Photographing during the Golden Hour is as contrived as it is tempting. Even the most common mountain weeds end up resembling medieval weapons drawn in preparation for battle.
I suppose there is more to these plants than meets the eye: they are incredibly resilient, growing through rock and reaching 6-7 feet in height by the end of the summer. Perhaps, they do deserve to be captured in the best possible lighting.
Above/below is one of my favorite features for this blog. (I should probably start tagging it.) I like giving the idea of more than one object in my line of vision—more than one aspect to what I photograph outdoors—because even a wide-angle lens cannot provide the full sense of a landscape experienced "live."
Most often, I contrast the sky above with a macro-image of the world below, as is the case this time.
Above me is the shrouded early-evening Moon:
Below me are the sunlit reeds:
I know, I know, I've taken photos like this before. Yet it's difficult to resist the myriad of leaves-turned-lights when you walk through an aspen grove during the golden hour.
During the golden hour, winter mountains are at their most most...striking? Astonishing? Mesmerizing? Someone as verbose as yours truly is rarely at a loss for words.
But here, vision trumps language.
How does one deal with excessive stress?
A glass of red wine. A night on the town in good company. Uplifting music.
The list could be endless.
Tonight, I've opted for some good old fashioned golden-hour photography--a creative rather than receptive solution (albeit temporary). Catching a bit of the Evening Sun after weeks of Endless Rain was part of the equation.
New Moons signify new beginnings, for those who admit, blushing, to occasionally perusing horoscopes! ;)
Normally, I shoot a lot of similar images of the same subject matter, but select only a couple. Here, however, blurred objects of different colors in the background and the wind created just the right--distinct--kind of painterly abstraction in each case.
A late, moonless, starlit night brings two things that turned out to be much alike, but also complementary like the intertwining strands of the inguz.
These are the things that flicker in the twilight, subtle things, things that look like they've been painted by muted watercolors--primarily maroons--skillfully, but rather carelessly.
