I ventured out to the local park on a cloudy morning, camera in tow. It was warm and humid, the air heavy with moisture. The usual walkers and joggers were absent; maybe everyone expected rain. Part of me worried that I’d get caught in it. With the camera exposed, I’d be forced to duck under cover of a pavilion and wait it out.
Overhead, tall cabbage palms were filled with grackles and mockingbirds that grew noisier as I approached. The grackles were loudest, crying out and flapping their wings, probably warning each other about the intruder (me). Even though I scanned the trembling palm fronds, I had a hard time spotting them. Besides, although they made the most noise, it was the smaller things living underfoot that held my attention. It didn’t rain until much later, and I was grateful to capture the quiet images below.
Thanks for taking a look, and please be sure to visit Mindy at Orange Moon Photography, hopefully making your way through this month’s circle blog.
The peace lily (which is not technically a lily but a flowering plant in the Aracae family) borders the front of our home. It flowers without my help–one of the few plants that manages to thrive under the care of my brown thumbs.
I regularly cut a few of the blooms and keep them in a vase on our dinner table. Every now and then, they inspire me to reach for the camera. I love the curve of the stem, the small curl at the tip, the textures and lines, and yet the simplicity.
It’s a strange flower when you really get up close and take a look. The spiky middle (the spadix) is actually where several tiny flowers grow, and the white part is not a petal at all but a leaf that shields the spadix. It appears tough and delicate at once, a unique contradiction.
Here are a few images of the not-technically-a-lily peace lily.
Thank you for stopping by and please take a moment to visit Emily Kohl’s blog this month to see what she’s been shooting.
This world is but a canvas to our imagination.
~ Henry David Thoreau
It is spring, and I have decided to start a vegetable garden. Years ago, my husband built two raised beds, and I made my first attempt at growing fruits and vegetables.
Gardening reminds me of my grandparents, who both grew up in the Cuban countryside and loved growing things, most of all large and bountiful avocado and mango trees that thrived in Miami. We have one each that they gifted to us when we first bought our house. Each summer, when we enjoy a harvest of more mangoes than we can eat and creamy and not as plentiful avocados, I am grateful to them both, whom I sorely miss.
I inherited their love of the earth but not their green thumbs, unfortunately. Each time I try my hand at gardening, I tend to kill almost everything. It breaks my heart, which is probably why the garden beds have stood empty for many seasons now. But I am trying again, and each seedling that sprouts has my full attention and my highest hopes. They also seem to have personalities of their own as they turn their tender leaves towards the sun, which captures my imagination and my admiration. The spindly collards, the graceful chards, showing off their pretty red stems. Those pushy sunflowers, shoving their way to the front. I hope they make it, each and every one.
Please take the time to visit Emily Kohl Photography
and see what inspired her this month. Thanks for stopping by!
Photography is an art of observation.
It has little to do with the things you see,
and everything to do with the way you see them.
~ Elliot Erwitt
Sometimes I feel like I am in a photography rut. Every subject is either too familiar or not entirely willing to be photographed. For these reasons, the Elliot Erwitt quote felt most fitting for this month’s post.
I decided to spend some time with various flowers because they always draw my eye but present the problem of being too familiar. With this particular flower ( I think it’s a calendula, but I’m not entirely sure), I tried to see it in a fresh way, playing with my angles and lenses and the light.
I’ve ordered them below from the start of the shoot to the finish. The more time I spent with the flower, the happier I became with the images. The way I saw the flower shifted, making it new to me. It was an unexpected and pleasing shift in perspective, particularly towards the end. Even though my back ached and my eyes were straining to focus, I felt like I was finally “seeing.”
Thanks for stopping by, and please take the time to visit Sharon Meyer Photography for another take on Erwitt’s wise words!
“Every now and again take a good look at something not made with hands- a mountain, a star, the turn of a stream. There will come to you wisdom and patience and solace and, above all, the assurance that you are not alone in the world.”
I have lived in Florida all of my life. As a child, I always looked forward to going to the beach. We visited the beaches of Key Biscayne almost every weekend during the summer. Despite the inevitable sunburns, it was my favorite thing to do.
As an adult, I am still so grateful to live close to the ocean. And I have come to appreciate it even when it might not be warm enough for me to swim in or sunny enough for basking…
when the surface of the water does not glitter with sunlight or glow a postcard perfect turquoise but instead melts into the gray of the sky.
Just being there, next to the ocean, standing in that place where land meets sea meets air, is enough.
It’s vastness is humbling, and there are always signs of the world it shelters beneath its waves.
It’s where I go to escape myself, my worries, the list of things that press on each day. It is there that I can feel everything that Sidney Lovett talks about, “wisdom and patience and solace and, above all, the assurance that you are not alone in the world.”
Please take the time to visit Arthur at LUPJi Photography and see how Lovett’s quote inspired his photography and storytelling. Thanks for coming by!