Three people in an art gallery with a freight elevator door
I suppose that if you are camera-shy and you see me in a museum that you may want to run for cover. (Or just wait for me to become interested in the exhibits — I’m notorious for taking forever to work my way though museums. Family members have been known to just give up and go find a restaurant to wait for me to finally finish!) In any case, I like to photograph in museums, for the interesting architectural details and light and for the opportunity to watch people doing interesting things and assembling themselves into various compositions.
We were at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (SFMoMA) where we had seen a lot of very interesting stuff. (My favorite was the installation on the top floor by William Kentridge, “The Refusal of Time. I walked into it prepared to be unimpressed, but ended up being very moved by it.) Along the edge of a gallery on a lower floor there was a giant freight elevator door taking up almost all of one wall. One thing about museums is that almost anything seen in such a place has the potential to take on meanings beyond the ordinary, and for some reason this door caught my attention. I did as I often do with such subjects — I waited for people to populate this “intimate urban landscape” so that I could make a few photographs.
Photographer Michael Frye silhouetted against the fading light of winter San Joaquin Valley dusk sky.
Earlier this week I spent the day out in the San Joaquin Valley, photographing birds and this expansive landscape of water and sky and a few trees. (I also made a quick midday run up to the Sierra foothills on business, and it was wonderful to see the evidence of a relatively normal looking winter in California — water pooling in flats and snow on the peaks!) It was quiet in the morning when I arrived, and there were few others there at dawn. But shortly, as I was stopped photographing sandhill cranes, a car drove up and it was my friends Michael and Claudia — what a wonderful surprise!
These are long days, beginning with a 3:30 wake-up alarm, a two-hour pre-dawn drive in darkness, and arrival at my destination by perhaps 6:30 AM or so. I photograph for a few hours, take a midday break, and then return in the afternoon to photograph until the light is gone. The cycle of the afternoon photography is striking. I begin in good light, watching for the golden hour light to begin. Soon it arrives, and it goes quickly. On this evening it was hard to figure out where the birds would be, so we finally just decided to pick a spot and see what would happen. As the sun set, geese and cranes began to arrive — cranes flying past, mostly, and some geese landing in the ponds in front of us. We continue to find ways to photograph as the light fades — switching from long lenses to wide-angle, working with rather than against the blur of lower shutter speeds. But eventually it just plain becomes too dark and we stop photographing. And this, in many ways, is the most beautiful moment of the entire day — we lower our cameras and simply stand and look, on the best days standing with a small group of friends as the day ends.
A few people stand outside the Colchester Billiards and Snooker Club along a narrow curving street
During our lengthy travels (five weeks on the road!) this past summer we spent a bit more than a week in London. While most of our plans were in London, we decided to get out into the country at least once on this trip. So, more or less on a whim, we decided to take the train to the town of Colchester after reading a brief entry about it on some website or similar. (In some ways we are fans of injecting a bit of randomness into our trip planning — we often discover interesting things that way.)
Colchester is a smallish town at more or less the end of a spur railroad line. It obviously attracts a certain number of tourists, perhaps day trippers from London, since it has a number of shops and places to eat and so forth. It also has a few historic structures including a castle (of course!) and a very old church. On the other hand, it also features some mundane things — we saw a lot of hearing aid shops! Up this narrow, curving street I spotted an interesting spot of color in the green building, along with a few people populating the tables in front of the local Billiards and Snooker Club.
Photographer and visual opportunist. Daily photos since 2005, plus articles, reviews, news, and ideas.
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G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books and Amazon.
