Showing posts with label Clyde Butcher. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Clyde Butcher. Show all posts

Saturday, November 9, 2019

Equivalents

Equivalents is a series of photographs of clouds taken by Alfred Stieglitz from 1925 to 1934. They are generally recognized as the first photographs intended to free the subject matter from literal interpretation, and, as such, are some of the first completely abstract photographic works of art. (Wikipedia)
I have always enjoyed what Clyde Butcher, my favorite landscape photographer calls  "Florida mountains." I have tried over the years to photograph them and here I go again, during a  mangrove walk early one morning recently. Thus summer has produced, amidst all the climate crisis bad news, some truly superb clouds. Thunder, lightning and moisture: I love the summer drama over Florida.
A pelican under cloud cover:

  
Stieglitz took at least 220 photographs that he called Equivalent or Equivalents; all feature clouds in the sky. The majority of them show only the sky without any horizon, buildings or other objects in the frame, but a small number do include hills or trees. One series from 1927 prominently features poplar trees in the foreground.
Almost all of the photographs are printed very darkly so the sky often appears black or nearly black. The contrast between the sky and the much lighter clouds is striking in all but a few of the prints. Some images include the sun either as a distinct element in the photograph or as an illuminating force behind the clouds.
The multiple series Stieglitz called Equivalents combined two very important aspects of his photography: the technical and the aesthetic. He was a master at both, but with Equivalents he succeeded in bringing his skills to a new level. On the technical side, Stieglitz had been fascinated by the special problems of photographing clouds ever since the summer of 1887, when he took his first pictures of clouds over Lake Como in Italy. Until the 1920s most photographic emulsions were orthochromatic, which meant they were primarily sensitive to light on the blue end of the spectrum. This made photographing clouds particularly difficult because unless special filters were used the sky would appear very light and the clouds would be lost against it.[2] Over the years Stieglitz repeatedly took photographs of clouds using orthochromatic emulsions, but he reported "Every time I developed [a cloud negative] I was so wrought up, always believing I had nearly gotten what I was after – but had failed."
In 1922 Stieglitz read a commentary about his photography by Waldo Frank that suggested the strength of his imagery was in the power of the individuals he photographed.[3] Stieglitz was outraged, believing Frank had at best ignored his many photographs of buildings and street scenes, and at worst had accused him of being a simple recorder of what appeared in front of him. He resolved immediately to begin a new series of cloud studies "to show that (the success of) my photographs (was) not due to subject matter – not to special trees or faces, or interiors, to special privileges – clouds were there for everyone…" He said "I wanted to photograph clouds to find out what I had learned in forty years about photography. Through clouds to put down my philosophy of life –…My aim is increasingly to make my photographs look so much like photographs that unless one has eyes and sees, they won't be seen – and still everyone will never forget them having once looked at them."[4]
Coincidentally at this same time a new panchromatic photographic emulsion was developed that allowed the full range of colors to be captured. Soon after it became available Stieglitz aimed his 8" x 10" view camera at the sky and began taking pictures. By the next year he had created a series of ten mounted photographs he called Music: A Sequence of Ten Cloud Photographs (also called Clouds in Ten Movements). He told his wife Georgia O'Keeffe "I wanted a series that when seen by Ernest Bloch (the great composer) he would exclaim: Music! Music! Man, why that is music! How did you ever do that? And he would point to violins and flutes, and oboes, and brass…"[5] He first exhibited this series in 1923 in his one-man show at the Anderson Galleries in New York, and reported that when Bloch saw them there he had exactly the reaction Stieglitz had wanted.
   
I had a moment and I found myself photographing my out stretched hand in some symbolic reference to me asking to be lifted out of here.
   



Encouraged by the success of the Music series he took his smaller 4" x 5" Graflex camera and shot dozens of pictures of the sky in the summer of 1923. He arranged many of these photographs into distinct series he called Songs of the Sky. In late 1924 he exhibited sixty-one of his cloud photos in a single room at the Anderson Galleries. In the catalog to the exhibition he wrote "Songs of the Sky – Secrets of the Skies as revealed by my Camera are tiny photographs, direct revelations of a man's world in the sky – documents of eternal relationship – perhaps even a philosophy."[7] After seeing the exhibition, Ananda Coomaraswamy, who was then curator at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, persuaded Stieglitz to donate some of his photographs, including five from Songs of the Sky, to the museum. This was the first time a major museum in the U.S. acquired photographs as part of its permanent collection.
Stieglitz continued photographing clouds and skies for most of the next decade. In 1925 he began referring to these photographs as Equivalents, a name he used for all such photographs taken from that year forward. In 1929 he renamed some of the original Songs of the Sky as Equivalents, and these prints are still known by both names today.

Perhaps i should devote more time to this esoteric pursuit. Probably not.
"I always feel that photography is not a level playing field; if you live on the edge of the Grand Canyon, fall out of bed and grab a quick snap, it will be a masterpiece; if you live in Islington, fall out of bed and grab a quick shot about the only thing you will get is mugged.
same with wild life; shoot a lion great, shoot you pet rabbit - nothing."  Gandolphi On Digital Photography Review






Saturday, June 4, 2016

Florida Mountains


This was the cloud that got me going, the dawn light after a rain storm, the sun hitting the tops of the cloud. I realized it was summer and clouds are back with all their moisture.
The stillness of the dawn over the mangroves and salt water on north Cudjoe Key.
The noted Florida landscape photographer Clyde Butcher calls clouds "Florida mountains" and he captures them in startling detail over the Everglades, his home turf. Taken from the web:
I couldn't go hear him talk when he last came to Key West (damned work!) but my wife went and got me a signed copy of his then-latest book. He wanders the swamps in waders carrying a huge old fashioned box camera on a  tripod and gets amazing pictures.
Me? I fart around with an iPhone and feel fortunate I don't have to stretch these images to fit a vast canvas.
It is quite the thing to have my dog rushing hither and yon and for myself to be standing there just looking.

A flash of fur and he's gone again. He does a good job of keeping an eye on me and making sure not to lose touch. He comes whenever I call him.



Luckily I remembered the mosquito repellent so I was quite comfortable.


My Clyde Butcher impression:


Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Everglades en Masse

A Canadian riding the All American motorcycle in alligator country. Yesterday was a day for riding motorcycles in South Florida.
David Masse was at Eaglerider promptly just before eleven, and when I showed up he was looking apprehensively at the 700 pound mastodon he had rented for the day.
He had asked for a "basic" Sportster, the 500 pound beginner's bike Harley Davidson builds to get people started on a life of owning big v-twin motorcycles. They've modernized the concept with a new line of beginner bikes, the Street 750 and 500 but when David's Sportster was unavailable they "upgraded" him to their baby touring bike, the Switchback a Harley I had looked at with some interest. I ride a motorcycle viewed by some Internet mouths as a tiddler suitable for beginners which I find odd as I started out on much smaller bikes and the Triumph feels entirely full-sized to me. I think David might not have minded a 350 as he was looking at his first ride on a motorcycle with gears, traffic and everything.
The route I had planned avoided beaches, bikinis and other distractions, stop and go traffic and the Keys. Unable to spend a night away a ride down the islands looked like too much effort for too small a return. I figured a 200 mile rectangle through alligator country might work. He looked the part.
Our first stop, after a chunk of freeway keeping up with cars and trucks, and Highway 27 a four lane road with a few lights, and Tamiami Trail with road works, was the gas station now automated, modern, and devoid of human contact. I filled the relatively modest tank on my beginner bike, but David's five gallon tank (with gauge) was looking full enough. We pressed on.
David took to the beast like a duck to water. He rode a small motorbike once in the Pleistocene Era and then more recently got an automatic Vespa 300 which he rides around Montreal. Nothing like a Dyna Switchback but he took off like the proverbial off a stick. I shrugged and tried to keep up. Seen here cruising the Loop Road searching for alligators.
Oops! There's one...We stopped and David with his long legs maneuvered the lump off the road easier than I duck walked the Bonneville on tip toe and we took the inevitable pictures of the silent, stationary dinosaur.
Being smart older men we didn't approach the critter, nor did we tweak his tail, something half witted visitors to Disneyworld Florida do from time to time... Alligators are actually laid back and ignore large humans but they are not worth bothering. They run faster than you, swim stronger than you and inflict appalling wounds with their filthy teeth. They drown their victims to allow the bodies to rot so they can eat them later. Given all that they don't have to be hungry to kill, unlike sharks who hunt when hungry, so messing with them is not smart. We were smart.
Canadian with all fingers and toes, building confidence with the Switchback.
Looking at the two bikes David noticed something that has struck me over the decades I have been riding. Namely that motorcycles generally look smaller in real life than they do in pictures. I notice this especially with motorcycles from my youth which at the time seemed huge and out of reach not only because of their cost but also owing to sheer gargantuan size...now that I am a more experienced rider, decades later they look positively tiny. Head on my 900 Bonneville looks like a bicycle:
I let David loose on an unsuspecting Florida and he was momentarily alone with his monster bike. I wonder what he was thinking.
Clyde Butcher, the man who best captures South Florida in photography has a gallery on the Tamiami (Tampa-Miami) Trail. I wasn't letting the Canadian Hog Rider get past this cabin on Highway 41 without a look in. Of course there was photography to be done outside, too.
They are everywhere this year. I saw dozens lining the canal alongside the highway, basking in the 80 degree heat after the recent cold snap which put mainland temperatures close to freezing, even here.
The other wildlife we saw plenty of alongside the road was Angler Americanus, looking for I don't know what in the tannic impenetrable waters of the Everglades canal. A mercury laden fish in return for being run down by an 18-wheeler. Sounds like a deal to me. I can't think of a better way to spend a Monday.
Road building in South Florida isn't easy thanks to the boggy nature of the Everglades, but once the routes are chosen the road beds travel in very straight lines which are not exactly designed to delight the heart and soul of a human dedicated to adventure by motorcycle. On the other hand, some days are just made for the less curvy adventures of watching wildlife and counting clouds floating overhead. Not to mention coming to grips with the peculiar starting process and baulky gearbox of a modern Harley Davidson.
David, knowing my interest in the Switchback suggested we swap bikes for the next stage, riding to lunch. I sank into the plush seat, stuck my feet forward looking for the big rubber foot boards and tried to wrap my hands around the downward facing handlebars. David thought the Bonneville had solid acceleration but the Switchback felt like it was a rocket booster when I opened it up. Miraculously the mirrors stayed perfectly still through it and the vibrations weren't allowed to interfere with the rider. I was flying through the Everglades on a couch, tracking steady and straight though I did wonder how it would cope with mountain roads.     

                          


Or rather how I would cope with mountain roads with the huge foot controls, soft floorboards and a handlebar that was as steady as a ship's tiller tied down for a storm. No wonder there are so many Harleys rumbling along the dead straight roads of Florida. A dozen years ago I rode an earlier model Dyna around California and I remember the 500 mile ride very well. Perhaps I was over thinking it, until I lurched round the traffic circle in Everglades City and nearly hit the car in front as I struggled with the weird turn signal controls and the fat handlebar throttle. Nothing like a motorcycle to make you feel like a dork, especially when you aren't man enough.
Where were we? Ah yes, lunch in Chokoloskee where David now looked at his new relationship rather more fondly than at my elderly excuse for a sit-up-and-beg motorcycle.
Thank heavens for the web. I had scouted out lunch and Havana Cafe had looked good online, and better in person.
David was vacillating between the Cuban Sandwich and the roast pork so in the spirit of my absent wife we ordered one of each and split them.
We talked of Canada, business ethics, retirement prospects (not close enough) motorcycles and the likelihood of not needing the rain gear I had brought. David was serene but I wasn't as it's been an odd winter. Not that I mind the rain if prepared for it but some people, especially newer riders tend to fear rain covered roads. Apparently not the Canadian.
We had no time left to cruise Chokoloskee, old time Florida surviving at the southwest tip of the state, a small village surrounded by tannic waters, mangrove islands and attached to the mainland by one causeway.
And so through Everglades City caught on the fly... I had thought about the Rod and Gun Club but apparently it is fast dropping out of favor with travelers, and it was no great shakes two years ago. Pass, and hope for better days for the historic hideaway for historic rich people.
Now we were under the gun as Eaglerider closed at 6 and we had two hours and thirty minutes left.
I stopped for a rain shower which was so weak as to cause no concern to the Steel Man from The North and like the condemned refusing a blindfold he rejected an offer of my new, unused Frogg Toggs bought recently to replace my well worn commuting waterproofs. Frogg Toggs are excellent if you plan on standing in rain or riding in rain. I love mine and they go with me everywhere. David's biggest concern was gas as he was running out of premium. He told me the last thirty miles to the Miccosukee gas station on Alligator Alley (I-75) was a nail biter for him. I have no gas gauge but I zero the trip meter at every fill up and I knew I was fine; damp but fine for gas. If my guest rejected the new Frogg Toggs I refused to wear my old set. The sun re-emerged and we were dry again almost instantly.
I had told David about the "twistiest road in Florida" and he knew right where it was.
He was off and running, I stopped for pictures...
...and left him to it.
Snake Road is a gently curving levy awkwardly built for photographers as there are no shoulders at all and the grass is soft and slopes away from the road surface. Eventually the Harley reappeared with a smiling rider. We shook hands like the men that we had proven ourselves to be and waved good bye as I took Highway 27 south and he continued west to Fort Lauderdale.
My private adventure began 35 miles north of Homestead where a big black cloud turned into a downpour and I happily put on my waterproofs and hunkered down for a quick ride to the Keys. It turned out rain darkness and farm vehicles are a lethal mixture as once again Krome Avenue (named for Flagler's railway engineer who died of yellow fever) was the personification of slow traffic, tons of lights, distracted drivers and a cautious 15mph top speed. Grr! I should have taken the turnpike but I was tired of freeways. Lesson learned- again!
Paradoxically the ride through the Keys was fantastic as the rain dried up and I found myself behind three cars that drove so fast I dared not keep up and they managed somehow to sweep all slowpokes before them. I got home at eight, still damp but delighted with the day and a solid 400 mile ride.
A day spent without this:
How could I do such a thing?

A rough map as I lost patience with my mapping device. Outbound we took Highway 27 a more rural, toll-free route than the Turnpike recommended.