In most places the twenty-four hours of a day are divided into day and night. In midst a lake there seem to be three phases instead: Fog, sun, and night. And the difference between fog and sun is no less than between day and night. The fog transforms every part of nature: Birds extend their sleep and wait for the sun to arrive; plants are cautious and don’t open up; all the tiny cobwebs are suddenly visible – tiny strings beaded with water pearls. A wet and moist world which is calm and peaceful. Photographers love fog. I love fog.
I grew up in a rural village with a large garden and I have fond memories of exploring it day in day out: Climbing the trees through all seasons, picking red currents, scything nettles, mowing our soccer pitch, chasing sheep, or having campfires; there was so much to do, to find, to enjoy.
But somehow, all these wonderful memories were stuffed away neatly and labeled as ‘being a kid’. It turns out, it’s not only about being a kid, it’s also about having a garden. No matter the age, there is so much to discover: I can lie for hours at the pond observing all of the different frogs (if only they would be less shy), I love raspberries and there are too many to snack all of them, and the starlings behave like our pets. And: It’s quiet.
After living in a city for more than ten years, it’s surprisingly easy to forget what you’re missing out on – but I am just about to rediscover everything. And I am not sure if going back to a city is an option afterwards.
A tempting shimmer,
often bright and sometimes dimmer,
tiny twinkles, shiny flickers,
mighty seas of jolly glimmer,
gently waving in the wind,
often aligned, yet intertwined,
thin blades on fire,
in shades refined,
ensnare the mind,
tether the eyes,
mankind inclined
to stay right here,
witness the rustling, bustling weeds,
small beads pinned by the sun,
a moment passes, all is gone.
Perhaps I am lagging behind a little with my all my photographs from the long summer; some photo posts are incoming. Perhaps I am also happy to have so many photographs so that I can keep on writing posts even if I don’t produce new ones. And, perhaps, I need a new format to publish my photographs after all.
A memory, far far away,
like a distant gentle smell,
appears and lingers on the soul,
as if it was just yesterday
that we got lost, nature embossed
so soft and mild, we long to dwell,
but it’s drowned by present tense,
and just leaves subtle wounds – farewell.
I love the process of making photographs: Turning the dials for setting shutter speed and aperture, framing the subject, experimenting with different lenses. The haptic feedback of turning the focus ring and observing how nature is transformed in front of your eyes: From soft and vague shapes, to well-lit and pin sharp flower petals, to out of focus trees at the dark forest edge. It brings joy to press the shutter, so much, in fact, that I often end up with way too many pictures of the same scene.
Best conditions for taking photographs are often the blue and golden hour, foggy forest scenes, or dramatic skies. Even though those nature spectacles are marvelous to experience and photograph, I am more satisfied when I manage to take appealing pictures without gorgeous light. At least appealing to myself, as I am aware that this style of photography is not everyone’s cup of tea.
On this particular day, wind and sun were strong. I went out during high noon expecting not too much, but I ended up with one of my favorites pictures of the whole trip so far: Grasses and flowers, moved by the wind. Taken in bright sunlight on a barren field. Simple shapes and patterns. Between abstract and concrete. A subject and a feeling. A sense of the scene.
In the beginning I wanted to photograph what I saw. Now, I like to believe that I photograph what I feel. How nature makes me feel at that point in time at that location. Of course, I still photograph what I see, but by now my repertoire of techniques has grown enough that I may come closer to the essence of the observed scene. Or: to one essence of the observed scene, allowing to take vastly different pictures of the same subject by using different techniques. At least sometimes, as this does not happen too often. But the best moments are when it does.
A recollection of some unconnected events (which may cross the line between fact and fiction).
We are hungry. Regrettably, this won’t change for today. „Why?“, you might ask; well, I’ll tell you.
Two weeks before our departure a package is delivered to our soon to be ex-home. Finally. It is a much needed cooking pot for our gas stove. In fact, it’s my brother‘s gas stove which I am borrowing since 10 years. Anyway, the pot is urgently needed because the old one has lost its coating and any food burns immediately. The new pot is not only very shiny and posh, but it also has a new lid that allows to pour off water easily. „Neat.“, we think and carry on with packing our stuff.
The fourth evening in our newly attained vanlife settles in. „Vanlife“ — there are not many words I find more repelling, except maybe „growth mindset“ or „analytical adaptability“. (Yes, I might have been looking at too many job postings recently, and yes, I also think that „analytical adaptability“ is an entirely fictitious term.) We are rather creative on this particular evening and are planning to cook noodles. Luckily we have the new pot ready to go and, as planned, it heats the water quickly, nothing burns at the bottom, everything goes smoothly. Almost. Until I use the new lid. Just for a split second I am a little careless. I ever so slightly stop to push against the weight of the noodles. But it’s already too late; all our food merges with the filthy ground below. „Neat.“, I think, and we starve for the evening.
Two weeks later, we have finally become accustomed to living in a car. It’s too cold in the mornings, too hot during midday, too tight to spread out, but too large so that there is always stuff to clean. Put simply, it’s beautiful. And we got used to using the lid of our shiny pot and utilized it to enjoy a great variety of meals. But today, it’s noodles day again. Rice noodles to be more specific, because my significant other is looking forward to them since we started our little trip. And she is also really hungry. A joyful anticipation for rice noodles — what could go wrong?
This time the lid just gives in; I don’t even notice any change in pressure I applied. One second, all noodles are in the pot. The next second, all noodles are on the ground. „Neat.“, I think, and write an unemotional review for a shiny cooking pot.
Bouldern? Witzig! Abwaschen? Nix. Im Schlafsack frieren? Nix. Zum fünften Mal dieselbe Kiste aus dem Kofferraum holen weil man jedes Mal eine Zutat vergisst? Nix! Kurvige Straßen entlang düsen? Witzig. Aprikosensaft? Witzig? Katalonier auf Englisch ansprechen? Nix! Von Waldkäuzen wachgehalten werden? Witzig. Von Hunden wachgehalten werden? Nix. Zusammen weiterhin ins Ungewisse fahren? Witzig!
Punkt im Dunkeln 