Three views of a truck – perhaps a hundred yards out in a field – on a overcast day: the first is at 850mm with a Sigma 150-600mm Contemporary, the second is at 232mm with a Canon 70-200mm, and the third is at 64mm with a Canon 17-55mm. My Canon camera has a crop factor of 1.6, thus the longer actual reach. Each exposure was with Aperture Priority and automatic focus, and processed lightly in Lightroom, using only the Portrait mode.
At this point, I prefer the closeup. It has the simplest composition, the most color, and the mystery and intimacy of a portrait.
Nothing ambiguous about this work; the spirit and attitude in the piece is, uh, easily discerned. And I didn’t even show the NSFW element. And the workmanship! Kudos!
Speaking of “a lifetime together”, this remarkable larger-than-life metal sculpture can be found on the Westminster West Road in Putney, next to High Meadows Farm. It was created by a neighbor who lives completely off the grid; Howard, the co-owner of High Meadows, says you’d want this man by your side if it ever came down to “survival”.
World renowned sculptor Jud Hartmann has studios in Grafton, VT and Blue Hill, ME, and has cast over seventy five bronze sculptures in his Woodland Tribes of the Northeast series. This one is called “Deerfield”; the story and a studio photograph can be found on his website here. Wandering around the gallery – I had the place to myself on a weekday afternoon in February – is like stepping into a time machine and going back three hundred years. It’s well worth a visit.
The view to the north, while standing near the center of this wonderful little town, population 627. Despite its size, there are two markets, a library, two churches, and the grande dame of the place, the Grafton Inn and Tavern.
We’re now in the back end of winter here in northern New England, and signs of spring are beginning to emerge. One of my favorites is a more expansive dusk; a month ago, it came and went quickly, now it just lingers, not wanting to miss a thing.
Here’s another shot of my grandfather, with whom we lived, and who helped raise us.
He emigrated from Poland circa 1906, after (as the story goes) his commanding officer in the Austrian army suggested it was a good time to do so, as all hell was about to break loose on the land. He learned the English language early on, and became an American citizen in 1920. He loved telling stories; my older sister remembers hours upon hours of tales that were uniquely his, usually weaving in themes from the Old Testament, the politics of old Poland, and the natural world.
He was a community/union organizer, and an accomplished gardener and mushroom forager. I remember many long walks in the forest behind our home foraging for a certain type of Russula mushroom (called “Pravdzive” in Polish), which would be dried, and given to friends and family to use as a base for holiday soups at Christmas and Easter.
He had a strong faith but also a big love for his family and friends, and he seemed to be as comfortable in social situations as in the out of doors. I never did get a chance to thank him for all that he gave me, particularly the knowledge and presence that he so freely offered, every day of his life.
And on a side note, it might be time to once again read “Report To Greco”, the wonderful memoir of Nikos Kazanzakis (Greco being his grandfather).
