Some seasonal patterns are delightful because they are so predictable. As residents of New England we are all faced with the reality of seasonal change, and although I tend to dislike change in general terms, I must admit that the change of seasons is a source of delight for me. Just as one season seems to be wearing on, a new season arrives and refreshes you.
Others seasonal patterns are torture because of their predictability. My photography files show an annual pattern of decreasing numbers of photos through the months of October and November. This is easily explained by the fact that I am a teacher. As days get shorter I find myself leaving for work in the dark and arriving back home just around sunset. Again and again I find the words “No Nature Today” as the only weekday entries in my red journals and I always find myself feeling somewhat despondent that I am cut off from the outdoors.
Then there are those aberrations that cause you to emerge from a stupor that you didn’t realize that you had fallen into. Last year we experienced the effects of the strongest El Nino event ever recorded. As a teacher, the most obvious effect was the fact that we didn’t have a single snow day. As a photographer, however, I noticed an increase in the number of photos that I took because I was able to go for walks in areas that would normally be denied to me by deep snow. This resulted in fewer days off, but better ones from a purely personal perspective.
As I browsed through photos of last winter and the one before that, looking for more contrast between them, I stumbled upon two of photos that I had completely forgotten about. One (of a cardinal) was taken in November of 2014 and the other (of a goldfinch) was taken in February of 2015. There is absolutely no connection between them except for the fact that each was the product of a technical failure. Since change seems to be the theme that is rattling around in my head today, I thought I’d go with it and share pictures I normally keep hidden.
Each one of these photos was taken on a snowy day. From a photographer’s point of view, this means one very good thing and one very bad thing. The good thing is the light. Snow makes everything softer and the colors are richer and more pleasing to the eye. Cloud cover eliminates areas of sharp contrast and there are virtually no shadows of any kind, meaning there is very little black. Photographs taken on snowy days can start to take on the look of paintings.
Too much falling snow can cause trouble, but a little bit can actually add a wonderful quality of motion and action to a photograph that is in reality a moment that has been frozen in time. Basically, it all comes down to luck. If, in the one sixtieth of a second that the shutter was actually open, a snowflake passed close to a particular object without crossing in front of one of its important features (like a bird’s eye, for instance) you will have captured an accent that adds feeling to the photo.
Curiously, the lack of light is also the very bad thing about snowy days. The same lack of direct light that spares the photographer all of those harsh shadows also presents the very real technical challenge of capturing an image that is sharp and clear. With a large lens that is capable of zooming in on small targets, one generally needs to have rather fast shutter speeds, which requires a lot of light. On a snowy day such quick shutter speeds are often impossible. This makes taking sharp images of fidgety birds extremely difficult. Basically, it’s the snowflake problem all over again. In the spirit of change, however, I have decided to alter my view of failure.
In my opinion, some of the most beautiful paintings ever made are the impressionist paintings of the 19th Century. Artists like Monet and Renoir took the bold step of trying to capture movement in paintings and they worked very quickly in order to capture the mood of the moment. I find it delightful that in contrast to at quick painting, an “impressionist” photo has to be a “slow” photo.
In impressionism the use of color is important and the use of black pigment is avoided. In my bad photos, it is the color that really stands out while areas of black are blurred into dark grays. Every part of the cardinal is blurry and the wings are “moving” so much faster than the bird’s body that they seem to almost disappear. Even the branch is blurry because the cardinal set it motion when it launched itself into flight. In the goldfinch photo, the bird is coming in for a landing. Streaks of white suggest a snowstorm, but the lilac branch the bird is about to land on is stationary and “sharp” in its detail. Note, however, that the bird’s feet seem to pass through the branch like a ghost; a visitor from the Ethereal Plane attempting to interact with the Material Plane.
Please understand that I am in no way attempting to elevate the name of Danielson to the same lofty pedestal that supports Monet and Renoir. I’ll leave that to others. Instead I am just trying to cheer myself up. Winter is coming, snow will return, and that change will bring new opportunities for us to behold tremendous beauty.
Bill Danielson has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, and the Massachusetts State Parks. He has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 19 years and he also teaches high school biology and physics. Visit www.speakingofnature.com for more information, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.