bittersweet, the adjective and the noun
that beautiful bittersweet (n.) is an invasive species is, to say the least , bittersweet (adj.).
bittersweet vine (Celastrus orbiculatus)
vadnais lake, saint paul, minnesota
a winter’s walk
i know that young brides feel more secure somehow about carrying a bouquet of fresh, youthful flowers down the aisle. but i think a winter bouquet is every bit as beautiful, and maybe a little more realistic about how everything’s going to be looking, by the time her marriage has actually proven itself. i would happily wish on any bride a groom who can’t wait to embrace her winter bouquet phase. and who can take or leave the easy and vanishing beauty of spring’s bloom.
bouquet of winter stems
no i didn’t drink too much last night. but this image, as i realized after looking at it for a while, is a hangover from my 2017 project of photographing against a black background. part of what 2017 taught me was how to create depth against my backdrop, rather than just two dimensional pattern and shape. what i was hoping to accomplish in 2018 was not a retreat back to pre-2017 still blog, but to make my return to white a kind of leap forward. this is my first inkling of what that might look like.
leaf whorl from an unidentified brach
tonight we took down the christmas tree. in our circling around the stand to remove the garlands of twinkle lights, we knocked down most of the dry needles, and pushed them into these random patterns, which turned out to be one final present lying under the tree this season. merry belated christmas, still blog.
spruce needles dropped from our christmas tree
six years? really?
for six years i’ve been creating some kind of daily composition. sometimes it’s just a single object. (but should it be centered? on one of the 1/3 grid lines? bleeding off the page? pointing up? pointing sideways? pointing diagonally? right side up? upside down? crumpled? flat? casting a shadow?) sometimes, unbelievably, i even try to arrange multiple objects. but it never, ever gets easier. ever. six years. and i begin each composition as an infant, learning by trial and error how to pick up that single cheerio between my thumb and index finger, then slamming my palm down on my high-chair tray in frustration, and trying to pick up the cheerio again.
assemblage of found nature bits