A Past That Never Really Was

“Don’t look back. Something might be gaining on you.” ~ Satchel Paige

The other night I was flipping through the channels on the television, bored, but too late in the evening and too lacking in ambition to be productive, looking for something to occupy my mind, when I happened across "American Graffiti," which had just started and which I hadn't seen in years.  I started watching it, nodding at the familiar faces, some of which have been confined to distant memory, when a thought popped in my head - "American Graffiti" is a love letter to a past that never really was…

"A love letter to a past that never really was..."

That thought stuck with me, I uttered it aloud, jotted it down so it wouldn't get lost to the dark of the evening, the glow of the tv...

I like old towns, those found off the Interstate, the ones that cling to life and simpler times despite the endless march of progress.  One such town is Strong City, Kansas, a small town situated alongside Highway 50, a place to stop and get gas and stretch your legs on the way to bigger places like Kansas City that lie to the east.  

I first ran across Strong City last November (which I wrote about here), and on a whim drove down the "main drag" through town, down to the courthouse square at nearby Cottonwood Falls, and back out to the highway, stopping to take a photo or two, but not giving it much thought.  Never a bustling metropolis, this small town now boasts a population of fewer than 500 small town souls, one drive-in malt shop away from being locked in time.

This past July, while in the Kansas again, I took another slow drive through Strong City, this time spotting something new.  New, yet old. A garage, the lot filled with classic cars in various states of repair, disrepair, the dreams of teenagers and grease monkeys and middle-aged men with a little bit of cash and a whole lotta love for the good ole days.

I like old cars and trucks.  I have no interest in working on them, rebuilding them – I’ve twisted a wrench or two in my time, out of necessity, not fun or joy – but I appreciate their lines, their form, their individuality.  I appreciate the nostalgia that comes with looking at an old truck with a flat head 6, a car with a rumble seat, bench seats and a three on the tree tranny.  And this unexpected find on a sleepy road in a quiet town on an overcast, still day was a stop that one didn't have to think twice about making.

I grabbed my camera and chose my wide angle lens, one that would let me capture the whole of the scene from afar, and immerse myself in the world before me as I moved closer.

I started with a shot of the building and the parking lot, centering the shot on the front door while keeping the car on the far left in the shot, giving equal weight to parking lot, with its oil stains and cracks and texture in the foreground, and the sky overhead.

I eventually made my way around the back of the lot, where the rusted shells of several old rigs sat, overgrown with weeds, cast off, waiting their turn in the dreams of restoration and rebirth.

Using a wide angle lens lets you get really close to the subject while still taking it all in, until you become immersed in it.  When I'm photographing old trucks I like to shoot through a side window, capturing the interior of the cab and the world that lies on other side of the windshield and side window.  

With this shot I was maybe a foot from the grill of this old Chrysler.  Wide angle lenses tend to distort objects when you're close to them, to stretch them and make them seem even wider than they are, and that was the look I was shooting for.  Big, wide, sweeping out.  I got close so I could pick up every bit of rust and pitted metal, tarnished chrome and peeling, faded paint that I could, the things that give away the car's age and give it character.  I cropped the final version square because I wanted to fill the frame with the car, to unquestionably make it the focus of the scene.

I saw this old Coke machine, crouched down to get a shot of it, again pushing close while making sure to get the rusting car on the left and the rusting box on the right in the shot, framing the scene.  If there's an old top loading Coca Cola machine, you have to stop and photograph it.  I think it's a law.

 
Finally I walked back out for another wide shot, this time from the side of the building, complete with my own Hitchcockian cameo...   

 
Small town America.  Hot rods and sleepy streets.  Coca cola and the corner diner.  A love letter to a past that never really was.  Or, a love letter to a past that still is...



All photos taken with a Nikon D7000 and Nikkor 10-24 DX lens.


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Going Beyond The Edge

My last post spoke of intention - of intentionally slowing down, of intentionally taking a deep breath and trying to focus from within, of intentionally moving my feet to change my viewpoint.  I used a recent trip to Bryce Canyon as an example: how I explored a section of the park from the amphitheater’s rim, the Bryce Point Overlook.  

This post is also about intention...  Of intentionally going beyond the rim, the outer shell of a subject, and submerging, submersing, into the subject matter, of looking up instead of down, of taking the time to weave my way down into the amphitheater instead of just peeking over the edge and walking away, of going down into the depths and intentionally forcing myself into a new perspective and viewpoint.

It's a more intimate look at the park, a look at hiking down and into the features seen from the rim, of walking amongst the hoodoos and slots and fins of rock, walking through the trees and jagged rock and folds of the earth, walking through the shadows and along the spines of rock jutting up from the canyon floor, walking through the amphitheater as the sun breached the canyon rim above and began the fill the cracks and crevices and folds of earth with its warmth…  

It was July 28, and we arrived at Bryce Canyon as the sun's glow started to take the cool blue edge off the night, as the sun started to transform the landscape from night to day.  Sunrise came that morning at 6:30, and we started our trek by spending a few moments at Sunset Point.  This was taken at 6:18, as the orange/yellow glow of dawn took hold in the heavens.   

Armed with a camera, one lens - a mid-range zoom that gave me enough flexibility not to have to worry about changing lenses on the trail - and a Camelback full of water, we picked up the Navajo Trail at the Sunset Point Overlook and began our descent down a series of switchbacks, the earth enveloping us as we went further down.  Rips and gashes in rock formed over millennia of water freezing and expanding and wind whipping pulling us in with nothing but the cool, still morning air and the occasional sound of someone talking in the distance to keep us company.

We headed down the trail and when a split in the trail came, we turned left, following the trail down in a clockwise direction, dropping further and further down, one series of switchbacks after another, watching the walls of earth tower higher and higher over us, until the trail finally started to level off a bit.  We followed the trail around until we reached the point where the ascent out of the grand striped and rippled sandstone bowl began, then doubled back until we found the connection with the Queen's Garden Trail.  This route would lead our ascent out of the amphitheater, offering different views than the way we came...  

Near the intersection with the Queen's Garden trail, I stopped and captured this view of the sun casting its spell on the ridge above us.

I then turned and within seconds took this shot of the sun peeking over the earth and through the tree behind me.

We walked the Queen's Garden trail, through a section that was wooded and cool and calm, as the trees and grass began to be bathed in the morning light and the birds turned and sang their morning song towards the warmth of the sun which had returned yet another day...

When we reached the Queen's Garden trail I took a few minutes to scamper up a side trail so I could get closer to the columns of water- and wind-carved rock...  

Then we continued working our way up the Queen's Garden Trail towards Sunrise Point, winding and working our way free from the shadows and crevices and back into the light, the end to our morning's adventure nearing its end...

 
All photos taken with a Nikon D7000 and Nikkor 16-85 DX VR lens.


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Morning At Bryce Point

"A good photograph is knowing where to stand.” ~ Ansel Adams

If it were only that simple...  

When I'm on location shooting I tend to get excited, to rush.  I've been working on trying to relax, take a deep breath, take a step to the right, or forward.  Sometimes I do this by using a tripod, forcing me to frame a scene and focus and observe, sometimes by simply reminding myself - repeatedly - to relax.  I've been making a conscious effort to be intentional about where I stand.

This past week my wife and I went to southwestern Utah, to spend time at Bryce Canyon National Park and the surrounding area.  We caught a sunset at Bryce, watched the next morning's sunrise there, and did some hiking.  On our last day in the area - July 29 - we debated how to start the day, deciding to head back to Bryce Canyon for another sunrise, this time at Bryce Point - which we hadn't checked out yet - thinking that it would be less crowded than the popular Sunrise/Sunset Point area.

Bryce Point overlooks Bryce Amphitheater, the most recognizable section of the park, from the south rim.  As we drove into the park the sky began to display streaks of orange and red and yellow that mimicked the streaked sandstone cliffs, crevices, slots, and folds of earth below.  Shortly after walking out to the point we spotted this tree, which I worked into a series of shots. 

As sunrise approached I moved to the right near the Peekaboo Trailhead, moved right and down and worked my way back and forth until I found this spot, where the foreground formed a V that framed the rising sun...

After the sun broke free of the horizon, its golden rays started to illuminate the fins and hoodoos in the amphitheater below, filling shadow and folds of earth with their warmth...

Walking back up towards the point, my original starting place, I stopped to look around and saw the sun peeking through this tree, scattering the first rays of the morning sun on the dew kissed brush...

When I got back to the main viewing area, I started zooming in, focusing on small sections of fins and hoodoos, watching the colors of the tableau below change as the sun rose higher in the sky...

"A good photograph is knowing where to stand.” ~ Ansel Adams

I can't say that I know where to stand, but at least now I'm moving my feet...
    

All photos taken with a Nikon D7000 and Nikkor 16-85 DX VR lens.


You can view my online portfolio and purchase prints here.

Want to keep up to date with where I'll be and what my latest creations are?
Follow me on FaceBook and Google+
I'm on Twitter @KSchafferPhoto
And I'm now sharing iPhone photos on Instagram: @kschafferphoto