Recently in Photography Category

I have been quite an active photographer since the 90s and discussed some of my relationship with photography in Photojournalism as Psychologically Aware Seeing. Around that time, I began wanting to explore abstract photography.

Well, yesterday was my first attempt. Summer has brought many colors to my gardens and I wanted to try a simple technique to see what I could get. The idea I had was to use the camera as a paint brush. When we paint we "load" the brush up and our stroke applies the paint. With the brush, we cover a distance over a period of time.

Generally when we make a photograph, we do not move the camera. The idea is to capture a scene in focus and frozen in time. But we can accomplish a "brushing" effect by leaving the camera shutter open and moving the camera over the course of the exposure.

For my work yesterday, I experimented with different long shutter speeds from 2 to 1/15 seconds. Since you are moving the camera, focus means very little, so I just put the camera on a very small aperture (in this case f/16) and tried different ways to pan the camera (or in art terms, apply a brush stroke).

I did not do any of this which much feeling. It was mainly a technical exercise. But it is interesting what I chose to work with. I focused on two bright colors in my garden. The first set of images I made were with large green hydrangea leaves, which is one of my favorite plants.

My second set was with canna flowers. These have important personal significance for me because they are flowers that my family has cultivated in our gardens for three generations. This was the first year in a long time I was able to introduce them to my summer garden. This is the particular flower I was working with for the abstract image at the top.

Of the 100 images I made, the above image was the one that had the most interest for me. The image was made at 200mm with a half second exposure and a gentle pan of the lens.

I hope you enjoy it. You can click on the images for high resolution versions.

You can see all the photography images I have used on Mind Parts by visiting my Photography Gallery.

Also, a reminder that submissions to the Expressive Arts Carnival No. 3 are due in a week on August 19.

For last month's Expressive Arts Carnival, I had a few choices for what I was going to submit. Experiences shift so quickly. One minute I felt whole. Another I felt fragmented.

The above was the image I was going to submit. This is the normal way to represent my internal experience. Through shapes and colors which overlap in layers, sometimes blocking out any clear picture of what's really going on.

The other image I was going to submit was the unedited "Empty Chairs" photograph. The message here was alone and empty and separate. But it also held promise for what was to come (this was taken before a graduation ceremony). There is also strict order in the image.

Right before I submitted this image, I decided it needed to also portray the experience of being fragmented. So, the image was taken into Photoshop, cut up, and arranged in a more or less random pattern.

Here is the "Empty Chairs" photograph as seen by the camera (shot at f/3.2). The focus is on the section of chairs in the background which was where the boys sat separate from the girls.

There has been a push from inside over the past couple years to do more "meaningful photography." What I mean by "meaningful" is work that speaks to my own experiences more fully. Put another way, I want to do photography that is psychologically aware.

I got interested in photography around the time my kids were born; that was more than a decade ago. And since the kids were the focus for so many years, photography had been mostly about happiness and documenting happiness.

It didn't take me long to realize that photography was about seeing and not just looking. For someone who had lived a life based on dissociation, this was a real breakthrough and insight for me; a small first step in healing and becoming aware.

I have developed what was a small hobby into something a bit larger. I do some portrait work professionally, but my main interest has been photojournalism and sports which I shoot for local news outlets. Portrait work is intensely personal and requires a huge amount of "presence," engagement with the subjects, and directing. Sometimes I am simply not able to do that, which poses a problem if people have made appointments with me. So, I tend to minimize those kinds of assignments now. I sometimes become scared and forget all my skills and the images come out quite lousy, at least by my standards. It's too unpredictable, because sometimes I can be perfectly "on" and sometimes I can be "not at all there."

Photojournalism, in contrast, is a style of photography that is more detached and a bit less personal, but one could argue has a larger payoff because the images look spontaneous. The idea behind a photojournalism style of photography is that you become an impartial observer and document the details of the event. Mostly, the goal is to document all the scales of detail that you "see", from those that most everyone would recognize as the describing the event to those small elements that nobody really pays any attention to (e.g., the little kids poking their heads out from under the Bride and Groom's head table). It is really the only way to shoot live sports or any event where there are people going about their business.

Photojournalism is a microcosm of what healing from dissociation is all about. To see an event photographically, you must be prepared to do it from an "all of you" perspective. From this whole perspective, you can capture not only the range of length scales (from macro to micro) but also the range of human emotions. Sports is one great example, because there is always "the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat." Another is a wedding. And a third is any news event.

The photograph above was taken at a local elementary school's art show. I took many real-life people pictures at this event. But as I was looking at some of the art on display done by children, I stumbled upon this scene. In a self-portrait of a boy, I saw the reflection of other framed artwork several feet away. There were rows of art on display, and if I had to do this over again, I would have swapped out the reflected images that weren't self-portraits with ones that were. One of the tricks of photojournalism is that if you can unobtrusively change the scene, you assume you have the authority to do so, granted to you by your press badge, and just do it.

The obvious composition of this image would have been to focus on the boy, and the reflected images would blur. But that's what you see with your eyes and that would be boring. That image would scream "amateur mistake" because who would want reflected images in the background? Since there was no way to remove the reflections from the flourescent lights, I had to think about it in a different way and see beyond the obvious.

This is an image I would never had been able to make just a few years ago. I took me a while to get the meaning of what the reflections were telling me, for my eyes did not see this interpretation. Once I did, I composed the frame with the boy and the green background, focussed on the reflected images and opened the aperture to wide open at f/2.8, knowing that would blur the boy's face. Then, of course, the other trick to photojournalism is to not be shy to shoot because with digital, images are essentially free. So, I fired off about 30 other frames with various compositions and exposures. Then later I can decide which image works best.

There are multiple meanings behind this image. On one level, it could say that nobody really sees the boy as he is (i.e., he's a blur). On another, it could say that behind the boy is a complex world with various compartments and other selves.

What does this image say to you?

For those who are interested, there are some excellent books on photographic "seeing" and composition. They are:

• Andreas Feininger, Principles of Composition in Photography (1972, not in print so you would most likely find it at a local library)
• Michael Freeman, The Photographer's Eye (2007)
• Freeman Patterson, Photography and the Art of Seeing (1985, but updated in a 2004 edition)
• Bryan Peterson, Learning to See Creatively (1988, but updated in a 2003 edition)
• Henry Poore, Pictorial Composition in Art (1976 and still in print)

For other psychologically meaningful photographs on Mind Parts, see my Photography Gallery.

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Here are some early morning ramblings after not sleeping all night.

I was reading an interview just a little while ago, on the somewhat unrelated topic of "intelligence gathering", and this was said:

I thought it was a rather interesting comment, because intelligence gathering and trauma healing are not so dissimilar. But I think he missed the point a bit.

I like to think of healing as having to put together a bunch of puzzle pieces (with a lot missing and without the picture). But on those puzzle pieces are the little dots, and as you put the puzzle together, patterns start to emerge and you get better and better at predicting and making decisions.

This photograph is of some work I did with my therapist last summer. I painted puzzle pieces of various sizes and arranged them in a way that made some visual sense to me. I had many color options, but I chose only red, white and black. We never quite finished, having intended to go back and rearrange and reshoot. The pieces are still sitting in my therapist's office on top of her bookshelf. Perhaps we'll take them out again soon.

On my A Healing Journey page you will see an image of a dissociative identity (DID) awareness pin. And if you follow the link on the bottom of that page you will see another. I took the inspiration from these, and Castorgirl's blog header.

In a little square in downtown Boston, there's a memorial for the Irish famine. There are two statues; one shows a family of three dying of hunger (pictured) and the other shows the same family full of hope (which I presume is after they've fled to Boston). In the statue on hope, the family is rather well-dressed, they appear striding forward, yet looking off in different directions. In the hunger statue, the mother's hands are reaching up as if pleading with God. The father and son are hopeless, with hands open as if waiting for help. Their food basket is empty.

When I saw this, I couldn't help but see distinct identities and the parallels to my own life. I viewed them all as one unit, just as I view myself as a dissociative. Often we can have hope one minute and despair the next and often they can exist at the same time. There is old and young, male and female, those who protect and those who are hopeless.

But, it is who we are as a whole that is most important. As a whole we do not give up. As a whole we march forward, sometimes into the dark forest of the unknown. As a whole we speak our pain. As a whole we search for truth. As a whole we mend our heart. As a whole we search for love. As a whole we heal.

A couple weeks ago my daughters and I were at the local farm collecting eggs.

Since I'm now in the hospital and am having a very difficult time, I find this image soothing.

I feel that this is what I need right now, to be the little chick and be held. I know, I think, that it is I that has to do the holding. Sometimes I don't know that. Sometimes I long for someone else to hold me. But I'm really not in a position anymore for that to happen.

In an earlier image of a cobblestone path, I was reminded of internal order that is sometimes needed in order for many of us to move forward. Several of you remarked that the image was too "regimented", "trapped" and "constrained". So, I followed up that image with one showing masts and rigging from a tall ship. That didn't sit very well with me.

The other day, I saw the Japanese film "Departures" which won this year's Oscar for best foreign film. It was extraordinary on so many levels. I guess I was feeling particularly "open" while watching it. In the beginning, the hero was playing cello in a small orchestra. They were playing Beethoven's 9th Symphony, the one which ends with the famous majestic chorus. If you listen to the whole symphony, you will know that the main melody of 15 simple notes is present throughout the entire piece and only in the end are you treated to the full glory and majesty of that simple melody.

I was sitting there and thinking to myself, "This is the metaphor I want to use for my parts!" It's better than cobblestones and better than sailing rigging.

There are two components to the metaphor. The first is the majesty of the piece and the choral crescendo towards the end. This is a celebration! It's saying, you have this very simple set of 15 parts (notes) and you work with it (or play with it) throughout the 55 or so minutes of the entire symphony, exploring every possible combination of what these 15 parts can do. In the end, quite suddenly, you are treated to something quite remarkable. Who would ever imagine that ending? Who would ever imagine that 15 simple notes would yield such beauty and power?

The other component has to do with the members of the orchestra and chorus. There are so many, and each contributes to the glory of what this piece is about. They each play their own part, but when put together they create beautiful music.

I was out in my garden today, thinking about this musical metaphor and wondering what kind of image I could put with it, when I happened on these "annabelle" hydrangeas. They look, more or less, like an orchestra to me, a "symphony of parts."

The past few days have been horrible for me. I had planned to go into the hospital. But I decided against it today. Instead, this was what I did. I thought of the symphony. I looked around me. I listened. And I felt better.

I've also included a high resolution (1920 px) image. Technical information: Nikon D300 camera with Tamron 90mm/2.8 lens, 1/200s and f/10.

The previous post was an image of a cobblestone path. On the same trip to Boston this past Friday to see the "tall ships", I also took the above image.

I was struck by the seemingly complex nature of the sailing ship's rigging. I was also struck by how easily the crew members navigated this structure. To them, moving around up and down the masts was second nature. I wonder, then, if it's possible for us to find some way to move so easily through our complex internal systems?

I know it's possible, because I've been able to do it before, but not for any sustained period of time. This past week has been really difficult for me while I'm in the midst of teaching an all-day summer course for 2 weeks. On Monday, it was a disaster. On Tuesday, the image of my experience was of perfect flow, which prompted me to write Respect, Responsibility, and Water. The rest of the week can only be described as a roller coaster.

So, again, I ask what this image says to you? Is there a metaphor here? Does it help you relate to your experiences?

I've also included a high resolution (1920 px) image. If you look closely, you can see where dust has settled on my sensor and now this camera has been dropped off to the shop to get a cleaning. Technical information: Nikon D300 camera with 17-55/2.8 lens at 55mm, 1/250s and f/16.

Remnants of early streets and pedestrian walkways can be found all over historic Boston. I've always admired these old stones because they remind me of a bygone era. There's a deep respect I have for history and I often wonder who trod over these stones.

This image, to me, is not unlike the stone wall from Pictorial Metaphor, posted last month. The differences, however, are in the sizes of the stones and how they are put together. Cobblestone pathways consist of similar sized stones in a typical "running bond" pattern.

There's a metaphor in this image. What is it to you? I think how nice it would be if my internal system was so ordered. I also think of direction, path, and journey. And cannot help but notice the difference in texture from stone to stone.

I've included a high resolution (1920 px) image. Image was shot at f/3.2 and focused on the foreground.

Have you ever wanted to just take your head off and hurl it over the edge of a rooftop? Well, artist Nina Levy thought of doing just that.

One of my favorite "quirky" places to visit is the DeCordova Sculpture Park and Museum in Lincoln, MA. Levy's sculpture, called "Headlong" is quite imposing at 7 feet tall. Levy challenges us to ask whether "certain additions or subtractions to the human body might make metaphorical, or even practical, sense."

I love this sculpture because sometimes I just need to laugh at what I go through. If I could, I would have this piece sitting on my front lawn.