1806_1243 Merlin
It's good to be goal-directed. Having a goal, or even a shoot list, gets me out of the house, motivated, active, and engaged; all good. But I also try to leave a blank spot on the map, a "nothing zone" inside myself, to allow for the unexpected and perhaps even for the miraculous. And there are days when I am able to go out with a blank mind (well, as blank as possible) - perhaps it's better to refer to it as an open mind. And by that I mean being open to anything and everything good that comes my way, without preconceptions or self-judgement. This is an important part of the creative process, and it can result in a mental fluidity wherein "anything goes". If I'm really, really lucky, something great will emerge.
I was in just such a state of mind one morning in June. I got out reasonably early and drive one of the local backroads. Just looking. Stopping frequently, getting out to look some more, this time not at speeds of 30 mph or more, but just standing there, and of course this allowed me to listen, too, and smell whatever my feeble nose could discern on the breeze. I think I touched things. I don't recall tasting anything. At any rate, I was engaging most of my senses in the experience of being out on a beautiful prairie summer morning.
I shot a few very green, very pastoral landscapes in the rolling ranch and farm lands that encircle my little prairie village, and I made some cloud shots too, but mostly I used the big lens and focused on critters. I stopped for some llamas in a pasture. I found a meadowlark with a bill full of nesting material. Driving on to Grasslands Park, I photographed a killdeer pair with a small brood of chicks. Add a marbled godwit and some black-tailed prairie dogs and a few pronghorn - our North American antelope - to the mix. And this Merlin posed for me on a fence post. Usually these little falcons fly off, but it was my lucky morning: I got the shot.
Now, I don't think there were any prizewinners among my results that day; the sky didn't do anything dramatic, the animals and birds just went about their ordinary business. But I loved every minute of it, breathing the clean air and feeling connected to the place. That sense of being part of, not separate from, what we call nature (and generally consign to some place "out there" rather than recognizing it as an essential part of our lives) is what floats me through the bad days, the "off" days, the days when I question my life's path or wonder how I got talked into doing some of the things I do (wedding photography???). And being connected does enhance the chances of being present when something extraordinary happens. On this day, however, the Merlin was sufficient. I returned home happy.
Photographed near Val Marie, Saskatchewan (Canada). Don't use this image on websites, blogs, or other media without explicit permission © 2018 James R. Page - all rights reserved.
1806_1243 Merlin
It's good to be goal-directed. Having a goal, or even a shoot list, gets me out of the house, motivated, active, and engaged; all good. But I also try to leave a blank spot on the map, a "nothing zone" inside myself, to allow for the unexpected and perhaps even for the miraculous. And there are days when I am able to go out with a blank mind (well, as blank as possible) - perhaps it's better to refer to it as an open mind. And by that I mean being open to anything and everything good that comes my way, without preconceptions or self-judgement. This is an important part of the creative process, and it can result in a mental fluidity wherein "anything goes". If I'm really, really lucky, something great will emerge.
I was in just such a state of mind one morning in June. I got out reasonably early and drive one of the local backroads. Just looking. Stopping frequently, getting out to look some more, this time not at speeds of 30 mph or more, but just standing there, and of course this allowed me to listen, too, and smell whatever my feeble nose could discern on the breeze. I think I touched things. I don't recall tasting anything. At any rate, I was engaging most of my senses in the experience of being out on a beautiful prairie summer morning.
I shot a few very green, very pastoral landscapes in the rolling ranch and farm lands that encircle my little prairie village, and I made some cloud shots too, but mostly I used the big lens and focused on critters. I stopped for some llamas in a pasture. I found a meadowlark with a bill full of nesting material. Driving on to Grasslands Park, I photographed a killdeer pair with a small brood of chicks. Add a marbled godwit and some black-tailed prairie dogs and a few pronghorn - our North American antelope - to the mix. And this Merlin posed for me on a fence post. Usually these little falcons fly off, but it was my lucky morning: I got the shot.
Now, I don't think there were any prizewinners among my results that day; the sky didn't do anything dramatic, the animals and birds just went about their ordinary business. But I loved every minute of it, breathing the clean air and feeling connected to the place. That sense of being part of, not separate from, what we call nature (and generally consign to some place "out there" rather than recognizing it as an essential part of our lives) is what floats me through the bad days, the "off" days, the days when I question my life's path or wonder how I got talked into doing some of the things I do (wedding photography???). And being connected does enhance the chances of being present when something extraordinary happens. On this day, however, the Merlin was sufficient. I returned home happy.
Photographed near Val Marie, Saskatchewan (Canada). Don't use this image on websites, blogs, or other media without explicit permission © 2018 James R. Page - all rights reserved.