I participated
in Broadsides –
Poetry Off the Shelf at the Alliance for the Arts, a project in which artists create visual art to
accompany poetry by local poets, with the poem to be printed directly on the
artwork. My assignment was Grandmother's
Dresser by Marnie Heenan. This was a challenge for
me. I had never before photographed a
staged still life. The
dresser in the image does belong to a grandmother, also known as my lovely
spouse Peggy, who upon seeing my complete ineptitude, graciously volunteered to
be my adviser in the project.
The thing about a poem, a
descriptive poem like this one, is that it elicits images in the mind's eye of
the reader that are necessarily different from what the poet sees. Everybody's grandmother's dresser is
different, so I felt I had the freedom of artistic license. But when I looked at my first test
photographs, I realized that we had so many of the things in the poem, I really
needed do the best I could to try to replicate it. It wouldn't be Marnie's grandmother's
dresser, but I should try to photograph the poem complete, as I saw it in my
mind's eye. I had read it so many times
by now that I knew all the items by heart.
And so began a sort of treasure hunt, an epic shopping adventure under
the expert guidance of my adviser.
I experimented with the
lighting, and finally settled on ambient window light, with no artificial
lighting. It required a longish exposure
time, initially about 8 seconds.
This dresser has a
mirror, which of course captures an image of the photographer, who isn't in the
poem. I thought I would deal with this
issue in post-production digital editing, that is, I would Photoshop it. A mirror shouldn't be blank, so I had an idea
of superimposing an image in the mirror.
The image I had in mind is a portrait of my grandmother, which I wanted
to subdue so that it would seem soft and ghostlike. On a fairly early test photograph, I roughed
it in just to see how feasible this idea was.
It just didn't work; It didn't look good.
To hide myself from the
mirror I used a plush throw blanket held in front of me and the tripod. With some practice, I was able to squeeze
behind the tripod, between the bed and wall, and to hold the blanket, so that
my tripod and I were effectively hidden from the mirror.
Then something unexpected
happened. The cat, the one in the poem that
the laser toy was too mean to, got into the act. The bed is this cat's natural habitat. When he moved into the frame to see what was
going on, immediately he became a necessary element of the image. Of course he didn't want to be where I wanted
him to be. The proverbial rule about
herding cats came into play. His
inclusion in the photograph added a level of frustration. In the low light of the windows, filtered
through the sheer curtains, I had been using an exposure of eight seconds. The cat wouldn't hold still for eight
seconds. I bumped the ISO one stop and
opened the aperture one stop to reduce the exposure time to two seconds. This was doable, I thought. I could hold the cable release in my right
hand which also held a corner of the blanket, and trip the shutter just when
the cat was being still, for two more seconds I hoped. So, picture this: I coax the cat into the
right location on the bed, clamber over the spread legs of the tripod, grab
one corner of the blanket in one hand and the other corner and the cable release
in the other, try to position the button under my thumb, raise the blanket, and
then the cat comes over to see what's going on, expletive deleted, try
again.
We tried numerous
different arrangements on the dresser, trying this, trying that.
Finally I got it, nearly perfect, or at least as good as I could expect it to be. By this time, I was ready to be finished. I started processing this image and discovered to my great chagrin
that I had forgotten the wallet, which, when it wasn't performing its
duties as a member of the still life company, resided in my pocket.
So, back to the old drawing board, as they say. This time all the pieces were in
place, the cat was reasonably cooperative, and, voila, I had it.
After more than 200 photographs over the course of three weekends, it was done. It still required post-processing, to convert
to monotone sepia and to clone out the light switch and the small
picture hangers on the wall, to hide the exposed edge of the blanket in the
mirror, and numerous other small corrections and adjustments, but I finally had it - the image you see at the top of this blog post.
Marnie asked that I not
put the full text of her poem in this blog post. She hopes to get the poem published in a
literary magazine, and they usually won't accept submissions that have been
posted online. She did consent to my use of her name, and publishing the final Broadside image with her poem on it. If you click on the image, it should enlarge, making the poem easier to read.
As it hangs on the
wall in The Alliance, I wonder how many people actually read the poem,
and how many look for the one item in the poem that isn't visible in the
photograph. I think most people probably don't see the cat.
Near the equinox, from a particular vantage, the sun will rise directly behind
the lighthouse. I've been trying, twice
a year, to make a good photograph of this.
No luck again this year. On this
particular morning, – the calendar had turned the page to October; the sun
would rise to the right of the lighthouse –
one last try. One more “better
luck next time”. The sun rose into the
clouds and started spraying its rays. I
stayed. I was rewarded with this nice
sunburst. When this pelican flew into
the frame, just by luck I managed to catch it silhouetted against the sun
streak in the water.
It was the gibbous moon that I wanted.
The moon was setting and the clouds were rising; the opportunity wouldn't last. I saw the anhinga in the mangrove; it drew me
to this location. I experimented with
the composition – the tree, the bird, and the moon. I really wanted the moon to be lower so I
could make the image with the long end of the range on the 17-40 zoom lens., to
fill the frame with the tree and bird, and to make the moon as large as possible. But it just didn't work. The moon was too high for that, and would have disappeared in the clouds by the time it was in a better position. So I moved about, trying this, trying
that. Then the little boat came a long,
and, something I don't usually do, I popped off a couple with people in them. This is the one I chose. The moon, initially the inspiration for the
picture, is a hardly noticeable tiny little bonus.
