It all started here, back in February. I got really fascinated with creating minimal, linear compositions with sticks, stems, & snow. At the time, I wondered how I might explore the series in other seasons, since part of what really made it work was the solid white backdrop.
Today’s image works on the same aesthetic with the bare stems left over from winter hanging over the black water of the creek. It looks like the winter scene in negative.
97/365: plant stems over the creek
If you like this series, just type “bare bones” in the search field to see all the posts so far.
A favorite assemblage of water, sunlight, and rocks caught up in a lovely dance.
93/365: creek reflection
If I could only photograph one thing for the rest of my life, I would choose reflection. There is always something there. Movement, layering, distortion. It’s like going through the looking glass and meeting reality’s alter ego.
82/365: march snow
Sometimes, I just don’t have the words. When that happens, I rely on other people’s. This favorite quotation could easily be my personal motto:
“Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder.” – E. B. White
76/365: ice patterns, refreeze, minnehaha creek
It was written in the receding line of snow at our neighborhood sledding hill – the last day of sledding for a while. Maybe for the season. With a string of 50 degree days ahead, the world is utterly transformed.
66/365: sledding hill
Today’s post title is also the title of a song by The Head & the Heart. We fell in love with this band after seeing them play live at Festival Palomino last fall.
I can get lost in a picture like this. In my mind’s eye, I am high above the earth, gazing down at the terrible power of churning ocean waves dark with storm when, in reality, I’m out for an afternoon stroll on the frozen creek.
As Anatole France put it, “Imagination is everything.”
Landscape revisited. Monochromatic. Horizonless. No sunsets, waterfalls, grand vistas. All this picture needs is one tiny star…do you see it?
47/365: winter leaves
Snow serves as winter’s record-keeper. No movement goes untracked. This section of the creek mapped the intersections of raccoon rush hour and the sun’s low-angled journey across the afternoon sky.
22/365: tracks & shadows
We live near an erratic creek. It rises and falls and freezes and thaws at the slightest provocation. Yesterday’s mild air had softened the icy surface causing it to emit an aqua glow. Along the surface, where puddles had formed midday, intricate geometric patterns emerged from the refreeze and drew my eye to objects engulfed in the transformation.
16/365: twigs in ice
The story of Saturday was our family bike ride to Minnehaha Falls. The flooded creek had turned the bike path into a lake. The water was well over our pedals and we could feel the current moving us along.
Undeterred, we moved to the street and followed the creek from a safer, drier distance. We were awed by the power of the rushing water, the way it changed the landscape; the fury of the falls was nothing short of sublime.
195/365: minnehaha falls a la J.M.W. Turner