Exploring the wonders of creation through a 50mm lens...and other lenses too.

The final night of our vacation at the beach in Florida found all of us standing on the porch, our arms resting on the railing, waiting for the moon to rise over the watery horizon in the distance. Rather than sending the kids to bed on time, the adults let everyone stay up a bit longer, and then just a bit more, in order to see the full moon rise from the waters like Ares blazing his chariot across the daytime sky, though in place of a celestial furnace we beheld the moon, a dull hunk of rock lit to a bright flame by the same searing sun. The sky was dark, the waters warm, and the wind whispered in our ears when off in the distance the faintest sliver of light peeked out from the sea. The deep red light shone dimly at first, then grew to a bright brilliance on the nearly cloudless night as my wife and I, along with our kids, our friends, and their kids, watched the scene unfold before our eyes.

All this may sound just a tad melodramatic, but that really is how it felt to be there at the seashore watching the full moon rise on the last night of our vacation. It was not something I could recall having viewed at any other time in my life, and I don’t expect to have the opportunity to experience something like this for quite some time again. As we watched the moon climb higher in the sky our friends’ son asked if I might try to capture the moment with my camera. I hesitated, knowing that no photograph could hop to contain the sheer scale and wonder of what we were witnessing, but I told him I would at least be willing to try. I got my Fuji 100F and travel tripod, found a vantage point on the deck, set everything up, and took a picture: F/9, ISO 800, 26 seconds. Then another, and then a third. The child was grateful that I was willing to oblige; away went my camera, and we all returned to watch the moon rise just a bit more. And then just a bit more…

When I loaded the RAW file in Lightroom several days later, what I saw didn’t exactly knock my socks off.

While this was a bit more reflective of the reality of the scene, it in no way captured the essence of the experience. It didn’t even connect the image to a memory, since it hardly shows anything at all. I spent a while tweaking the RAW file–developing the film, one might say, in order to produce an image that would transport me, my wife, our friends, or any of our kids back to that moment in time on our last night at the beach. I even went to far at to use Lightroom’s AI Denoise feature to clean things up even more than I normally would, and the result is what you see at the top of this week’s post. It wasn’t a shot I planned or even wanted to take, but it ended up being one of my favorites from the whole trip.

Here’s to life, to family, to friends, and to taking chances :)

This is another first for me, kind of a follow-up of sorts to last week’s shot of a sunset at this very same location. Until this point in my life I had never taken a long-exposure picture of the moon rising over the ocean, and when this opportunity presented itself I was more than a little excited to take my little workhorse, the trusty ol’ Fuji X100F, out to the water’s edge and see what kinds of images I could capture. I had a few ideas in mind but, as a midwesterner who has only ever been to the ocean a few times in my life, I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing or how to go about creating a good composition. I knew I wanted a long-exposure shot to make the wavy surface smooth, and I also wanted to capture the rising celestial body in the distance, but beyond that I wasn’t quite sure what exactly I was going for.

The thing I realized over the course of our time at the beach, which probably seems obvious to more seasoned photographers who take these kinds of images, is that it really helps to orient the viewer if there is something familiar for them to latch on to. Not necessarily a focal point per se, but more of a reference point so people looking at the image have a sense of time, place, scale, or other such defining characteristic. As I took pictures while the moon rose in the distance it occurred to me that if I had few seashells in the foreground I could not only use them to create that sense of context but balance out the color as well. I found a couple shells on the sand (it wasn’t hard, which was one of those things that kind of surprised me but is probably no big deal to people who spend any amount of time on the coast) and moved them in front of my camera, which was positioned atop my nearly completely-collapsed travel tripod. To get this image I focused on the large orange shell, set the aperture to f/13, the ISO to 200, and the shutter to 20 seconds. The waves crashed, the wind whispered, the shells stayed in place, and when it was done I had one of the most incredible images I have ever taken.

Sure there are things I could have done differently, like use a wide-angle lens to get even more of the seashore in the shot, or somehow placed my camera lower on the ground, but I can confidently say that never in my life had I taken a picture quite like this and even now it still kind of surprises me. The icing on the cake, the pièce de résistance if you will, is the reflection of the moon shimmering on the surface of the waters. It adds a sense of calm to the composition, and I consider myself immensely fortunate to have been able to be at this place, in this time, to create this composition.

Over the past decade or so that I have been taking photography more seriously as an artistic and, dare I say, intellectual pursuit, I have tried my hand at lots of different types of images: portrait, close-up, street, black and white, wildlife, landscape, and probably a lot more. One thing I haven’t attempted, because I honestly just have not had the opportunity, is an oceanside sunset. Those scenarios don’t come along too often when you live in Oklahoma, and most images at the edge of the water are taken by the side of a lake or pond and can’t come close to capturing the grandeur of being at the edge of an entire sea.

Until now 😊

This summer my family and I were able to take a trip that we had been talking about for years–a genuine beach vacation at the ocean. I brought only my Fuji X100F with me, leaving all my DSLRs and other gear, including my oft-used 105mm macro lens, at home and instead went with a much more minimalist approach. The only accessory in my bag was my trusty Peak Design Travel Tripod, which I can hardly recommend strongly enough for anyone who travels. I wanted to have with me everything I needed to take pictures of the trip, but not so much stuff that I was constantly thinking about which camera/lens combination to use or, worse, taking my attention away from my family and our friends with whom we shared the experience. And is often the case in these kinds of situations, my trusty little X100F, that diminutive photographic powerhouse, performed admirably.

I shot this the second night we were at the beach house, kind of as an experiment to see if I could capture even a fraction of the grandeur before me but also as a way of just getting some practice. Not living by the beach means I don’t have much experience with taking pictures like this, so while I had some things in mind as far as techniques and camera settings, I wasn’t sure how well it would all work.

In the end I think this image turned out pretty well considering the circumstances. (i.e. my inexperience, mostly.) I set my tripod on the sand with its legs fully collapsed, dialed in an exposure of f/16, ISO 200, and 28 second shutter, and took several shots as the sun was setting. Some were blurry because the ocean waves moved the sand beneath my tripod, but this one was sharp, colorful, and in my opinion the best of the bunch. I really like how the long exposure smoothed out the waves to a glassy shine, but I also wonder what it would look like if I would have been able to freeze the motion of a wave crashing on shore with a much faster shutter. Though given the light that would have necessitated a much larger aperture, and then I would have had depth of field problems, and…well, that’s how things go with photography. It’s all part of the fun :)

I was really going back and forth about what to do with this image. It’s not all that different from other photos I have taken of magnolia flowers over the years, and I’m not entirely sure it demonstrates much of anything in the way of growth and progression as a photographer. On the other hand, I like the picture from a compositional standpoint–it’s got some interesting elements all on its own, despite its similarity to other photos. I guess you could also consider it a companion piece to last week’s shot of a magnolia flower in an earlier state of bloom, whereas this one is nearing the end of its time as a flower before turning into a seed pod. Either way, I think this image stands on its own quite well even though it does have a couple minor issues that I’m not sure pleased with, and as such I figure it’s worth featuring here on the blog.

If there’s one thing that separates this shot from almost all my other magnolia flower photos I have taken, it’s the colors. Rather than white petals, green leaves, or red seeds this image is saturated with oranges, browns, and other earth tones. It’s almost the floral embodiment of Genesis 3:19, though at the same time could be considered foreshadowing for 2 Corinthians 5:15. Or maybe it’s just a cool-looking closeup of a flower. Whatever works for you :) The first thing you notice is the dark brown curlicues, or at least that was my intention, and then as you look outward from the center you’ll see that it’s embedded in this bundle of flower petals that were white but are now dull brown and will soon fall away–literally. There’s something kind of comforting about this shot, like the flower petals are almost hugging the core but knowing that their grasp won’t last long. At least that’s the kind of thought that it evokes for me anyway, but it might do something entirely different for you.

I shot this with my now-standard combination of Nikon D750 and 105mm f/2.8 macro lens, and like last week’s image I used a pretty small aperture of f/22 in order to get the shot nice and sharp where I wanted it. I did take a few exposures at f/11 and even f/8, but the depth of field was just way too small and the image wasn’t really that interesting as a result. Kind of a less-is-more, if you know what I mean. Or maybe more is more, since the depth of field is greater? I dunno. Either way, this was a fun image to take and in a lot of ways a new take on a familiar subject but one that I was glad I could capture.

Years ago in the spring of 2015 I took this photo of a magnolia tree flower while out walking around Theta Pond on the OSU campus, and that started a decade-long infatuation with photographing these magnificent signs of spring that show up every May here in Oklahoma. I don’t take photos of magnolias as often, and as regularly, as crocus or Indian paintbrush flowers, but they are fun to shoot when I have the opportunity. Or when I just think of it, because let’s face it, I often don’t :) Another classic is this top-down view that I took a few years later in the spring of 2017, again with my 50mm lens but augmented by a set of close-up filters. (Maybe a +4, perhaps? I can’t remember, and the image EXIF data doesn’t have any information about filters.) Both images were fine and, to be honest, quite good considering my skill level and the relatively modest gear with which I was shooting. But now, with a proper macro lens, it sure is fun to revisit some of these types of shots to see how things have evolved over time.

While this week’s photo wouldn’t have happened without its earlier counterparts as stepping stones on the path of learning, there’s no denying that by almost all accounts I can think of it’s just a better image. It’s much cleaner and crisper than the others, with a nice sense of contrast between light and dark. It has foreground petals to create a sense of depth and context, and I intentionally used a small aperture of f/22 in order to get a good balance between depth of field and subject sharpness. The one thing I wish I could do differently, and hope to pull off someday, is alter the lighting so that it’s more even and less harsh. At first the sun was covered in a layer of clouds, but over the course of just two or three minutes that I was facing the flower and firing off some exposures, the clouds dissipated and the sun came out—lending a brighter and more vibrant, but at the same time slightly less pleasant, light over the scene. It’s not bad, just one of those things I couldn’t control but hope to plan around the next time I go out to a magnolia tree with my camera in hand.

I’m curious though…when you look at this image, what do you see? A friend of mine took one look and said it was gross and disgusting, like dozens of slimy worms or something similar. I never thought of it that way, but everyone is entitled to their own interpretation when it comes to art, so this does leave me wondering what others see here. Is it even clear that it’s a flower, or did you think it was something else entirely? Have you taken similar shots and, if so, how did they turn out?