Serendipity

Life is full of serendipitous moments. Some might call them Agape, little unexpected gifts sprinkled throughout our lives. I received one last week.

Early one morning, well before the sun was up, I was sipping my first cup of coffee of the day and making the rounds on the internet. Checking in on all of the blogs and web sites I follow to see what was new. And there it was, in the comment section of my last post on this blog. A comment from Susan Patton. I sat up a little straighter, furrowed my brow tried to recall when I had posted a comment on this blog under my own name.

It turns out there is another Susan Patton in the world, no surprise there. This one also has an interest in photography (now it's getting a little more interesting). She found me in the process of trying to purchase the domain name Susanpattonphotography.com and here it comes, also hails from western Pennsylvania. At that point she had my attention. I quickly clicked on her name to see where it might lead. I was not disappointed to find myself on the profile page for her web site, Dreamin' Slippers. It turns out we have more than a name in common. Susan hails from New Castle, Pennsylvania, my home town, has two sons (although much younger than my own two boys) and has B's blog flagged on her site as a blog she follows.

I thought of little else that day. I knew I had to find out more. The coincidence that someone with my name who lives in my home town (where I have not lived for over 30 years), has two sons and shares a love of photography would actually find me and make contact... serendipity at its finest.

But it gets even better. My parents and her grand-parents were friends many years ago. They attended the same church and had enough in common to see each other socially. Her parents and my sister and brother-in-law were in the local Jaycees together when they were much younger and we all spent time at the wonderful place on Lake Erie know as " Camp Lambec." I graduated from high school with her step-mother's brother and an old friend of mine was once her Sunday school teacher. All of this and we haven't even begun to investigate the Patton connection.

The emails have been criss-crossing through cyber space as we keep adding pieces to this crazy jig saw puzzle. It is reminiscent of "Six Degrees of Separation" and whether you believe it or not, this crazy world we live in is very small indeed.

Where is Home

I have given a lot of thought to this topic over the years.  A friend recently blogged about Going Home Again and it set my mind to wandering.  Wandering along pathways that quite honestly have no destinations.

So where is home?  Is it western Pennsylvania where I was born and spent the first 24 years of my life?   The place where all of my blood relatives (my own children excepted) reside?  The place that has changed so little in the 33 odd years since I left that I can still easily find my way around town?

I know it's not western New York.  While I loved our brief stay there the roots were shallow.  Not enough time to get a firm grasp in the rich farmland surrounding Dansville.

But is it Alabama?  I moved there feeling like a fish out of water and left fifteen years later a better person for having spent time south of the Mason Dixon Line.  My children, although not born in Huntsville, spent their childhoods playing in the red clay that abounds in north Alabama.  Clay so thick and determined that it grabs on to tiny roots and pulls them deeper with each passing day; clinging tightly when the tree is eventually uprooted.  I wonder, when my boys think of home is it thoughts of Alabama that fill their heads?  I must make a note to ask.

Or is home south Florida?  After all I believe I have lived here longer than any other place except for Pennsylvania.  Does duration of time make a place home?  I'm afraid my Florida roots are not unlike the roots of the palm, thin and shallow, easily uprooted and transplanted. Perhaps it is because there is no family here.  And yet when I'm away I miss it.  At those times when I think of home, my thoughts automatically drift to Marco Island, to swaying palms and white sandy beaches.

So where is home?  I'm not certain that I will ever be able to answer that question.  When you live the life of a nomad you leave little pieces of yourself at every stop along way.  But you also take with you the best of those places, memories of family and friends.  Memories that can be served up at a moments notice.  Memories that warm the heart on a cold winter day or even on an overcast morning just days away from my favorite holiday.  You know, the one that usually takes me home.

Baby Girl

Pappy is crushed. From the day she was born until yesterday she was his "Baby Girl." Twenty-four hours ago that changed. Came to a screeching halt.

She informed him in too grown-up a voice for a soon to be 4-year old that she was not a baby. Her exact words were: "Why you call me that Pappy, I not a baby." She broke his heart in one sweet moment.

I'm afraid I have news for our little princess.

You will always be Pappy's Baby Girl. Of that I am certain.

Beach Walk

One of the things that I have been unable to do since opening the studio is get out and shoot pictures. Most of the past six weeks has been spent ordering supplies, printing photos and searching through the myriad of files on my hard drive for acceptable images. I have missed sneaking off with my camera in search of the light.

I determined that Tuesday was the day. I set my alarm for 5 a.m. (non morning folks need not apply) and after two cups of coffee to assure I was alert enough to drive I headed out the door. Dawn was just breaking by the time I arrived on Marco's south beach.

Morning had arrived in soft pastels that reflected off of the calm gulf waters. The ebbing tide was paradise for shore birds on the hunt for their morning meal.

Morning light is soft, dominated by blues and kissed with a touch of gold from the rising sun. In a matter of minutes the cool blues are replaced with the warmer tones of a sun sitting close to the horizon. Photographers must work quickly or risk losing the light and possibly the shot of a lifetime.

The low tide also revealed shells washed ashore from the previous night's high tide. I found this Fighting Conch dragging itself along the cool moist sand on its way back to the sea. I used to jump when I inadvertently scooped up a shell with a real live critter still inside. Now I carefully turn them over and check before pocketing a pristine find. I have learned that if they look too good to be true chances are they are still inhabited.

I'm not certain I captured any usable photos on this Tuesday morning, but I enjoyed a beautiful sunrise and observing sea life and shore birds in their natural element.

Life is good.

You are Cordially Invited

You are cordially invited to the Grand Opening of the Artist Colony at the Esplanade. Admittedly it took place last night and you are a day late, but I still want to share the evening with you. It was after all a grand celebration.

Please note the festive mood we created with our little twinkle lights around the doors and windows. (They were a nightmare to hang but worth the effort, don't you agree?)

And then there was the food. A virtual feast of tasty one bite wonders. We had so many little platters of this and that that we had to add a second table. We adhered to our black and white theme with our table decorations and paper products. We're a class act don't cha know.

And get a load of this...browsers, and we weren't' even open yet! If only they would have stopped admiring that gorgeous photograph long enough to pull out their wallets and fork over some greenbacks.

And here we are, the Portside family. (Portside is the name we finally settled on for our little studio.) I was going to refer to us as the Three Muskateers, but the Three Stooge's might be more appropriate.

Now please take note of the little bare spot on the wall. Two hours prior to Doug snapping this picture there was a photograph hanging there. It is now winging its way northward, tucked securely in some lucky woman's suitcase.

I know what you're thinking....but people this IS south Florida and it is perfectly acceptable to wear white after Labor Day.

And just look at this...we even had a band show up for the party. OK so they were middle school students here for a fundraiser for a school group that hoped to profit from our publicity, but they were loud.

Even the Chamber of Commerce showed up with their giant scissors for a fake ribbon cutting ceremony. What can I say, we did it in style.

And here's the group en mass, all seventeen members of the Artist Colony (and a few hangers on who just like to get their picture in the paper). Can you find Waldo?

On three, everybody stand in front of the photographer. Artists are so pushy. They all want to be in the front row, even if they're 6' tall.

Over here, can you see me now?

And then we officially opened our doors and the people poured in. Seriously, they streamed in for hours, drinking our free beverages and eating our free food. (If you feed them they will come.) It was a party atmosphere at the Esplanade, something not seen here for many, many, long, recession induced months. A few people even purchased things.

That is after all why we are here. Come back again soon, and don't forget your check book!!

Something New

This is the kind of thing that happens when you spend too much time with artists.

It is an experiment of colors and textures that worked.  At least I think it worked, but please don't call the art police.  They may have a differing opinion.

The original photo was taken two years ago, when Allie was 18 months old and I was staying with her for a week while her parents went on an anniversary cruise.  (Our children have the disease too.)  I purchased a bouquet of flowers to photograph while she was napping.  Way back then I processed the picture like this.

It's nice enough.  I love the shallow depth of field.  (Blurred background with a very small area in focus for the photographically challenged.)  The color is pretty.  And to tell you the truth I think I was thrilled with it at the time.  But the times they are a changing.  

Take for example the picture below.

I was delighted to catch this pelican in flight.  Delighted that one wing was up and the other down.  Delighted that you could see its face and delighted that it was actually in focus.  But the picture is boring.  Nothing to give it any depth or interest.  

The addition of a second photo and a little Photoshop magic transforms it into the promise of art.

It still needs some tweaking.  But all in all I like the effect.  It may one day see a frame, or it may end up on the cutting room floor but the fun is in the process.

This one is my favorite.

What started out as a boring and very bland photo of the Key West lighthouse (below) has been transformed into something wonderful, something someone just might want to purchase and hang in their home. (I'll be sure to keep you apprised of that situation.)  

I know there are photography purists out there who would run naked and screaming through the streets at the sight of such a travesty.   But technology has given us the tools to make magic and I say why not.

After all there's room in this big bad world for everyone.  And the more time I spend hanging around with other artists the more convinced of that I become.

November Musings

As usual October has disappeared in a flash and November has reared it's head and smacked me in the face, a rude reminder that fall 2009 has vanished. Vanished and once again I have no fall foliage photos to oohh and ahhh over. The teaser of reds and yellows that was beginning to transform the north woods in mid-September will have to hold me until next year. There WILL be a fall trip next year, of that I am certain. I'll just have to break the news to D when the time is right.

There is a difference this November.   Normally by now I have thoughts of western Pennsylvania running through my head, dreary skies, Amish farms, miles of barren fields, and family. And usually by now I am shaking moth balls from my winter wardrobe while humming Over the River and Through the Woods. But this year is different. This year the turkey will be carved a day early. Half of the family will be MIA (spending their day in airports) and the table will be set in Florida. This year the Turkey Bowl will be played on a beach in the Bahamas and steel drums will replace the steel city. It is the Minner family's rendition of "Thanksgiving Vacation." Clark and Uncle Eddie will be replaced by....well maybe I better not go there.

Let's just say this is going to be a different kind of Thanksgiving. We may not all be together on Thanksgiving Day, but I am confident that when the ship sails on Friday afternoon all 18 of us will be present and accounted for; dancing on the deck as the boat pulls away from the dock. Toasting the fact that even though this year is different, it really is the same.

However, the Norwegian Sky may never recover.

Am I or Am I Not

I have been wrestling with something for days, weeks maybe, and today I came face to face with the reality of it. A neighbor, who I don't know very well, was in the gallery this afternoon. She looked surprised to see me when she walked through the door and stated that she didn't know I was a painter. I quickly corrected her. No, I'm not a painter. (Paint by numbers maybe or finger painting with Allie, but not the real deal, unless you count house painting. But I digress.) I'm a photographer. "Well the things you don't know about your neighbors" she replied. "I didn't know you were a professional photographer." Gasp, gulp, sputter and disintegrate into a tongue tied moron. My gut reaction to that statement is NO. NO, NO, NO. I have a little hobby and I'm getting pretty good at it, but a professional? Definitely not.

So the question is am I or am I not a professional photographer? By definition, or at least my understanding of the definition, a professional photographer is one who makes his/her primary income from the business. If that is true, I just might qualify. I do not have any other source of income and I did sell three photographs last week.

But my idea of a professional photographer is one who has years of experience, knowledge of the art that would fill a museum, and one who makes a profitable income to boot. In those terms I don't qualify. I have roughly ten years experience and my knowledge could fill a room or two in that museum but, I do not make a living from photography.

And so it goes, round and round in my head like the little ball on a roulette wheel, am I or am I not a professional photographer? They are words I just can't utter at this point in time. Maybe in a year or two, or forty. Until then I'll just consider myself a minor leaguer, waiting to be called up to the majors.

What Happened to Halloween

Halloween was always one of my favorite holidays. Believe it when I tell you my love of Halloween had little to do with the costume and everything to do with the chocolate! In those days trick or treaters received full sized candy bars, caramel apples and home made popcorn balls. Old pillowcases served as carrying cases for the goodies and grew cumbersome from the weight of the haul as the evening wore on. Yes, those were the good ole days.

But the craziness of today's world put an end to home made treats, and the chocolate bars have shrunk to bite size teasers. Ghosts and goblins have given way to more trendy costumes and trick or treating now takes place in car trunks and shopping centers. However, one thing remains a constant...the children.

We had our own twist on Halloween at the studio/gallery on Saturday evening. We had a basket over-flowing with candy and offered a quick pumpkin decorating craft for those with an artistic bent. (You didn't really think you could trick or treat in an art gallery and not do something artistic did you?)

Below is a quick look at the assortment of creatures that entered our humble abode on Halloween night.

I don't know about you, but I think she should stick to putting paint on canvas!

The Ninja stare down. (Did you get a load of that dimple?)

Right back at you Spidey.

This little "Pirette" was one of the most beautiful little girls I have seen in a long time. My photo does not do her justice. (I hate using flash, it ruins the shot.) Trust me when I tell you she will be swatting away the boys like flies in a few years with that gorgeous smile and those amazing dark eyes.

This little one reminded me of Allie and Gabers and made me wish I was spending Halloween in SC. On second thought, they had the flu. Halloween on Marco was just right.