Different with Film

Digital images always feel different from film. Regardless of the quality of a digital set up or post editing technique, the end result varies from that of an equivalent film rig. It's not a bad thing or a good thing.

This inherent difference sparked my curiosity. A few months ago I started taking a Polaroid Image Pro along with me on my excursions. Stockpiling film from eBay and Craigslist, I took photos much more intentionally than I would with my 5d Mark II. Instead of firing away like Stallone in the latest installment of Rambo, I took my time composing my shots and waited for the light. Here are some of my favorite shots from the last few months.

A Houston Astros tattoo in Williamsburg.

Clouds rolling in on Mt. Hood, Oregon.

A mouse trap in Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania.

Tim daydreaming on a hike.

Ripping open a pack of film and gingerly putting it into your camera can not be replicated by stuffing a 16 gig flash card into a port of a DSLR.

Vans in Wiliamsburg.

A view of Mt. Hood from Mt Hood Meadows Ski Resort.

Different towers on the Williamsburg waterfront.

A 1953 Willys Jeep in Mosier, Oregon.

A farm trailer in Vermont.

Patrick in the Upper West Side.

A bull in Washougal, Washington.

Edge in Chelsea.

The first pumpkins of fall in New Hampshire.

An ode to my friend Mikael, Passport To Trespass; My 5d Mark II, Filson x Levi's Jacket, and some Spectra film on Mt Hood, Oregon.

Desert in the West Village.

Train tracks near Hanover, New Hampshire.

I am not picking favorites between digital and film, just enjoying both. Staying curious, all the while enjoying the process of photography.

Here are some more links,

First of Fall (Picasa),

04/06 on 09/10 (Picasa),

A Few Rolls (Picasa),

Red, White and Brew (Picasa).

Back to the Beach

The beaches were empty, save for the few early morning joggers and type-A Manhattanites staking their claim to a section of prime beachfront. Distracted by the excitement of seeing the open ocean for the first time in months, I walked fifty feet beyond the end of the road. Feeling the familiar yet unnerving feeling of sand bouncing around the inside of my shoes, I stopped. One by one I took each shoe off and threw them in my backpack and stepped into the tepid water.

With the deliberation of a kindergartner picking a scratch and sniff sticker earned from thirty days of punctual attendance, I looked right and left down the shoreline. Squeezing and releasing sand between my toes, I picked a direction and started walking towards a distant turn in the shoreline.

As if attempting to signal distant airliners making their way westward with a mirror, I took off my shirt, exposing the ill effects of a summer's worth of work spent inside. Despite the imminence of a serious sunburn, I marched on enjoying the lapping of the knee-high waves and occasional seagull flying by.

Shreddin'.

Rock tumbler.

A stairway to heaven.

Meandering down the beach, I stopped frequently to dive into the sporadic waves and do handstands in the morning's heat.

A few happy seagulls and even more happy crabs.

As the beach picked up with the arrival of various Defender 90s and other topless, "Out East" cars, I headed towards the bluffs. Chasing the breeze's acceleration and change of direction through the tall grass, I grinned to myself, "It's been too long."

Here are some more links,
Running on Empty (Picasa),
The Ocean (ART).

Sprawling

Leaving behind the rolling hills and rugged coast of New England, I moved to the depths of New York City. For three months, I adjusted to my new surroundings. Slowly, and with repetition, I found my footing in a new place that I am calling home for the foreseeable future.

Viewed from the window of the backseat of cabs and late night wonderings, street corners and landmarks etched themselves into my subconscious knowledge of the city. As my comfort with my surroundings increased, I started taking my camera with me.

On walks to and from work, evening outings and lazy Saturday afternoons I snap photos with the same attitude and intentions as I did in Maine. In the absence of sharing my photos on my blog, I email my photos to my friends and family, impatiently waiting on their responses.

Russ & Daughters.

Ice fishing traps.

New York summers are humid.

My favorite snack.

Loud Horn.

A Maine Coon Cat in the West Village.

Bass and Karen and Sara of the Identical Eye.

I love the buildings and skyline.

Patrick enjoying a beverage.

Unlike its fancy German counterparts behind it, this Man's car refuses to be parked like a case of Diet Coke at a Costco.

Tonal.

Summer

Excited by the vibrancy of my new environment and surrounded by inspiring people from all walks of life, I am more at home than ever. I miss sunsets uninterrupted by jagged roof tops and the sound of morning doves, but welcome the excitement of a new place. Away from ice shanties, flying shoes, and rural farmers, I search for my voice and perspective in a new city. I am eager, yet in no rush. My photos and writing will look and feel different, but that's what I want. I am growing up.

Here are some more links,
Sprawling (Picasa),
August 1st (Picasa).