In early September, Jean and I visited Guilford, Connecticut for our 50th high school reunion. It was a brief, whirlwind trip, nostalgic as we visited old haunts and renewed friendships with our classmates of so long ago. We attended reunion mixers, dinners and get-togethers, sandwiching these reunion activities with long overdue visits to each of our sisters, who live nearby. We wished that we had had more time on this trip but, sadly, there weren’t enough hours to do everything or see everyone we had hoped to. The next time we go back east we’ll try to allow more time to visit with those we love.

A highlight of our visit was a walk we had in the nearby Westwoods just before we returned to California. The Westwoods are a natural area preserved by the Guilford Land Conservation Trust. Our walk took place the day after summer squalls had cleansed the previously hot and humid air, creating an invigorating autumnal atmosphere. The Westwoods trail winds through a hardwood forest, past ancient granite escarpments. Even though I had grown up just a mile from this trail, I had never adequately explored its charms.

The autumnal scents of drying leaves and mossy rocks transported me back to happy childhood memories of walking in the woods just yards from my childhood home. I deliberately scuffed the forest floor with my feet to release the rich fragrance of decaying leaf and branch. As we walked, I was flooded with memories of my youth— transported to endless days of happiness I had spent scurrying about the nearby woods just beyond the back yard of my childhood home.

We walked through the hardwood forest as we headed toward a body of water called Lost Lake. Lost Lake is an inland estuary fed by creeks to the north and seasoned by the salty tidal action from nearby marshes that border Long Island Sound.

After ambling along the marked trail, we veered off, taking an unmarked trail to the west. In in a couple of minutes we crested the gentle hill that separated us from the broad wetlands. We stopped in our tracks, stunned by the sudden beauty of this peaceful lake. I made this photograph of Jean as she stood in reverie on the granite shelf bordering Lost Lake. Having lived my entire childhood only a couple of miles from this place, I wondered how I had previously failed to discover this peaceful and sublime place.

On our way back to the car, I stopped to make this photograph of ferns lit by the late afternoon sun.

Early in my career as a fine art photographer, I supplemented sales of my own work with income generated by doing copy work for fellow artists. During a session as I made color slides for my friend Gary Smith, one of his landscape paintings particularly drew my attention. This work featured a striking view of a Point Reyes icon, Black Mountain. Composed from an angle I had never seen, Gary’s painting captured the sacred quality I felt for this mountain. Gary generously told me where he found this view. Soon thereafter, I began walking the Bolinas Ridge Trail, a fire road that begins on Olema Hill and heads south toward Mount Tamalpais.

Since that first time, I have spent many happy hours exploring & photographing the views at the northern end of this trail. My wife and I made our home at the base of Olema Hill and the trail quickly became a favorite for walks together with our dog, Pooka. Over the years I have made many photographs of the views of the rolling hills that cascade toward the Tomales Bay delta and the Point Reyes valley. Eventually, in June of 1998, I found the place to make the photograph that forms the basis for my edition of the Olema Hill Triptych.

About a mile uphill, just before the trail splits off toward Samuel Taylor Park, I found an inviting rocky outcropping. Ancient granite rocks strewn among tufts of dry grass invited me to stop and rest from the steady uphill walk. As I sat on a rock and slowly surveyed the scene, I was struck by the gorgeous panoramic view spreading out before me. On this day, the afternoon sun backlit the rolling hills. The day’s late-summer light was exquisite and provided drama to the scene. I chose a wide angle lens to record what I saw. To my left was the Inverness Ridge and the straight sliver of water that forms the Tomales Bay as it runs out to the Pacific Ocean. In the middle, the lovely rolling hills of the valley wound down to the ranch lands of Point Reyes. And, far to the right, Black Mountain rose prominently, its wondrous folds lit obliquely by the rays of the setting sun.

The Olema Hill Triptych is a version of the original single-film image, Tomales Bay & Black Mountain, made that day. It was inspired in 2012 when a collector requested a very large version of one of my photographs that could be split into three vertical panels. I searched through my portfolio of images to find a landscape that would split while still providing a presentation in which each panel would remain distinct and compelling.  Tomales Bay & Black Mountain turned out to be the perfect composition for this variation. Each panel invites the viewer in for a closer look, yet taken together the three panels still flow together harmoniously.

The original photograph, Tomales Bay and Black Mountain, is shown here for comparison. This single image is still available. I now prefer the triptych version which I have been showing in my gallery starting in 2013.  The triptych has  received positive reviews and interest. It’s been collected several times since its release in 2013. Both are available in several sizes online here. Which one do you prefer?

Click image for enlarged version

An essential creative photography technique is the locating of the perfect place to set your camera when composing an image. My photograph, Blue Oaks, Briones Regional Park, reminds me of just how critical precise camera location is to the making of an expressive image. The right spot is the precise location of the camera in relation to the scene being considered. Adjustments of mere inches can make all the difference. Later in this essay you’ll learn about how I found my spot for the making of the Blue Oaks photograph.

We all have been struck by the beauty of some general scene, one that invites us in to try for an expressive photograph. But too often, we pause, make a quick exposure, and then move on, impatiently, to the next opportunity. I’ve done this – I know we’ve all done this, but creative possibilities will multiply if we just slow down and look deeper. Essential to looking deeper is determining exactly where to position your camera. This is as important as considering the sun angle and quality of the light for your compositions. By the way, I highly recommend working with a tripod when you’re fine-tuning the position of your camera to the scene. It allows you to step away, and look at other positions and angles without losing a “found” location.  Take the time to look explore the compositional possibilities – try to find a way that expresses the feeling kindled by that first moment of discovery.

A group of Blue Oaks in Briones Regional Park caught my eye during a springtime walk. I was drawn to the scene and sensed that there was an evocative photograph to make of these backlit trees. I stopped to look more closely. I set my tripod-mounted camera near the trees in a position that was close to my idea for a strong composition. As I looked more closely through my viewfinder, I noticed that the principle subjects, the four trees closest to me, were blocking and or merging with some of the beautiful background trees and foliage. So, I took out my viewing card and walked away from my camera and tripod and began to look for my spot. It’s incredible what happens in a complex scene when you change your position by a few feet, or even inches!  As I moved, the foreground trees moved in relation to each other and the background. Shapes blocked and then revealed other shapes. I walked slowly to the left and then to the right, all the while scanning through the card, looking for a potential composition.  I alternated my lateral movements with forays toward and away from the trees, pausing every so often to consider the composition. Even the height of my lens affected the view, so I looked from higher and lower positions.

I spent perhaps fifteen minutes looking, as I paced back and forth. Nothing satisfied me. Then, as I was about ready to give up, I found my spot! There was literally only one point in space, to set my lens and get what I had sensed might be there. Literally, just a few inches forward or back, left or right, or up or down, and the composition failed for me. I’m glad I didn’t give up. I continue to use this technique of “finding my spot,”  whenever the light and view of a potential composition beckons me on my photo walks.

So, next time you’re out and see a scene that beckons you, I hope you’ll slow down and spend the time it takes to really find your spot. Don’t despair if you don’t eventually find your spot. It could be that there’s nothing there. Even if you decide to make no exposures at all, the exercise of looking for a photograph is well worth the time and will improve your ability to discern and make compelling and evocative compositions in the future. Creative photography done well is an exercise that relies on both inspiration and discernment. Neglect either and the effective expression of your photograph will diminish.

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