Ford's Garage

In the wee hours the city lights make the only light we see. It's quiet and still, very still, and shadows lie in disarray. The traffic signals at the ends of the street dutifully turn to red, stopping cars that aren't there. In front of The Dean, as if most of a century hadn't gone by, a gleaming white Model A poses in the lights.

© 2012 Buck Ward        The Photographist       www.buxpix.net

Bike Night

In one of the galleries on First Street there was a small collection of watercolors of river district scenes. One in particular caught my attention. In the foreground was a row of small racing yachts on their trailers, their bows in a line against a background of familiar buildings. I had seen them there, those yachts, but never had tried to make the photograph. In that painting, I saw an opportunity missed.

A week later I was planning my weekend forays. I hadn't been down to the river district for quite a while. I like to photograph the downtown in the early morning, but more and more lately I had been thwarted by some event – barricades in the streets, vendors setting up their tents, trucks, generators – unpicturesque things. So I checked the River District's website to see what's going on. Bike night! Hey, that's great. They don't let anybody park in the heart of downtown, and so the next morning, after the party's over, the streets are empty and there aren’t any cars parked on the streets. Good for me! Then I decided I ought to go down there tonight and see what I can get. And so I did. There were hundreds of motorcycles parked on the street, a couple of bands, lots of people having a great time, and that big, deep, Harley sound. I had visualized rows of bikes reflecting street lights in shiny curves and chrome and bikers and their biker chicks, partying, blurred by seconds-long exposures and the plastic cups of beer in their hands. I had a fun time making pictures, but didn't manage to get anything I liked. All deletable.

As I walked back to the car, I saw them. Those yachts. Those yachts in the painting. It took a telephoto zoom to work the composition, to weave it in amongst the people sitting around in the park watching their kids play on the swings. Occasionally children ran through my frame while the shutter was open, but at the long exposures I was using, they became as diaphanous as ghosts. This is the picture I ended up with. Not my usual fare – grittier, with more urban chaos. Not nearly as nice as the painting I had admired; hardly even similar to it. But, as one of the aging rockers up on the stage tonight sang, “I know it's only rock and roll, but I like it, I like it, Yes I do.”

Days later, I went back to the gallery where I had seen the painting to learn the name of the artist. The painting I had seen was gone. I turned around and saw it on another wall. It was the same yachts in the same location but it didn't look as I remembered it. Was it the same painting or a different painting of the same scene? I don't know. But I do know the artist's name is David Belling.

© 2012 Buck Ward        The Photographist       www.buxpix.net

The Old Tree and Me

I rose early, as usual. I had checked the weather, the tides, sunrise, the moon phase. I had tentatively planned to go out to Lover's Key, to try that fallen tree again. The forecast had called for partly cloudy and there would be a highish tide. If the sun would light up cumulus in the west there could be a possibility. But in the morning I walked out to the middle of my street, as I usually do, and looked up at the sky.  I could see stars. There was a slight haze but the western sky was mostly clear.  Change of plan.  I almost felt a twinge of guilt at feeling relieved that I wouldn't be making that long and futile walk out to the dead trees on the beach at Lover's Key.  The horse knew the way to carry the sleigh to my favorite beach, my fall back position, the eastern tip of Sanibel Island, at the lighthouse.

 

The little bight of beach at the old fallen Australian pine near the lighthouse was isolated by the high tide lapping at the sea grapes and buttonwoods on either side. The tourists would leave us alone. It would disrupt the easy stroll of their early morning shelling too much to navigate the surf. The dead tree could commune with my camera and me in solitude. The old tree has fallen, but I think it still relishes having its toes in the sand, at the edge of the tide. We had a quiet conversation, easy and nuanced, each trying to get the other to shift his point of view. Old friends. We've done this before. More than once. I played with long exposures in the early morning dark. The hazy blue glimmer and the satin surf could make a sweet image, if only I could find it.  But I didn't.  The old tree chuckled at me derisively.  As the sky lightened, I put on a graduated neutral density filter. As it lightened more, I changed the GND from a two-stop to a three-stop. Inexorably the light increased. I reduced the ISO and, as the sun showed itself, added a four-stop neutral density filter to keep the exposure as long as possible.  Pick up the pace. The sun, impatient to start its day, reduced our conversation to nods and grunts. Finally, we said our so longs. We'd had a good visit.

© 2012 Buck Ward        The Photographist       www.buxpix.net

Goatboy

Or, have you ever googled yourself?   

I have a new app on my iPhone: Dragon Go. You speak and it finds whatever you're looking for. To try it out, I said my name and tapped the little camera icon and it found stuff. It found photographs of mine, mostly on my website. I expected that. It also found photos and articles of those other people who share my name, the Segway dealer Buck Ward being sued in Richmond, the Coastguard CPO Buck Ward receiving an award in Miami, the big game outfitter Buck Ward in Colorado, et al.  But I was surprised to see this photograph.  It's a snapshot I made of David at the Southwest Florida Fair in 2007. It's always been a favorite little gem.  We call it Goatboy.

When I tapped the little thumbnail image on the iPhone, it took me to a site called  File Magazine - A Collection of Unexpected Photography.   File is an eclectic collection of oddball photographs. On the home page it says, “File Magazine: 2004 – 2010 It's Been Fun. After six great years, the editors of FILE have decided to call it a day. Thanks to all of the talented and generous contributors who made this an amazing experience, both to curate and to visit. The Collection and The Projects will remain for posterity.”   I don't remember posting Goatboy there,or even having seen File Magazine before, but I guess I must have, maybe. Dragon Go took me to a thumbnail link of the photo in the Contributors section of File Magazine as an avatar next to the listing: "Buck Ward is a photographer from the south gulf coast of Florida. You can see more of his work on his website."    

A little further googling found a copy of Goatboy on a Lebanon based blog called I Liked these Pics.   At least, after taking my image without my consent, Nassim acknowledged my copyright.  Oh well.  It just goes to show that anything you put out there will stay out there "for posterity," as the editors of File said, and may be appropriated by others.

© 2012 Buck Ward        The Photographist       www.buxpix.net

PS - 

Email subscriber Geri suggested that I "list some contact information on them so if they get passed around, people know who to credit."  I hadn't realized that there was no attribution on the email version.  I've added the byline and links above.

Many thanks, Geri!  

On Anna Marie Island

I was standing on the little sand bar at the base of the drawbridge that crosses the pass between Anna Marie Island and Longboat Key. With my big 300 I had hoped to catch the full moon setting over the western horizon, but as usual it was not to be. A way off, I saw a photographer down low near the jetty, apparently stalking a great blue heron.  Handholding is futile in this light, I thought. Wait til the sun comes up. A while later, I saw that it was actually two photographers. Having failed to get my intended photo, I walked towards the beach, and the two photographers, to see what else might turn up. When I got closer, I saw that the photographers were both women. One of the women was photographing the other, who was photographing an object, not birds, on the jetty.  As I drew closer I could see it.

“Is that a birthday cake?”, I asked.

“She has a project,” she said, pointing to the photographer on the jetty. “It is for Amnesty International. It is a cake with a file, you know, for in jail.”   She had a strong accent.  They were Swedish. We chatted while the other photographer worked.  Seeing my gear, she asked if I was a professional photographer. I told her yes, that I did portraits, but that my first sitting was not until ten.

The photographer on the jetty would make a few exposures and then go over and adjust the position of the cake, and reposition the file that was sticking up out of it. Each time she did this she would suck the icing off the file. I watched for a bit and then continued my walk towards the beach.

When I walked back, they had retrieved the box for the cake and were collecting their gear. The other photographer, the one I hadn't spoken with before, asked me, “You haf some models?”

”No,” I said. She seemed puzzled. “I do portraits,” I said. She still seemed puzzled. “...of people...” I offered, haltingly.

“With clothes on?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Oh!” she laughed.


© 2012 Buck Ward        The Photographist       www.buxpix.net

On Sharks and Baptisms

There was a group of people on the beach. It was a cold Sunday morning in January, just after sunrise. Two men dressed in black pants, white shirts and black ties, accompanied two very large women in long white dresses to the edge of the water. After a moment's hesitation they walked out into the cold water of the Gulf of Mexico. When they were waist deep they paused. After seeming to have small conversations, each man to each woman, the men laid the women backwards in unison and dunked them. It was a baptism. I was astonished that people would go into the water in such cold weather.  When the two men and two women returned, they were met by some women who had emerged from the group to wrap the two soaked women in blankets. They all walked up the beach and rejoined the group. Two more very large women in long white dresses separated from the group, accompanied by the two preachers. As they walked towards the water, dolphins surfaced and rolled just a little beyond where the baptism had taken place. There was a big commotion amongst the people as they pointed and became agitated. The main group joined the four at the edge of the water. I could hear their voices. They were speaking with heavy accents. I think they were Haitian. They thought the dolphins were sharks. The preachers and the two very large women in the long white dresses balked and did not want to go out into the water. For me, the temperature would have been a much greater disincentive to going into the water than sharks that were really dolphins. A British couple, out for an early morning walk on the beach, was assuring the people that the fins they saw indeed belonged to dolphins and not to sharks. The group spread out along the edge of the water, pointing and exclaiming every time a fin appeared. I too assured them that the fins they saw were dolphins, but they remained unconvinced. Finally, after no fins had been seen for a while, the lure of being with Jesus overcame the fear of being dismembered by Jaws. The two preachers and the two very large women in the long white dresses nervously ventured out into the cold water of the Gulf, performed their baptisms, and hurried back to shore.

I wish I had photographed the Haitian preachers and the very large women in the long white dresses. But I hadn't. I had just stood there, with my camera and tripod, and vacuously watched the baptisms and the sharks.

Later, when the sun rose higher into the clouds, there was a nice sunburst. I hurried up the beach to get the sunburst above the pier with a flock of gulls in the foreground. The sunburst faded and the flock fled, leaving me with this serendipitous photograph. It is about 9:00 on a Sunday morning. The beach is deserted and there are no people fishing from the pier.  It is too cold to go to the beach, except for photographers and Haitians, each performing their own sacred rituals.

© 2012 Buck Ward          The Photographist         www.buckward.net

Wrighteous

Architects may come and
Architects may go and
Never change your point of view.
When I run dry
I stop awhile and think of you 

So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright, Simon and Garfunkel

In Lakeland a couple of weeks ago I was able to steal away from my obligations for an hour or two on a couple of days to visit Florida Southern College. A number of the buildings there were designed by the notorious architect, Frank Lloyd Wright.

Though my purpose was to photograph, reverie crept in as I wandered around the campus. Think how it would be to be young again, lost in academia, cushioned from the mundane inanity of the outside world, our dreams laid out in front of us. *Sigh*

Frank;     Frank Lloyd Wright;      Mr. Wright.    I could almost see him, striding about the campus with his cane, cape, and flat brimmed hat.

I've never been able to decide how much to admire Wright's work. His designs are flamboyant, angular, detailed; and his style is definitely recognizable, and I do admire that much, but some of his creations appeal to me less than others. Occasionally, I find his design to be arrogant to the point of annoyance.

Great architecture plants the seeds of more daring or innovative architecture. Wright's buildings aren't the only ones on campus with flair and panache. Other structures there, whose architects remain unknown to me, are also certainly noteworthy.

I came to photograph the great Frank Lloyd Wright.   And so I did, and others as well.   It gave me a chance to try out my new (used) 50mm f1.4 lens. But mostly, the 24mm Tilt/Shift was the right tool for the job.

My wont is to photographically explore a subject ad infinitum, to return again and again, in differing light and changing skies, until I know it intimately.   Eventually, I make the photograph I want, or at least something that suffices. My time at Florida Southern was woefully inadequate.  I made some architectural portraits, nothing great, but I'm sure glad I got them.

The Neo Lounge

There is a bar in the River District

They call the Neo Lounge

And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy

And God I know I'm one

I do most of my photographing in the River District early in the morning. Sometimes in my morning walks, I walk past the Neo Lounge.  Its patrons are home, or who knows where, sleeping it off. I had noticed that they keep repainting this bar. They paint it more often than once a year. So I photograph it.

Other than the changes in the paint job, I don't really find it all that photogenic. Usually the cleaning crew's car is parked right in front, blocking me from getting the whole building. So, then I do a partial. 

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When I go to the river district, if the car isn't parked in front of the Neo Lounge and if it has a new paint job, even if I didn't make any keepers anywhere else, I feel that I had a successful morning if I get the Neo Lounge.  Certainly the smallest of small victories.

 

I've never been inside, never had a drink there, and have no wish to do that, but the Neo Lounge has become something of an ongoing thing to look forward to on my occasional visits to the River District. Have they painted it again? Is that car parked in front? 

 

I didn't get it when it was white and I didn't get it when it was green with shamrocks. That didn't matter to me then, but now it is a gap in my ongoing photographic history of the Neo Lounge.  It's just a tidbit, a photographic tidbit, not particularly worthy of anything.  But then, isn't that life?