty little spot. The walkway circles out into the water, beneath the low flying planes, a mile and a half I was told. It was a very dreary, overcast day. The planes could be heard descending, yet remained unseen until they broke through the fog just overhead. It was an amazing sight when the grand double-decker British Airways plane came through the clouds.

I miss travelling. The last flight I took was just an hour long hop to Newport News, Virginia. My globe trekker tendencies have waned since the birth of my daughter. I am now gladly looking forward to a trip to Ireland for New Years to reclaim my title of world traveler. (Yes, there will be pictures)

Many have told me to become a travel photographer. I can’t say I don’t agree with the advice, but again…need to be travelling to do that.

This was laying alone along the water, left by some lureless fisherman, who hopefully had a tackle box overflowing with potential replacements. I left it where I found it, despite the obvious souvenir vibe it gave me.

How often does a non-fisherman find such dainty and hardcore lures?

Rarely.

Still, who’s to say some young fisherman won’t cross paths with this lure one day, utilize it to cast his line to the sea, and as a result catch a talking fish who will grant him a wish? If I had taken it, the thing would have waited eons before seeing water again. The saddest fate of a fishing lure, to be sure. Well, perhaps being mounted on a wall rather than used to fish is sadder.

This is a tar line on the walkway. Out in the water, the walkway is lined with tar covered rocks and foamy debris washed in from the Atlantic. The crevices in the tar seemed to contain the milled remains of old shells, though I failed to find any in their unshattered form. My daughter announced to me that we should only walk along these lines as we circled the shallows. I found taking a photo of the lines while standing over them was mildly inconvenient. Remedies were found.

My family went on without me several times, given that I kept stopping to examine and shoot objects that had been otherwise ignored. I took a picture of a Vending Machine while we were here (see here) and was given the eyeballs. I assured her the photograph was beautiful; she still raised an eyebrow.

And here we have proof that the urban surroundings of Castle Island are no match for nature’s impeding presence. She is a demanding lady, that mother nature. The quintessential ‘tough broad.’

I model myself after her, though still having trouble creating hurricane’s with my mind.

This little flower had grown up between the rocks along the walkway. The tiny little spindly tendrils of its center were invisible to me when I took the picture, but when I began to work on the shots, I saw the details and was in awe. This little flower trembled in the breeze like a virgin on her wedding night when I went to shoot her.The fact that she came out clear was a miracle to me.

I love miracles. It’s the little things, really.

A good example of the juxtaposition that takes place here. These were along the edge of the walkway, their purpose I am unaware of. The state of the metal was a piece of art in itself. And oddly enough, the graffiti seemed to finish the sculpture. I am unsure what it says, or who may have marked it, but on some conscious (or subconscious) level, they and I share an eye.

I went on a tangent in Lowell, Massachusetts once, shooting everything within sight at the Boott Mills. The industrial shapes and concepts, the aged metal and wood, it was like a still life retelling of the manner of time, the American sense of purpose and the scars it can leave in its wake. The architecture, the structures, the beauty created in the fervor of progress, now rotting steel giants and their brick castles, all decaying where they were left by those once dedicated to their creation.

I’m a history geek. It’s on my sleeve, isn’t it?

So many pictures, so little time. I am posting this one out of loyalty to the sea. My family comes from the shores of Addison, Maine and Galway, Ireland, so I am more than mildly biased. When someone asks me to head to the beach for some sun and frolic, I cringe at the thought. The common American thinks of the beach as the crowded tourist traps lined with piercing stalls and fast food joints. My memories of the sea remain untainted by these busy hot spots. The pristine sand and stone, the quiet whisper of the waves, the distant call of the gulls and the fishing boats, and that gritty chafing sensation one gets after jumping off the pier into the ocean in your jean shorts because you decided on a whim to throw yourself in without bathing suit. Wet jeans are one thing. Sea water wet jeans, something else entirely.

These aging logs are all that remains of a pier where once, I am sure, many men spent their hours fishing, tying up their boats and breathing the sea air. Now, it is just driftwood, waiting to be loosed unto the tide. I wonder where they will end up if they are allowed to dwindle by nature alone. If man gets involved, there is no telling.

Twas a nice walk, Castle Island. And a delicious burger at Sullivan’s to boot. Wish I had gotten clam strips though. Yum….

Photology of the Self

Tags

Art, Modeling, Photography

I was always the goofy girl pointing a camera at herself with her friends in front of inappropriate objects for fun and frolic. It’s a habit I maintain to this day, though it has evolved since I was shaking Polaroid shots in anticipation of their soon to be revealed contents. (and FYI, never shake Polaroids while you wait. It disturbs the chemicals and can create distortion in the photographs. Slows the process.)

Yes, I’ve always been a geek.

This is me. First lighting shots I ever took. This was the night I bought the lights and set up my first light plot. Before I got this shot, I managed to capture demonic possession, Pinocchio style nose growth, and planetary face shots that could only be described in my eyes, (given that they were shots of me) as hideous. Yet, in the midst of that degradation, I acquired skills that have aided me in capturing some of what I consider my finest images. I learned the angles for shot direction, and on top of everything else, I learned how to flatter with light and angle. I’d come to the conclusion, “Hell, if I can capture a picture of myself that I think is beautiful, then other women will be a breeze.”

This science experiment was the reason I was able to capture this portrait; one of my favorites.

Lesson learned.

On to the second session.

In the next picture, I am utterly goofing off, as I am in most of my self portraits. It’s difficult to take oneself seriously when they are taking their own picture. It’s like taking a picture of a lamp; you are the lamp.

Anyway, I had it in my head to try to recapture the feel and style of the 1940′s starlet portraits. I tested lighting, angles, and on top of everything else, had to study the makeup and composition of those old shots. I’m a purist. If I want a style, I will get that damn style or kill someone trying.

When this shot came out, I danced an effing jig.

That jig was nothing compared to the jig I danced when the following shot came out.

Without my tomfoolery, this shot would have been the most frustrating and miserable experience ever. Without the preparation, her makeup, hair, and wardrobe (which were all done to the 9′s!) would have fallen flat when I shot them. The travesty of that thought nearly makes me throw something. Seriously, frustration and I have never been great pals. I turn into a whole different person. No one needs to see that.

Moving on…

To session Three.

Phew! I battled with posting this next one for a while before finally saying, suck it up and be a man, Caitlin! This was one of the first figure studies I did. At the time of taking this picture, I had an idea of further pin up style photography; classic, classy, yet sensual. I had a model prepared to volunteer, but I did not want anyone clamping their hands over their girly bits while I futzed about for a half hour. This shot was captured with black backdrop and an ape ton of giggling on my part. I have never been more aware of my body as I was when I took this picture and as a result, came to understand how my models feel under similar circumstances.

The people who sit for a photographer give an infinite amount of trust to that person without realizing the power they’ve given. A person sits for a photographer and hopes they will achieve a photograph that makes them feel good, but in truth, is just praying they don’t get a bad picture. If someone sits before my lens, I want to capture an image that makes that person look at themselves with sudden clarity. They are beautiful, and I will prove it to them.

Yet, without the work I did here, naked as a jay bird in May, I would have been completely in the dark when I went to shoot…

…this.

There is nothing more satisfying than capturing an image that makes someone’s eyes light up when they see it. And no, I am not referring to the dozens of guys who commented on this shoot when I first posted the pictures for her to see. I was happy to make her happy.

Every guinea pig/model I have worked with, I aim to gain their trust so that the next time they work with me, when I say, “Will you smear axle grease across your face for me?” they say, “how much and where” rather than “why?” or “Do I have to to?”

Yes, you have to.

Otherwise, I’m going to have to do it myself. (much like the Elizabeth Bathory portrait I want to do of a woman bathing in blood. My guinea pigs denied it…guess I am doing that one myself. Balls. I assure you, I will post it when it is finished.)

At this point, working as an editorial photographer and the like, I can honestly say, that for the newbie portrait Photographer, self portraiture is one of the greatest assets you have. Not everyone has guinea pigs at the ready and prepared to be smeared with fake blood. Sometimes, for the sake of your art, you have to take that bullet yourself. One does not go from a child shaking a Polaroid to Annie Liebowitz without some trial and error and who better to witness those errors than you, alone. (I’ll admit, I hate having other people see me fall short of my own expectations. Yet, the catch there, is in order to meet my expectations, I have to commit and then learn from those errors.) Are you terrified of being on the opposite side of the lens? Then we have a problem, because you are potentially your best teacher.

The Estate of Things

Tags

Art, Crane Estate, Crane's Beach, Ipswich, Locations, Photography, Travel, Writing

And we return (after a hiatus of epic proportions…My bad) with the other half of the Crane adventure.

The Crane Estate…a looming menace on the hillside overlooking the Atlantic Ocean has a rule about professional photographers; they shoot them on sight. No word of a lie. I was grazed by no less than three bullets; Sapphire Bullets of Love. (If you recognize that reference, post a comment and accept your prize, which will be…my undying love and devotion.)

This behemoth of a place was built as a summer home for the Crane family. It has something like 50 rooms, I’m not exactly sure…and may be talking out my backside here, but if I am exaggerating, it isn’t by much, I assure you.

The house was closed for the afternoon when we arrived, so no tour for us, but we were free to tour the grounds in my Mom-mobile. And tour we did!

Between the main house and the sea there is this long rolling hill, devoid of trees and pristinely landscaped, lined with statues and pretention. Someone spent more money than the people working there now will see in a lifetime to build archways and walkways into the hillside that would only be used by future wedding parties and their frazzled brides.

I, myself, have decided to be wed here, though not at the Estate. I had a dream I was married on the Beach itself (see A Day at the Beach… and A Day at the Beach…2 to view the location of my future nuptials) which then continued to me having my portrait taken with my husband on the walkways, with him sneakily grabbing my butt every time the guy tried to take the picture. It was a nice dream…wish I knew the guy though.

This is one of said archways. It is a gorgeous example of the kind of magical architecture that can be created when you have more money than god.

This little nook reminded me of England; of rooms where prisoners carved their names into the wall before being lead out to their executions in the name of Tyranny and Religious Self Righteousness. I am pretty sure no one was executed on Crane’s Estate, but I have a wild imagination. And it goes places.

I like the little plaque in the floor. It’s purpose I am unaware of, but it was a good part of why this corner of the world made me feel like I was in a much different and far off corner, entirely.

That little door feels like the sort of place that rich families like the Crane’s hid their dirty little secrets, like crazy cousin Charlie who liked to bite his toenails and lick lamp posts. I would have loved to see inside, though I am pretty sure that would have consisted of me having a close up view of lawn care tools. What can you do? The mystique in my mind is far more intriguing than reality. I should learn to control reality better. It would be a lot more fun.

And there would be Unicorns.

This was a gorgeous structure on the property, slowly succumbing to the elements and time. A gated courtyard with surrounding platform that seemed to be built in the style of ‘cultural smorgasbord.’

There were blockades up to stop me from traipsing into less than sturdy regions of the structure; I ignored them. Walking these grounds was like crossing into the Southern Palace in Beijing China, mixed with Versailles, mixed with the Coliseum, mixed with a Benny Hill Show sketch; a stranger combination I would have trouble finding.

You can see the floor is beaten to shreds and crumbled. Yet, despite this, the oriental style wooden roof was still going strong. Perhaps they were replaced more recently than the crumbling stone floor…perhaps I’m boring you. Moving on.

No, I took very few pictures of the Estate itself. I settled my lens on the grounds and the views from the Estate. Perhaps, when I return, I will take the illusive tour. Though, bringing my camera into the house might get me shot at once more. Such violent Trust workers.

This is the platform around the courtyard. It was truly stunning despite its state. Something built with this kind of dough, one would expect to last. The over cast sky wasn’t the ideal weather for this shoot given the high contrast it created in the shots, but nonetheless, I took some freaking pictures. I assure you, if you like them, let me know and I will invite you to my wedding…whenever I meet that grabasser I apparently marry.

Modeling with Kelly Purpura – A Retrospective

Tags

Art, Kelly Purpura, Modeling, Photography, Photoshop, Writing

This is Kelly. I decided a while ago to pay homage to my tried and true friend and guinea pig, Kelly Purpura. Hope she doesn’t mind.

She is the camera whore all photographers should be blessed enough to have. I have worked with her, literally, since day one. In many cases, pictures I took of her were part of the inspiration for my going Pro. Until I met Kelly, I had no idea I could do what I do. So come with me, on a journey through time and space…

This picture was taken in my basement, under a fluorescent light bulb in the near dark. I had absolutely no clue what I was doing lighting wise, I was just going to effing wing it. Experimentation is the way I learn, ladies and gentlemen, and Kelly didn’t give a flying rats ass, she was ready to go! The light frustrated me, my ineptitude aggravated me, but she was at the ready, prepared to hang herself in Christmas lights if it would help.

Not only did I learn some important lighting info during this shoot, I also began perfecting my Photoshop skills. This was the FIRST photograph I ever Photoshopped. (yes, her eyes are a different color, obviously.) Despite my feeling utterly inexperienced and inferior when I took the pictures, I still managed to get shots I was pleased with at the time, which was the most gratifying experience ever.

Anyway…

Cherokee People! Cherokee Triiihiibe!

This was one of those nights when I said, “I have no idea what I want, I just know I want something Radical!!” I really am a master of expressing what I want, aren’t I? Still, she just grabbed some makeup and headed for the mirror. She came back looking like she was gonna drive a hatchet into something. It was epic.

I love this picture. Sincerely. One of my favorites that I have taken with Kelly, without question. This was taken with a simple black backdrop and two flood lights bought for $11 a piece at Home Depot. You too can horse around with hardware. On the same evening, I believe I painted a blue suicide stripe across my eyes (much like those seen in Mad Max), so you know the mood I was in.

And that mood was nothing compared to the mood I was in during this shoot.

This is Kelly and John Bachelder. She may have mumbled about the pain of removing duct tape on this evening, but that was only as I was plastering it to her face. I directed her as to the kind of look I wanted from her and Shazam!

The lost and vacant shock, acceptance, like the spirit left before the shit hit the fan. And let’s not ignore the glory of John Bachelder. He managed to be terrifying in ways I would have only hoped. This shot is wicked dark (I do have a bit of a morbid streak), I still felt it should be shared as a statement of Kelly’s glory.

And then here she is lying on a bench, peaceful, serene. See, she don’t need no stinking duct tape. She can just lounge around on a bench in a park while I do all the freakin work. Aah, memories…

This shot was taken outside at the Acton Arboretum and was inspired by a shot of Marilyn Monroe I had recently seen. Something soft and relaxed, but completely feminine. I was very happy with this shot. And not just because of the cleavage!

I believe a Facebook group called “People Against Kelly Purpura Having Hot Pictures of Herself on Facebook” was created around the time she and I started working together. I joined the group obviously for the irony, given that I take a good number of them.

All hail Kelly Purpura. And tell her to find an evening gown and go to the beach with me. I have an idea.

As the French say, “Voiture; la Revolution!”

Tags

Antique Cars, Art, Automobiles, Photo Friday, Photography, Writing

Carrying one’s camera at all times results in some interesting discoveries. Much like the unexpected car show that was taking place in the back parking lot of the Drum Hill Burger King in Chelmsford, Massachusetts this past Wednesday. I’d merely planned on a burger shot and sprite, but instead I got satisfaction!

I know nothing of cars. Let me make that perfectly clear, I know nothing about cars. I can identify the emblem to 90% of automobiles currently on the street, I can spot a ’67 Chevy Impala from a few hundred paces, I can change my oil without getting my hands dirty, but other than that, I know bupkiss!

That having been said, this is the coolest car that ever rolled, gunned it, or careened down any roadway, ever! Though the black and white shot doesn’t do its colors justice, I still loved the photograph so much in this state that I denied the car its colorful glory. I will make up for it…

…now.

Tell me you don’t want to lick this car and I will call you a liar. If I were to ever be suckered into buying an antique automobile that I can only drive on Sundays when the insurance is active and I will be covered if I slam the pristine creature into an oak tree and spontaneously decapitate everyone within a three mile radius due to the lackluster safety precautions of automobiles at the time of its creation, this would be it. It is my favorite color and it is decorated in one of my favorite things; FIRE! And sterno fire, no less, hinted at by the blueish-purple hue of its tongues.

(I have just realized that I am having trouble with its and it’s. Someone educate me, for it is troublesome… Thank you, Craig Web Experience. I was pretty sure that was it, now I am certain thanks to your grammar snobbery. I return, with a vengeance.)

Hey, you can see my daughter’s reflection in its finish. Classic.

This picture makes me think of Stephen King’s Christine, though I am not a fan of the man, nor his writing. (Not due to malice or derision, but due to simply having not read his works. Yet.) It just seems foreboding with the sky overhead glowering down at the congregated vehicles. There is no need for intimidation sky, you’re huge. Be happy in the knowledge that you tower over us all and lose the attitude. God!

Anyway, yet another car I know nothing about, but the exposed engine and reflections in the pristine finish made my lens salivate as it is often prone to do. Though, to be honest, a good number of the cars at this show caused the same effect. I’m ecstatic to have had a hankering for Burger King on the proper evening.

Now, this car is a little less intimidating and a bit more nostalgic for me. This one felt like something your Grandfather would have driven when he was rushing your Grandmother to the hospital to give birth to your Dad. It had really nice lines without being too flashy or trumped up. I mean, honestly, it was a beige automobile smack dab in the middle of the hopped up color wheel, and it drew my eye despite itself.

This is a Driving Miss Daisy kind of car; unassuming, classic. I loved that they still had the old style license plate to compliment the car’s awesome. I’m still a little surprised by how much a completely ignorant non-gearhead enjoyed wandering around a Burger King parking lot turned museum. The sound of engines revving could be heard as far off as the Sears Home Store. Guys with tattoos mingled with betties, marys, and old timers, tipping beer cans and trading stats. I only spoke to a couple people and that was merely to ask if they minded my taking photographs.

No one did. I think they enjoyed having their pride and joy appreciated.

If you wanted pictures of the whole car, you came to the wrong place. I like lines and shapes and detest old fogies hovering in the background of my shots. I would photograph a whole car in a hot second if I was allowed to position the sucker in an area that did not include the background of a Burger King and seven gray haired gentlemen in white t-shorts drinking six packs. Aaah well. We live and learn. One day I will summon a LEGION of these monsters and they will descend upon my command to some secret place of awesome to pose willy nilly at my behest! So say we all!

Yay verily.

I did indulge myself a wee bit with this one as far as whole car shot is concerned. (Yes, I did change the license plate number before posting it. I didn’t want anyone hunting down the innocent owner of this car and claiming he ran over their Azalea’s in an attempt to sue him of his beautiful assets.) This car was fire engine red…angry fire engine red. It was the first to draw my eye and lens. I shot it from every angle before I headed off to check out its counterparts.

A truly lovely surprise, this was. I find myself becoming painfully and gleefully aware of how many opportunities to be inspired pass by us in any given day. How many beautiful little opportunities are there? How many times in a day do we miss a chance to stop and smell the roses…or huff the engine fumes, as the case may be?

I refuse oblivion from now on.

The past week has been a very productive and creative span of time. I look forward to the coming weeks, as I plan road trip day excursions into the unknown, armed with only my camera and sarcasm. May I return unscathed, and with pictures.

Attack of the Killer Blossoms

Tags

Acton Arboretum, Art, Flowers, Nature, Photography, Writing

(Did you say the title in the correct melody? Good. Well done. We are bonded, you and I. Forever.)

A day trip to the Acton Arboretum reared its ugly head, ladies and gentlemen. I am not completely satisfied with this trip, given that I have been here more than once before and am quite fond of flowers, to be sure, but more fond of adventure…and surprise. Still, I took some photographs I was pleased with, so I will share them.

Starting out slam dancing here, folks. This was me channeling Georgia O’Keefe. I got right up in this bad larry and asked him to cough. (Is it the flowers are always the male part of the plant, or is that the other way around?)

These grew in droves on the end of the Arboretum closest to the entrance. I am a fan of Irises, of course, and have actually posted a photo of some on Photo Friday at Sleep Before Waking (my writing blog. Yes, I am a geek.), but these Irises meant business. They had zebra stripes for christ’s sake. These are the flowers with the intimidating plumage, without question. If I were a flower, I would definitely have Zebra stripes. No word of a lie.

Moving on…

These were tricky to line up, composition-wise. I am extremely picky and a raging perfectionist, especially when it comes to my own work, and man these flowers were a pain in the butt to catch and keep. I took several shots and kept deleting and retaking because the focus or the focal point wasn’t quite as I’d hoped. Finally, I accepted the shots I was getting and chose my favorite of those. Honestly, if you’re a pain in the ass to shoot, why would I work with you? Primadonna of a flower!

Half way through the shoot this flower demanded a bowl of only green M&M’s and a case of Japanese glacial water. I told her to suck it and moved on. The ladies were lining up to get before my lens so why waste time on the Divas? (Afore pictured Iris? Dream to work with. Seriously, so professional.)

Much like this beauty. I actually had trouble taking a bad shot of this flower. (well, in my opinion. I am not telling you this picture makes your day, I am just saying it made mine.)

The flower was so unique and interesting, curving from the earth up into the ether, it’s presence only acknowledged when its blooms rose above the flowering bush that guarded it. The blue of this flower with the pink petals of the bush above made for a lovely combination, (obviously someone who knows gardening is in charge at the Arboretum. Who knew?) but I preferred this lady alone. She had enough to say by herself.

You may have noticed below in another blog, I enjoy a good bush lounging in the sunlight. It’s actually a bit of a compulsion of mine to capture sunlight in some of the photographs I take. A nice beam or ray can really add something to an otherwise lifeless picture, and in this one, I felt the sun made an otherwise uninteresting bush look a bit more dramatic.

Nothing against this flowering bush, it just isn’t my bag. Honestly, I think flowering bushes have a mild attitude problem. All their flowers are so attached to their comrades that if you want to shoot one you have to shoot the whole entourage, even the limo driver, Kevin. You can never get any of them away from the pack without killing them, slowly… And I hate to pick flowers. I pay someone else to do that for me, thank you. Unless I grew them myself. Then pass me the gardening shears.

This one feels like the land of Legend or the Last Unicorn. I feel like some mythical beast is going to come charging from the trees or flitting across the water towards me to stab the tip of my nose with a microscopic spear. Either way, I wouldn’t swim here.

We pondered how deep it might be, given the unnatural darkness of the water. I’ve decided, if you fall into this water, the maiden of the deep lures you away from shore with her song and receives you in her cool embrace. Yet, in that moment of lust and comfort, you fail to realize her kiss is that of the swamp, and murky water is filling your lungs.

I’m a strange woman.

I realize that more and more everyday.

A Day at the Beach…2

Tags

Art, Beach, Crane's Beach, Ipswich, Photography, Travel, Writing

We hereby continue the previous blog (and perhaps conclude?); A Day at the Beach. I know, I know…I should get myself under control, but the truth is, I can’t stand the idea of having all of these pictures and not using them. So, we’re back to the photos from the day at Crane’s Beach. (And I am thinking of taking another trip up there this afternoon for the Estate side of the journey. Rein it in, you say? Never.)

This is the roadway to get to the beach. It is that kind of soft sand you expect on quintessential New England beaches, the kind that hates your being upright or graceful in any way, but is soft and easily manipulated. (It hurts my arches, that’s all I will say.) My daughter waddled up this path dressed like Ishmael from Moby Dick. It was rad. And appropriate.

Thankfully, this kind of sand ends shortly after you set foot on the actual beach.

It was at this point that I began to realize just how snap happy I was going to become once we set off on our photo sojourn. I took close to one hundred pictures by the time we reached the end of this driveway. (No, not of the same thing.) Man, I want to go back. Have I mentioned that?

These tiny little tracks were so mini that I couldn’t really make out where they were headed to or where they came from. I speculate what they may have been made by. If anyone recognizes, please tell me. (Hermit Crab?)

Now to me, this was the distance of a skip, hop, or a jump, but to this poor bastard, it was like trekking the Hima-frikkin-layas. It looks like such an arduous trek. Up a mountain, down a slope, up a mountain, too steep, back down and find another way up; this tiny explorer had some grand scheme in mind when he took to his journey, but there’s a good chance some dive bombing seagull hell bent on lunch ended it prematurely. Sad, really.

The tracks are cool though.

This is a good example of why I am so fond of Crane’s Beach. Other beaches have that soft, loose sand that shifts under foot with every step, making you hobble like Quasimoto when you’re heading through to find a spot with your pulp novel and a towel.

Crane’s is different.

The sand is firm and smooth, holds you up when you step on it, (or run, as the case may be) and the only thing it bends to is the wind and sea. A mere footprint? Bah! Crane’s laughs in the face of the marks of man, then passes a single wave over your trespass and forgets you. I’ve never understood why Crane’s is the way it is, but it is perfect.

You doubt me, don’t you? Then come for a walk with me. I’ll most likely take your picture while we’re there.

I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty sky, but nothing looks so good as a cloud wisp in azure. Seriously, I did no work to this picture whatsoever. (Which is actually a big deal. I usually freak out if I show pictures without having at least darkroomed them, but no. This is what the sky looked like without post production and I wanted to share. This is hair with only natural highlights, my friends.)

The weather outside as I write this is very similar to that day. I am tempted, Lord knows I am, to return and explore further, but that ever powerful desire for variety and adventure rears its ugly head as well. Do I return with a new partner in beach going crime, or do I find something new and unseen to my lens? I guess we will just have to wait and find out, won’t we?

And we revisit the Dunes. They are completely epic. I don’t know why, perhaps the fact that they remind me of the cliffs of Dover in England (a very small scale and easily destroyed version of the cliffs of Dover I realize, but nonetheless, there is a resemblance).

The sky overhead was so beautiful and dramatic, and not in the tantrum throwing crazy girlfriend sort of a way. Truly stunning, I felt. And the thing I love about beaches like this is the dried out seaweed at the base of these formations, as though once the tide was so high that it delivered these bundles with a vengeance and then retreated indefinitely while they dried out on the sand. Sure, they could have been blown here by the wind as well, but I’ll never know.

I have sung the praises of Textures in the past, but I realized I forgot to toot the horn of Patterns. The water flowing out with the tide created these lines, much like ancient rivers from Satellite photographs of the desert. They weren’t everywhere, but when I found them I was intrigued and enthralled by them.

This was another one of those moments when I was down on my knees with my face in the dirt trying to capture this image. It came out beautifully, I think. Which is why I never feel silly when someone looks at me funny with my ass so angularly thrust into the air. I know I will be with a guy someday who will love this about me (and who will grab my airborne backside at these moments to ‘spite’ me), but for now, I am safe just looking like a goofball and being teased by my friends.

I think I may be getting close to the end of this tale. We shall see.

This was the water at the point of the sand bar. The beach reaches out into the water at low tide, creating this epic peninsula that curls out beyond the breaking point (though at Crane’s there isn’t really a breaking point). Here, the ocean is coming in to shore from two separate directions and meets its opposite with a friendly handshake and a cool ripple. The little waves coming from north and south interweave with one another and leave me utterly tickled.

I’d never seen anything like that before. It was worth walking all the way out to the point to see it. On top of the water’s behavior, there was also a small congregation of sea birds out this far. I researched them later and found them to be Phalaropes, though they fled my lens before I could collect them in film form. (I’ve turned to my 18-55 mm lens primarily since it’s return from the fix-it shop. If I’d been armed at that moment with my 55-200 mm, we might have some shots here of birds, but none of the other magic would be quite the same. God I’m loving wide angle right now.)

And for shits and giggles…

This is my friend, Carter. I’ve mentioned a bit, but now I display him with abandon.

If he finds cause to complain, I will point, laugh, and mock openly in a maniacal way and say, “You signed on for this friendship, you suffer the consequences.”

I have a camera, ladies and gentlemen, and I am by NO MEANS afraid to use it. For evil as much as good. Truth!

I think I am going to stop here and move on from this collection of photos. I was truly overwhelmed by how many beautiful shots I was able to get in this one excursion of a couple hours. Days like this make your whole world a little brighter. Now, I just need someone to take me somewhere else beautiful. And the countdown begins. Eh?