different sizes. different ages. same dna. the little ones leaning on the bigger ones. the bigger ones supporting the little ones. i thought i was photographing a leaf pattern. it seems i was photographing a family.
nested anthurium leaves
a matter of scale
the difficulty of this composition was not the composing so much as it was the choice of elements. at this scale a single clunky element would have sat there waving its arms like “hey! over here! look at me!” it was like trying to keep a 3rd grade classroom silent for a full minute: “OK, now, you all just need to sit still and behave!”
delicate bits of dried nature
don’t know why
i took maybe a hundred photos of a rubber plant today. to be honest, none of them thrilled me but part of having a daily blog is dealing with days when you are not thrilled. i winnowed my hundred down to about a dozen, and then picked one. and then at dinner, i scrolled through the dozen with my husband, and we both liked different photos from each other, and different photos from my original. we scrolled through again, and for some reason we both liked yet another one that was not any of the previous photos. it was the one you’re looking at. so we scrolled through again, and still liked this one. and again, and still liked it. and again. and still. i don’t know why. but something worked that hadn’t been working. something clicked into place somewhere probably a little bit ancient in two very modern brains, and as a result, this is what still blog looks like today. don’t ask me to explain.
i really rely mostly on visual cues to identify most of the plants i photograph. there isn’t a lot of need to use sound. i rarely try tasting, for obvious reasons. i don’t usually need to feel the plants’ textures to know if they are rough or smooth. and although they often have a distinctive smell, that is rarely a differentiator between two similar species. this photo was an exception. i spent lots and lots of time researching the visual cues of this plant, with its sprays of acorn-like buds. then i crushed one between my fingers, and i didn’t have to search any further, as a wave of eucalyptus washed over me.
the 8 inches of snow on the ground speak of february. but the sound of turkeys gobbling in our woods is pure april. one big, beautiful, clumsy looking bird walked past our window this morning, singing his heart out to any ladies who would listen. he must have recognized the angle of the sun, or the length of the days, and in any case, he surely didn’t care about the snow under his feet. he just knew it was time to make babies.
turkey tail feathers and bittersweet vine