Lessons in Night Photography

About a year ago, I took a wonderful class taught by teacher, friend and mentor, Marty Springer.

As part of the course, we did an evening of night photography.

I struggled mightily with the class. It made no sense. Why shoot photos at night? Where is the light that’s so fun to play with?

And manual mode? I have to shoot in manual mode? Gah!

So I listened to Marty and she was very patient and I really just didn’t get it. I got a few good photos from that night, but most were sad, weird and blurry.

Recently, I checked out a book from the library by popular photography author Harold Davis. It’s called Creative Night: Digital Photography Tips & Techniques.

Harold doesn’t say anything different from what Marty taught me. He just said it again. For some reason, it stuck this time.

This weekend The Good Man took me out to Fort Baker in celebration of our second anniversary.

Turns out there is a pier at Fort Baker that affords perfect unblocked views of the Golden Gate Bridge.

I told my partner in crime, “oh we’re coming back here tonight.”

One rule of night photography is that you need a friend to go along to be your lookout. Setting up the camera takes a bit of concentration and exposures take a long time. As photographer, you get a bit focused. Having someone to keep the weirdos away is always a good idea.

The Good Man wasn’t in love with the idea of going out to a pier at 9:00 at night, but I was insistent. As many husbands have done in the face of insistent wives, he came along for the ride with only a few “hmphs” and snorting sounds.

City born and raised husband was geared up and ready to take on trouble from any kooks hanging out down at the pier.

Turns out, the only trouble we would have was from a large family of skunks dining at the trash dumpster nearby.

Let me tell you, both City Boy and Country Girl were equally cautious about those damn skunks.

The word “whooooa” was uttered a lot.

That said…the night journey was WELL worth the trip.

If only for this photo.

Others from the weekend available on my Flickr.

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Lessons in Night Photography text and images by Karen Fayeth are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

Life Imitating Art

So things are going to have to change up a bit here on the ol’ blog.

Ya see…I started a new job today.

After ten successful months of consulting work and being my own boss, I agreed to be owned by a corporation once again.

It’s a good job and a good company and this morning, nervous and anxious I burst out the gate, excited and ready to run.

This after I spent my last five days having a blast in New Mexico with my best friend in the whole world and two other good pals. Since my girlfriends are all teachers, this was a last hurrah for them, too.

A chance for us to act like kids before it became time to act like grownups.

Among other things, we hit the town of Ruidoso, NM and painted it red.

For my non-New Mexico readers, Ruidoso is known for, in this order:

1) Horse racing
2) Skiing
3) A preponderance of Texans

This weekend, the horses were fast, skiing non-existent and the place was crawling with Texans. An almost $900,000 purse for race number nine, the Rainbow Futurity, brought them out in droves.

I didn’t manage to take home any of that fast flowing cash, by the by.

After the races, some dancing got done. There might have been some “adult beverages.” Lots of cussing and discussing was also accomplished.

Yesterday, worn down with that good kind of tired, I came home to get ready to go to work. I had to pull the work clothes, dust off the cobwebs and act like a professional.

As time marches on, my idyllic weekend in New Mexico will be like a distant memory.

How long before I’m running as fast as I can, falling ever more behind, quirted into submission?

This being a grownup thing is a big load of horse hockey.

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Life Imitating Art and associated images by Karen Fayeth are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

How Do I Choose?

Going to get a little high minded for a Friday. I was presented with another blog post suggestion and this one poses quite a challenge. The assignment? A blog post sharing my top ten favorite works of art.

This is not an easy task. It is hard to come up with ten. It is hard to keep it to just ten. How does one choose from among all the works that touch my soul? Do I go with popular stuff? Do I go with less mainstream stuff?

And then, how does one find photos on the web that even come close to showing the magic of the work?

With much fussing and hand wringing, I’ve arrived at my list of ten. I’m sure the moment I hit “publish” I’ll change my mind.

All but one of these items I have seen in person, and they stand out to me as show-stoppers. Items of art that made me step back, sit down, or stare transfixed (or all three).

Here we go, in no particular order:

Starry Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh

Van Gogh is, hands down, my favorite artist. I blame this on a high school English teacher who introduced me to his work.

The stabbing, slashing paint strokes appeal to me, and his pain on display, even in a pretty painting of flowers resonates with me. When I saw this painting in person at the MoMA in New York, I cried. Not just wept a little, I bawled. I’d been seeing The Good Man only six months at that point and yet he didn’t think I was weird. That *is* a good man.

Tree of Life by Gustav Klimt

This was a new friend I made at New York’s MoMA. After crying my eyes out over Van Gogh, I didn’t imagine I’d be able to learn to love any other art works that day. I was wrong. I’m not generally a fan of Klimt, but this painting was so engaging, it couldn’t be ignored. I go back and look at it pretty frequently while online. There is incredible detail in every square inch of this work.

Masked Ball at the Opera by Eduard Manet

I saw this at the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC back in the late 1990’s. I’ve found no photograph since that does the painting any justice. When you see this work in person, it’s painted in such a way that you feel like you are at the party. You can see the folds and wrinkles in the clothing of the other guests. You smile, you frown. They smile and frown back. You are there, in the room, at the party. It’s fascinating.

I stared at this painting for about an hour and still had a hard time tearing my eyes away.

Mourner Costume by Henri Matisse

I’m actually not much of a fan of Matisse’s work. His torn paper work for which he’s so famous rates only a “meh” from me. When I saw the permanent Matisse exhibit at National Gallery of Art it was mostly his paper works, so I walked through pretty quickly. I was about to leave when my eyes fell on this garment.

It’s torn paper style done with fabric. In this photo, it looks sort of dull and unimaginative. In person, it’s enchanting. The memories of this work of art have stayed with me for years. One day I’d love to try my hand at a cloth work inspired by this:

Dizziness by Iman Maleki

This is the only one I haven’t seen in person. I found it via the Art Gallery app on the iPhone and I’m utterly fascinated by this painting. It’s my wallpaper on the phone and I can stare at it and see something new every time. I feel some sort of kinship with the man in the work and I’m not sure why.

Los Dos Fridas by Frida Kahlo

It was hard to choose from among the Frida paintings as I love them all. In order to choose, I thought back to the exhibit of her work I’d attended at the De Young in San Francisco https://www.drlevinkind.com/priligy-dapoxetine/ . I thought about the one work I spent the most time with. It was this one.

La Pistola y El Corazon by George Yepes

There are actually two versions of this painting, one completed in 1989 and one in 2000. It is the 1989 version that is featured on the Los Lobos album of the same name. Sadly, that painting, owned by Sean Penn, burned in a house fire.

George Yepes created a new version of the painting, however, the 1989 version is my favorite. It’s darker and more intense. The second seems, to me, like only a riff on the original.

Room on the Verge by Patssi Valdez

I saw this work at the Chicano Visions exhibit at the De Young in San Francisco. The whimsy, the darkness, the movement of this work just drew me in. I sat down on the floor (no chairs or benches) and stared at it.

My fellow gallery goers looked at me like I’d lost my mind. I didn’t care. I wished I had five more eyes so I could to take in more of this painting all at once.

It’s gorgeous.

Jean D’aire, Burgher of Calais by August Rodin

I have an intense love for Rodin’s work and it all speaks to me of hard work and sadness and endurance. I discovered this particular work at the Cantor Center for Visual Arts on the Stanford Campus and it’s the one that sticks with me.

It was as part of a photography class that I was introduced to the Rodin Sculpture Garden, and I tried and tried to photograph the very serious faced Burgher. I have one photo that is pretty good, but it is only of his face. This photo shows the entire statue. He is the very definition of pathos.

Rose and Driftwood by Ansel Adams

I saw this at an Ansel Adams exhibit at the Bellagio casino in Las Vegas. The Good Man was there on business for a trade show, so I entertained myself during the days while he worked. I’d seen a lot of Adams before I took in this show, but somehow this little work had escaped my notice. I walked by it the first time and did a cartoon head whip like “whaaaaa?”

I stood in front of it and stared and stared and got lost in the depth of the woodgrain. It’s spectacular. It’s a gorgeous simplicity that is so hard to accomplish.

Whew…walking through all of this has left me exhausted. In a good way.

Now I need a nap and a vodka drink, not necessarily in that order.

Sometimes Words Just Don’t Get It

This morning, I sat quietly at my desk thinking about an appropriate blog post for this warm Friday.

A post that would wrap up all that went down this week, the highs, the lows, the heat, the headaches.

I found that I just didn’t have all the words to put together in a nice clean way that would properly explain it all.

So I had a bright idea. I would get my camera out and I would take a photo.

One photo that would explain it all. A visual metaphor for the week.

So I got my gear and I polished up the lens, checked battery levels, and figured I’d go outside to take the snap.

As I worked, I thought about potential shots in my head…

A wilted red rose on a drooping bush, weary in the heat?

A great macro photo of the beat up stop sign at the end of the road?

You know…something arty like that.

With camera ready, I turned and aimed the lens out my window to be sure it was working.

That’s when I saw the perfect image.

The image that properly describes everything that went by this week. A week that a former coworker would refer to as “being pulled through the knothole.”

Yup.

Here it is. I had to go no further than the table in front of the window to find my muse.

Yes, she’s awake. No, I don’t know why she’s laying there like that. She held that position for quite some time.

Right before rolling over and falling off the table, then getting stuck behind it.

If that’s not a metaphor, I don’t know what is.

¡Baila Me!

When the Gipsy Kings command you to dance, you dance.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t think you can dance. You dance anyway. You shake the maracas the Good Lord gave ya, and you have a good time doing it.

After many years of yearning to see the Gipsy Kings live, last weekend, I finally got my chance.

I got tickets back in April. I jumped on line the very second they went on sale and my diligence paid off. I scored two tickets second row center.

I knew it was going to be a good show. I had no idea it was going to be one of the most amazing shows I’ve ever seen.

The music of the Gipsy Kings is beautiful, traditional gitano music, played by brothers. The men, from two different families, were born in France, children of gitanos who fled during the Spanish Civil War of the 1930’s.

What I mean to say is…they are the real deal.

Their music moves me in ways I can’t understand.

Best not to even try to understand.

Three songs into the night, Patchai Reyes commanded us to dance.

And the people in the venue rose to their feet, and we danced.

Even The Good Man who doesn’t dance got up and danced. It was useless to resist.

At the beginning of the show, six men walked out with matching nylon strung acoustic guitars (four of them played upside down by left handers), hit a couple tune up notes and they were off to the races. I was struck by the blinding fast guitar work.

As the venue allowed photography, I tried to capture even a tiny bit of what we experienced that night. I found I was too enchanted by the music and didn’t actually take a lot of photos.

But here is a photo of Andre Reyes that gives you a small idea. I used as long an exposure as I dared to capture the movement of his hands. (Click to see a larger size)

My mother tells me that somewhere in the murky waters of my genetic past, we are what she calls “French gipsy”.

I understand that to be a true Gitano, you must be Gitano on all four sides…meaning, all four of your grandparents must be full-blooded Gitano. I’m not fully Gitano on any sides, but the rhythm resides somewhere in my strands of DNA.

On warm summer Saturday night in an outdoor mountain venue, the Gipsy Kings plucked the strings to my soul.

And I danced.

Oh, did I dance…