Last night, while my wife, Elizabeth and I walked our dog, we noticed how the drifting clouds lent an eerie sensation to the sky as they revealed and covered the moon. I returned shortly with my tripod and new Canon Powershot S100 to see how the camera would handle a night shot.
Originally, I simply wanted to see if I could shoot the moon in various illuminated cloud configurations. I shot for about 20 minutes or so with the lens fully extended—several with the moon between pine boughs, some with it between the roof peak and chimney of my neighbor’s house. Then I noticed a single window light directly under the moon. I stepped back and recomposed so the window would be an element within the frame. I also set my camera to “P” mode to see what would happen (see below for photo file data). This is what I got:
The house across the street
I emailed the photo to my photographer friend, John Todaro, who got back to me early this morning by email and phone. Essentially, he said that he had a visceral reaction to this image. He said it evoked a deep sense of nostalgia and the passing of time.
I thought about that and recognized a correlation with his response—a synchrony—considering we have spoken about the passing of time, nostalgia, and the brevity of our lives on several occasions during the last several years. Regarding perception, we see what we are prepared to see, we see what we need to see. His feelings reflected his disposition, but I immediately understood they did so for me as well. I also recognize that someone else could have a very different interpretation or experience, or for that matter, none at all. It depends on what you bring to it. Recently, I photographed a scene which I see as depicting ongoing time—past, present, and future. It is my shot of “Life’s Path” in my blog entry Abbey of Genesee). In a way, this photo shows that I had a pre-disposition to fully appreciate John Todaro’s interpretation.
When speaking on the phone, we again discussed the notion of nostalgia, of looking back, but also that of looking forward. We both agreed these notions influence the choices we make regarding how we now spend our time.
In Western Culture, time is viewed as finite. Some sociologists have commented that it is a commodity—we spend it, save it, squander it, and earn it. Personally, I am at the point in life whereby I recognize my time bank is diminishing. So, when I look forward I am more apt to spend my time with more care and conscientiousness (and I hope with a continued sense of spontaneity and lack of pre-occupation with the inevitable).
There’s always been a notion by artists that creativity is a reflection of one’s inner self. That which is created is the manifestation of one’s self concept. It’s also been recognized that one can get a better glimpse of their own self concept by looking more carefully at what one creates. When I take photos, I do not analyze the metaphorical meaning of the scene. I shoot scenes that I connect with. I recognize a connection because there is a resonance. It doesn’t always occur, but I appreciate it when it does. In terms of what an image may mean, it may be days, months, or years later that I discover a figurative meaning associated with an image. And as often as not, no meaning surfaces.
In the case of the “House across the street,” I have a more immediate appreciation and connection with a photo I took after walking my dog last night and having a chat with my friend, John, this morning.
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—photo file data: Image shot in P mode. ISO 1600, ƒ/2.0, 1/8th sec, pattern (matrix) metering, on tripod.
Amazingly haunting shot! Should write a poem to complement it.
Thanks, Bessie.
well written piece … and nicely rendered nocturne.
Thanks, John.
As I’ve come to back to your picture a few times I can see that it really does evoke a sense of times past — a good feeling made better by the bittersweet tone of the image. For some, the house in the picture becomes an iconic form… a memory… or perhaps a pleasant recollection.
It can conjure up an awareness of passing time and becomes “timeless” the more it does that.
The moon has been amazing these past few nights. On November 12th it was so bright that I could see my shadow on the walk to my art studio – not a cloud in the sky. But last night the skies were filled with drifting clouds across the moon – such a beautiful, peaceful, mysterious sight. I told Leah how dramatic the skies were, but couldn’t entice her from the book she was reading so she had no idea of the marvelous “light show” going on over her head. In your photograph, there is the lighted window suggesting the nieghbors were home; perhaps your neighbors too, had no idea of the drama taking place over their disconnected heads. We modern urban people, often misunderstand that we are a part of a larger picture and when you experience things like this moonlit sky that you’ve captured, it suggests you are part of something much larger than your self.
I’m a sculptor and my images come about in a much different way than the photographer. They start with a vision (not a complete plan), but a vague intention, and it moves towards completion through some kind of strategy : it is about probing, through a “playful,” seeking/finding process. But, too, it is the process of “not knowing’ – it is an act of faith – one in which you are sometimes inclined to just go where the process takes you and you sort of go along for the ride to see where you end up. The creative problem-solving process is a paradox – depending on a vague intention and disciplined skill, but playfully open to possibilities that emerge. These possibilities often materialize through a free-wheeling, risk-taking attitude that supports the value of intuition, and of chance, in the same way we have been taught to value planning, logic and conscious decision-making. It is about learning to trust your instincts, not knowing where you’ll end up, but recognizing that you have “arrived” when you get there. The end “product,” through working this way, is what I tell myself I know, but didn’t know I knew. But, sometimes the images are so “new” to me, it is a struggle to decipher them and it takes some living with the sculpture to discover any deeper meaning, if at all. These works of art are not unlike friends you like to be with, because of their way of being. The longer they are in your life, you slowly discover why they were and are important to you in the first place.
I love your correlation regarding art and friendship—that we can discover deeper meaning in our creations, whether ours or another’s, as well as in our friends along the way. Thanks, Jack.
This first struck as impression expressed with watercolors. Very moving. The clouds letting in just so much light. I came to this site for center board trim advice. I’m leaving with the Montauk view of Southeast Light on Block Island and this stunning photo’s image to remember. Thank you
Thanks, Robert.