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The subject of this post’s image is a change of pace. While most of my images come from photo walks in cities, resulting in architecture and city-scape pictures, I also enjoy walks in nature.

I took this picture while lying flat on my stomach – there are times when a photographer has to make sacrifices for a good image – during a walk through the San Diego Balboa Park.  It was early morning, so I’m pretty sure I didn’t block anyone’s path through the park.

This is an image of one of nature’s many uniquely beautiful, if not a little slimy, creatures.  It was necessary to be low to the ground to get the proper perspective of the snail.  The picture just wouldn’t be the same if I had bend standing.  So, as with “The Tower”, comfort and pride took a back seat — and a full sprawl — to capturing the desired picture.

San Diego is a photographer’s paradise, with the Balboa Park, the famous Zoo, the port and Naval Base and the Pacific Coast that offers myriad dramatic views.

But virtually all places have beautiful, unique and picture-worthy nature.  Sometimes it doesn’t stand out, as was the case with this snail, in all its sliminess, starting to climb a cactus plant.  The challenge is to see these opportunities and become one with the subject, even if it means lying prone in the dirt in a park and getting a little dirty in the process.

There are times when it’s not possible to head outdoors and rely on natural light for images like Golden Bridge, The Crown Jewel, Concrete and High Noon.  There are times when the image is made in a studio – or in my case, a makeshift studio/ guest bedroom – using flash or other forms of light.  The image Elegant Curves is an example of a studio lit image.

Photographers around the world face this ongoing challenge in dealing with restrictions associated with the novel coronavirus – COVID-19.

I consider being forced into the studio to practice photography a silver lining to an otherwise sad and difficult situation.  It has rekindled my interest in using flash.  This practice and patience but if I stay with the process then the results can be very satisfying.

This image is of a small cast-iron truck that was my father’s when he was young, putting its age somewhere around eight-five years old.  While I don’t remember seeing this specific toy when I was growing up, I do remember the excitement and awe I felt when I was given permission to go down in the basement and play with Dad’s trucks, boats and other metal toys stored in a trunk in the back of Grandpa’s workshop.  I remember how old the toys looked when I was a child.  They no longer look old but instead reflect the enjoyment multiple generations have had playing with them.

This is just one of a series of such images I’m working on, capturing those feelings of nostalgia I feel when I look through the collection I inherited when Dad passed away eighteen months ago. 

It’s generally accepted that naturally lit outdoor subjects photograph better in the soft morning or evening light – the light during the golden hour.  Does this mean that we should all put our cameras away or head indoors with them during the middle of the day when natural light is less favorable?  Certainly not!

Natural light during the middle of the day can have dramatic effects on an image’s mood and story.

The Texas sun can be extremely unforgiving, especially during the long “dog days” of summer.  This image was taken on such a hot day during the lunch break from a regional photography convention.  I took advantage of the break for a short photo walk.

The walk that resulted in this image, for me, is much more memorable for the birds that attacked me as I inadvertently wandered too close to one of their injured comrades.  This image also conjures up the feeling of the intense summer sun still relentlessly pounding down on those lucky enough to have survived the bird attack.

While it might be assumed that the story in this image is that of being stranded in the middle of an ocean with no wind to move the boat, it was actually taken on a pedestrian bridge in the middle of land-locked Dallas, Texas.  Yes, I do like taking pictures of bridges, including those taken while standing on the bridge.

So, by all means, continue to take or make photographs during the day.  Maybe use lens filters or shade or other ways to disperse the intense light.  Clouds work well for that purpose as well.  There are stories to be told no matter the quality or kind of light nature has to offer.  Just be careful of the birds.

Bridges represent some of humankind’s greatest achievements, both in engineering and in architecture and art.  Those elements that make a bridge structurally sound often also lends the bridge beauty.  A proper mix of form with that function makes a bridge stand out as a work of art.

Spokane, Washington has one such bridge, the Monroe Street Bridge.  This is the third bridge built to span the Spokane River at this point.  The first two, built in the 19^th century looked to require real fortitude to cross. This one, when finished in 1911, had the longest concrete arch in the United States and the third longest in the world.

Bridges fascinate me, just as I’m drawn to other feats of engineering and architecture like the Eiffel Tower.

I include this image now as the third example of how different light produces dramatically different moods.  First was an example of optimism during the Golden Hour.  Next was a feeling of awe during the Blue Hour.  And, in this image, a sense permanence enhanced by the light of the night after the sun has completely set; that light coming either from the moon or the lights of the city.

Presenting this as monochrome, I feel, emphasizes the structural majesty of the long concrete span over the rough and snowy terrain on the shores of the Spokane River.

My feet are still thawing out from the cold and snow that I walked through to get this image.  Ah, the sacrifices photographers make for their art.

There’s a time of day when the most beautiful natural light makes it possible to take pictures that truly stand out.  It is a fickle time, one that doesn’t always happen.  When it does, it can go by in a fleeting moment – breaking the photographer’s heart –  or it can linger for a gloriously long period of time – filling the photographer’s heart with joy and memory card with incredible images.

I chose this picture to illustrate this “crown jewel of light” for photographers because it is an illustration of how common pictures can be transformed into striking images when taken during the blue hour.  While not formally defined and while it rarely lasts for an hour, the blue hour is the period of time after the sun has set and the beautiful pink colors of sunset are no longer present.  It also occurs in the morning, but in my experience, the real magic happens after sunset.  During this period, the sun is below the horizon and the light from the sun turns the sky a beautiful deep blue, as can be seen in this image.

I have a number of blue-hour images, so it was a challenge choosing which one to include in this post.  This is a testament to the way the deep blue light enhances an image, especially a cityscape in the evenings when that light serves as such an amazing backdrop to the city lights.

I also chose this image of the Tower Bridge because of its relationship to the Crown Jewels of the United Kingdom, which are stored and displayed in the London Tower, after which the Tower Bridge is named.

When visiting a city, I make a point of scouting out locations where the light of the blue hour will enhance the image.  Sometimes, as was the case with this image, it requires standing in a cold wind near water, which increases the feeling of cold, late into the evening in order to capture a crown jewel of an image.

It’s reliably been worth the wait, and the cold feet.

Photography, in all its forms, is about capturing light.  The quality and effect of the light depends on many factors.  Indoor light differs from outdoor light.  Light produced by a flash differs from natural light.  The same subject photographed at noon on a sunny day will have a different – potentially a dramatically different – feel than the same subject taken at noon on a cloudy day.

This is an image of the Astoria–Megler Bridge, which crosses the Columbia River between the states of Oregon and Washington.  It was taken during the golden hour, the period of time an hour after sunrise or an hour before sunset, when natural light is at its softest. 

The soft light combined with the beautiful pink sky was, for a short period, enhanced by the golden light from the sun reflecting off of the green steel bridge, turning it a beautiful  golden hue.  It was a breath-taking addition to what was already a spectacular view from Coxcomb Hill near the Astoria Column in Astoria, Oregon.

In the next set of posts, I’ll share photographs of bridges – a favorite subject of mine – taken at different times to show the effect that light has on the mood of an image.  One will be during the blue hour and the other in the dead of night.  I’ll follow that with an image taken standing on a bridge at high noon.

As an aside, Astoria is a beautiful little town with a fascinating history going back to Lewis and Clark, who spent a winter in Fort Clatsop near what was to become Astoria and where they finished their westward trek looking for the hoped-for northwest passage.  It’s a great place to kick off an exploration of your own down the scenic Pacific Coast Highway.

The world is full of messages.  Some are made through sound, as in the siren of a first responder or the cry of a hungry baby.  Some are written, as in the “Sale” sign on the door of a souvenir store or the “End is Near” sign held by the doomsday prophet.  Some are based on symbols, as in a red octagon stop sign or the steeple of a place of worship.  Many are obvious and explicit.  Some are subtle and hidden.

This story I imagine in this image is based on a subtle and private message.  A hidden message despite it being visible for.

I took this photograph in the Old Town Square (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Town_Square) in Prague.  The bars in the first-floor windows speak to the number of people who walk by those windows every day.

When I see this image, my focus rests on the lace curtain swaying out the second-story window.  In that open window and flowing curtain, I see a message to the sender’s partner: Come home.  It’s a powerful,  silent message that will resonate as soon as the lace appears in the partner’s field of vision.

Clearly, there are other interpretations of potential messages being communicated by the curtain.  Maybe it is simply the result of a welcomed summer breeze gently adjusting the curtain to its position outside the window.

The romantic side of me prefers the story of a message between loving partners.

Sometimes you’re just lucky.  A seemingly random shot while riding a cable car up to Table Mountain turns into an iconic shot.

Or at least I think it should be iconic.  Despite my theory that there isn’t a photograph that hasn’t already been taken, I have not been able to find another version of this image in my searching through various online photography repositories.

It was taken from the cable care in Cape Town, South Africa.  I have a single picture that contains this particular rock.  The cable car rotated as it went up to afford everyone a chance to see all of the incredible views.  I suspect I was focusing on the coastline when I snapped this photograph.  I don’t remember seeing the lioness when taking the shot.

In my search for other versions, I was able to find Lion’s Head Mountain that is also in Cape Town.  I was able to find Lion Rock Hill in Hong Kong.  There is Sigiriya, or Lion Rock in Sri Lanka.  But, so far, I haven’t been able to find another version of this image of a rock formation of the head of a lioness overlooking the amazing view of the coastline near Cape Town.

This reminds me a little bit of the now lost Old Man of the Mountain rock formation that is enshrined on the New Hampshire license plate.  Unfortunately, that rock formation collapsed in 2003.  However, the Old Man was visible from many angles and from miles away.  The lioness in this picture must only be visible from a very specific point on that cable car ride.  Otherwise, it truly would be an iconic photograph.  A photograph that would be on every Instagram photographer’s must-have list when visiting Cape Town.

I’ll accept some occasional luck, especially when it results in a beautiful image of a truly beautiful coastline being guarded by an ever vigilant, but apparently invisible, Lioness.

Is it okay for a photographer to have a favorite image? It seems a little unfair to the photographer’s other creations, kind of like a parent having a favorite child leaving the others to wonder what‘s wrong with the world.

If it is acceptable, then this is my favorite image (to date), and because it is my favorite image, I want to give it to you (while supplies last).  More on that in a bit.

This image speaks to optimism with the top of the iconic Margaret Hunt Bridge in Dallas breaking through the fog, portending a positive day ahead.

When I rolled out of bed long before dawn on the day I took this picture, I had planned to go to the Commerce Street Bridge and experiment with the crystal ball I had recently purchased.  It was another tool in my growing photography arsenal, and I wanted to see what I could do with it.  I was crestfallen when I got to the bridge and found a heavy fog filling the Trinity River bottoms.  I almost drove off to find a different location to take pictures while the fog dispersed.  But I saw enough of the lights of the Hunt Bridge to get me to walk halfway across the Commerce Street Bridge to see if I could get any pictures through the fog.  I am so happy I did.  This turned out to be a fruitful morning with multiple images of bridges and streetlamps and car lights interacting with the fog in dramatic ways.  In time I’ll show additional images from that morning.

This image is actually an award winner, having taken the grand prize in the 2019 Trinity River Conversancy photography contest.  Not that I’m one to toot my own horn. . . .

On the “I’ll give it to you” comment I made above – my philosophy is that an image, a photograph, isn’t complete until it is printed.  Yes, there are many amazing pictures that can be viewed online and I, like many, enjoy perusing the libraries of online images.  But, as with the images you see on srd.photo, those images are incomplete.  They don’t really exist.  They are begging to be fully realized by being printed.

I plan to offer some of my images to be purchased in printed and framed form.  I view this as completing the realization of those images, presented as my attempt at creating art.  Stay tuned if you are reading this early in the life of srd.photo.  I am in the process of setting up the framing workshop and deciding how to go about selling my prints.

In the meantime, I’m offering a free postcard-style print of “Rising Above.”  This is a while-supplies-last offer; for the time being, it’s limited to the USA (I need to figure out international postage rates).

All you need to do follow the directions on the “Free Print” page.  This will put you into my mailing list and will result in your receiving a free print through your friendly local postal service.

In the post for “Doll House” I talked about “micro architecture” pictures that I include in my goals for photo walks.  By micro architecture I mean photographs that focus on a portion of a building, be it windows, doors, door knobs, or other features of the building.

In that image I showed a beautiful little house in a hamlet in southern Czechia.  This image is from a walk in Potsdam, Germany, leading up to the grounds that include the Sanssouci Palace.  Potsdam is a short train ride from Berlin and was the residence of kings and kaisers until the first world war.

There is so much history, both inspiringly good and heart-rendingly bad, that can be explored in both Berlin and Potsdam.  For me, this image reflects that rich history.  On first glance it is tempting to look at this doorway merely as an all-too-common example of a dilapidated door in a run-down building that’s likely to be torn down.  I hope that doesn’t happen to this building.

The degree of wear on the stairs speaks to the untold number of feet that have climbed there to pass through these doors.  Was it a place of business or a gathering place of courtiers? What drew so many sets of feet to traverse those stairs? 

The elegance of the entryway makes me wonder who built the house.  Was it a merchant showing his importance to the community by adding elegance to the design of his house?  Was it a government functionary trying to climb the social ladder in the royal courts?

The artful graffiti begs the question as to why the door – and the building of which it is a part – has been allowed to go into such a state of disrepair. 

There is an arc of history being told by this entryway into an old building – history that should be preserved.