photographing children

One of the reason I love photography so much is the ability it gives me to capture and preserve moments that otherwise are fleeting. Our emotions flow from one to the next, but there are times when we want to revisit a look of love, a proud smile, or the intense grimace that comes along with chasing a soccer ball down the field.



Children possess qualities that make them so fun to photograph. For one, they don't hide much. If they're happy, they show it. If they're sad, angry, embarrassed, or surprised, you will know that, too. They also don't worry so much about who else is around to witness what they're doing. They get absorbed in their own little worlds and whether or not someone is standing by with a camera to document their every move matters little to them. Finally, they're constantly moving around and they're so unpredictable! I never know what they will do next or what expressions might show up on their faces.



One of the things I love most is putting myself on their level, whether it's crawling around on my hands and knees so I can see children eye-to-eye or lying on my stomach to photograph a crawling baby. I see the world from a very different perspective -- theirs -- and gain a bit more understanding of how children see things.



This past year, I've been incredibly blessed to gain new family, which includes two of the most adorable boys. They do their share of "performing" for the camera, but more often than not, they're content to let me snap away while they do their own thing.



I took these photos at a wedding this fall, and during a trip to the Children's Museum in Boston, MA. If you're looking for a place to let kids run loose, the museum would be the place to do it! Special thanks to their mom for letting me spend time with her kids and share these photos. Special thanks also to my amazing fiancée, who has brought some wonderful people into my life.

fantastic mr. fox

Taking advantage of slightly warmer, but still wintry, temperatures, Bonster and I visited World's End in Hingham, MA, a 251-acre "coastscape" maintained by the Trustees of Reservations just 15 miles south of Boston.

I had high hopes for the sunset and the light it would cast over the frozen land and water, but alas, the sun retreated behind thick clouds two hours ahead of schedule, never to return. I managed several photos that capitalized on the clear, bright afternoon, the firmament just beckoning for images created in its likeness. Mere steps from Boston's urban sprawl, our eyes drank in the vistas and the rich scenes: deep blues with scattered puffs of white painted across the sky, reflections in the liquid mirror below, hardy gulls and ducks slowly treading water in search of food.

Ascending from The Bar up toward Planter's Hill, we spotted a red fox out for lunch. A bold fellow, he did not mind our presence at all, allowing me to get relatively close. I'm pretty sure he cast several looks in our direction, contemplating us as a potential meal. Then he began trotting in my direction, muscles tensing up. I lowered my camera, readying myself to flee this carnivorous beast. And in that instant, he pounced upon a field mouse. I heard the dying squeal of the unfortunate rodent, the cracking of bones as our fox devoured his prey. I knew at that moment that any hope I had of becoming a National Geographic photographer had vanished: I had failed to capture the kill. Not an event for the queasy-stomached, it definitely made our trip more than worth it.

The rocky coastline, icy coves, and distant views offered by glacier-carved hills offered beautiful views of the water and surrounding terrain. I marveled at the sheets of ice that had collided with one another, rupturing the icescape and creating frozen fields that sat in disarray. It required only a small leap of imagination to envision myself alongside Amundsen, Peary, Shackleton, and Byrd, the great Arctic and Antarctic explorers.











For the full album, including more photographs of the red fox, click here.

reverie in white

Heavy clouds suspended overhead,
no late-afternoon glow.
Soft flakes of snow emerge from the
vast,
             gray
                             sky,
growing larger, falling faster
with each passing minute.

The cemetery possesses a special aura,
keeper of the bodies of those
who have already walked this Earth.
A quiet peace enshrouds these grounds,
augmented by the white blanket of snow
that arrives with Winter.

Who were these people and how did they live their lives?
Where are they now?
Do their souls wander aimlessly?
Or have they new bodies,
and embarked on a new chapter in this journey of Life?




   

cutler state park

Who knew that I would upload two posts in a row that featured cell-phone photography? I was out on a walk in Cutler State Park yesterday, a sunny yet crisp afternoon, and wished I had my camera to capture the bare trees, lonely cattails, and deep blue sky. Image quality is obviously lacking, but here are a few of the images I captured, directly from the phone and unaltered aside from some cropping.


A row of trees sits atop a rocky incline which opens up onto railroad tracks that serve freighters and the commuter rail coming out of Boston. This tree looks so majestic, standing tall against the clear blue sky behind it. Perhaps it's because of its bareness, which separates it from the other trees around it and allows the sky to peek between its extended arms and fingers. Regardless, I have never been so captivated by these trees during the other seasons, when they're fully covered in leaves.


How is it that during this season, when most other forms of plant life wilt and wither away, when animals slow down, some migrating to warmer climes and other retreating into hibernation rather than confront the biting cold each day, do these cattails manage to stand so straight? They do not possess the sturdy trunks that trees do, yet their delicate stalks manage to withstand the elements and to preserve them through the winter months. It was awe-inspiring to look out over fields upon fields (or should I say marsh upon marsh) of these cattails running in all directions around us.


This is the photograph that would benefit from a more formidable lens than the cell phone can offer. The trees in the background lack definition and sharpness, and the loss of contrast between the trees and the sky makes this image a bit less stunning than the actual experience of taking in this scene. Subtract the snow from the bottom of the frame and the vista reminds me of African plains in winter. Flex your imagination hard enough and you can begin to see lions roaming through the tall, brown grass, stalking wildebeest and zebra for their next meal.

cell phone photography

The latest fad in photography seems to be a shift toward less equipment, smaller cameras, lower resolution: cell phone cameras. Everywhere I turn, there's a new book or a new blog displaying what someone has done with their phone. Perhaps I would jump on the bandwagon if I hadn't spent so much money on a DSLR not too long ago. Or maybe I would be more inclined to whip out my cell phone to take photographs if my Motorola sported something better than a 1.3MP camera (there was a time when 1.3MP was amazing!). Nonetheless, here are a few of my own creations, taken in the past year.


the largest mozzarella stick ever
courtesy of the brickhouse café, dedham, MA


dogs driving a mini-cooper
princeton, NJ


a walk in the snow


sunset over the charles river
watertown, MA


sunset over a parking lot
dedham, MA


clouds at sunset
(i love the lighting created by standing with the sun at my back, but beware the digital zoom -- it wreaks havoc on already questionable image quality)

the polar express

Adapted from Chris van Allsburg’s The Polar Express.

On Christmas Eve, many years ago, I lay quietly on my couch. I was listening for a sound – a sound Eric had told me I’d never hear – the ringing bells of Santa’s sleigh.



Late that night I did hear sounds, though not of ringing bells. From outside came the sounds of hissing steam and squeaking metal. I looked through my window and saw a train standing perfectly still in front of my house.



A conductor stood at the open door of one of the cars. “All aboard!” the conductor cried out.



“Well,” he said, “are you coming?”
“Where?” I asked.
“Why, to the North Pole of course,” was his answer. “This is the Polar Express.”

The train was filled with other children, all in their pajamas and nightgowns.



We drank hot cocoa as thick and rich as melted chocolate bars.





Outside, the lights of towns and villages flickered in the distance as the Polar Express raced northward.





The North Pole. At first we saw no elves.

“They are gathering at the center of the city,” the conductor told us. “That is where Santa will give the first gift of Christmas.”

“Look,” shouted one of the children, “the elves.” As our train drew closer to the center of the North Pole, we slowed to a crawl, so crowded were the streets with Santa’s helpers.





The elves moved apart and Santa Claus appeared. The elves cheered wildly.



He marched over to us and, pointing to me, said, “Let’s have this child here.” He asked, “Now, what would you like for Christmas?”



I knew that I could have any gift I could imagine. But the thing I wanted most for Christmas was not inside Santa’s giant bag. What I wanted more than anything was one silver bell from Santa’s sleigh. When I asked, Santa smiled. Then he gave me a hug and told an elf to cut a bell from a reindeer’s harness. The elf tossed it up to Santa. He stood, holding the bell high above him, and called out, “The first gift of Christmas!”



As soon as we were back inside the Polar Express, the other children asked to see the bell. I reached into my pocket, but the only thing I felt was a hole. I had lost the silver bell from Santa Claus’s sleigh. It broke my heart to lose the bell.

On Christmas morning, Eric and I opened our presents. When it looked as if everything had been unwrapped, Eric found one last small box behind the tree.



It had my name on it. Inside was the silver bell! I shook the bell. It made the most beautiful sound Eric and I had ever heard.

At one time most of my friends could hear the bell, but as years passed, it fell silent for all of them. Even Eric found one Christmas that he could no longer hear its sweet sound. Though I’ve grown old, the bell still rings for me as it does for all who truly believe.

days are still getting shorter...

Although I like having the sunlight streaming through my window to help me wake up in the morning, I occasionally have the opportunity to stop and enjoy the later sunrises. I woke up on December 1st and caught the orange glow of the approaching sun stretch across the horizon. The silhouetting of the buildings and the airplanes departing from LaGuardia Airport transformed the landscape I'm used to seeing out my dorm room window from a sprawling mess of buildings into a murky formless shape, nighttime lights still faintly shining from windows and streetlamps, all sharply contrasted against the ever-brightening sky above.