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Pastoral Scenes
Growing up in the rural Southern United States was, as one might expect, a life filled with contrasts—combining the serene beauty of nature with the stark reality of hard labor. Just recently, I wrote a post about how a single photograph could stir a storm of emotions within a person. And there it was, on the light table, an image so potent that it whisked me back to my formative years without warning. The sight of horses trotting along fenced pastures against the backdrop of majestic, distant mountains was enough to transport me to an era long past, when my family owned a quaint farm about an hour’s drive from our residence.
It was a picturesque piece of land that we called our own, dotted with horses and ribboned with pastures; it boasted a tranquil pond and was caressed by trickling streams, with the presence of a river not far off. It was not just land—it was a fragment of paradise I held dearly in my heart. Those summers were idyllic, as I idled away the hours fishing on the pond or engaged in the exhilarating joy of horseback riding. Nevertheless, this bucolic splendor was no stranger to the demands of upkeep. Living in the city an hour away meant our visits were mostly confined to weekends, where time was consumed by the perennial tasks of fence mending and brush clearing to contend with the relentless growth of summer.
But memory has a curious way of revisiting us when we least expect it. A few weeks ago, Deana and I took a journey to Brevard, NC. On our homeward trip, she chose a detour through the scenic byroads of the countryside. It was a decision wonderfully made, for as we meandered past the rustic barns and expansive fields, with domestic animals grazing under the soft veil of mountain mist, a flood of remembrances overcame me. Those halcyon days of rustic life on our old family farm seemed to echo through time.
Adolescence is universally acknowledged as a challenging phase, a tumultuous bridge between the carefree spirit of childhood and the responsibilities that adulthood demands. Yet, nestled amidst nature on the farm, a young me could find solace in solitude, accompanied by the loyal presence of the animals—a sort of refuge from the clamorous march of school and the various trials life presented.
The pastoral scene captured in the photograph presented a vibrant tableau to my mind’s eye—the numerous hours expended in the company of our horses, and the transient yet timeless spirit of the wild animals who were the original tenants of that land. That land was a sanctuary, untouched by modernity’s hustle. The absence of cellphone coverage, the absence of the relentless pulse of music, and the absence of the invisible chains of wireless technology created an ambiance where tranquility reigned supreme. Here, the world spoke in the language of nature—through the casual mooing of cows, the poignant calls of birds slicing through the skies, and the delicate whispers of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze. It was, for a fleeting series of moments, a return to simplicity and an unspoiled connection with the earth.
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Pentax Spotmatic F
As a seasoned photographer with a rich history of engagement with both film and digital photography, I’ve had the immense pleasure of working with an impressive array of cameras. My collection spans from treasured antiques like a one hundred-year-old Kodak, which is a marvel of early photographic engineering, to the cutting-edge technology encapsulated in the sleek Sony A7 series, which represents the pinnacle of modern digital photography.
The array of cameras I have encountered in my career has taught me that each camera, irrespective of its age or technology, holds a unique value and potential for creativity. Each one has its special place in the timeline of photography and in my own personal journey as a photographer.
Reflecting on the period a few years ago when the world slowed down and we found ourselves sequestered in our homes, I rekindled my relationship with an old favorite—the Minolta srT series. This wasn’t just a reversion to past equipment; it was a nostalgic journey that allowed me to reconnect with a significant part of my photographic journey. Minolta cameras had been a part of my life since my early days, and revisiting them was like conversing with an old friend, familiar yet full of new stories to tell.
Going back to the fundamental aspects of photography with Minolta, I rediscovered my love for the craft. The tactile sensation of loading film, the mechanical click of the shutter, and the anticipation of developing shots offered a stark contrast to the immediate gratification of digital photography.
Minolta was always a very respected brand but underrated. While Canon and Nikon stole the limelight, Pentax and Minolta worked on refining their systems. Minolta, to me, always built a robust system and their lenses were amazing at depicting exactly what you saw through the viewfinder. Pentax, also known for their robust cameras, depict scenes with an ethereal feel. I have always admired Pentax lenses for that reason.
Discovering that I was losing my sight was a difficult pill to swallow. Two months back, as I was wallowing in self-pity, I stumbled upon an eBay auction that now seems like it was a beacon in the dark—a Pentax Spotmatic F paired with its infamously sharp 50mm f/1.4 lens, all starting at a mere $6.00. Not taking it too seriously, I threw in a whimsical bid of $13, never truly entertaining the thought that it would be mine. Imagine my surprise when the notification came through—I had actually won.
Our financial situation was tight, threading on the line of being broke, but I completed the transaction and shared the news with my incredible wife, Deana. Her support has been unwavering, and sharing my victories, however small, always felt like the wins were ours to cherish together.
The package took its time, but its arrival was like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. We both have our Pentax K1000s, perfectly suited for each of us, yet the Spotmatic was a stranger to my collection. That all changed the moment I held it. It was as if the camera was an extension of my hand; I instantly knew that this little machine and I would create many fond memories together.
I invested a languorous afternoon into its care, ensuring that the mirror bumper had new life, the light seals were replaced, and that no old grease had turned against the inner workings of this mechanical masterpiece. The camera was in pristine condition, and the lens was immaculate—free from dust and the fog of age.
Taking it out for a maiden journey, I felt a blend of excitement and calmness. As I operated the camera, each subtle feature—from the smoothly operating advance lever to the distinct click of the shutter—resonated with me, as if it were speaking the language of my passion.
The results were nothing short of stunning. The roll of film developed revealed photographs that held an exceptional quality, with a kind of soul that only film can capture. So far, I have only shot one roll of film in it, but the promise of many more to come lingers in the air—provided, of course, I manage to keep the Spotmatic out of the admiring hands of my beloved wife. For in our house, the love for photography is a shared one, and the allure of this newly-acquired treasure is strong. Who knows? Perhaps this will become her new favorite, but for now, I remain its devoted custodian and collaborator in capturing the beauty of our world. It really is her camera. 😉
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Breath of God
Photographers often revel in the serendipity of their craft, finding moments of accidental beauty that are captured forever through the lens. A prime example of this lies within my own portfolio, which is peppered with such fortunate instances.
On a notably warm afternoon in February, one that defied the typical chill of the season, I found myself walking near the First Baptist Church of Easley, SC. In the stillness of the day, something quite compelling caught my eye. The church’s cross, an enduring symbol of faith, stood tall and was adorned with royal cloth in preparation for the upcoming Easter celebrations. The rich fabric, against the backdrop of the church’s architecture, presented an intriguing visual treat, yet it was the absence of a dynamic element, like wind, that left the scene slightly wanting.
The Pentax Spotmatic F in my hands, a tool of analog precision, was married to the superb Takumar 50mm f/1.4 lens, widely acclaimed for its ability to render images with incredible sharpness and beautiful bokeh. However, it wasn’t just the technical excellence of this camera-lens duo that I depended upon to encapsulate the essence of the moment.
As fate would have it, as I was about to move past the church thinking the scene would remain static, a wind arose, almost on cue, breathing life into the scene before me. The royal cloth began to billow gracefully, and I instinctively turned towards the cross. With the sun casting just the right amount of light and warmth upon the scene, the wind’s sudden choreography imbued the image with a dynamic quality, elevating it from a mere still life to a vibrant tableau.
Seizing the moment, I pressed the shutter button with joyous anticipation. The Spotmatic F operated with a satisfying smoothness, the mechanical click of the shutter capturing more than just an image, but the culmination of absolute chance meeting preparedness. The photograph ultimately taken was not just a display of the camera’s capabilities or my own readiness as a photographer, but a testament to the unpredictable beauty that often accompanies the art of photography—a true happy accident that encapsulated the harmonious interplay between man, machine, and the divine.
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Sowing the Seed
Photography captures more than just images; it encapsulates moments of raw emotion, unveiling stories through the interplay of light, and time. The act of clicking the shutter is an affirmation of the photographer’s intent, a definitive selection of a single frame from the boundless flow of life.
Consider the potent significance of that solitary click—the pivotal heartbeat wherein the photographer and the captured moment converge in a silent conversation. “This one photo speaks volumes,” the artist muses; it’s an acknowledgment that the photo holds an essence that transcends the visual, striking a chord that resonates with the viewer’s innermost sentiments.
In this silent exchange between the observer and the observed, the photograph becomes a linguistic artifact. Its voice may whisper or shout, but the volume it speaks with is not one measured in decibels, but in affect..
As the image is revealed, developed, and shared, it begins a journey of interpretation and inspiration. Each viewer, drawn into the frame, becomes part of the unfolding narrative, extending the heartbeat of the captured moment to echo endlessly through the halls of human experience.
As I strolled through the quaint streets of the small town I’ve come to know as home, nestled in the Upstate of South Carolina, my gaze was drawn to a particular structure that stood as a testament to the past. It was an aging old bank that seemed to wear its history on its facade. The building was unmistakably a product of the 60’s architecture, characterized by its angular brick design. Such structures are commonplace in this part of town, each telling a story of the era they were erected in.
Despite its clear ongoing renovation, the exterior gave away the years of neglect. The reddish-brown bricks, once probably lively and inviting, were now dulled with a patina of decay—crumbling pointing between them told tales of the many years they had weathered. The signs of pollution had left their marks, etched into the surface in grime and soot. Acid rain had washed over the walls for decades, nibbling away at the solidity of the mortar, and with each passing year, the relentless tide of time had carved its impressions deeper into the once-pristine brickwork.
As I continued my walk, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with a hopeful curiosity for the building’s future. The old bank, once a bustling hub of commerce, now stood quietly amidst more modern establishments, a relic of a bygone era awaiting its rebirth. It served as a stark reminder of the impermanence of man’s creations, standing defiantly against the inescapable march of time, awaiting the day it would once again stand proud and renewed, its decayed exterior merely a chapter of its enduring story. It reminded me that in every end, there’s the whisper of a new beginning, and I was witnessing a small piece of this town’s continual evolution.
As I neared the old, weathered wall that had always been a part of my daily route, something unusual caught my eye. It was a solitary weed, displaying a resilience that was both unexpected and beautiful, blooming with a delicate flower in the midst of the unforgiving brickwork. Its struggle for life against the rigid urban canvas captivated me.
Quickly, I reached for my beloved Pentax K1000, a camera that had become an extension of my own being. Equipped with my preferred Zenit Helios 44K-4 lens – a piece of glass famous for its swirly bokeh and the soulful images it produces – I framed the shot with a mindful respect for the weed’s tenacity. The viewfinder gave me connection between subject and artist as I adjusted the focus ring, the tactile sensation reminding me why I fell in love with photography in the first place.
With a click, the shutter closed for a fraction of a second, capturing not just an image but encapsulating a story of survival and beauty in adversity. I stood there for a moment, basking in the satisfaction that comes from knowing when you’ve caught a magic moment on film. This photograph, I sensed, would be a cherished addition to my personal collection, a reminder that even in the most unexpected places, there’s always something extraordinary to be discovered. I knew in that instant that I had something that I, at the very least, would love.
Even amongst the grot and grim of this old decrepit bank, new life emerges. God is everywhere and in everything we see. He is the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. This weed withered away, but for a short time it bloomed. Jesus’ parable about the sower and the seed is one of my favorites and I thought of it instantly, as I took this photograph. God speaks, if we listen.
Mark 4; 3-93 “Listen! Behold, a sower went out to sow. 4 And as he sowed, some seed fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured it. 5 Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil, and immediately it sprang up, since it had no depth of soil. 6 And zwhen the sun rose, it was scorched, and since it had no root, ait withered away. 7 Other seed fell among bthorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain. 8 And other seeds fell into good soil and produced grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirtyfold and sixtyfold and ca hundredfold.” 9 And he said, d“He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”
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Purblind Illumination
As many of you know, the revelation of my impending vision loss has sparked a sense of urgency and a poignant mission within me: to document the world through my lenses while time allows. The launch of “Purblind Illumination,” a title that playfully embraces the oxymoron of seeking light amidst gathering darkness, is more than a project. It’s a journey—a visual odyssey that I intend to share bi-monthly, if not with greater frequency.
Photography has been a beloved craft that has participated in the ebb and flow of my life since I first cradled a camera. The weight of a Pentax, the click of a Minolta shutter—these are the sensations that have charted the course of my passion. With decades of film and digital imagery behind me, my love for photography has never waned. It endures as the consistent, silent witness to my life’s narrative. There’s an undeniable truth I’m facing: the day is approaching when my eyes will no longer bear witness to the crisp edges and contrast of the world. But until then, I am committed to capturing as much as I can, to embrace, through my craft, every remaining photon that graces my vision.
“Purblind Illumination” is not only a testament to an enduring artistic spirit but also a tangible means to sustain my ardor for film. The magazines and books, rich with the past and vibrant with the present, are emblematic cords tying me to the world of visual storytelling, supporting the transition to a landscape of different sensations. The debut issue, modestly priced at $10, is an invitation for patrons to partake in this voyage—each purchase a beacon that not only illuminates the path for future works but also lights a candle of solidarity in our collective journey through the arts.
At the heart of this endeavor, and the very soul of my support network, stands my incredible wife. Her patience and understanding, as endless as space, have given me both the time and space to delve into the thralls of photography and to crystallize these moments into magazines and books. Without her, the narrative of “Purblind Illumination” would remain untold. Her role in this journey cannot be overstated; she is not just the unsung hero behind the scenes but the very foundation upon which this creative edifice stands. To her, I extend my deepest gratitude. I love you, Deana.
To the community: Your support and enthusiasm provide the resolve to push past the encroaching shadows. Each snap of the shutter is a tribute to your encouragement—a melodic verse in our shared symphony of life and art. Thank you for joining me on this expedition, as we illuminate the canvas of the world together, one frame at a time.
