The 2020 Yarmouth Art Festival is usually held in St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church in Yarmouth and 30% of proceeds benefit the church. But this year it will be online and available to the public to view and purchase framed pieces of photography or paintings starting October 19 and ending October 31. Pickup from St. Bartholomew’s will occur between November 4-6.
Three of the ten images I submitted for inclusion were accepted. Members of the Waterville Area Art Society were encouraged to submit pieces and I am happy that I am one of three members whose work was accepted.
Monhegan Lighthouse Dawn II pictured above was taken at 5am or so in June 2019. I would have loved to have returned again this year but dare not with Covid-19 risks still present despite the low numbers in Maine.
Feather Drop pictured above has already sold once before this year. It is from a kayak trip into the Belgrade Marsh in August 2019.
Stars in the Kelp is an image I re-edited and reprinted this year. It was originally taken in April 2019. There are several different renditions of it including one in B&W. One of the earlier versions sold at Longfellow’s Cabin Fever Exhibit in February this year.
I am thrilled to be included in this year’s Yarmouth Art Festival!
Let me know which one of these prints you like best.
My attention was not on my photography during the early months of facing the Covid-19 pandemic.
April looked bleak not only for the lack of spring colors outdoors but because the spread of Covid-19 had reached Maine and Governor Mills had, compared with other states, proactively shut us down with stay-at- home orders, before our cases of Covid-19 ever reached problematic numbers for our hospitals to handle. Masks, physical distancing, sanitizing our hands and prohibitions of events where congregate gatherings could occur were the new norms for Maine. My husband and I hunkered down and prepared to be house bound through 2021 because we were in the vulnerable cohort.
We didn’t know how bad it would get as we watched the news about first Italy, then NYC’s overwhelmed medical care systems flounder as they rushed to meet the needs of community transmitted cases of infections. People were dying in record numbers. Tractor trailers were being used to store the dead. Sick people lined hallways of hospitals. First responders were getting sick in stunning numbers and calls for PPE were not being adequately fulfilled. We were scared for them. We were scared for ourselves.
Advice about how to protect yourself from infection focused mainly on washing hands and disinfecting surfaces but I had read enough about historical pandemics and assumed the real vector of transmission was more likely from the aerosol spray from our breath, exacerbated by lack of ventilation (to diffuse enough tiny particles) and the amount of time spent breathing sufficient quantities to overwhelm our body’s immune system. Nevertheless we had groceries delivered at first and washed them. In the beginning grocery shelves were sparse or empty of many foods, but especially facial tissue, toilet paper and any OTC medications related to cold, allergy or flu.
My plans to continue my photography business were suspended with a “wait and see” attitude.It took me awhile to move beyond the shock of an understood necessity to shelter-in-place and the new reality of a changed world. In my fright about how bad things could get with interrupted supply chains I decided, like many others, to grow vegetables this year. Once the gardens were in place I plannedto hone my photography skills by practicing my art in local venues, particularly my yard and teaching myself how to use Photoshop.
At the very end of April, still waiting for spring, I tried to entice the crows to visit my visible back yard by dumping my compost onto my raised beds behind the kitchen. I had been using a compost pile on the other side of my garage which was out of sight. They would visit it, and perch in the trees above it, but I couldn’t see them from any of my windows.
I was thrilled to see a gorgeous grey fox sample the offerings but disappointed it did not return. I had the 24-105 lens on the camera and grabbed it in time to get off a few shots through the screened windows of my kitchen nook. Most of the shots were out of focus due to motion blur. I feared spooking it with my own motion behind the window. But the one below was good enough to crop.
A few days later the crows sat in the maples dotted with red flowers in bloom. I saw that the red buds contrasted nicely with the crow’s black feathers.In my mind’s eye it was more dramatic but the camera doesn’t blur the red background as the brain imagines it.
The image at the beginning of this blog is the one I chose to edit for this post. I cropped it, and took the white smudge from the garage out of the image, brightened the reds and deepened the blacks in the crow’s feathers. I could do more to it but it suffices for right now as a record of how little work I was doing with my photography during April and May. I wasn’t shooting or doing much editing because I had decided to use my months of waiting to see how the Covid-19 pandemic impacted Maine by working on my yard to improve my flower beds and grow vegetables.
I ordered six yards of compost to improve my soil as I dreamed of lush vegetables and flowers growing through fall. I moved a lot of soil around!
I had already emptied my raised beds of left over perennials and planted them in my front yard. Lupines, Black-Eyed-Susans, and Forget- Me-Nots. I topped off the raised beds with 10 wheel barrels full of new compost. My deck is falling apart so I had to move all the heavy planter pots off it. My original plan was to fill them with vegetables too.I filled them with custom mixed soils to suit the needs of tomatoes, squash and cucumbers. The two pots in front were planted with Waltham Butternut and Taybelle Acorn Squash seedlings. They were supposed to grow up the cattle panel and meet pole beans planted on the other side.
The empty planter in the front was supposed to become a solar powered water fountain to entice the birds to land all over the garden. I imagined mammoth sunflowers growing up through the black trellis in the foreground and planted seeds to accomplish my vision.
A beautiful iridescent Blue Bunting visited my bird feeder at the end of May. It was another grab shot but I am happy to have a record of it to remind me of moments of serendipity. Evidently it was just traveling through to somewhere else because we didn’t see it again. It likes heavy brush and I cut mine down this year in hopes of being able to walk out into the woods behind my house without the need for bushwhacking.
So ends the first half of 2020 and my field notes to date. Not many photos. Not many trips beyond my garden’s edges.
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Please say something and like it so I know you’ve been here and read this. Also, I do want to know your thoughts. What did you do during these first few months of Covid-19? Did you garden? Did you improve your home? Did you get out for hikes in the wilderness?
The unique sand at Pemaquid Beach consists of crushed garnet crystals which create fascinating picture patterns from the ebb and flow of tidal waves. Distinctive texture is provided in the sand’s natural canvas much like an “artist’s wash” for capturing designs of stones, seaweed and shells. It’s an alluring combination for any aspiring artist.
It has special meaning for me because my parents met there in 1949. We visited the beach while on our yearly vacations to spend time with family in the area during my childhood.
I’ve only recently made special trips to record nature’s artistic designs in the sand and used them to create a collection of 28 novel images available as 5×7 blank cards, 11×14 or 16×20 mounted prints or similarly sized framed wall art now on display and for sale at the Framemakers at 46 Main Street in Waterville, Maine.
“Water”. It was an assignment given to the local art group as the subject of a project set a year into the future. I imagined painters mostly using oils, acrylic or watercolor for their media. I was invited to join the group and attend the next meeting, at which everyone would be sharing the results of their efforts.
What would they paint? What kinds of water? Waterscapes of crashing ocean waves? Quiet lakeside ripples along some inland shore? Rain-smeared window’s mosaics?
Karen said, “Make it bigger” at the Cabin Fever Art Exhibit, as she admired my greeting card photograph of a frozen ice sculpture shaped like an angel. “We cancelled our meeting last week because of the winter weather and the make-up session is in two weeks. You could bring that. It’s water. You could bring a larger print.”
Okay, I thought. I can do that. I would like an opportunity to create a larger print. I envisioned using my professional Epson printer and using metallic luster paper to better suggest the texture of ice. I thought I had plenty of time to get around to the printing task. I already owned the paper. Two weeks later, the day had arrived and I needed a print for that night. I still had several hours before the meeting.
I felt jealous of a perceived lost opportunity to study water: to study how to best capture water’s magical ability to bend or reflect light. Painting water is hard. Painting ice is even harder. The textures that make the brain understand whether it is water or ice is in the way water refracts light. The colors aren’t the solid blues of children’s story books. To paint water one must see the subtle gradations of color (be it in blues or grays) that make ripples visible. To photograph water, one must know that light is often interpreted as white and the variations of white are often lost if the picture isn’t underexposed for the brightest highlights that so often delight the human brain. Thebest days to photograph water, especially moving water, is on an overcast day.
I decided to assess my catalog of photographs taken in 2019 to see what I would learn about my own skills and choices of water as subject. I might not be able to actively study water with my camera, and with a set of preconceived assignments, but I could backwards engineer a study of sorts.
I looked up famous water art on the internet to prepare myself. I found Claude Monet’s impressionist images of lily pads on water. I remembered an image I had taken “on assignment” for the Penobscot River Restoration Project back in 2011. It was an autumn waterscape of lily pads in the foreground set amidst reflections of surrounding shoreline trees. I have gained many new editing skills since then and I wanted to see what I could do with the previous digital information. The image wasn’t as pleasing as I had remembered it. I used my new knowledge of Photoshop’s content-aware tool to delete the bushes in the foreground to gain a different perspective and wished I had the lenses then that I now own to capture the desired crop. I fiddled with it several times before it was good enough and made my new print on metallic paper.
I doubted the painters would be bringing work from other years and therefore wanted something from 2019. The ice angel was taken in 2016 and had been edited many times in different ways to satisfy my different artistic interpretations of her. I knew I would print her today but I needed no further editing to create my print. I still had time to review my images taken during 2019 to discover what kinds of “water as subject” I had found.
I love winter and many of my images of water are of ice: lawn ice, lake ice, and most notably ice that forms on a leaky wooden penstock aqueduct used to generate hydroelectric power (but not in 2019). Last winter, in 2019, I went outside to take photographs only twice, in January and March, and both times in the Kennebec Highlands in Rome, Maine.
January started out warm. It felt like an early spring day. The snow was smooshy soft. The trees were bare and the moist day darkened the trunks and branches into stark patterns against the white snow; white, not gray from city car exhaust! Tree litter made up of seeds often texturized the snow. Who knew the trees let go their seeds in winter?
I found a dead beech leaf sunk into the pristine snow outlined by an orange ice aura, suggestive of life after death. Was it a picture of water? No. The subject was life after death.
Another image from that day was of a tiny green hemlock sapling emerging from the top of a downed tree trunk covered in snow with a wall of sea green ice behind it.Is the subject water?No, it’s the tenacious hemlock.
Below it though, were icy toes. Icicles formed from melting snow and waterfall splash on the tree trunk had been transformed from pointy tips into toe-like shapes from the rushing water below. Subject: water as ice, liquid and water behavior. I had chosen a slow shutter speed to blur the movement of the water below the icicles and consciously decrease the harsh contrast between black water and ice without burning out the white highlights that gave away the frozen nature of that water.
In June I spent a week out on Monhegan Island with a cottage full of painters. Daily walks around the village and onto the island’s many trails produced almost 2000 photographs,, but not much of it about water!
A bypassed jewel from a day considered “lost” caught my attention in this perusal of my images. I remember thick fog enshrouded the island that day. Air made visible in folds of drifts in varying intensities of white blotted out all but the nearest trees, wonderful salt air smells, air made personal as its presence was both visual and physically felt on the skin. The humid air made the colors pop even as it hid features of the landscape. The seaweed was a golden hue against rocks of blue while the ocean waves crashed gently against the shore. I had been disappointed that I had no dramatic sunset or spectacular surf to photograph, just the rocky shore and muted hues of ocean water.
Water as subject is often beaded. Morning dew is frequently captured in art. I had two from my week on Monhegan. For the photographer it is necessary to use a macro lens to capture the details of the light being refracted by the drops of water. I had used the “live view” feature of my camera to enlarge my focal points so that I could adjust my focus to ensure that the coveted beads were tack sharp.
The heavy morning island dew had settled on an orange mushroom protruding from a tree, creating a necklace-like effect. Four women crowded around the tree and exclaimed that there should be a photographer to capture what they were seeing. I walked over to them in that instant and they motioned me over to share their discovery. The beads were backlit, and on my computer screen, I could see inside them were reflections of the ferns growing below them.
Later that morning as I exited the infamous Cathedral Woods path I found a dandelion seed head covered with tiny beads of morning dew. The round beads contrasted nicely against the white spikes of the dandelion seeds. Better yet it was in open shade which softened the light and there were no distracting stems to obscure my view. Is the subject water? Not by itself, but it is the water that makes the images unique.
My walks along the Kennebec Messalonskee Trails in Winslow on the East Kennebec River Trail yielded a July image of greens. A dark foreground in deep kelly green, grass on the ground with an overhanging tree branch encircle an open view of a Kennebec River edge with reflections of the shoreline forest on the water, broken by a gray tree trunk extending from the shore into the river. It’s a peaceful scene. The subject is the water on the shore of the Kennebec River.
A kayak trip into the Belgrade Marsh in August produced iconic waterscape pictures of a pair of loons, a white lily flower and a white feather holding a large drop of water. Photography that day was frustratingly hard as the kayak moved with the wind and my inexperienced paddling. In addition, I was using a camera body I was unfamiliar with in order to extend the telephoto reach of my 70 – 200mm lens. I worried that without a stable tripod my images would be out of focus.
My kayak seat put me too low to obtain angles to crop out distracting details, particularly in my attempts to capture the gorgeous white lily flowers amongst so many ugly lily pads. Water as backdrop made later editing choices problematic because the light had to be consistent with the patterns that lent perspective to the central images.
Water is an integral part of the three favorite images from my kayak trip that day. The subjects are inseparable from the water in which they are found. I spotted a white feather draped against a pickerel flower stem close to an island shore. It drew me like a magnet as I paddled closer to uncover the nature of the round object pinning the feather’s wide tipped end to the top of the water. I discovered it was a huge drop of water. I paddled around it twice to obtain different vantage points, careful and concerned that I might dislodge the feather’s delicate balance against the stem. Water above, water below, but the subject is a white feather.
My final exercise was to capture a pair of loons, parent and chick, as they hurriedly swam away from me and my friend. I knew the loons were too far away to get the coveted images I admired in wildlife photography (with my limited focal length of 300mm). Nevertheless, I clicked away hoping that at least one image would be acceptable.
An August walk onto the Waterville/Winslow bridge crossing the Kennebec River to photograph the train trestle in Waterville yielded an image of foam patterns in the water as it passed close to the automobile bridge because I thought to look down. Subject: water as revealed by the patterns in the foam.
October is a favorite month for photographers (for me and many others). I traveled three times for field trips; to Baxter State Park, toAcadia and to the Kennebec Highlands. What I wanted to find was pitch black water with bright fall leaves beneath the water’s surface. I didn’t find any. My attempts to create artistic water seemed thwarted on these three excursions. Photography is an adventure for me, an exploration into the unknown to seek the gifts of nature “as is.” It’s difficult to value the gifts of a day trip, and to see what is before you, instead of anticipated images running through one’s heart and head.
Baxter State Park was troublesome. It was an overcast day with brief rain squalls in early October, low set clouds and the leaves were already past peak colors. Nevertheless, from Baxter I captured lovely shades of burnt sienna rocks beneath the waters of Roaring Brook on the Sandy Stream Pond Trail. I focused on the water drop on the maple leaf on the rock and let the water be in soft focus.
Mid-October Acadia National Park had surprisingly intense shades of orange and red trees, but not in the fast running streams. I liked the way this small fall of water sprayed out in downy tendrils more characteristic of fabric than liquid.
Near the end of October in the Kennebec Highlands the color was all but gone. A lone oak leaf trapped in a fall of water caught my attention. I used settings to blur the water while keeping the oak leaf in tack sharp focus.
I printed off my collection of images from 2019 on Epson Luster paper, printed my Ice Angel and Monet-like Lilies on Red River Metallic Luster paper and headed off for the art society meeting. I was surprised to see thirty people present. I recognized Karen from the art exhibit and sat next to her.
What did I see exhibited that night from the painters who had a year to study and paint water? I found that some had waited until the last minute to complete their assignments! Some paintings were unfinished. Most were completed works of art; the artists explained that it had usually taken them months to finish. The skills ranged from expert to beginner. Water as part of a landscape predominated: lakes, rivers or ocean. There were a few abstracts. Some painted from real life, but most painted from photographs taken by themselves or found on the internet.
I was glad to be near the end of the presentations;I was the only one to show photographs. I chose to share the Ice Angel and its antecedent to show the stark difference between what I initially saw and what the finished choice looked like. The Wooden Penstock with its frozen leaky ice towers above the ice sculptures near its base. The Ice Angel is clearly visible facing the Penstock with her back turned to the viewer. The finished artistic version shows a closer view of the Ice Angel with the penstock as an indistinct background.
I told them my story of finding Claude Monet’s lily paintings on the internet and passed around my own Monet-like lily landscape. I forgot to mention my choice of metallic paper or that I print my own work.
I’m happy with my backward engineered assignment. It gave me a focus to review my 2019 choices and incentives to improve future ones. The group of artists were a pleasure to meet. An unanticipated perk was that I met my neighbor: a fellow artist, and hopefully a friend for future outings to find artistic worthy photographs to bring home.
I hiked into the Kennebec Highlands on Sunday March 8 to find the Mountain Maple bark with thread shaped blue colored lichen I found last year on March 21. I was worried that our warm winter weather might have accelerated the appearance of the brightly colored lichen. It’s an hour walk through the snow to that tree. At first glance the bark was dull, the blue lichen (or whatever it is) was so pale it almost seemed white and the other lichens were equally dull. I had come prepared to capture it with my macro lens and almost didn’t take the time to shoot the disappointing bark. But my husband encouraged me to shoot it anyway. Good thing! I discovered as I looked through the lens that the smurf-blue hue of the lichen was more apparent when magnified.
The light is afternoon open shade. I had a tripod and remote so that I could take the image at slow shutter speeds to allow myself maximum depth of field ( f22, ISO 500, and 0.7 seconds with my macro lens on my Canon EOS 5D Mark III). I changed perspectives to attempt to find the best vantage point to capture a good image. I wanted the texture of the bark completely sharp throughout the image but the round shape of the tree trunk made it difficult to find such an area. Mountain Maples are an understory tree and remain relatively small.
Using Adobe Lightroom I made adjustments that intensified the saturation of the colors but nothing like they will become as the season warms up.
My husband took a photograph of me with his iPad when I stopped, as he requested, to photograph a pair of trees with contrasting bark. He doesn’t usually accompany me on my walks in the woods citing poor physical condition. He actually did better than I did when we crossed several small brooks and had to step on rocks or logs to get across them. Below is the bark of the two trees I am photographing above.
This is an image I’m still working on in anticipation of entering it in the Harlow Gallery Member show running from June 21 to July 27. The theme of the show is stripes.
I went out for a hike in the Kennebec Highlands in Rome, Maine on March 21, 2019 with my friend Glenn LeBlanc to see what we could find to photograph before spring temperatures and rain took the remaining snow away. Actually, there was quite a bit of snow still out there that day. This tree caught my eye with its riveting lichen bejeweled bark with its lovely vertical stripes. The blue lines are a mystery. The orange and green are typical lichen growths. But what explains the fine blue lines?
I hope to get back out there before the leaves have sprung forth to see if the mysterious blue lines remain. I will also send the image to the Cooperative Extension to see if someone there can tell me what the blue is.
Addendum: the acute blue colored stripes were gone after the leaves were out.
Yesterday I went looking for osprey fishing for alewives. In May osprey are easier to spot because of their presence in places where large quantities of alewives are swimming upstream in Maine’s many tidal rivers to reach freshwater lakes and ponds.
The alewives return from the ocean as adults to the lakes and ponds where they were spawned to repeat their cycle of birth and renewal. Their annual runs up Maine rivers and streams all along the coast coincides with the blooming shadbush (otherwise known as the serviceberry). Alewive numbers have declined principally from loss of habitat due to dams and other man made obstacles restricting access to their spawning grounds, as well as other factors (such as harvesting and pollution of ocean waters). Their numbers are coming back with the removal of many dams and new passages through the use of additional fish ladders.
I went to one of the oldest uninterrupted fish ladders in Damariscotta Mills. It creates a conduit between the Damariscotta River at Great Salt Bay and Damariscotta Lake. The alewives are plentiful because this ladder has existed since colonial times. Everything seemed to be out to eat the alewives except birds of prey. There were cormorants and herring gulls crowding the shores and stalking the milling schools of alewives as they made their way to the ladder. The herring gulls filled the edges with flapping patterns of wings of white and grey. The sound of the gulls filled the air with constant cries that was louder than the flowing water. I checked the sky for osprey flying overhead, but there were none to be seen.
I went further south to Fort Popham to observe how the alewives were running as they entered the mouth of the Kennebec River and to assess whether this would make a good location to photograph osprey. The water was much deeper and wider. At high tide the alewives run right off the waters near the fort. Herring gulls, cormorants and seals were actively harvesting the alewives at Fort Popham, but still no ospreys!
A couple asked me if I had spotted the immature eagle on the ledge of the fort. They said they knew it was an eagle by its yellow feet. I thanked them for their information and went up to see the eagle for myself. My view was impeded by a cage of metal bars, but I could see the eagle on the ledge. It was not an osprey but an immature bald eagle. Later it would return to the same spot; by then I was below it on the ground.
Waiting and patience (and practice) is what it takes to get good images of birds in flight. A good location is one that allows unobstructed views with a distance between photographer and bird that matches the zoom capacity of one’s lens. Mine is a relatively short telephoto for bird photography (only 70-200mm). I practiced on the herring gulls and cormorants. My patience was rewarded by a shot of the immature bald eagle when it landed again on the edge of the fort.
On my return home, I crossed the Kennebec River near Ticonic Falls and spotted four ospreys flying in the air. One had a fish in its talons. I thought how ironic that what I wanted was right in my own back yard! If I just wait patiently, I could shoot osprey much closer to home than a trip to the coast.