“Still Point”  16″x24″   Collector’s Edition of 10     C.G. Baker, 2020     

Is there anyone who hasn’t tired of the myriad reed and grass photos, most composed in early morning mist or afternoon fog? As a child, over 60 years ago, I recall a black and white photo from “Life” magazine featuring reeds reflecting on a smooth lake. With my mother’s hand-me-down camera I wasted lots of film and her patience trying to replicate that image in a neighbor’s pond. Amateurish would be a very generous description of those photos. Ever since, I’ve shied away from the reed pictures that have seduced infinite photographers and generated infinite images. The few I’ve attempted have been unoriginal at best.

“Like to the blackbird at break of day arising … “

“Like to the blackbird at break of day arising … “The title, inspired and only slightly corrupted, was appropriated from a line in Shakespeare’s 29th sonnet:

 Like to the lark at break of day arising,
From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

This is a companion to the marsh image (“Schweitzer Marsh, April Sunrise”) posted three days ago. The sun, still diffused by early mist, was only about twenty minutes above the horizon.

Returning from its winter migration, a redwing blackbird poses atop a pin-oak remnant, his song rising celestially in its distinctive timbre and the bubbling beauty of its chiming chords.

“Untitled”

“Untitled II”

My preoccupation with geese traces to childhood and the scarcity of what now has become abundant. This is the second in a series. Note, the gander trails the female always protecting his territory.

What works (I think) about this image is the context (marsh sedge in the foreground) and the center focused composition.

“September Meadow”

Late September and early October in northeast Ohio are warm in hue … landscapes changing subtly each day.  Summer’s decedents, some lost in shadow, others flame. Field grasses disappearing in the moment; ironweed, goldenrod slowly burning until extinguished.

Seed-heads across Squire Valleevue Farm stand in relief against a background of goldenrod, asters and late meadow grasses, many verdant until a frost.

Autumn brings to mind the last stanza of Robert Frost’s poem “Reluctance”