Wallpaper Wednesday 2: Lotus flowers

Let's make it a weekly date: Wednesdays will be "Wallpaper Wednesday" from now on. (I may be a bit early this time; in my part of the world it is not yet Wednesday, but I hope you'll forgive that.)

Lotus flowers from a lake in the grounds around Ryoanji temple, in Kyoto.

It takes a few efforts: Spider lily tamed

A few weeks ago I saw intriguing red flowers by the wayside and took some pictures, but was not very satisfied with the pictures: they were good enough for the memory, but not for a serious photo. This weekend I came across some more and tried again. A simple example of the oft-told lesson about photography: don't let go of a subject until you have caught its essence. I think that this second time, I have tamed these wild flowers--for the moment, anyway.

These flowers are called Spider lilies or Higanbana, and have a practical use to keep pests out of rice paddies as they are supposed to be poisonous. Another story associated with Spider lilies is that because they "usually bloom near cemeteries around the autumnal equinox, they are described in Chinese and Japanese translations of the Lotus Sutra as ominous flowers that grow in [...] Hell [...] and guide the dead into the next reincarnation," says the Wikipedia.

Desktop wallpaper: Himeji castle

On my trip through the southern/western part of Japan, one set of pictures that I have been taking were not meant as photos to exhibit, but rather as desktop backgrounds. By and by, I'll post some here. they are generally of tranquil spots of nature, but I also have become fascinated with the huge boulders, some inthe rough, others neatly shaped, used in castle walls. Such as the this one from Himeji castle. At the moment, I only have it in a format close to 1680x1050. I'm not so tech-savvy as Jeffrey Friedl, who apparently makes his desktop backgrounds in umpteen formats at a single mouse click, so if you would like to have it in a different format, please let me know--there's a reaction button under this post!

Obviously, you're welcome to download!

Stairs and shadows: irrestistible

No comment or explanation needed, as far as I am concerned.

Truth, devastation and beauty: Japan Earthquake: Six Months Later - Alan Taylor - In Focus - The Atlantic

This is a hard one: the link below leads to pictures of sadness and grief, disaster and devastation, but also of how much has already been done to overcome the earthquake and tsunami in North-East Japan in the past six months. Gripping pictures, yet beautiful photographs. Which emotion should reign, when looking at such a pitcure: compassion with the victims, or admiration of the beauty and intensity of the picture? Why would we have to choose between those emotions? I for one feel both at the same time.
Japan Earthquake: Six Months Later - Alan Taylor - In Focus - The Atlantic

Do not forget to click on many of the pictures, because they give exact 'replicas' of photos taken immediately after the great earthquake and in September 2011, half a year later.

Learning shortcuts takes time... but will be worth it!

Some time ago I downloaded a Lightroom plug-in by Jeffrey Friedl to integrate uploading photos to Flickr into the export menu. Note: the first hyperlink is to the plug-in, the second to his blog--a must for Japan photo lovers! You can also click here for the plug-in.
It took a lot of hassle to get it going--whether that be my incompetence or the complexity of the chain of software...
First, you must find out that you need Lightroom's "Plug-in Manager" (lower-left corner of the LR export menu screen, see the image right here) to install the thing.
Then, you have to find out that the plug-in does not automatically show in the export menu, but has a separate "header" (see the upper-right part of the picture).
Third hurdle: it takes some figuring out when exactly to log onto your Flickr account: before you start the export, in order to get the authentication process right.

It took me quite a number of tries, I admit, but when all is right, things go quite smoothly and it runs as smooth as a well-oiled bicycle. No more hurdles: the photos are online! It really is a shortcut now, from LR to my photo stream on Flickr in one go.
And at the same time my 6-week trial period is over... OK, I feel ready to register now (though that is not quite for free; the plug-in is "donation ware" or restricted to 10 photos at a time. Take your pick!).

Zen among the willows

Saturday we visited the 'Vlechtdagen', the fair for basketmakers in Noordwolde, in the North of the Netherlands, where they have a museum devoted to this old craft. My wife loves to put her energy into folding, weaving and sometimes even beating the twigs into shape. My interest would be more in the surroundings, to see if some more abstract or architectural theme would offer itself. And it did! But there was more for my photography than expected.

The fair's theme this year was 'Japan', with a show of marvellous Japanese basketry--even interesting to people like me who are not into making willow baskets. Photography inside was not allowed, so I can show you only one little picture ;-) of a creation called Connection, made by one Takeo Tanabe. The original plan had been to invite the artists (rather than just artisans) from Japan to demonstrate their skill, but apparently the organisers' funds were not quite sufficient to make that possible. Too bad! I would have loved to see these people at work: would they be able to concentrate on the precise detail in the hum of a fair? Would they work fast as in a routine, or slowly as monks?
We had to make do with mainly Dutch and German basketmakers; an example from my wife's favourites at 'De Mythe' is shown here.

But we were also given the chance of some other Japanese arts and besides the ubiquitous bonsai tree pruning, they had something rather more special. Didn't I write about kyudo, the martial art of archery, before? A Dutch group gave a beautiful demonstration of what I might translate as the essence of photography: prepare your materials, yourself, and then wait for the right moment to let go. A lesson in Zen-plicity, which I involuntarily started to mimick with my camera while watching them go through their ceremony. With one little difference: they had one arrow, and I had 5 frames per second... Hopefully, they'll forgive this novice for cheating on the rules a little ;-)

Zen and the art of landscape photography

The title's joke is over 30 years old now, as Robert Pirsig's 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle maintenance' dates from the early 1970s. And there must be hundreds of variants of 'Zen and...' by now. And still it gives the best possible introduction to my theme of today--sorry it's been so long since I wrote, but you know how it is with holidays: it's a time of fun but not a time for serious photography. And time is the essence--the essence of Zen and the essence of photography. Well, of landscape photography anyway. Or maybe I'd better say the negation of time. As Pirsig had it, in his book: when he wanted to get a motorcycle in the 1960s, they were not to be had in the USA, and he ordered a self-assembly kit motorbike in Japan. The manual for putting the thing together was--as then and now only too usual--badly translated. It said that the assembly of the bike "needs great peace of mind". This meant, of course, "needs patience". But on another level the bad translation was perfect: you do need "great peace of mind" to achieve something good.

So to make a good landscape picture you need to take time, a lot of time. The point is not if your shutter speed is 1/2000 of a second. The time I mean is time you take to get a feel that says "this is the picture to take". That message was brought home in an interview in the August copy of Outdoor Photography with Anna Booth, who is an amateur photographer like the rest of us. Yet unlike, for she will be exhibiting 4 by 5 foot (1.2 by 1.5 meter) pictures in the UK. (That is what the magazine promises--the gallery's website is not running yet.) And the pictures shown in the magazine I find stunning: simple colours, simple patterns of landscape details, and all amazingly sharp. Even in the magazine reproductions you can see that. The sharpness comes from her pictures being taken with a 5x4 inch camera, with real film of course, nothing digital. The magic is not so much in film vs. digital, but in the time needed. You must take time to carry such a big camera around, to set it up on its tripod, and to make sure that everything is correct before you risk to spend a large sheet of film material on a picture. The bulkiness of the camera--and Anna's own personality, as she says--ensure that she concentrates often on a single spot: "I get hours of pleasure from a single location and, sometime, one shot". OK, looking around at one spot is a bit of "peace of mind", but the really interesting remark she makes is that: "it usually takes me a couple of days, before I can start to see any images." She must reach a state of "peace of mind" before she can really concentrate enough--and then a split second can be enough for the shutter to do its part of the work.

You see now why in this time of year I cannot take serious pictures? Worse than that: do I ever take the time to really let my mind get "peace" in order to become receptive to my environment in a photographic way? On the other hand: do you really need very much time to reach the right, receptive stage of mind? In a tour I did, early this year, of the Buddhist Chung Tai Chan monastery in Taiwan, the nun who showed us around (she is in the picture to the right) told us that an experienced person can meditate in every circumstance and at any time. It is only us, beginners, she added, who need mantras, mandalas, monasteries. The really experienced photographers may see their picture at once, may be able to visualise (to use Ansel Adam's term) anytime and anywhere. I am like Anna Booth and need time to free my mind from other things to be able to concentrate on the landscape.

The contrast between reaching "great peace of mind" and the split-second action of photography is much like the "way" of Japanese archery, kyudo. Once you have reached the right state of mind, and you master your bow/camera to perfection, making a hit/perfect picture becomes natural, effortless, and certain. Keep trying! One day everything will come together.

And then you will be able to make a much better version of my try of the spirit of the landscape at the foot of Mount Fuji. Until then: enjoy this one!