Alone at the edge of the forest. Sap quietly circulating everywhere, like a myriad of creeks finding their way through every twist and turn. Rising through the trunks, splitting at every crossroads, distributing itself through the branches all the way up. Feeding everything. A sea of trees communicating and cooperating through subterranean networks of fungi. One giant organism living, breathing, regulating itself, interacting with the environment. A web of life bringing together plants, fungi, insects, animals. Lifeblood flowing everywhere, unseen and unheard.
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We say that somebody sees the world in black and white when they seem to be lacking nuance and attention to detail and specificity. But there’s a whole world of shades between black and white. A spectrum of nuances and possibilities. And sometimes it’s exactly because we restrict ourselves to black and white that we can better express visually what is unique, interesting, or unusual about our subject.
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A short story from the forest, somewhere on the border between France and Germany. I discovered it during a hike, like so many other things we discover while being in motion.
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This week, Amy invites us to explore different ways of framing photos. What is framing? For me, it’s how we use physical delimitations, leading lines, light, color, texture, and focus to highlight the photo’s subject matter and to create a coherent narrative.
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In this week’s Lens-Artists Challenge, Ann-Christine invites us to share some work in progress. She is the first to notice that, after all, everything and everybody is work in progress. Endless choices seem to be opening up here. But too many choices can make it as difficult as too few choices.
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Silence. Mist floating on the river. And then it happens. All birds start singing almost at the same time. Somewhere deep in the forest, there’s a wizard sending out these silent signals to all forest creatures. I am not a forest creature, although I often feel like one. I cannot hear the signals. But I can hear life responding to them. I can see all these threads of life coming together for a while, hundreds of birds singing in unison as if their life depended on it. And maybe it does.
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The train won’t be on time. The vegetation has long taken over these abandoned tracks. I’m standing here as the sun goes down and this incredibly warm light washes over me. In the background, everything lits up like a giant bonfire.
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I often surprised myself using backlighting when photographing landscapes. There was no calculation involved. It was spontaneous and intuitive. I just felt like turning toward the sun and working with the light as it came through the early morning mist and through the trees. Being in the forest at the break of dawn and waiting for the first sun rays. Feeling that raw freshness as if everything has just been born and all the possibilities are there, still to unfold. I cannot compare this to anything else.
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The birds they sang At the break of day Start again I heard them say Don't dwell on what has passed away Or what is yet to be Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There is a crack, a crack in everything That's how the light gets in (from Leonard Cohen - Anthem)