Tag Archives: vignette

defocusing the negative spaces

emergent benefice © 2006, 2016 Jered Dawnne

emergent benefice © 2006, 2016 Jered Dawnne

sometimes, it’s the repetition that pays off: the coming back to it, coming back to it, coming back to it again, until something finally begins to take shape and form. i have been lost in negative spaces these past several weeks, ranging somewhere between the singular joy that is bound to security and that certain pensiveness that is walking into the unknown alone.

i was lost in negative spaces when i took this photo in a small grove of trees near a graveyard outside of Madison, Wisconsin nearly ten years ago, too. in working on it today, i used the negative spaces in the photograph as a catalyst to stepping outside of the negative spaces within my head right now. the mantra it’s been too long, it’s been too long, it’s been too long bent a knee to better ideals today, and so i spun the negative spaces along the golden ratio.

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bright weaving

the day before tomorrow (bright woven) © 2003, 2015 Jered Dawnne

the day before tomorrow (bright woven) © 2003, 2015 Jered Dawnne: a calla lily in high-key monochrome

There’s something about the form of calla lilies that has always intrigued me. This was from a former neighbor’s garden in Camarillo, California, after a windy afternoon rain had left it a bit soiled. There are several photos of callas from her garden, another neighbor’s garden, and from our own, from this time. Shooting flowers in the wind was one of the ways I practiced panning focus back in the day.

This image has several variants: I believe I did three or four “back in the day”, and I know I did two on this walkthrough. The stem just to the right of the subject presents some intriguing processing challenges, in that it’s very easy to overbrighten it to the distraction of the flower. If you weren’t aware, I’m somewhat averse to literally photoshopping elements of my images. It’s one thing to change the quality and flavor of the lighting to present otherwise unseen aspects of the subject; it’s another thing to change what was actually there, so I don’t do that, that much. This softer, high-key treatment was one way of working around that.

Softer tones like this are not my usual fare, but this is now my favorite version of this image. I will probably be experimenting more in this tonal range.

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this weekend was one of those sad mixes of good intentions and unplanned results: i was going to get out and shoot on what might well have been the last pleasant weekend of the year around here, but such hopes were mooted by circumstances which i was unable to control. so instead of doing what i wanted to do, i did the other thing i needed to do, and that was to tend to how i store and protect my entire image repository. not exactly exciting or fun stuff, but necessary, and for some reason, whenever i think about the technological side of what i do, this image is now attached to that thought. it’s kind of the new “the waiting for it bleeds”, if you remember those old posts on the old blog, from 2004-5. i guess i’m kind of weird that way. oh well. the good news with that is that i’m one major step closer to combining two master catalogs and finally having one continuous archive again. this is at least good for the slightly OCD, digital asset management guy who still lives in my brain.

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coronal mass (spectral)

coronal mass (spectral) © 2003, 2015 Jered Dawnne

coronal mass (spectral) © 2003, 2015 Jered Dawnne: a rose with a bit of rain water at the edges

i used to take the time to tend to small things
a used-to thing, a has-been thing
maybe not so much an is-now thing
but perhaps someday a could-be thing

i used to take the time to tend to small things
to see the spaces between the shadows
beneath the undersides of leaves
and in the luminance of the breeze

i need to take the time to tend to small things
a should-be thing, a must-be thing
and let it not be a could’ve-been thing
nor perhaps someday a should’ve-been thing

i need to take the time to tend to small things
to walk again between the shadows
beneath the undersides of leaves
and in the luminance of the breeze

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because questionably meaningful poetry on my birthday, that’s why

© 2015 Jered Dawnne

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transient stasis

transient stasis © 2015 Jered Dawnne

transient stasis © 2015 Jered Dawnne

I brought this bench to where it now resides: a brute-force effort moving it from a former home to this place. The decision to move it was arbitrary and a spurious: made on my last pass through the house after it had sold. But I had spent some good time sitting on it where it once was. I had conducted some good pondering there, and even a few photographs were taken from upon it, so it came along for the move.

After the move, I also spent a goodly amount of time perched upon it in its new setting, taking counsel both for and against certain decisions that were being made at the time. The place where it sits had an interesting feel during the night, even without all the things that were in my head: part melancholy, part solace, part fear, part hope, and part maundering. Whenever I come to visit it now, it feels simultaneously of stasis and transience to me: simple projections, both, I have no doubt.

It has always struck me as odd, this human propensity to mentally attribute one’s emotions upon a place. The skeptic in me strongly doubts that we can truly imprint portions of ourselves on places, let alone imbue them with our essences, but nonetheless, we create such deep connections, regardless of rational considerations. This place is one such for me.

When I took this photograph yesterday, I was reminded not only of what this place means to me, but what it might also mean to my children. And how those meanings have undoubtedly shifted over time. That thought, of course, led to considering what I thought of this bench in the place where it was, and of the things I had considered while sitting upon it there, and what its former setting must have meant to my children. And then the all of what had come before. It is a remembering thing in a remembering place, and there are very few things which I have managed to forget across the years.

But the transient stasis I perceive within this bench is nothing but what I carry within myself. My home is wherever I am, and my places of security are things which move within me, and which move with me, and which are ultimately mine alone.

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Enfolded

weather, towering © 2014 Jered Dawnne

a view from Sulphur Mountain, Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada, looking roughly northward.

You fold yourself into a thing, because the enfolding is more significant and meaningful to you than the simple act of being there and participating in it. You move, within and between the trees and mountains for a while, hoping, yearning, needing to be a part of this place, wishing you had come to it sooner, had drawn it into yourself and defined yourself with it, by it, for it. You embrace it for the time you are there, but the time is too short, too involved, too limited, and you know that even when you return in the future, that visit will have the same inherent lack.

Having folded yourself into it, you are no longer merely yourself, and when you leave, some small but powerful portion of it comes away with you, inside of you and surrounding you, transparently opaque within your mind. It is written on the inside of your eyelids every time you dream; it is written on the inside of your mind every time you breathe. It haunts you, and the haunting becomes you.

As you have folded yourself into it, it has wrapped itself inside of you, between and within the folds of flesh and mind, but to say that it has become you is to make it less than it is. You have become a small portion of it, is the thing, and the becoming, then, has a magnetism that is both unavoidable and inescapable.

So, you know one thing: You will stand within it again, and you will walk beneath its eaves and breathe its air and hear its whispers in the leaves and needles, more clearly than you do as you dream each night. And once you have partaken of it again, the enfolding will redefine you.

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Text and image © 2014 Jered Dawnne

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