Life
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Insignificant Leaf
In a previous discussion, I highlighted the inherent beauty contained within the minute details of our everyday lives. We find ourselves ensnared in the incessant pace of existence, perpetually striving to surpass the expectations laid out before us—both our own and those of others who hold stakes in our journey. This unyielding race often blinds us to the profound joys of life’s subtleties.
Consider the photograph presented in this post: a lone leaf, apparently inconsequential and one of a multitude. Yet, it poses a silent question—can we truly consider it insignificant? Each leaf weaves its own narrative, etched with intricate patterns and a distinctiveness that beckons for recognition. It stands out among its peers, its form imbued with a quiet personality. Dismissed by some as an inconsequential piece of foliage, we are compelled to ponder: does it genuinely lack value?
This leaf, in all its simplicity, is an artifact of divine craftsmanship. Though it may be flawed in the eyes of some, it remains a testament to God’s work. To contemplate whether it possesses rights would be to misinterpret its role. It is, at its core, a leaf—fulfilling its purpose within the grand tapestry of nature. Yet, it demands our appreciation just as a flower does, for its own sake and for the beauty it contributes to the world.
There is a profound lesson nestled among these subtleties: to decelerate our pace and cherish the seemingly insignificant elements that populate our lives. Much like this leaf, such moments and objects ask for nothing but a brief pause—a moment of contemplation, an ounce of gratitude. As my ability to see these details dwindles, their significance becomes amplified. The pine cone, the leaf, they are all fragments of a greater whole, pieces of a divine puzzle meant to be valued.
In time, my vision will diminish entirely. I urge you not to wait until the charm of sight or the grace of being eludes you—appreciate the splendors of creation now. Soak in the simplicity and the intricate detail bestowed upon us by God, and you will find a world rich with wonder, ripe for your admiration.
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Macro Details
As an enthusiast of the minute marvels in life, my fascination with macro photography isn’t merely a hobby—it’s a profound appreciation for the smaller details that often go unnoticed. The intricate details one can capture through this photographic technique are nothing short of magical. Each shot is a testament to my belief that the microcosm reflects the grandeur of the larger universe.
Through the lens, ordinary subjects are transformed into extraordinary spectacles. Take, for example, the humble pine cone featured in previous posts. To the casual observer, it’s merely a commonplace object scattered beneath the trees. However, my morning promenade through the concrete and natural elements of the city turns into a treasure hunt. I seek out these seemingly insignificant items to reveal their hidden narratives and sublime beauty that they’re eager to share with anyone willing to look closely enough.
I relish the use of my treasured Minolta Maxxum 50mm f/2.8 AF Macro lens, a pioneer of its time, integrating auto-focus capabilities that represented a significant step forward in photography. The Minolta Maxxum 7000, with which it was concurrently developed, may have gained widespread fame, yet this lens holds a special place in the history of photography equipment.
Despite its age and the occasional temperamental auto-focus—especially when dealing with subjects that demand the finesse of macro photography—I’ve learned to harness this characteristic in my work. I partner it with the robust Minolta Maxxum 9000, opting for manual control to ensure the precision required for capturing the smallest details with utmost clarity.
While the AF function is more cooperative when the subject is beyond two feet away, there is a certain charm and gratification that comes with manual focusing: the connection between the photographer, the camera, and the subject is intimate and intentional.
True, the lens boasts a plastic exterior, yet this does not detract from the exceptional images it helps produce. Instead, its lightweight design complements the tactile experience of photography, making it a joy to hold and operate. For anyone considering entering the realm of macro photography, this lens is both an affordable and excellent choice—if one can appreciate its historical context and are willing to manually engage with their subjects.
Equally impressive, though notably more costly, is the later 100mm f/2.8 macro lens, renowned for its improved auto-focus. It’s a brilliant piece of equipment for those looking to invest further in their passion for macro photography.
The process of capturing these photographs—vivid with detail, rich in story—is deeply fulfilling. Among these images, the photograph of my wife, Deana, stands out the most. Her beauty, both inside and out, is elegantly immortalized through this medium.
I’m eager to share more stories and photographs in the coming days. Despite the whirlwind that life often presents, with both work and events demanding my time, this blog remains a serene space where I can express my passions and connect with like-minded individuals.
Your support and interest in my work provide a source of motivation and gratitude that is deeply felt. The knowledge that my words resonate with readers fuels my continued journey into the art of macro photography and storytelling. Thank you for being a part of this journey with me.
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Easter Film
About a week ago, I found myself immersed in a nostalgic experience right here in my office. The day had been dedicated to sorting through various remnants of my photographic past. It was during this process of reorganization, after having moved my office, that I stumbled upon a treasure trove of camera paraphernalia—a collection of lenses, tripods, and of course, a plethora of cameras that I had accumulated over the years.
Amid this assortment, my eyes landed on a peculiar piece that has always captured my affection and frustration in equal measure—the quirky little Minolta 9000AF. This vintage camera, with its robust build and unique autofocus system, represented both the innovation of its time and the limitation of technology that has since been vastly improved upon.
Much to my amazement, nestled within its solid chassis was a curious artifact—a roll of Kentmere 100 film, partly used but forgotten. The mystery of its content set my mind racing. What images had I captured, and when? The intrigue was palpable.
Given that there were two exposures remaining, I decided to complete the roll last Friday. I sought scenes that felt in tune with the nostalgic theme that had permeated my day. The shutter release was a window back in time, a mechanical echo from the past.
Saturday morning greeted me with anticipation. Eager to uncover the hidden images, I set about developing the film, using 510Pyro at the recommended box speed. The methodical process of development was almost meditative, each step a small ritual in the revelation of memories captured on this unexpectedly discovered film roll.
I watched as the images slowly materialized on the negatives—snapshots in time, echoes of the past. And while the results were yet to be scanned and fully reviewed, this journey through my forgotten analog endeavor reminds me why photography, especially captured on film, is so magical. It’s not merely about recording moments; it’s about preserving them in a medium that can surprise you years later, with hidden gems just waiting to be rediscovered.
As it turns out, the film was from about this time last year. Luckily, there was a photograph on the roll of a local church. The royal cloth draped over the cross, as written about in a previous post, signified that this roll was from the Easter period of 2023. At that time, my wife, Deana, and I were not yet married. We got married on Earth Day last year.
The featured photo of this post is of my wife gazing out over the mountains of the upstate. I wonder what she was thinking at that time. Was she contemplating the future, pondering whether or not she should marry this goofball? I can’t say for sure, but I do find myself wondering. We have been married for almost a year. Indeed, it has been an adventure, brimming with memories etched into each day. We’ve shared laughter that filled rooms and comforted each other during moments of silence that needed no words. Through both great times and tough times, we’ve been inseparably united, two souls entwined by destiny and love.
She is my love and my greatest treasure in this crazy world. Deana, the name that dances on my tongue with the lightness of joy and the weight of immeasurable gratitude. That smile of hers, a radiant beam that cuts through the murkiness of any gloom, can rejuvenate my spirit with the simplest of glances.
A lot of women would have made a run for it when they found out that their new husband was going blind. But thankfully, my amazing wife has been my rock, my constant, my vigilant guiding star through these past few tumultuous months. It’s in these challenging times that you realize the true strength of the bonds you share. These are the moments when love is not just a feeling but an anchor, and partnership not merely a status but an action lived out daily.
God knew that we needed each other and brought us together. In times of doubt, in times when the world seems to spin on an unpredictable axis, it is this truth that remains unshaken. We were meant to be together – our paths interwoven into a beautiful tapestry of shared experiences, dreams, and aspirations.
With each passing day, my appreciation for her grows. As we approach a full year of marriage, my heart is full of hopes and wishes for the journey ahead. I love you, Deana Mae. With every beat of my heart and with every breath I take, I am so thankful for you.
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Life Update
Stability often seems like a figment of our imagination, especially when we attempt to establish any kind of routine or long-term plan. My intentions to diligently update the blog and encapsulate the beautiful world through my lens for the next magazine issue were thwarted by the indiscriminate whims of life.
Last week’s agenda was teeming with prospective posts and exploratory jaunts into the wild to capture those frozen moments in time. However, fate took an unexpected turn.
On the preceding Friday, as if on cue from an unwelcome script, a virulent sickness took hold of me. At that time, the nature of my malady was a mystery, but its impact was immediate and undeniable. I heeded my body’s distress signals, retreating early to seek the comfort of my bed’s embrace, where I lingered through the dark hours.
As Saturday dawned, I found myself no better off, wrestling with the relentless clutches of my unseen adversary. Yet, by sheer force of will on Sunday, Deana and I ventured out, attempting to bask in the revelry of Saint Patrick’s Day and to grasp at the slipping sands of my birthday celebration under the specter of my illness.
It wasn’t until Tuesday that clarity was afforded to me by a visit to the doctor. Their diagnosis? The formidable Flu, Type A. At 52, while not resigning to antiquity, I felt besieged as never before. The objective clause of the line made famous by Oppenheimer, “I’ve become death…”—resonated with me as I grappled with this unwelcome guest.
This ordeal wasn’t a mere skirmish but a prolonged siege—the kind that batters the gates with relentless ferocity from daybreak to nightfall. The flu typically embarks on its course with the unpredictability of a tempest, its rampage abating within a matter of days. Contrarily, this strain has held me captive in its tumultuous embrace, relenting only on its own enigmatic terms.
The manifestations of my ailment are numerous, an anthology of discomfort I wish not to impart in full detail. However, the most punishing of its arsenal has undoubtedly been the ceaseless coughing that steals the very air from my lungs.
The simple act of communication has been usurped by this viral scourge, leaving me unable to host Instagram live sessions without succumbing to fits of coughing that drain my strength and disrupt the dialogue.
In this taxing time, my wife, Deana, has been stoically by my side. She is the anchor in my storm, nurturing and understanding, even as she recovers from her bout of illness that seems to have found renewed vigor.
Rest assured, the rhythms of the blog shall find their tempo once again in the coming week. There is much on the horizon that I am eager to share, and my work on the website continues unabated. I extend my heartfelt gratitude to all for your patience and understanding during this unforeseen intermission. Thank you.
