Patterns

Maybe it’s just I’m just so uncoordinated I need to always be looking at my feet when I walk, but I always seem to find beautiful things right beneath my feet.   I was out enjoying the frigid cold and impressive wind chill when I noticed these patterns in the snow drifts under my skis.

I walked over this patch of snow right after the photo. This is the only record it was ever there.

My first thoughts of becoming a photographer were

Patience and Photography

When your average viewer looks at a great photo, the first instinct is usually to credit the camera.  That, of course, is rather silly given that most of the photos you see in a museum were taken with cameras so primitive you’d be more likely to throw them out than use them.  The slightly more sophisticated viewer is likely to look at other factors, such as the photographer’s skill in composition and perhaps photo editing.  While these factors no doubt place some distance between a professional and the casual snap-shot taker, perhaps the greatest factor separating the average tourist snapping photos off in a park and Ansel Adams is something rarely noted: patience.

This photo is dedicated to a wonderful reader who lamented that my lake photos were too sad. I hope this brings a smile!

Ansel Adams didn’t just take a weekend trip to Yosemite

The Queensborough Bridge

I captured this photo from the roof of my building back in my New York City days.  At the time my apartment was on Roosevelt Island, a strange little island just off the Upper East side of Manhattan that was peculiarly quiet and had stunning views.  This image what actually captured on an old film camera I used to love shooting with.  I remember having to set up the tripod, calculate exposure length and all those other complications a digital camera eliminates.  To be honest I still love using with film, but the costs of film and processing make it a challenge with my current budget.

If there’s one thing I miss about NYC it’s views like this.

In addition to sharing this photo I’d like to say hi to all of the new subscribers.  An Out of the Way Place has started to grow lately and it’s great to have so many new readers around.  I’d love to hear from all of you so please leave a comment or if you’re not the public sharing type send me an email.  Also please follow An  Out of The Way Place on Facebook to see additional photos, shares and updates!

The Concrete Jungle

They call it the city that never sleeps.  It’s an appropriate name, but there’s more to it than that.  New York is like a noisy roommate who’s idea of music is blasting the sounds of police sirens: it’s not just the city that doesn’t get any sleep.  It’s incredible really.  Give me a piece of cold rocky ground and I can sleep like a kitten in a pile of warm sweaters, but stick me in New York with nothing in particular to do and sleep dries up like a puddle in the Sahara.

It’s not just sleep either.  Feel like going for a nice little stroll through the city?  Careful or you’ll end up like Mustafa in the Lion King.  Don’t you know people in New York have places to go and people to see?  Now what makes these places and people so damn urgent remains a mystery to me, but that doesn’t keep me from adopting the attitude.  I didn’t find one minute to write the whole time I was there.

Of course this level of intensity can be incredibly stimulating.  There’s perhaps no other city on Earth you can leave for six months, come back to and then find yourself surrounded by new things.  As I was walking to the country’s largest used book store, I just stumbled upon a new gourmet cheese store that had a cheese making factory built right in.  I mean who comes up with these things?!

Now on Broadway: Cheese Making!

The dark side is the soul crushing pressure and stress that comes along with life in the city.  It’s enough to turn anyone into a self-absorbed workaholic with a Napoleon complex.  Want to share the details of your six month Odyssey with some good listeners and get some positive feedback?  Well you’ve come to the wrong place.  The jungle is a dangerous place: it’s ill or be killed, every man for himself here.

New York City has been my home for over ten years: I love it and hate it.  I’ve known it as a student and a worker.  I’ve lived everywhere from Wall St. to a couch in someone’s Brooklyn basement.  Rich or poor, happy or depressed, I’ve seen it from every angle.  It’s a place like no other, terrible and wonderful at the same time.  Words and pictures can’t capture it, no more than they can capture a sunrise or a mountain top, but then again, that’s never stopped me from trying.  Nor should it, after all, I’m from New York.

Do you look up at a skyscraper or does it look down on you?