In early July the temperature of the air and water were constantly fluctuating not only along the shore of Lake Superior, but in the microclimates of the many streams and rivers that feed into the lake.
As the sun passed behind some clouds and the air chilled, I saw a sudden mist form over the mouth of Devil Track River. It passed slowly, like a specter, across the rocks and water, and then was gone.
More from a recent trip to the North Shore.
These shots were created using Photomatix software, which is able to combine multiple exposures – very helpful for crepuscular shooting!
There’s a cold front on the way, and I’m preparing to say goodbye to summer. My next few posts will likely be of shots taken over the past couple months in one of my favorite summer places, along the north shore of Lake Superior near Grand Marais.
Sunset in Croftville
Last weekend my husband Mike and I were down in central Wisconsin. We drove back in the sweltering heat along Wisconsin’s very scenic Hwy. 35 which follows the Mississippi River and meanders through swampy lowlands, across backcountry farms, and past magnificent vistas of the river basin and surrounding hills.
Around Alma we encountered a thunderstorm that rained down big splattering raindrops. When we were on the other side of it I was excited to find my favorite light conditions – a dark storm blanketing the sky, with some sun breaking through to illuminate everything before it. I love the magical effects these conditions bring. In this case the sun was softly filtered – perfect for a portrait. I asked Mike to pull over at a scenic overlook and he graciously allowed me to take his picture. This photo was taken with an automatic Sony Cyber-shot – no bells and whistles – the light does it all!
This photograph has helped me realize more clearly how portraits rely on two kinds of light – the light from without, and the light from within. Part of my delight in being a photographer is discovering a natural harmony between the two, and an even bigger love that seems to come along with that.
Last September, while on a walking tour of the Quantock Hills in Somerset, UK, my husband and I spent the morning on perhaps the most amazing beach I’ve ever seen. Forged during the Jurassic period, the natural formations of fossil-embedded cliff, bedrock, stones, and today’s seaweed were endlessly interesting.
I know, I know.. I promised England and Iceland. But in keeping with my policy of ‘last in, first out’ (LIFO in accounting parlance), I want to share some of my favorite images from a trip I took last week to the North Shore of Lake Superior, up near Cascade State Park. I didn’t have much time for shooting, but the warm temperatures at dawn drew me out for some early morning wonderment.
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A week and a half ago I got back from a trip to England and Iceland. Over the next several posts I’ll be sharing some images from the trip.
Most likely I’ll be working backward chronologically (there’s been research showing that that’s the way memories are consolidated: when you sleep your memories come back to you from the previous day starting with the most recent one first), so that means I’ll be starting with Iceland.
As you might imagine, there are many amazing things to shoot in Iceland – in fact it’s a photographers paradise! Being so sparsely populated, and having such unique landforms, Iceland’s landscape is enthralling. Yet the first image I’d like to post shows another side of Iceland.
During the five days I was there, waves of misty rain continued to pass through, sometimes broken by several hours of sunshine. When it’s cloudy and the rain is falling, the buildings and people take center stage. I took this shot outside the Reykjavik City Library/Museum of Photography. Noticing this pair on the sidewalk ahead of me I pulled my camera out in the rain and grabbed a few shots before it got too wet. Initially I was attracted to the little girl’s awesome Hello Kitty raincoat, but beyond that I felt this scene helps suggest the Icelanders strong sense of family, culture, style and design.
Having lodged near the main street of art and craft galleries, I was so struck by the unique design aesthetic – that somehow combines the sober and traditional colors and materials (think Icelandic sweaters) with a very modern, daring style (think Björk). You can also hear this in the music of bands like Sigur Rós. At the National Museum of Iceland, I learned that Iceland was quite an undeveloped country, largely missed by the Industrial Revolution, until the early 20th century when they jumped into the modern world with both feet. Perhaps that helps explain the contrast.
The subject of a child and its parent is also a reminder for me that in Iceland, the child’s last name is formed from the parent’s first name (usually the father’s but sometimes the mother’s), plus an indication of whether they are a daughter or a son. For example, if the mom’s name were Bryndís then her daughter might have the last name Bryndísardóttir. It’s actually illegal to take the last name of one’s spouse. To me as an American, there’s something very powerful and intriguing about a culture that links each person to their parent in this way.
One other thing I didn’t notice about this shot until I got home, is that there is a rather uncanny mirror image. Can you spot it??
I’ve been waiting all summer for a chance to go up to the North Shore of Lake Superior. It’s an area I love for its forests, shoreline, and the lake itself – which always brings me a peculiar sense of my own existence, perhaps best described as experiencing ‘heaven on earth.’
The other week I finally made it there, ostensibly to scout trails in preparation for a Nordic Walking Weekend Getaway I’m hosting in October. Not much time to take photographs, but I’d brought my camera anyway, thinking I’d continue taking various shots of the wide expanse of water, picking up where I left off last year. At the same time I was also wondering how, despite the glory of the lake, I might keep my images and experience fresh.
Fortunately, the lake was in an entirely different mood that weekend. Ensconced in fog, all I was able to see of her for three days was just a trace of waves next to the shore. It was as if she were lifting her dress to show just a little of her petticoat, creating intimacy and just a suggestion of the body I already knew underneath. All of the negative space created by the water disappearing into fog produced an understated, ambiguous effect – similar to that found in Japanese art, I later realized. It also served to draw one’s focus acutely to the shoreline.
In my last post I talked about recently feeling emotionally unable to meet scenes of overt beauty and grandeur with my camera. This foggy weekend in its comforting quiet and soft light was what actually helped bring back my sense of joy and excitement. How interesting, and significant, it was for me that this should happen on the North Shore, where my spirit as a photographer has always been most nurtured.
Over the last couple summers I’ve been quite a zealous landscape photographer – eagerly rising early and staying out late to explore and capture all the beauty I could find. This summer has been different. The time I’ve had available to spend outdoors more often than not I’ve been driven to use for exercise – walking, Nordic walking, running, or biking. I’ve taken trips into some striking countryside and not brought my camera along. The skies have been dramatic, with so many storms passing through, and I’ve felt like I “should” try to capture all the drama that’s been happening there, but I haven’t. I’ve done a few paintings to try to capture the effects, but mostly the images make an imprint in my mind’s eye, then slowly fade away. I ask myself, is being a photographer more about seeing potentially great photographs, or actually taking them?
I have to be honest and say that in my last post, even though I used the word beautiful, I’m aware I’ve been in a state recently in which I can recognize things I know to be beautiful, but that the feelings that usually come with witnessing beauty have been absent for me. The emotions haven’t been there. I’ve found that when I’ve tried to capture a scene I know to be “beautiful” – the wild and majestic sky, the play of sunlight across water, etc., I’ve not been really up to it. Instead, I’ve found that when almost all the light is gone and I’ve turned my camera toward what’s in front of me, with no expectations of the subject or myself, I’ve found some satisfaction. Prairie plants, lake plants, things that are just there. I like that as subjects they hold little pretense. And I think because of that, that is where I found a little magic happening this summer.
