Silent New Year

Not a sound at the marsh today (January 1st, 2017). Hundreds of acres covered with a thin sheet of ice, perforated only by tiny islands of marsh grass and dead pin oaks. The few remaining geese and ducks have moved to the open water of lakes and rivers. Not a sound, not even “the sweep of easy wind …”.

Groves of dead oak still stand in silence after more than fifty years, gray with age but unaffected otherwise. Today’s blue sky and early afternoon light accentuated the bleached wood and made for a dramatic black and white image close to shore. 

First Note

“First Note”
Among the blessings conferred by early morning excursions into the marsh has been the opportunity to observe Red-Winged blackbirds as they usher in the day with their first notes. In the morning twilight, almost an hour before sunrise, this blackbird was first to rise from the marsh to greet the morning with its song. Abruptly, the landscape erupted in a cacophony of disparate songs; harmony in its dissonance.

Isolated on a dead pin oak before sunrise and silhouetted, Kirie-like against the eastern sky, its colors were indiscernible. It made more sense to process this photo in black and white without the slightly hued and muddled colors of the predawn sky.

This is a moment I wish for everyone.

Coot, Two Geese and a Mallard

A contemplative scene from a visit to the marsh the morning of April 11, 2013. Enlarging the image one can see a mallard flanked by two geese. The solitary coot lists slightly in the foreground. None seems particularly anxious to begin the day.

For me, this day was an unexpected gift, yielding extraordinary opportunities for wildlife and light. Most importantly, I had come to the marsh before dawn to reflect on my father who had died on April 11, seven years earlier.  As I look back on that morning I have to think my father had something to do with the way in which I saw the landscape.  And, one might imagine he had something to do with presenting the opportunity.

Edge of Winter

Andrew Wyeth said, “I prefer winter and fall, when you can feel the bone structure of the landscape – the loneliness of it – the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it – the whole story doesn’t show.”

I suspect Wyeth would have found Schweitzer’s marsh to be an embodiment of that quote.  Early this morning, when the temperature was still below zero, the sounds of silence crossing the ice were broken only by the bones of long dead pin oaks creaking against the passage of time.

Edge of Spring

Every year, a week or two before spring asserts itself, before the subtle transition of Northeast Ohio’s colorless landscape, before migrating waterfowl descend in great waves, the early geese arrive in pairs. Marsh grass, sedge and bullrushes bleached ashen over winter, and forests of gray hardwood provide a natural canvas for their return. What beautiful spots of time separating the seasons, momentarily bloodless before the trees go red with new skin and the marsh grows green.

Winter Fog No. 1

A blizzard buried Cleveland the first week of January 2008. Towards the end of the week, however, a warm front moved in creating dense fog and naturally diffused light. I drove into the country shortly after 6:00 a.m. looking for a good subject. As I hiked through a random field, this cluster of trees appeared shrouded in the fog. The sun was still below the horizon when I captured this scene using a tripod almost entirely buried in snow.

I’m producing this image as a 16″x24″, limited edition of 10, using archival pigment based inks (Epson Ultrachrome) on 310 gsm (heavy gauge) archival water color papers.  The combination of paper and inks have a projected longevity of 200-300 years (Wilhelm Research Institute).