Category Archives: photography

Musings

I am definitely drawn to photograph some images over and over again. Anyone who reads my blog regularly will recognize the beach where I walk regularly. There is an endless supply of seagulls, surfers, sunsets, hang gliders, and more. And I am drawn to photograph them again and again, trying new angles, different light, close ups and vistas. But is the beach my muse?

Yesterday after a long and busy week keeping me mostly indoors and mostly away from my camera, I just felt the urge to go outside and take some photos. I was exhausted, my brain full after finishing our first full week in the SDAWP Invitational Summer Institute AND still trying to keep up with and participate in the CLMOOC, and yet I could feel my camera calling.

My husband was in the kitchen performing his culinary magic, the cats lounging nearby (never wanting him beyond their line of sight), so I grabbed my camera and heading into the backyard.

I noticed the lavender first. It’s not growing as well as I would like, but that didn’t stop me from learning in to get close to this beauty.

I love playing with macro, the way the lens focuses in on the near and blurs out the background. The afternoon sun allowed the vibrance of the greens and purples to come through. As I looked down I noticed a succulent in a pot that I hadn’t paid any attention to before. I got low–on my knees–and tucked in under the scented geraniums to get close enough. I’m remembering that succulents use those small leaves to conserve water, a great adaptation for an environment like this one where water is scarce…and water restrictions are limiting our elective watering too.

I continued to wander, aiming my lens at whatever caught my eye. I unlatched the gate and headed toward the front yard. There are usually dandelions there–much to my husband’s chagrin…and my delight. I noticed this yellow bloom.

and then later, played with the image with the sketch app.

And this later stage dandelion, with most of its seeds blown away caught my eye. I found myself thinking about wishes and how we often make wishes on a dandelion puff just before we blow the seeds away. Do those wishes take root or do they float away beyond our reach?

I like the idea that there are still a few wishes left hanging here…and posted this on a friend’s Facebook page to send her birthday wishes last night. Later, I played with Waterlogue, a watercolor app just to see what effect it might have.

But as I continue to think about this idea of muse, I find myself rejecting the idea that the dandelion is the muse. I do and have taken plenty of dandelion photos. But I think that the muse, for me, is the camera itself.

With a camera in my hand, my senses are heightened. I notice my surroundings–with my eyes and my ears…all my senses seem to fire. And even when I don’t capture an amazing photo, I feel like I see more, hear more, am more present in the moment.

And, as I seek an interesting photo, I find myself looking beyond the beautiful. Those golden sunset moments are pretty reliable…and I think I will never tire of them, but I am also seeking images that make me think, that help me see beyond the surface and find the beauty in what I might have dismissed as ugly, disposable, a nuisance…

which reminds me as an educator and a human being that we all need to look past the obvious, make a connection and get under the surface to see what we haven’t noticed before. This dandelion plant caught my eye and drew me into the dry remnants of the puff, the lone seed hanging on, the bud getting ready to reveal the brilliant yellow flower that doesn’t even hint at becoming a puffy seed ball. It would be easy to yank this week out and toss it into the green waste (and my husband might when he heads out to mow the lawn), but I’m glad I got to lean in, look closely and discover some of the wonders I might have otherwise missed.

I feel lucky to have my camera as my muse…and even without looking through my lens, it’s teaching me to pay attention, look closely, and connect to better understand myself and my world…and better yet, give me insights into the experiences of others as well. I may not walk in the shoes of the people I encounter, but by listening carefully, looking closely, and opening my heart, I can do my part to be inclusive, accepting, and strive to understand beyond my own experiences.

How does your muse influence you?

Silent Sunday: June 21, 2015

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Learning Season

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Officially I guess you can call this the off season for many teachers, the time when schools close for the year, graduations happen, grades are posted, and vacations scheduled. But there is no off season for learning.

In my few days between closing my elementary classroom and beginning a fast-paced four weeks facilitating our SDAWP Summer Invitational Institute, I have taken some time for myself (most notably, a morning lounging in bed well past my usual 5:30am wake up time)…and for some off season learning.

I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time driving the freeways between San Diego and Los Angeles over the last week, experiencing the traffic flow (or lack of flow), talking with people who live in the LA area, and spending time exploring this rich and varied place. In some places driving great distances is the norm. I have cousins in Washington state who think nothing of jumping in the car and driving for hours across the state to have lunch with a friend or relative and then head back home. And then there are people in my own community who resist a drive south of the racetrack because they don’t want to deal with the traffic that is common on the nearby freeway interchange.

As I planned a trip to the LA area to visit my son this week, we brainstormed interesting things to do and places to take photos…and there are many. I carefully planned my own commute to try to avoid morning rush hour (or is that hours?), and found myself thinking about the factors that essentially wall people in their communities…and traffic and transportation are definitely some of them. With the luxury of a car, I can go places without scoping out bus stops or worrying if someone peed on the seat of the train (had a conversation about this with a lovely young woman who had to buy a new outfit at the conference I was attending because of this issue). But honestly, I’m not so sure just how far I would travel if I had to deal with this kind of gridlock daily.

As we headed out toward Malibu to explore the coastline, my son explained that he tries not to go more than 15 miles from where he lives (and sometimes that 15 miles can easily take an hour to traverse), that it just takes too much time and effort. And there really is no off season for traffic in LA. But he’s a good son and humors his mom, and we did work to time our trip to avoid the peak traffic times.

Not too many miles from the urban centers of LA are long stretches of beautiful beaches and magnificent canyons. I love the character of piers–it seems that each has its own personality. And in the gray overcast that if typical coastal SoCal June gloom, we met up with these seagulls who posed perfectly for my shot.

They’ve learned that most people are more interested in taking photos than in bothering them, letting us get quite close. One of the things I hate most about the coastal grays of May and June is the way it washes all the colors out of the surroundings. But looking down below the pier, I was able to see the turquoises, greens and blues of the water.

And some miles further north we found Matador beach, a place with huge rocks that jut out of the sand. Gray weather doesn’t deter determined beach goers–there were plenty of people at the beach. The tide was fairly high and people were tucked into openings along the cliff face watching children race the waves in hallways carved from rock.

In one of the openings sat a couple of lobster traps washed up on the shore. I leaned in close with my macro lens to capture some of the complexities of the trap…and very nearly drenched my shoes with the wave that snuck up. Luckily, I had a graceful moment and lifted my foot just before the wave broke…and still got the shot!

Rather than finding the freeway to get back, we headed down a canyon with majestic views of the hillsides. In spite of the drought, you can see that we’ve had some recent rains.

And I love the way that urban flowers (some might call them weeds), find cracks in the asphalt to grow and blossom.

And like the urban flowers, humans also find ways to grow and blossom. LA has a variety of unique communities and many many walls painted with murals, colorful artwork that speaks to the resilience of the human spirit.

And if you look closely you can find the beauty in the ordinary–the shadows cast on old brick buildings, the way the light plays in the treetops as the sun begins to dip…

And if I had been able to stay late enough, I would have seen these chandeliers lit as they hung from the old oak tree…but there is something beautiful and interesting about seeing them in silhouette on among the longest of days this year.

It’s hard to believe that I have lived most of my life in Southern California and only recently begun to explore Los Angeles. You don’t have to go far to travel to new heights and experiences…mostly what you need to fresh eyes, and it doesn’t hurt to have a camera handy! I love that there is no off season for learning…it’s a daily adventure!

(And #CLMOOC starts today…more ways to learn and play! Feel free to join in the fun.)

Silent Sunday: June 14, 2015

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The Vibrance of Walking

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There is something about putting one foot in front of the other, moving forward, heading somewhere–even if the destination isn’t clear. I’ve really only learned to appreciate walking in the last few years…before that it was simply a way to get from one place to another rather than an activity in itself.

As I read Brainpickings today, this piece about walking and wanderlust caught my attention. Rebecca Solnit wrote a book called Wanderlust: A History of Walking…and though I haven’t read the book, this quote caught my attention:

Thinking is generally thought of as doing nothing in a production-oriented culture, and doing nothing is hard to do. It’s best done by disguising it as doing something, and the something closest to doing nothing is walking. Walking itself is the intentional act closest to the unwilled rhythms of the body, to breathing and the beating of the heart. It strikes a delicate balance between working and idling, being and doing. It is a bodily labor that produces nothing but thoughts, experiences, arrivals.

And for me, walking is a way of paying attention. Paying attention to my thoughts and feelings and to the world around me. That “nothing” of walking works as production for me. It generates creativity, increases my energy and problem solving, and generally increases the vibrance of my daily life.

Walking some dusty urban trails in our downtown park yesterday, I was struck by these vivid desert flowers. They’ve taken advantage of the rains in May and blooms are in evidence.

Up hills and down, following the twists and turns of the trails I noticed the dryness and imagined what the brush would look like in August. But for now, a carpet of color explodes calling to the bees and other pollinators…and reminding me to notice and appreciate beauty in unlikely spaces, beyond the park’s groomed landscapes and curated exhibits. Geoff and I were noticing the differences in the yellow flowers…and naming the ones we have come to know, natives (like me) to this dry and wondrous place.

And in the formal park, we walked by many beautiful blooms. This hibiscus caught my eye–not only because it is vivid and beautiful, but because of the way the stamen cast a shadow onto the petals. It would have been easy to walk by, but because I was walking with no particular destination, I took the time to lean down and look closely–finding something wondrous!

Walking, ideally, is a state in which the mind, the body, and the world are aligned, as though they were three characters finally in conversation together, three notes suddenly making a chord. Walking allows us to be in our bodies and in the world without being made busy by them. It leaves us free to think without being wholly lost in our thoughts.

[…]

The rhythm of walking generates a kind of rhythm of thinking, and the passage through a landscape echoes or stimulates the passage through a series of thoughts. This creates an odd consonance between internal and external passage, one that suggests that the mind is also a landscape of sorts and that walking is one way to traverse it. A new thought often seems like a feature of the landscape that was there all along, as though thinking were traveling rather than making. And so one aspect of the history of walking is the history of thinking made concrete — for the motions of the mind cannot be traced, but those of the feet can.

Today’s landscape for walking was quite different as I headed out in the early morning light, beckoned by the low tide and time pressures. There was a stillness beneath the rhythmic roar of the waves, quieting the shouts of work that needs doing and responsibilities to deal with, creating space for thought…and no thought.

And while I find my peace though the lens of my camera, Geoff finds his in his call to pick up litter in this beautiful place. There are plenty of plastic straws, baggies, and food wrappers…and the occasional vibrant red ball left behind, bounced onto the shore by the waves. We are both engaged in our art, in the rhythms of our body, and in the vibrance of the walk.

Silent Sunday: June 7, 2015

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Silent Sunday: May 31, 2015

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Breaking Through

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Living where I do, sometimes it seems like the skies are always blue and the sun is always shining. And lots of people equate the blue skies and sunshine with happiness. Sometimes, though, it is gray skies, dense clouds, and the promise of rain that soothe the parched land and the stresses of everyday life.

As much as I love my work, the end of the school year brings its share of stresses. And for me the answer to those stresses is not more work (to catch up–as tempting as that is), but to get away and clear my mind, move my body and appreciate the beauty and love in my life.

Heading up toward Stonewall Peak with thick, wet clouds wrapping us in their embrace quieted the roar of all the tasks that need to be done and made space to listen to the bird songs, the wind, and the sound of my own breath. And as I broke through my own funk, I also noticed how nature was dealing with the effects of the devastating fires from a few years ago.

This Tennessee Williams quote captures the quiet power of nature.

The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks.

We found ourselves mesmerized by this tree that had grown into and around a big boulder.

As we hiked, I noticed details…like raindrops on wildflowers and the still life arranged by the wind. And as I noticed, the knots in my shoulders loosened and I felt relaxation breaking through.

When we drove down the mountain heading toward home, the skies were still gray but my own mood had lifted. I felt the satisfying tiredness that comes from following trails, climbing rocks, and walking miles. Like the violets breaking rocks, I can feel the healing breaking through life’s stresses giving me energy and strength for the week ahead.