We had about a half an inch of snow yesterday, bringing an end to the Thanksgiving weekend. There are few things as peaceful as being in a forest during a gentle snow storm. The snow, falling in gentle arcs, blankets the ground under the bare trees. The air is fresh and seems to soak up sound.
Category Archives: Works in Progress
Forest Spirits of Fall
The days of late fall are short in Maine. There is a point after the sun dips below the horizon when the deep cobalt sky of winter is the only light to penetrate the forest. The bole of the trees luminesce like bleached bones or rising spirits.
The Fires of Late Fall, Part 2
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The Fires of Late Fall
As fall progresses in Maine, the foliage slowly retreats into the forest like the embers of a fading fire. With the loss of the forest canopy, the sun sets these patches ablaze.
Traveling the Maine Byways
Maine is certainly home to some spectacular vistas from the Appalachian mountains to the Gulf of Maine. But it is the small places that populate the State that holds Maine’s real charm. Getting off those large numbered roads gives passing glances into a myriad of landscapes. Those small, unknown byways always lead somewhere.
Below the Surface
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Early Fall Foliage
Early fall is one of my favorite times in Maine. Apple season is just starting and late tomatoes are still being harvested. But the real magic is in the forests. While the deep ambers and reds of late fall are spectacular, the electric yellows and gold against the remaining green is just so vibrant, so full of life.
A note about my photography. I come from a documentary background that photographs without cropping, creating the final image in the camera. The photographs here represent what the camera saw. Except from some simple work on image contrast, nothing was added or changed digitally later. Click on the images for a larger view.
Swift River
The Swift River in the White Mountains National Park in New Hampshire follows the path of the Kancamagus Highway. The moonlight illuminates the coursing water and polished stone. The interplay between these two elements reveals their shared destiny. Both creating and destroying their mutual forms.
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Memories
I have been meditating on memories and genealogy. I am from a generation that broke away from the extended family structure. Over time, I have inherited objects from my grandparents and great grandparents. I have heard stories about them. The few memories I have are fractured and distant. All of these people are now dead. What remains are these objects. This image is from this work in progress.
This is a small vise from my maternal grandfather, a boat builder from Nova Scotia, Canada. My memories of him are cursory: a short man, a quiet man, a stern man. I don’t remember talking much with him. I have one memory of playing with him when he used the handle of his walking stick to trip me up. We repeated this game for several minutes: him catching my ankle, and me falling and laughing.
