Her heathy moors and winding vales;
The scenes where wretched Fancy roves,
Pursuing past unhappy loves!
Farewell my friends! farewell my foes!
My peace with these, my love with those-
The bursting tears my heart declare,
Farewell, my bonie banks of Ayr.
The gloomy night is gathering fast
Robert Burns
Johnclarestokes
Who recalls before the days of PC, the story of Little Black Sambo, how the four tigers took Sambo’s clothes and ran around the tree, claiming they were the prettiest, until they turned to ghee, or butter, of which Sambo’s mom made pancakes?
I loved that story!
Photo composite
For this shot I hiked over a mile with heavy lens in tow. When I got to my spot, I waited around for two hours. The day before, seeing 4-5 Osprey continually diving, but from a further vantage point, I thought the longer hike to a closer location would be worth it. Then came two boats of fishermen to stay in the spot. Tiring of listening to their music and profanity, I headed back. About a half mile back, two Osprey circled and it seemed the boats had moved. I returned. The Osprey left too.
All this to point out, a friend of mine, who gets paid good money to take people out on his pontoon boat, to shoot eagles and Osprey, chased an Osprey around on a lake for twenty minutes, taking nearly a 1000 shots, all keepers I’m sure.
My point? I guess one, I feel the chasing around these birds fishing constitutes harassment. Two, you can’t get decent shots from a distance, so a boat or some means are necessary if you are serious. Three, though you can get decent photos from amateur equipment, you really need pro expensive gear to get the “money” shot.
Of course, 'audience reaction' is all dependent on your audience. So you do need to choose your audience wisely. Nonetheless, it is also true in life. We only need to reference Justin Bieber, Kim what's her name and the Housewives of, well any number of cities. A quality which many of us would like, is often hijacked by the masses.
Here is John's post. I'll 'cut and paste' here so more people see it (Facebook does not like links) but I will post the link later in the comments section. And thank you John for the nice mention of me. ( I get embarrassed when people do that )
"Something I find to be true is people for the most part just want to see something beautiful. And, they do not want to engage beyond viewing, then moving on.
This I find to occur often, one example being when I posted a scenic of Cedar Key from long ago. It got around three hundred views. I followed this up with a photograph of the old Sundance bar and a couple and their little dog fishing from the pier at Cedar Key. To me, these two photographs were much more interesting and intriguing. But they both received around fifty views.
I am almost to the point of growing weary of posting photographs that receive the beautiful moniker. I really do not know what I am after, for I too gravitate toward beauty, it is in our redeemed nature. But on a deeper level I desire to go beyond the surface, obvious beauty of a scene to the essence level of portraying pathos, sorrow, hope, joy, anything but beautiful. Steve Coleman the photographer from Australia uses a Mamyia7 film camera capable of producing some of the sharpest photographs imaginable, yet he deliberately chooses to blur his images by hand holding long exposures. He is weary of the arcane, landscape cookie cutter, beautiful scenes so many crank out with their Canon Mark threes.
I would ultimately strive for the photograph to touch people on a deeper level, even to make them squirm, maybe question a reason for something, to cause a reaction, an engaging. And is that not what is at the heart of art? To convey a worldview of the artist? To cause one to view the world on a deeper level beyond the easy beautiful and moving on to the next beautiful.
Ray Stevens said Everything is Beautiful, In its own way, and he was right. It is also a terrible cliche and each time I receive a beautiful remark, I think of the song and say, whoops,I did it again, stayed upon the surface.
And I will admit, we all are out for recognition. We are busy tooting our horns and screaming for notice.
It is difficult to shun the adulation and dare perhaps offend or challenge by offering photographs or works that go to another level, even a darker level, for it is sometimes in darkness where light is fully appreciated.
I think of the photojournalist Eugene Smith. In the seventies I was greatly moved and influenced with his photographs of the children and families in Japan sick from mercury poisoning from a chemical plant in their community. The birth defects were rampant. Smith captured in stark black and white the pathos, the sad humanity, and yet, the boundless love of a mother to hold dearly her deformed child.
Moving stuff. Way beyond the beautiful I am too prone to. Images I hold in my mind to this day. Who holds the beautiful sunset with azaleas I just took? Few." ~ John Stokes
Like an American Pie do you recall the day
the madness died?
Were you standing on some asphalt court
free throw line?
And did you hurl that ball over that chain
link fence?
Or did you just sit and tear up that office
bracket?
I know it will always be the day we drove
The Chevy to the levee
But the virus wouldn’t die.
the foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can
fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low
on the rim of the sky,
Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness
that may not die.
YB Yeats
The White Birds
W. B. Yeats - 1865-1939
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.
Johnclare Stokes
Sullen we drove down Baya
The sting of death
Clinging to the driver side
Window
We do not need this
On Friday thirteen
Hair appointments have
Been made
Gallery socials with
Invisible works displayed
Letters Unopened to read
And reply
Before we die.
Watertown Lake
In the me first kayak world we live in, I still prefer the canoe. While it lends itself to solo, it easily accommodates a friend. It’s ease of entry is appreciated. It’s ability to carry camera gear especially.
My dream rig would be a lightweight Kevlar wee lassie design.
Johnclarestokes
Blame not the scorching wind
It thought its breeze was soothing.
Blame not the burning sun
It thought its beams were warming.
Blame not the frost of morning
It thought its blanket was cooling.
Blame not the waters drowning
It thought its depths a baptism
Blame not the sand that grinds
It thought its grains a boy's mine.
Blame not the rains that flood
It thought its drops crops loved
Blame not the ones who hide
They thought from love they could abide.
Blame not Cline Feagles foggy mist
It thought the photographer loved it.
John Clare Stokes
In the sojourn here
The traipsing through
Those trampling down
In search of a city
There will be some
Fantastic scenery
Amazing places
You will even
Possibly for a time
Take your eyes from
The search
Thinking
It's not worth the
Looking
Here is enough
Beauty
But take it upon faith
Believe me
It's better than
Even poetry.
