Keeping Carson

While Meme,sister,Allison,Melanie get nails done and various other lady things, I am keeping Carson for them. We have ridden the bike with the carrier, got out some old toys of Nathaniel and gone about the yard.
It is all a bitter sweet experience for me. I am afraid that I have grown rusty in the entertaining of a one year old.

Wolverine Month

A few months ago I made a photograph a day of the same tree, along with a line a day, to the same poem. It drew less and less interest as the month drew on, but I persisted. This month, I will post a photograph a day on Wolverine. It too will garner little, if any, interest. Nothing I ever do does, what is new. Like Wolvervine, what I do best isn't very nice. There is just too much social media, a thousand photographers, a million poets, a zillion critics out there who find too much too compelling and entertaining to stop and spend any time on a silly Wolverine toy.
That toy though, holds significance for me. It belonged to my only grandson Nathaniel, now estranged in Japan, who liked to carry it around with him. It was one of the many toys that was left behind, now stored in the shed, except for Wolverine. He goes about with me in my pocket, and when I see some danger or need for him, I pull him out, and he gets me through it.
So I will not ask you to bear with me, for you don't. I will post in the spirit of Nathaniel and think of him and I and Wolverine in our world of Logan and friends. Peace out bub.

April Who?

It only goes to point out, most skim past my posts without reading the content or the captions. I clearly posted this same photograph after Kentucky beat Michigan in the final 8 and told on this blog what I did, reversing the colors. Ferns are not blue, you are right, you have never seen this color. There are no Calipari ferns. If you were paying attention, you would have realized that today is what? and that all the words I used in the caption were words referring to March madness and the Kentucky basketball coach Calipari, and one shining moment, and one and done, referring to his method of recruiting freshmen stars who go on to the NBA after one season. But  since most do not read captions, you only give a quick glance before moving on,  the joke is on you. Sorry. Start paying attention is all I can say, and DO NOT believe everything you see on Facebook for Calipari sake.

Define Me

Scoleafosis
by John Clare Stokes

Today Clyde Butcher, the Florida photographer who is famous for his black and white work in large format, with equally large hand made prints, posted a color photograph taken on his Iphone of his wife while on their trip out West this past year. Though Clyde said, it would be his only color photograph, Clyde was defining himself, or, in our fascination with Clyde and his use of a product of the masses, the Iphone, to create a beautiful image, we had defined Clyde.
A new Facebook friend, Tad Barney, recently posted the intriguing speculative question, that if he gathered thirty of his photographs from his body of work, but they all looked as if they were taken by thirty different photographers, did it mean he hadn't found out what he wanted to say with his work? Or did it mean he just wanted to say a lot of different things?
Of this forty-eight and counting responses Tad received,(of which I am greatly envious,HA) the most interesting outcome was the photographer David Carol, who Tad admires for his work having a continuity, a trademark, a Clyde Butcher if you will, on his Facebook page posting his next book from Cafe Royal Books, to be released this October, would be titled, "All my pictures look the Same!" as a result of Tad's words.
I could offer my suggestion to Tad, but I too after 43 years delving in photography,  am still looking for that signature look, that "Its a John Stokes". Recently I was admiring several Florida landscape photographers works, John Spohrer, Clyde of course, David Moynahan, Paul Marcellini and Carlton Ward. I got into the mode of thinking, "I need to go out and get me either a  Nikon D800 or a Canon EOS 5D Mark III with the 20mm or wider L lenses. Then perhaps I could start creating landscapes like theirs.
Then I went to David Carols page and equally admired his street photographs, an area I equally like to delve in. So what then, do I need a Leica type rangefinder camera? One of Tad's friends had the appropriate response for this thought: A photographer was invited over for dinner. The host carried on to the photographer, if only I had the same equipment of the photographer, I too would be like him. Upon leaving, the photographer remarked, my the meal was good, you must have a really good oven.
Thom Hogan often said it takes over 100,000 images annually to even consider yourself having mastery over a camera or saying you have mastered the craft. I do not know if that is valid, but I do know that as in any craft, or art, one does not become proficient by reading reviews and studying others works ad nauseous. At some point, you have to pick up the brush and begin painting.
It comes much easier for some than others, those gifted with the eye. But, that too, with work, can be sharpened, defined. There are a plethora of young photographers out there who have only been working with the camera for less than ten years yet are already in National Geographic, if you will.
There are times I think changing my name would be of some help. We all have been defined and placed in some category by those we know. Even Jesus was without honor by his own hometown Nazareth friends.
Say today I chose to publish a photograph in the vein of a Robert Mapplethorpe Crucifix in Urine? Those who KNOW me would gasp, would call, would question my faith, my sanity. I have been defined. They are comfortable as long as I am up on the Suwannee River trying to make "Beautiful" photographs, even if they are overly saturated and hotly post processed. And then there are those who for whatever reason I have offended or something at some point in time, I would hear from them? I never hear anything when all things are beautiful and inspirational. Is that what it would take? But then, they would not respond, for they would not know it was I behind the pen name.
I will simply get on with this rambling and finish with UCLA coach John Wooden. Wooden was an extraordinary player in his day at Purdue and an equally extraordinary coach at UCLA. No man on Wooden's first UCLA National Championship team was over 6-5. Wooden's life philosophy though was
things turn out best for the people who make the best of the way things turn out. While they did not have height, they would be the best at what they did have, and that was speed, conditioning, team work.
Wooden, also said, talent is God given. Be humble. Fame is man-given. Be grateful. Conceit is self-given. Be careful.
Finally, Wooden said, Be true to yourself, help others, make each day your masterpiece, make friendship a fine art, drink deeply from good books-especially the Bible, build a shelter against a rainy day, give thanks for your blessings and pray for guidance every day.
While it may not have much to do with finding a defining signature on your photography, it will much more importantly, go a long ways in determining a defining signature for your life.

Final Four

Today Kentucky meets Michigan for a spot in the final four at four. We await the remnant of family to come over for Sunday dinner. Melanie and I stayed home from church today. Melanie is especially flagging and so am I. I went over and got mamma from Paula's and so we wait, she reading the beloved paper and snoozing. Melanie has everything ready. On the trip back with mamma I stopped at Hill's field to see if the lavender in the field could be captured. I decided I would have to move further down to the right of the frame in order to capture it better. I then took a quick shot of the phlox starting to fill the ditches. In the backyard, after gathering three eggs, I tried to coax the chickens over for a shot, but they wouldn't comply, staying in the upper right of the frame.
The sky as you can see is a good blue and the wind is blowing the pond off the back yard. Saturation.
Again, I am in my posting funk, as usual in consternation over the lack of likes and comments.
I am liking, yet at the same time lamenting the beauty of photographers John Spohrer, Clyde Butcher, David Moynahan, Paul Marcellini and Carlton Wards photographs and the many shares and comments.
I told Melanie, they are light years above me. She disagreed. But then, I gave up on Kentucky to beat Lousville and she didn't. Oh for her positive outlook on life!!!! I could be a contender....

His Praise

Going through the files as I usually do this time of evening. Waiting for the NCAA Sweet 16 games to ensue, especially UK vs Louisville at 9:45PM. This photograph was taken last April along Old Country Club Road next to Cuz Yarbourough's place at the intersection of Old CC and 252.
The day was overcast with light rains on and off. They say worse weather is moving in this evening. It seems I am currently going through another of my many identity crisis. I am attempting to compete with the Carlton Ward's,John Moran's and David Moynehan's of this world, photographers far beyond my ability to capture as they do.
I call them Canon Marksmen. I am a little Canon man too, using mostly these days the Canon S95 point and shoot. One day perhaps I too will become a Marks man, purchasing the proverbial Canon Mark 3 or 4 or whatever iteration when my time comes, along with the proverbial 20mm lens, with the array of singe ray filters, perhaps even the gitzo tripod. I am getting ahead of my ability.

Snap Shots

I should have never done it, but I did anyway. I delved deeper into Carlton Wards photography, then from there two other Florida landscape photographers liked and it was all downhill from there. I came to the sudden if not already known realization why the photography just doesn't sing.
This photograph for example. I was walking along with Jordon and Pearce. Pearce was in a hurry to get back. Walking in the woods was not his idea at all of fun or interest. Jordon's likewise. And so, seeing the trees, I quickly took four or five snaps, quickly composing then moving on.
There is a magical, ethereal, outstanding quality to the photographs I viewed today. The lighting was fantastic. The composition, mostly it seemed, was made with a wide angle in the 20mm range. The colors were brilliant. The skies were heavenly. Nothing average or snap shot quality was found.
And yes, I am certain they are using post processing techniques I have never used, like masking and blending by hand, whatever he meant, since he said he does not use graduated filters.
They are probably all using full frame, I would go so far as to say Canon, for they all have a similar look.
Do I want to step up beyond snap shooting? Yes. Am I using my lack of equipment and post processing ability hold me back? Sure sounds like it.
I HAVE to learn some basic lessons yet after how long doing this?
Take a tripod. Take a light meter. Use manual settings more often. Study the light. Study the composition.
Wait. Study some more. Take away. Take less with a whir and a prayer that one will be correct. Get it right and shoot RAW for that day when you finally learn post process technique. Take three at least and bracket.
Otherwise, I may as well hang it up and quit taking so many snap shots. I am no tourist.

Re-Runs?

Well, friends, they do not care for re-runs. I thought, surely, what was liked on Thursday, would be equally liked on Friday. Not. Placing the same photograph on John Stokes Journey so far has garnered only 30 views and zero likes after being there since this morning. Yesterday, on the regular John Stokes page it garnered sixteen likes, one comment.
Not grand by any standard, but certainly better than zero.
Goes to show, unless you are constantly coming up with something new and exciting to titillate, to wow, you may as well just forget it. And often, believe me, I do.
After taking mamma down to the Southern Exposure Salon for her usual Friday at 1:oo appointment with Marina, I went by the gallery. The canvas print holder I had ordered from Dick Blick arrived and I wanted to switch out the wash tubs they were in. There was another artist friend there who asked how I got the vivid colors? I told her it was in camera. She asked if I could help her with her camera. Sure. I will set it to vivid. Take photographs like me.
And so I set up the prints in the gift shop. And will anyone notice? Yesterdays wows. Forget it?

Let God Arise

It usually takes a day. It is a work of grace in progress. It begins early in the day in despair, depression. The day ensues and grace has its way. There is a process of post and purge, post and purge. One begins to feel the pull from despair and repents of sharing nothing but the depression. The pain slowly subsides and grace takes hold. By evening time, one then is looking to post the positive, the uplifting. It happens slowly. It is as manna. Usually good for the evening. As by morning, the sun rises and the manna is spoiled. Yesterday grace gone. It is true, His mercies as His great faithfulness is renewed daily.
It is never overwhelming or awe inspiring, transforming visibly. It is subtle, still, non-intrusive, but often sufficient, enough to get one through. Let God arise, let the enemy flee.
Thus in the bottom of the frame, the dragonfly. In the tips of the blades of grass, the escape.
You do not grow in grace by going at a break neck pace. We were not built for speed. We are of the slow, the plodding toward God, crawling on one knee at a time. Take courage. You are not alone in the
field strewn with the fire weed.

Return

This photograph was taken at a very sad,sad time in our lives. Nathaniel was my first grandson, my fathers first great grandson he had never seen. And sadly, with his massive stroke, we will never be certain, when we took Nathaniel up to the VA in Lake City for my father to see, if he even made the connection or recognition. A few weeks after this photograph was taken,my father, on March 12, 2011 passed away. And then, on March 24, 2013, Nathaniel passed away. Not in death, but in separation from us. His parents, my son, ceasing all communication with us.
And so, this is a large reason why I am struggling myself to return, to crawl from the deep abyss of mourning and depression of sorrow. If anyone reads this, I apologize for sharing all this depressing stuff.
Some day I pray I shall return and joy shall fill our lives again. I pray for return. I pray for reunion. I pray for restoration. For relief.
Pray with me, if you are out there.

morning orison

upon the dawning...following morning orison...we are drawing...nearer the ocean.

A five seven vessel man. Earlier I wrote of the seven cycles. And so I have seven boats. Three kayaks, one purchased, two given to me by Bob Jones. Two canoes, one purchased from Steve Williams, the other abandoned and found, Two boats, the V hull my father owned, purchasing from Dr ZT Johnson called Tiki and the jon boat, also from my father, once used in the pond at Crawfordville, used by Landon, my son.
Like the cycles, there was the time when at least once weekly I would take one out either at Alligator, Watertown, Ocean Pond or one of the rivers, Suwannee, Santa Fe, Itchetucknee. I do not know why all ceasing has taken place. I liken some of it to my loss of work, career and a sort of fifteen year drift.
Some perhaps to just slowing down after turning fifty and lacking the energy.
Nevertheless, the boats, like the bikes, do not understand why the neglect. Patiently they await the return.
My morning orison. To return.

Beyond Moniac

Seven bicycles sit in various places. Basso and Miele, the road bikes with the Campagnola Athena grouppo in the tool shed. Both chrome moly lugged steel, one Italian the other Canadian. The Trek Mountain bike that belonged to Roger Sessler in the pool house. The Giant Mountain bike from Eric, Jessica my niece husband on the back porch. The various other three in sheds and places, one with the child carrier, two others with parts missing, used to keep others functional.
I will go out and air up the tires, check the chains for rust, spray some WD on them. Used to be a time when daily I would rotate about, riding each at least once weekly. Now, they sit and wait my return.
Much sits and waits my return. It has a been a long descending that I have done since leaving JCPenney on that unexpected Friday in April when they said they were 'letting me go'.
It hit like a sledge hammer then and the numbness continues well after ten plus years. I have never quite recovered. I had come to the conclusion back then there was not much in life I was cut out for, and when I was able to provide somewhat of a living for my family being a retail manager, well, when that ended, I was just not prepared after nineteen years. I tried with Sears for six years and when that store closed unexpectedly in a August, again, I languished. I so feigned starting anew. A one year stint with Florida Power was the latest venture I undertook and that was a year ago.
And so another year has gone and the return has not taken place. Will I ever return?
There was a time when my friend Roger was living, that in times like these, he would come over, like clockwork, and we would plan for the next days long ride. There was a purpose, an anticipation, a looking forward to it. It would often take 70 to a 100 miles to sort things out, but by the end of the ride, things were usually put back in perspective and they did not seem quite so out of balance.
It is going on nearly three years since Roger passed on on that terrible night in October when Allen his son in law gave me that broken phone call, that he was gone. Never to return.
And so I attempt myself to return. In the wanting so much wanting others in my life to return, it grows more and more difficult with each passing day.