Happy Tree Tuesday! This is part 1 of new series of tree photographs captured in and around West Seattle’s Lincoln Park.
Happy Tree Tuesday! This is part 1 of new series of tree photographs captured in and around West Seattle’s Lincoln Park.
Recently I had the great honor of being the featured pinhole artist on Alex Yate’s website pinholista.com. He asked an assortment of questions pertaining to my pinhole photography, which I urge you to head on over and read. While there explore a bit there are several other pinhole photographer interviews worth checking out.
Happy Tree Tuesday everyone.
Its been nearly a year since I last posted new content. The sabbatical is officially over.
More than a few prefer to stretch their branches in an urban setting.
Happy Tree Tuesday everyone!
A single set of tracks in fresh snow, leading the way through the forest.
Happy Tree Tuesday everyone!
Richard Serra’s Wake situated in the valley of the Olympic Sculpture Park is one of my favorite places in the Seattle. On lazy sunny days I often find myself sitting in one of the parks red painted chairs watching the sun dance across the five steel modules as people drift around them.
The Wake’s large S-shaped curves create powerful silhouettes which vary drastically depending on the time of day and weather. The ever changing nature of the Wake and its surrounding environment is what keeps me coming back time and again, now two visits are alike. This photograph was taken in the middle of particularly bright winters day, with the sun hanging high overhead. I really like the simplicity of these shots, how the harsh sun light is dancing across the right side of the steel module while leaving the left side seemingly devoid of light.
Growing up in the shadow of the Cascade Range, many mountains have played the role of ‘the mountain’ in my life. First it was Mount Rainier, or ‘the mountain’ as everyone in the Puget Sound region refers to it. Its hard not to notice this majestic peak looming over the region, even on a cloudy day you can find it on nearly every license plate in the state. One of my favorite family photos was taken up on Mount Rainier at Paradise, I was maybe 4 or 5 years old at the time, the whole family smiling cheek to cheek in our best late ’80s fashions with the mountain in the background. In more recent years I’ve taken a pleasure in my solo trips up to Rainier for day hikes and overnight camping trips.
In college Mount Baker became the mountain. My first apartment came with a unobstructed view of Baker from the living room, and outside deck. For two years I gazed out at one of the snowiest peaks in the world, knowing full well it was the highlight of my otherwise unassuming dwelling. Many people attend Western Washington University simply because of its close proximity to Baker, the mountain, tailoring their winter quarters to maximize their amount of time spent up on the mountain skiing and snowboarding. Hard to blame them really, its quite a place.
More recently Mount Pilchuck (pictured above), has become the mountain in my life. Last summer my parents bought a modest piece of recreation property with a picturesque view of Pilchuck. She may not be as well known as Mt. Rainier or Mt. Baker but she’s certainly majestic in her own right. I’ve taken to photographing her quite a lot, though this is the first image I’ve shared on Flickr. This spring I plan on doing a solograph pinhole exposure pointed in her direction, and come summer my goal is to climb to the top where an observation tower rests. Mountains are meant to be experienced and explored after all, and what better way than to walk along it’s tree lined backbone up to the summit?
Happy Tree Tuesday everyone!
After yesterdays teasing entry about what lay beyond the clouds at Artist Point, I thought I’d share another image captured on Mount Baker which provides a glimpse of Mount Shuskan in the distance. They say Mount Shuskan is the most photographed mountain in all of North America. Though I question how such a distinction is measured, I’ll willingly admit its near impossible not to take a photo of it while up adventuring on Mount Baker.
This image was made almost a year to the date prior to the one I shared yesterday on Mount Baker. The road up to Artist Point is only open two, maybe three months a year due to the extensive amount of snow the region receives. Its amazing the Washington State Department of Transportation even spends the money and resources to open it at all, but I’m glad they do, as its hands down one of the most beautiful areas in the Cascade Mountain Range.
Happy Tree Tuesday everyone!
The clouds parted just now, giving way to the jagged mountain peaks beyond. For a few fleeting seconds it seems as though I had the greatest view this earth of ours could offer. Its gone now, the clouds having covered it once again. Only the memory remains.
– 9/29/2012, exert from my photography journal
As photographers, we are driven to record the world around us. We feed off this need, knowing that perhaps the next exposure will be our best yet. Still there are times when its better to set the camera aside and experience life as it happens. This is not a skill learned in the classroom, or through a google search, but developed through your own photographic experiences. The saying goes ‘what you choose not to photograph, is just as important as what you do’. Which is true, except often times we misconstrue the meaning to be only photograph that which is interesting. Problem is, if we are busying ourselves with constantly trying to capture such things, we run the risk of never truly experiencing them at all.
The clouds did part ways on the cold cloudy September morning I found myself wandering around Artist Point on Mount Baker. I happened to be leaning against a large boulder marveling at how quite it was was shrouded in amongst the clouds, when it happened. I quickly reached for my camera, already perched its tripod, but stopped myself deciding instead to simply enjoy it. Moments later the view was gone, visibility again reduced to at times only about 150 feet in front of me. I took several exposures among the clouds that day, but brought back only the memory of what lay beyond them.