Sailboat Racing Photography -- Or, Say "Yes"

SAILBOAT RACING PHOTOGRAPHY -- OR,  SAY “YES”

So…I love the water and I love boats – and I adore being out on the water in a boat.  But my work – my passion – my focus (pardon the pun) is photographing architectural details.  You know, those quietly unique objects that surround us, but that no one actually sees.  Things like ancient door knockers, or painted dragons on a ceiling or creatures carved into buildings -- those quirky, colorful, sometimes strange things that a highly skilled craftsman or woman took the time to mould or paint or sculpt.  They’re everywhere, we just don’t see them anymore because we’re very busy looking down at our cell phones. 

It’s not as easy as it may appear to get a really good, clean, interesting shot of those “details”, but I’m never happier than when I’ve gotten one to the point where I’d be proud to see it hanging in someone’s home or office.  I’ve had the occasional, brief flirtation with landscape photography and exchanged the sly glance with a cuddly creature.  For a while I was obsessed with nature…and tree bark, but they weren’t serious relationships.  I always go back to my first love -- the details.

Recently, I was invited to join a group of friends in Newport, RI to help celebrate a “major” birthday.  Coincidently, my very favorite neighbor here in Philadelphia was driving up a day earlier than I’d planned to leave, to photograph the start of the 2012 Newport to Bermuda sailboat race.  He invited me to join him for the long ride up and then spend the following day out on a boat with good friends.  I’d never met his friends, nor had I been to Newport, and I was itching to spend that gift-of-an-extra-day alone, roaming the town, photographing the thousands of charming details I knew must be there waiting to be discovered.  The mansions along the famous Cliff Walk could have kept me fascinated for weeks at the very least. 

Something kept tugging at me though.   A persistent little voice kept whispering:  “Oh, say yes.  How often are you invited to spend the day on a lovely boat?  Don’t be dull”.   In the end, the little voice won.  Rather grudgingly, I grabbed a camera with a decent zoom lens and figured I’d snap some fun shots of my pal as he photographed the race.

The day was glorious.  The sky was a stunning shade of turquoise with the occasional puffy white clouds billowing by and sparkling navy blue seas.  A refreshing breeze meant wind enough for a visually vivid downwind spinnaker start.  Sounds like I know my stuff, doesn’t it?  I don’t.  I just wanted to show off the only sailing terminology I know!  A downwind spinnaker start simply means that the great-big-pretty sails were up – and they were fantastic. 

The race began, I took my first photograph and couldn’t put the camera down.  Photographing out on the big wide water felt so…expansive!   I could almost feel my middle aged brain cells start to multiply as the sea air and the excitement of the race kicked in.  Photographing racing boats, from a boat, amidst hundreds of other boats and circling helicopters is a bit like trying to shoot while astride a horse – everything is in motion.  It was wild and very wonderful. 

My hosts for the day, and fellow boaters, were a delight – I felt like I’d known them for years – they made me a very warm welcome.  Sometimes the details can take care of themselves I’m learning…and always, always, say “yes”.

I hope you enjoy the resulting photos – I’ve attached a few here and you can see more at www.etsy.com/shop/ninedragons

The Heart of an Artist

The Heart of an Artist

Last week I experienced my first brutal art critic.  Certainly, in the few years since I’ve begun to call myself a photographer, I have been very lucky.   The urging of friends, following a summer trip to China, prompted me to cull, crop and agonize over a few dozen of the hundreds of photos I’d arrived home with.  Once I had a nice presentable portfolio assembled…I couldn’t imagine who might possibly want to buy them.

Thinking rejection might come more gently in the Midwest, I made my first sales attempt in Iowa during a visit to family.  I began with one of my favorite shops specializing in Asian antiques and one-of-a-kind metalwork furniture in the historic, funky, East Village of Des Moines.  Despite being kind of nervous and trying really hard not to show it, I sold five or six of my matted photographs that day which gave me the courage to continue going door-to-door with my portfolio whenever I happened to travel.  As a result, my photographs have been sold around the country in restaurants, shops, galleries and art shows. 

Late last summer I opened a shop on Etsy.  If you’re not familiar with Etsy, it’s an online international marketplace headquartered in Brooklyn, NY.  Sellers are from every corner of the world and their amazing, creative products are all handcrafted or vintage.  It’s fabulously fun and seriously addictive shopping.  You may find yourself wandering through the shops on Etsy for days if you’re not careful. 

In addition to buying and selling, another popular Etsy addiction is creating Treasuries.  Here’s how it works:  select sixteen items from sixteen different shops and arrange them artistically to create a piece of art -- a collage, or mosaic if you will, of the sixteen items.  A treasury may be random, or based on a theme, like the beach perhaps, or a color - pink is always popular - or an event, like Father’s Day.  Treasuries are very popular within the world of Etsy and creative-types may spend hours or days putting together the perfect Treasury.

This is how I learned I have the heart of an artist.  An Etsy member made a Treasury featuring one of my photographs alongside the work of fifteen other potentially tender-hearted photographers and titled it “Not Fine Art Photography”.  Through their comments, this person made it very clear that our work was not up to standard.  Several of my fellow photographers had already posted indignant, upset comments -- one declared their intent to “report” the treasury-maker for breaking the rules.

After my first moment of surprise, I experienced a little burst of fear and maybe just the tiniest hint of shame.  I had finally been found out – here was the confirmation of what I’d always feared: that I couldn’t possibly know what I’m doing.  Then, the moment passed and I chuckled as I discovered that I didn’t much care what my critic thought.  I love my photographs, which is probably the only reason I can offer them for sale.  I love the way they look and feel (I print them on very special paper) -- I love the rich, vibrant, textured color that I capture and painstakingly reproduce and I love the composition of the items in each photograph.

Vincent van Gogh sold only one painting in his lifetime.  Stephen King received thirty rejection letters before his book Carrie was accepted for publication.  Elvis Presley was fired by the manager of the Grand Ole Opry after just one performance.  Now I know why those artists persevered.  They were driven by a personal, unique vision to produce something wonderful and to share that creation with the world – appreciated or not. 

Ahhh, the heart of an artist.

Visit my shop on Etsy:  www.etsy.com/shop/ninedragons

Visit my treasuries:  http://www.etsy.com/people/ninedragons/treasury?sort=creation_date&order=desc

FIVE THINGS

Last week passed in beautiful bliss as I journeyed through all-day meditation classes book-ended by twice-a-day yoga classes which were taught by, possibly, the best yoga teacher on the planet.  Going deep inside is challenging, but since three of my seven days were in total silence, I gradually learned a lot about what is truly important and what isn’t. 

Five things that aren’t very important:

-the world-class fidgeter I probably wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t worn a ski jacket  (read: very noisy) to class every day

-people who talk to one another, in normal speaking voices, during lectures

-people who don’t turn their cellphones off (including the incoming message ping they think no one else can hear) during meditation

-the caterer running out of dessert before you’ve had yours

-standing in unending lines for the ladies restroom as you watch the men quickly zip in and out of theirs…all week

Normally, it is very likely that I would have efficiently set about solving all of those obvious, world-class problems in my “get things done right” fashion – but I was sworn to silence and so, instead (and this was very, very hard mind you), I learned to let it go.  Over and over and over again.  For many of you reading this, you might not think it possible, but such a beautiful, freeing, lung-expanding thing this…letting go is.

Five things that are very important:

-The things other people do that irritate me are, in every single case, simply a reflection of something within me that I am ashamed of or dislike

-I am truly, deeply beautiful exactly as I am – inside and out

-Inner peace is what will lead us to world peace

-The bright, blue California sky is breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful

-Blossoming orange trees require that you stop at every one, every day and put your face inside to smell their scent (look for bees before you sniff!)

Do you think it’s possible to capture, in a photograph, the sweet smell of the orange blossom?  That’s one of my goals now that so many previously important things are now…not.

Namaste,

Elizabeth

Bring Back the Turban

Bring Back the Turban

Do you remember when women wore turbans?  I do.  I think it must have been the early 1960’s.  My aunt used to wear one occasionally and when she did, she looked like a movie star or a queen.  She was probably just having a bad hair day, but I swear she looked even more glamorous than usual when she would wear a turban – usually with a long, flowing caftan – which probably meant she’d gained a few pounds and her capris were too tight.  Nevertheless, she looked smashing, exotic, very not mid western – which is what we were – living in Kansas.

Turbans came to mind the other morning just after I’d washed my hair.  As most women do, I wrap my wet hair in a big, fluffy bath towel.  To make this happen, you bend over at the waist, shake your hair out a bit to untangle it and then beginning with the towel centered at the back of your head, wrap one end in towards your forehead and then the other, giving it a little twist while folding the ends back over the top as you stand up straight, so they hang down behind your head.  Sometimes you get your turban too loose and the whole thing falls apart sooner than you might like.  Sometimes you get it just right and it stays in place until your hair has dried somewhat, your makeup is done and you can remove your turban and turn on the blow dryer.  Sometimes however, you get them too tight and it feels like all your hair is being pulled out by the roots.  The morning I began to think about turbans,  I’d gotten mine rather too tight and when I stood upright and flipped the ends back over my head I winced a bit as I turned towards the mirror.  Some people would suggest that I am now “of a certain age”, whatever that means, but I do know that I am probably about the age my aunt was when she wore her glamorous turbans. 

Here is what I learned that morning in front of the mirror.  A too-snug turban pulls your hair back hard and as a result, pulls your skin back tightly too.  I looked great – even my jawline and neck were smooth and firm – and I didn’t even have any makeup on yet. 

So, I’m thinking…turbans as a fashion statement need to make a comeback.   What do you think?

Philadelphia, PA

March 19, 2012

Chocolate Brown Rotary Dial 1970's Telephone

Chocolate Brown Rotary Dial 1970’s Telephone

It even works!  A chocolate brown desk phone, its brown cord is wired into the receiver and the phone…

I can’t stop thinking about this listing for a vintage item being sold on Etsy.  The phone is gorgeous – a deep, dark brown rotary-dial telephone from the 1970’s in perfect condition and still working.

Just looking at it brings to mind the sound and feel of dialing one of those classic phones.  Much slower than dialing these days, it had a smooth, heavy, velvety feel as your finger pulled the dial around and then released it to return home so that you could repeat the process for the remaining numbers.  It provided the leisure to think some about precisely what you might want to say to the person you were calling.  There was something almost sensual about dialing those telephones -- every friend I’ve mentioned it to, has gotten a dreamy, fond sort of look on their face as I watch them remember the way it used to feel to dial the telephone.

                              

In the description for the phone, the seller explains that the cord is “wired into the receiver and the phone” and I realize that something, once so common, has been completely forgotten.  Several generations have grown up without seeing one of those boxy telephones hardwired into the wall.  When you bought a new phone back then, a service man (were there any service women then?) had to come out and wire it into the wall for you.  Of course, the receiver too was firmly connected by a long, elastic, twisty cord to its base.  I used to lie on the floor at night talking to my friends, playing with that cord like a girl might play with her long hair, wrapping it around and around my finger.  For a long time, most houses only had one phone, so it was usually in a central, easily accessible location like the kitchen.  That long cord enabled you to move out of the room for a little bit of privacy.  How did people manage to have illicit affairs back then? 

As a photographer and sometime jewelry maker, I have succumbed to convenience and purchased several digital cameras, but secretly, I’m still faithful to and in love with my old 35mm film camera.  Its solid weight helps anchor me to the earth and I like the soft, steady whir as I depress the shutter; I am confident in the perfectly smooth, sliding movement of manually adjusting the focus.  My first digital camera lost its micro capability after a few brief years and felt, like its replacement, light and plastic-y, rather like a child’s toy with annoying beeps and tinny sounds.  I suppose it’s something like the difference between slamming the car door of a Mercedes versus slamming one on a Toyota – the Mercedes assures me, every time, of its solidness, its dependability.  In comparison, I’m never really quite sure of the Toyota.

What I really wonder though – is when telephones (and actually, I mean everything else as well) stopped working perfectly and continually for years and years of dependable, unfailing service so that I wouldn’t have to think about them every few years?  It takes me two or three years to get fully used to something electronic or mechanical, whether it’s a car, or a camera, or a television, or…a telephone.  After I’ve done my research and made my purchase, honestly, I don’t want to have to think about doing it again for at least ten years, preferable twenty. 

Is that…unreasonable? 

Philadelphia, PA

February 28, 2012

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