Figure 1 – The storm breaks, South Lee, Massachusetts. (c) DE Wolf 2019.

I was out in Western, Massachusetts two weekends ago and was struck by the “finally” breaking storm heralded by a gibbous moon peeking periodically through the waning clouds. I captured this in Figure 1 with my 70-200 mm zoom. I was particularly struck by the colors: a deep blue night sky, dark looming near-black, clouds, and golden red illumination. The sense is reminiscent of a nebula deep in space. In a deeper sense it is a scene that only the sky can inspire.   

It is a moment that send chills up your spine both from the sheer beauty of the moment and from the allusion to so many horror movies. Uncontrollably it is going to pop out of me. The Wolf Man, 1941.

“Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright.”

Canon T2i with Canon EF70-200EF-4L USM lens at 200 mm, ISO 3200, Aperture Priority AF Mode 1/10th sec at f/4.0 with no exposure compensation. 

Figure 1 – Ray of light on the mountains, Lee, MA in midwinter. (c) DE Wolf 2019.

We have, at last, reached the heart of winter time, the coming of the winter solstice and the shortest day in the Northern Hemisphere. I know that I obsess a lot about this. I do not like the darkness interdigitated with the cold and I await anxiously the changeover to Daylight’s Savings Time in March. Today in Boston the solstice came at 11:28 am this morning. We were treated to a whopping 9:04:40 hours of sunlight, with the sunrise at 7:09 this morning and the sunset at 4:14 this afternoon. Interestingly the sunsets have been getting later and later since December 13, when the sun set at 4:11  pm. Yes minutes count in my misery.  

From the viewpoint of a person on the Earth, (Hey that is us!) Old Sol does a couple of things. First, he rises in the east each morning and sets in the west each night. Similarly the background of stars moves in this daily cycle. If you imagine, as the ancient did, that the stars are painted on a dome above the Earth, there is a ring called the celestial equator that is overhead at the Earth’s equator. Now the Earth’s orbit is in a plane that is at an angle to the celestial equator. As a result, the sun appears to move in this plane against the background of stars. This is the second apparent motion of the sun. It appears to move in this plane along a path referred to as the ecliptic through the constellations of the Zodiac Psst, actually the Earth is moving in its orbit!!! The ecliptic crosses the celestial equator at the two equinoxes, in March (vernal) and September (autumnal). It reaches its highest point above the celestial equator at the summer solstice and its lowest point at the Winter Solstice.

The mathematical among you will recognize that the sun’s path through the sky looks like a giant sine wave about the celestial equator up and down ad infinitum. I am embarrassed that I do not remember my college Calculus professor, but he would have been proud that I remembered that the rate of change in the height above the celestial equator must be zero at the maximum (the summer solstice) and the minimum (the winter solstice). Effectively the sun momentarily STOPS in its motion through the Zodiac. “Solstice” is derived from the Latin word sōlstitium. It literally translates to “the (apparent) standing still of the sun.” That’s because sōl means sun and sister means to stand still or “to come to a stop.”  Ain’t it wonderful!

The image of Figure 1, like the winter solstice, is a harbinger of the coming of the light. I took it last Sunday on a cold dreary day in Lee, MA in the heart of the Berkshires. The ray, of course, represents illumination. This particular ray is worthy of the ascent of Moses to heaven. And, again in the case of Moses, the bringing of light to the world.

Figure 1 – Photopictorialist study # 19 – landscape behind The Clark, Williams College, Williamstown, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2019.

The year is nearing its end, and we are joyfully nearing the shortest day. Eventually we may emerge, like Dante, from the tyranny of Daylight Standard Time. Not that I am bitter and grumpy! I spent a really nice weekend in Western Massachusetts and, as a result was able to capture, the nineteenth of my photopictorialist studies. This is shown in Figure 1 as a stark, but well groomed, hill taken from behind The Clark at Williams College in Williamstown, MA. All that I have done to the original, so as to “pictorialize” it is to add a bit of noise and to brighten and saturate the colors. I took several images concentrated on including and excluding, as well as positioning, various trees in the foreground. This is the image that pleased me most in the end.

It may be worth noting that despite the fact that this was only a few days after our first big snow of the year, recent warm weather and heavy rains had obliterated all of the snow. Grass and trees cling to life in a New England winter only to themselves emerge again come spring, and spring will come!

Figure 1 – Orchid Vine Shadow, Boston, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2019.

You go to an art museum to look at the art – right? Well sometimes. During my recent trip to Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts I came across this beautifully twisted orchid vine in the reception area. I was really taken by the shadow that it cast on the wall, and by moving and positioning the camera just right I was able to achieve the spectacles shown in Figure 1. I want to emphasize one point. The background is not merely blank white. It has the texture of the wall, and this texture gives added dimension to an otherwise flat image. I am told that it if you don’t know what it is, it looks like a drawing, perhaps sketched by Picasso with great and characteristic fluidity.

Figure 1 – Hologram of Ancient Nubia. MFA, Boston, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2019.

A couple of weekends ago I went to the wonderful Nubia exhibit at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts and took the image of Figure 1. It shows an ancient lamp with a sculpture of a horse, the shadow of the lamp, and a figure in the upper right handsome reflected dimly in the case glass. The optical set up here reminds me of how a hologram is produced. The shadow looms ominously. To me the point of the photograph is one of reality and shadows of the past and through the figure the shadowy relationship between the past and the present. We are defined by the past, and the past is defined by us in the present!

Figure 1 – Prospect Park Sunset #2, Brooklyn, NY. (c) DE Wolf 2019.

I wanted to share today what was actually the first in a series of images that I took last week of the sunset over the lake at Prospect Park in Brooklyn, NY. I emphasize the order because sunsets evolve and change very quickly; so this was truly the first. I think that the key to this image is the ambiguity created by the bright point of light across the lake from the photographer. What is it? In physical reality it is, of course, just a light, but metaphysically I think that it is something more. It has meaning. It represents a beckoning point, a place to be wondered about and, if you’re worthy, to be achieved. It is perhaps infinitely far away, perhaps not to actually be achieved but to be strived for. It represents the center. 

Figure 1 – Prospect Park Sunset #1, Brooklyn, NY. (c) DE Wolf 2019.

I hope that everyone had a great Thanksgiving! I have just returned from mine and have started working on the many images that I took in my visit to New York City. The first of these is Figure 1, which shows a sunset view of Prospect Park Lake in Brooklyn, New York. This is my old stomping ground and just standing there, beside the lake, watching the sunset flooded me with many memories, mostly good. The orange hues of sunset bring on a sense of stillness and contemplation. But you realize from all the people going by that millions have tread these paths since you yourself did, perhaps a half century ago. The place possesses millions of memories. Does the multitude diminish your own? So many things change; so many things stay the same. 

It is, no doubt, a cliché. But perhaps it is worth mentioning the words of Joni Mitchell’s “The Circle Game,” which is itself a vivid meme and memory of bangs and long blonde hair.

“We can’t return we can only look

Behind from where we came

And go round and round and round

In the circle game.”

Figure 1 – Heffalump in the sand, Crane Beach, Ipswich, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2019.

Today I was going through some old images and found the photograph of Figure1, taken with my iPhone XS and not “worked-up.” It brought back memories of that wonderful afternoon walk, of about a month ago, on Crane Beach in Ipswich, MA. It is a drawing of an elephant in the sand or more zen of a Heffalump. Such images are precious jewels since they bring not just the joy of a photograph to be completed, but the wonder of the day when you first saw it and, of course, the joy of whom you were with.

These references to Winnie the Pooh, like the concept of a heffalump,  are an indelible piece of our western childhoods. Indelible is meant as a paradox, because while the concept of a heffalump and its associated mystery may be indelible in our minds, there is nothing more ephemeral than a drawing in beach sand.

Pooh. piglet, and Christopher Robin opine on heffalumps. They opine not with malicious ignorance, but rather with a wishful want of knowing.

“I saw one once,” said Piglet. “At least, I think I did,” he said. “Only perhaps it wasn’t.””So did I,” said Pooh, wondering what a Heffalump was like.”You don’t often see them,” said Christopher Robin carelessly.”Not now,” said Piglet.”Not at this time of the year,” said Pooh.

Figure 1 – The beach at Derby Wharf, US Salem Maritime National Historic site. (c) DE Wolf 2019.

Today was really gloomy, damp, and foggy out on the ocean. The mood was marvelous and contemplative. I walked down to the little beach that is adjacent to Salem’s Derby Wharf and took the image of Figure 1, attracted by the glowing licks of water on the beach, which accentuated the otherwise monotonous bleakness. 

Looking on the scene at the Salem US National Maritime Historic site, with its three preserved wharfs. It is hard to imagine that there once were fifty such wharves, and that Salem was once the center of “The China Trade.” 

Derby Wharf is the longest and was begun in 1762 by Richard Derby, Sr., one of Salem’s wealthiest merchants. Over the years, as the Derby family’s trade expanded, they extended the wharf, until in 1806 it reached its current half-mile length. Hatch’s Wharf, the shortest wharf, was built in 1819, and Central Wharf was built in 1791 by Simon Forrester. Derby Wharf Light Station was built in 1871.

The park has put out Adirondack chairs for visitors to sit on and look out over the beach. If you restrict your eyes, as I have done here, you see only the natural world and can watch the cormorants and diving ducks like the buffleheads in little groups, at any moment ready to submerge or take flight. It is all so very wonderful!