Yesterday I shared elsewhere a photograph that someone had posted featuring a line-up of scores of photographers, arrayed tripod-to-tripod, ready to photograph one of those iconic views that we all know so well. I suspect that we have all been to such places and either found the experience of seeing and photographing them to be powerful… or we might have been repulsed by the crowds of people all apparently trying to “capture” the same thing, among them perhaps a number of folks who might be trying to almost literally recreate versions of the scene that they had seen elsewhere.
The point of the share (seen here and here) was not complimentary. My reaction to the photograph was to wonder, even more than usual, why people would want to make photographs that way. I phrased it as, more or less, “yet another reason to avoid photographing icons.”
However, a person wrote to me after I posted and pointed out, with a bit of anger and with some justification I think, that complaining about and putting down those who want to photograph a beautiful place might seem a bit pretentious and self-righteous.
She has a point.
While there is something a bit troubling about seeing dozens of people lined up to make the very same photograph, some of us might be a bit too quick to jump to overly negative conclusions. Perhaps there is a way to cast this as a positive lesson, rather than ridicule. So let me engage in a bit of reflection and honesty. Continue reading Photographing Icons – Or Not→
Sea stacks near Rocky Point on a foggy evening along the Big Sur coastline.
This photograph was made along the Big Sur coastline roughly in the area between the Rocky Creek and Bixby Creek bridges, about as far south as we managed to get while wandering around before a 8:00 p.m. dinner reservation back in Monterey. (Hey, it was my birthday!) The Peninsula extending into the Pacific in the upper section of the frame could be any of probably hundreds of similar peninsulas where the steep hills of the Big Sur coast drop to meet the ocean – but this one happens to be Rocky Point. The foreground sea stack could be any of thousands (or tens of thousands? I see perhaps a dozen or more in this scene alone…) of similar features found almost anywhere you look along this coast.
The light was both interesting and challenging. In most cases, I would rather try to photograph this interesting, foggy atmosphere than shoot perfect blue-sky conditions. (The latter can occur, though not as often as photography might suggest! Fog is more common.) It was very late in the day, probably around 7:00 p.m, and the sun was low and mostly hidden behind the off-shore fog bank. Here and there the fog backed off a bit from the shoreline or thinned a bit, and slightly more light appeared. The sea stack was in one such spot, and around and beyond the point there is also a bit more light.
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” (Heyday Books) is available directly from him.
The green exterior of Columbus Tower, San Francisco.
This striking “flatiron” style building stands on a thin corner along Columbus Avenue which angles across San Francisco between the financial district, through North Beach, and eventually toward the waterfront. I had seen the building for many years, but hadn’t stopped to wonder about its story at all until I made this photograph. It was apparently constructed right after the 1906 earthquake, making it now over a century old. Much later in its interesting history it apparently begin to fall into disrepair. Eventually it was purchased by Francis Ford Coppola, who used it for his businesses.
On one of my “personal photo walks” though sections of San Francisco, I passed by after stopping for coffee in North Beach and heading back toward Market Street. The building is striking in many ways. The flatiron design always stands out, as the building is very narrow and very tall and stands at the end of a very narrow block of buildings. The intricate exterior would be worthy of attention even without its striking copper green color. I photographed the building from very close – an approach that I’ve been working with recently – placing a street lamp in front of the building and allowing the perspective distortion to remain in the shot.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer whose subjects include the Pacific coast, redwood forests, central California oak/grasslands, the Sierra Nevada, California deserts, urban landscapes, night photography, and more. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
It happens every year at about this time, close to the middle of August. Even though I have learned to expect it, I’m still happily surprised when it occurs. There is inevitably a day when I am outside and I sense something different in the world and I know (really know, not just know by looking at the calendar) that the seasonal trajectory is now beginning to leave summer behind and head inevitably toward autumn.
This is not a bad thing, by the way. I happen to love autumn.
A dry creek surrounded by golden autumn meadow grasses and illuminated by early morning light winds through a clump of small trees near Fletcher Lake, Yosemite National Park, California.
It often happens for me in the Sierra. I usually spend weeks there between June and October – the time of year when camping and backpacking are possible. The beginning of the season is marked by tremendous changes. Snow melts, rivers rise, meadows flood, plants emerge, flowers bloom, campgrounds open, trails clear, tourists arrive, plans are made and executed and many things are new, or at least new once again. Then on that August day, something changes. I cannot put my finger precisely on the nature of the change, but it is unmistakable and it often stops me momentarily in my tracks when it happens. For some reason I often associate it with the way the air seems to move and with the way it carries sound – I may notice something different in the sound of the breeze or the way it amplifies the sound of a cascade across a valley. There is something about the light that I think of as a kind of soft quality and a feeling that the color of the light might be a bit cooler. At about the same time I often notice certain other more concrete indications for the first time, too, such as the way that more of the corn lily plants start to become brown or even yellow and that grasses are less and less green and more and more brown.
I was not in the Sierra when it happened this year. This year, the past few months have not been a time for a lot of travel to places like the Sierra. I have only been to the Sierra on a single multi-day visit, and that was over a month ago. (Don’t worry – I will be going back soon!) So this year it happened at home, on a morning earlier this week – my birthday, actually – when I walked into our yard in the morning to take a look at the vegetable garden, and I notice that vague but unmistakable quality of light, quietness of the breeze, and softness of the atmosphere.
The calendar may say summer, and for more than a month to come, but I’m ready for autumn.
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” (Heyday Books) is available directly from him.
