Landscape Photography: Use Your Mind’s Eye

A photograph is a facsimile of reality and our experience. Sometimes it represents the moment quite accurately; at other times, quite poorly. Landscape photography can be more like the latter. This article is about how to photographically communicate the drama and the magic of the landscape, and the emotion that you feel.

You arrive in the morning at this rare oak savanna, prepared to photograph the hot white glow of June grass reflecting the new day sun.

Photo A is what you see as you look ahead into the distance.

A view into the distance of this black oak savanna, as streaks of morning light filter in to illuminate feathery plumes of June grass.

PHOTO A: A view into the distance of this black oak savanna, as streaks of morning light
filter in to illuminate feathery white plumes of June grass.

Glancing downward towards your feet (Photo B) reveals a larger, more intimate, world of radiating grasses and forbs.

PHOTO B: Now, glance down to see new details that connect you more closely with the individuals that make up the dramatic scene.

PHOTO B: Glancing down reveals new details that connect you more closely
with the individuals that make up the dramatic scene.

Compared to Photo A, the view of June grass in Photo B is significantly more immersive. Yet, viewed through the “optical eye” of the camera or the human, these plants still appear quite small, compared to the mental picture that we form in our “mind’s eye,” where grasses loom much larger and dramatic. Even small subjects that take up an insignificant portion of our optical field of view can be perceived as enormous by our mind’s eye.

Imagine. You’re hiking on a solo backpacking trip through Rocky Mountain National Park and, suddenly, you spot a cougar lurking amidst distant boulders upon the mountainside. It’s possible that you are being stalked and that it will kill you when you go to sleep in your tent. Far off, the predator appears as a tawny dot. Yet, burned into your brain, the mountain lion fills the frame. Your mental viewfinder contains no sign of the fragrant field of flowers that surround you or the deep blue sky and towering mountains, under which you are immersed, just the information contained within that tiny, dangerous dot.

A picture of “a dot in the distance” isn’t going to convey the urgency of the moment. But you can, if you emulate the image burned into your mind’s eye: a tightly-composed shot, using a long lens, of the lion with its piercing eyes. We perceive the world with both our optical eye and our mind’s eye. The optical eye scans for important data. Then, the mind’s eye produces an image comprised of a potent condensation of optical, sensory, and emotional data, undiluted by distractions. It is this tight, concentrated image created by our mind’s eye that we’d like to photographically imitate with our camera’s optical eye.

Combining Photo A and Photo B gives us Photo C, exactly what our optical eye sees from standing position.

PHOTO C: The oak savanna as viewed by the camera's optical eye.

PHOTO C: The black oak savanna as viewed from standing position
with the camera’s optical eye.

Yet, moving in close and low with the camera revealed what was in my mind’s eye (Photo D): a landscape photograph that represented my experience and a magic that still conjures the same emotion as when I was there.

PHOTO D: This photograph accurately reflected what I saw in my mind's eye. And each time I view it, it conjures the same emotion that I felt when I was there. All it took was a close and intimate perspective.[/

PHOTO D: This photograph accurately reflected what I saw in my mind’s eye. Each time I view it, the image conjures up the same emotion that I felt when I was there. All it took was a close and intimate perspective.

What we see with our own two eyes is full of trivia and distractions. No matter what kind of photography you do, trust your mind’s eye and emulate that image to convey the drama, the magic, and the emotion.

Learn about these techniques and more by taking my landscape photography workshops called Light & The Landscape and Art of Landscape Photography, which are held every summer.

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Landscape Photography: Sometimes It Just Takes Two

Landscape photography may seem tough when there's a wide range of light, and a lot of photographers turn to HDR software. But, in most cases, HDR doesn't work for landscape photography because of artifacts caused by the wind. Here, this springtime image of a Will County woodland would not have been possible without merging two consecutive shots taken at different exposures: one for the land and the other for the sky. But, HDR was not required.

PHOTO A: This springtime image of a Will County woodland would not have been possible without merging two consecutive shots taken at different exposures: one for the land and the other for the sky. But, I didn’t use HDR. As with most landscape shots that feature plants, wind is an HDR killer, resulting in artifacts that are impossible to fix.
(See picture below for how HDR performed with this shot.)

Landscape photography sometimes requires two shots to capture the drama of a single scene.

Here in the woodlands of Will County, this afternoon landscape of bluebells along the stream would have been impossible to convey with just one photograph.

Those who are familiar with HDR (High Dynamic Range) will take several shots, separated by one stop (maybe two), then blend them using their favorite HDR software.

Photomatix is the most popular product, but it’s very hard to achieve a realistic look without a lot of time and experimenting with the various sliders. Instead, I’ve moved to Photoshop’s HDR Pro and their 32-bit workflow, which allows for two powerful passes of Adobe Camera Raw. Because Photoshop is a photography program, it defaults to producing a realistic look, plus I’m already familiar with the intuitive functions and sliders of ACR. Still, even the best software cannot account for motion—those small positional shifts that happen between shots as subjects blow in the wind. But, do not fear. There’s a much easier approach that gives near perfect results!

This is a crop of the previous photograph resulting from merging two shots with Photoshop HDR Pro. Movement in the wind-blown trees cause artifacts are impossible to fix. Therefore, HDR isn't the best approach for landscape photography.

PHOTO B: I attempted to use Photoshop HDR Pro to merge just two exposures of Photo A, but movement in the wind-blown trees caused artifacts all over the sky. I originally tried it with five exposures, which, as you can imagine, also turned out badly. Unless the air is perfectly still, multiple images of a landscape that contains plant life is almost impossible to align with HDR software.

Most landscape photographs only require two pictures: one exposed for the dark land and a second exposed for the bright sky. Simply open up those two those images in Photoshop (or Photoshop Elements), drag one picture onto the other, then blend the layers using selections and masks. There are no alignment issues with this method and no need for HDR software.

Digitally captured photographs can provide a truer experience than film, but it takes more work. Just be smart about it. It’s all about choosing the best methods and tools. And it all begins with taking the picture. Plan your shot by evaluating the light and determining if you need one shot or two. Carefully take your shot(s) and check the histogram. That’s it.

Now you can enjoy yourself knowing that you won’t have a lot of work or disappointment later on. After all, landscape photography should be fun.

So, get out into the great outdoors and shoot those landscapes. And remember, two shots are probably all you’re ever going to need to communicate nature’s majesty.

Learn more from Creative Eye Workshops.

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The Digital Darkroom: Image Capture is Only the Beginning

The much more truthful final image of storm clouds brewing over Kickapoo Prairie, after opening up the shadows using Adobe Camera Raw and Photoshop CS6.

The much more truthful final photograph of storm clouds brewing over Kickapoo Prairie, after using Adobe Camera Raw & Photoshop CS6 to restore shadows, colors, and depth to the originally captured image.
See the originally captured image below.

Like it or not, capturing the image with your camera is only the beginning. Digital darkroom work is needed to best convey the truth of your experience.

That’s because, straight out of your camera, digital images are inherently flat, lacking the sparkle of life and the fidelity of the experience. If you recorded the image correctly with your camera, it only takes a couple of minutes to restore the life and the truth using image editing software like Photoshop or Photoshop Elements. And, when you do, your pictures will look so much better, that you’ll never show an uncorrected photo ever again.

If you think that the pure image, captured by film or by sensor is the truth, let’s be real. It’s just not fair to expect your camera to communicate, in just one shot and two dimensions, your rich 3-dimensional human experience. There are many reasons for this.

For one, your brain records many frames, acting more like a video camera than a still camera. Furthermore, your eyes constantly auto-focus and adjust for the light, combining multiply corrected “frames” into a single memory. Perceptually speaking, whenever you put your attention on a subject, you completely ignore the foreground and the background. A picture, however, brings fore and aft into the same plane of focus. For all these reasons, and more, simple to advanced digital darkroom tools and techniques are required to more accurately reflect your reality.

Kickapoo Prairie, as originally and unrealistically captured using a Nikon D800E camera in an effort to gather as much information as I could by exposing for the bright sun and sky.

This is an image Kickapoo Prairie, as it was originally and unrealistically captured using a Nikon D800E camera, in an effort to record as much information as possible by exposing for the bright sun and sky. This photo illustrates a more extreme example, but every single picture that comes out of your camera will benefit from some digital editing.

Digital editing techniques, such as controlling local and overall contrast, are very easy to do. Bringing out the color is also important, but care should be taken not to embellish the truth or to enter the realm of “Photoshopping.” People who say that Photoshop makes photographs untruthful have it backwards. If you’re not using Photoshop, your pictures are less truthful than they could be. Simply using Photoshop does not mean that you’re “Photoshopping.”

Removing a distracting bright spot in the background of, say, a portrait of a little girl is also a simple editing task and perfectly legitimate, too, since nobody on the scene looking at the girl’s face ever noticed that the background existed. Of course, the photographer should have caught it, which is why the best photographers get it right in the field. But, this is the real world and it’s impossible to be perfect. Just remember, if you capture the best image possible, you’ll not only end up with a superior picture, you’ll save yourself a lot of work trying to fix it on your computer later on.

The photographs shown here illustrate a more extreme example, where the final photo little resembles the captured image. But, every image, bar none, will benefit from the use of digital darkroom techniques, though it may not seem apparent at first glance.

The above photograph of Kickapoo Prairie in Riverdale, Illinois was made during the late afternoon, as storm clouds brewed and winds blew at 25 mph. If it weren’t for the wind, I may have been able to make two exposures and combine them into one well-exposed image (using layers in Photoshop), one exposure that perfectly exposes the land and another that perfectly exposes the sky. But, because the wind was jostling the subject matter, two exposures would never align, making the task impossible. Therefore, only one image was possible, and I chose the one that exposed for the sun and the sky because that would have produced the fastest shutter speed. Granted, the land appears extremely dark in the capture, but the important thing was that the motion was stopped and all of the details were recorded (as I could see in the histogram). Digitally captured with the high dynamic range of the Nikon D800E, I was able to gather all of the necessary visual information into a single shot, then use Adobe Camera Raw and Photoshop CS6 to open up the shadows, resurrect the color, and restore the third dimension and the feeling of depth.

While the prairie danced and the sun peaked in and out from behind the clouds, I was shooting as fast as the wind. With the camera secured on the tripod and the picture carefully composed, the light was changing too fast for me to check each image to see if I was getting what I wanted. I just kept shooting. Everything was a blur. Only later, after I loaded the images on the computer and reviewed them, did I realize that I this was probably my best picture of the summer.

Start out with a good, clean, image capture, one that exhibits excellent technique and composition, and one that gathers all of the information. If you do, completing the job in the digital darkroom will be much easier and, if done properly, will result in a final photo that conveys a look and feel that very closely resembles the original moment.

Learn more about my Photoshop Elements Essentials class, coming soon in January of 2014.

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Photo Tip: Shoot Many, Show Few

Great blue heron nesting behavior. Nature photography by Mike MacDonald.

The male great blue heron returns to the nest and kisses his mate.
Sometimes just one picture tells the whole story.

Photographs represent the real world and, as you know, it’s chaos out there. So, take lots of pictures and understand that it’s not just you screwing up your photos. It’s your kid closing her eyes, it’s that blue garbage can in the background, it’s the bird with the branch in front of it, there millions of things that can go wrong.

From all those pictures you took at the soccer game, on vacation, or while visiting the new baby, select just a handful of images to present. Remember this: “It’s not about you. It’s not about showing off. It’s all about your audience.” Trust me, I’ve been a professional comedian and public speaker for over 26 years.

Each picture should present a different perspective and move the story forward. No duplicates! If you’re a grandparent, realize that, aside from family, your new grandkid is just a boring little troll. So, don’t bore people with the same baby expression over and over again. Capture different interactions under different settings. Mix it up, but keep it tight. Approach it like you’re doing a short magazine article or photo essay on the topic. Unfortunately, most people show too many pictures, conjuring daydreams of Abu Ghraib from office mates and friends. Instead, make people’s eyes tear up by presenting them with three or four of your best baby photos.

In photography, less is always more. Keep things short and simple. Your presentations will be more powerful and your photography will be more fun and less grueling. Instead of having to digitally edit hundreds of pictures, you only may need to work on six. You can concentrate on having fun and being creative, knowing that you only need to nail a handful of shots to be successful.

Bottom line: Take a lot of pictures, pick a small percentage of them, and show people the great photographer you are!

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The Monsters in Our Midst

Along this tranquil autumn stream at Black Partridge Woods,monsters hide in plain sight. Copyright 2012 Mike MacDonald Photography, Inc.—All Rights Reserved. Please contact Mike MacDonald Photography for Legal Permission to use image or text.
Along this tranquil autumn stream, monsters lurk in plain sight.
Location: Black Partridge Woods, Lemont, Illinois
Forest Preserve District of Cook County

At Black Partridge Woods, invisible raindrops plummet from the gray onto a canopy of yellow sugar maples, dislodging turning leaves from their tentative grasps and sending them into a lighthearted aerial choreography destined for the moving stream, where the water ride begins. Here, leaves are taken on a winding, whirling adventure, following the will and whim of the fickle current, gliding with ease around branches and rocks, then twirling, as the tip of a lobe glances the side of a mossy stone. Sometimes they’re snagged by twigs, as if nabbed from the shore by the out-stretched arms of rescue workers. Many seem to come to rest with others of their kind, wedged against a rock in an angular heap like a jumbled pile of playing cards. And happily, a few flow over my boots and between my legs as I crouch in the middle of this rocky stream, where meditative music of the cascades flood the sweet autumn air. All is a dream. But, this being the season of Halloween, a nightmare lies in wait. A demon hides in plain sight.

“La, la-la, la-la!” we sing, as we frolic through a grove or a field of flowers, oblivious to the monsters that lurk: the alien plant species. No, they are not pursuing you. (Or are they?) I mean, heck, they’re just plants, what harm can they do, right? A lot, it turns out, as fatal as a murderous scene from a horror flick, except that the stranglehold takes place over years, decades. Ignored, incognito, and beautiful to the eye, the aliens creep. But, their beauty is only chlorophyll deep. Slowly, diabolically, they take control and annihilate our native species, severing the fragile filaments that make up the web of life. Sound bad? Well, that’s what will happen in this wonderful place, if we ignore the monsters in our midst.

After years of photographing local nature, I’m still not privy to every Franken-plant. Yet, I suspected something sinister, knowing that autumn gives warning by revealing a horror in hiding: European buckthorn, with foliage that remains green deep into the fall. Along the roads, neighborhoods, and natural areas, it stands apart from the golds, burgundies, and browns. Buckthorn seems to be everywhere, providing a sobering realization of how badly our preserves have been infested and the work that remains.

In the picture, the distant greenery is not buckthorn. I checked before I shot it. Afterwards, though, haunted by the green monsters of the fall, I got an eerie feeling. If change is the message of the season, then it’s possible that other aliens did not received the memo either. I called the steward of the site and my fears were confirmed. The shrub you see is that of another demon, as vicious as buckthorn, and one that, up until that point, was unknown to me, the alien Japanese honeysuckle.

So now I know and so do you, but beware. Complacency is the most dangerous monster of all.

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Stop and Look Up: A Winter Daydream

The dream of winter can, at least for a moment, take you to another place, away from the worries of the world. Maybe, it's a journey to an enchanted kingdom or a fairy tale of old oak matriarchs, who, throughout the night, donned the falling snow, so that in the glow of the morning sun they would, for at least a time, be restored to their golden youth, transformed into young and shining maidens of lace. Spears Woods in Willow Springs, Illinois. Forest Preserve District of Cook County

The dream of winter can, at least for a moment, take you to another place, away from the worries of the world. Maybe, it’s a journey to an enchanted kingdom or a fairy tale of old oak matriarchs, who, throughout the night, donned the falling snow, so that in the glow of the morning sun they would, for at least a time, be restored to their golden youth, transformed into young and shining maidens of lace.
Spears Woods in Willow Springs, Illinois

Stop and Look Up

Sun and snow on the trail, slip-sliding with ease,

Stop and look up, see the lace in the trees.

Take your mind off the cold, as your fingers they freeze,

Stop and look up, see the lace in the trees.

Forget your life problems, in all scales and degrees,

Stop and look up, see the lace in the trees.

An enchanted new realm, where you have the keys:

Just stop and look up, see the lace in the trees.

But, in this fragile world, the sun is the master,

too much love from the star turns white lace to wet plaster.

As I travelled the realm, of white chambers and walls,

came the cracking and crumbling of great sculptures and halls.

Falling white all around me, as the sun loved the lace,

I crashed back to earth, a cold slap to my face.

In clearing my eyes of the snow that had plopped,

Life was now looking up, now that, finally, I stopped.

Posted in Chicago Nature, Cook County Nature, Illinois Nature Photography, Nature, Nature Photography, Poetry | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments

Searching for Spring (and Skunk Cabbage)

Skunk cabbage can generate its own heat, allowing this curling spathe of skunk cabbage to melt the surrounding snow and break through to the surface. Location: Black Partridge Woods, Lemont, Illinois in the Cook County Forest Preserve District.

Skunk cabbage can generate its own heat, allowing this curling spathe of skunk cabbage to melt the surrounding snow and break through to the surface.
Location: Black Partridge Woods / Lemont, Illinois

Today, March 10, 2013, spring officially began in the Chicago area.

For me, the beginning of spring does not arrive in a fanfare of color. Rather, it begins subtly, when sometime in March, speckled maroon and yellow spathes of skunk cabbage (Symplocarpus foetidus) quietly emerge from beneath a layer of snow or a cloak of brown decaying leaves.

Skunk cabbage enjoys a rare property, shared by only a few of Earth’s plants: It is able to generate its own heat in a process known as thermogenesis. Skunk cabbage can create as much as 27 to 63°F of heat above air temperature, enabling it to melt through late winter ice and snow, and may also serve to attract pollinators to its curious yellow flower head, known as a spadix.

The maroon spathe of skunk cabbage blends with leaf litter on the woodland floor, making it difficult to find when it first emerges. However, the plant becomes more conspicuous as is grows larger and produces its unique yellow flowerhead known as a spadix. Location: Black Partridge Woods / Lemont, IL in the Cook County Forest Preserve District.

The maroon spathe of skunk cabbage blends with leaf litter on the woodland floor, making it difficult to find when it first emerges. However, the plant becomes more conspicuous as is grows larger and produces its unusual yellow flower head, known as a spadix.
Location: Black Partridge Woods / Lemont, IL

SEARCHING FOR SPRING

Winter is waning,

I’ve made it to March.

With eyes to the ground, I search for Spring.

Temperatures rise,

and snow slowly melts,

With eyes to the ground, I search for Spring.

Are you under the white,

in a warmth all your own?

With eyes to the ground, I search for Spring.

Are you hiding in leaves,

or still waiting to rise?

With eyes to the ground, I search for Spring.

Leafing through litter

on the brown woodland floor,

With eyes to the ground, I search for Spring.

Finally up from the mud,

sprouts a burgundy curl.

With eyes to the ground, it is Spring I have found.

At Pilcher Park in Joliet, Illinois, the sun shines through the enormous fanning foliage of skunk cabbage, which if broken, will release a smell reminiscent of skunk.

At Pilcher Park in Joliet, Illinois, the sun shines through the enormous fanning foliage of skunk cabbage, which if broken, will release a smell reminiscent of skunk.

These tender leaves will develop into giants, like the full-grown plants pictured to the right. Location: Black Partridge Woods, Lemont, IL in the Cook County Forest Preserve District.

These tender leaves will develop into giants, like the full-grown plants pictured to the right.
Location: Black Partridge Woods / Lemont, IL
Forest Preserve District of Cook County

Posted in Biodiversity, Chicago Nature, Cook County Nature, Illinois Nature Photography, Macro Photography, Nature, Nature Photography, Poetry, Will County Nature | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Digital Landscape Photography: New Possibilities in Storytelling

Bluff Spring Fen-120821-0010-00-HDR-FINAL by Mike MacDonald, Copyright 2012, All Rights Reserved

This is the story of a savanna, its towering bur oaks and an August fog that envelops the distant fen. The wide tonal range of this scene was recorded by first digitally capturing a range of exposures, followed by the use of HDR software to combine all of them into one realistic image, emulating how humans experience the world.
Location: Bluff Spring Fen—Elgin, Illinois
Forest Preserve District of Cook County

Not until recently, did I begin to photograph the landscape with a digital camera, leaving behind the beauty of transparency film and the process of leaning over a light table, one eye to the loupe, to immerse myself in the colorful world living within.

During my film capture days, I developed a sense of what I could shoot and what I couldn’t, based on the lighting conditions. For instance, there are times when what you see is not even close to what you’ll get. So, it’s best to just walk on by and forget about it. The scene and the story pictured here is one of those moments that could not be accurately represented with film. Luckily, this image was captured digitally.

Though I’ve been shooting with a digital camera for several years, film remained my choice for landscape photography until June of 2012, when I made the full transition to digital capture.

Up until that point, I used a 12-megapixel Nikon D300 digital camera to photograph individual subject matter such as flowers, insects, people, etc., but for landscape photography, I relied on a Pentax 645NII camera loaded with Fuji Velvia medium format color transparency film.

I chose medium format film (2.7 times larger than 35mm film) because the innumerable elements that comprise a landscape are rendered so small that a large print is required to savor the details. That’s why my standard print size is 24×36″, though I’ve made prints as large as 43×56″. A high-resolution digital scan of medium format film delivers up to 105 megapixels of information, allowing for 24×36″ prints with little or no interpolation (inventing new pixels based on existing pixels).

But, transparency film can be hard to work with, especially when there’s a large amount of contrast between the brightest and darkest portions of a scene, a.k.a., a high dynamic range (HDR) scene. In cases where a fairly straight line divides the opposing areas, like a sunlit sky and the low lit land separated by the horizon, a split graduated filter (split grad) can be positioned over the lens to cut down the light from the sky.

A split grad is rectangular and resembles the top of a car’s windshield, gradually fading from, say, dark gray down to clear. With a little know-how and finesse, lining up the dark portion of the filter over the brighter sky and the clear portion over the dark land, the image will look very much like you experienced it. However, the HDR image, pictured here, would have been impossible to record on film. Because there’s no straight line dividing the areas of contrast, a split grad can’t be used.

More and more, I found myself needing to photograph high contrast situations like this, so in June, I stopped capturing images on film and began photographing the landscape digitally with the new Nikon D800E, a 36-megapixel 35mm DSLR. Remarkably, I rarely require a split grad filter with this camera.

(NOTE: “Digital capture” is not the same as “digital photography.” I’ve been a digital photographer for many years, even when I was exclusively shooting film. That’s because film is just a scan away from a digital image. After the film is converted into a digital file, the steps are the pretty much the same, just a little more challenging.)

The exposure range of this HDR scene even exceeds the capability of the very forgiving Nikon D800E. However, if the wind is calm, it’s possible to make two or more shots at different exposures and blend them into a single image using specialized HDR software like Photomatix. With film, it’s theoretically possible to make two exposures and merge them, but, in practice, scanning multiple images is time-consuming and the scans don’t align very well.

If you’ve seen HDR images, especially those of nature, many look unnatural, like half the people in Alabama. Some look weird because the lighting doesn’t match what humans are used to seeing. Others appear surreal or grainy or whatever. Anyone can use HDR software. Just drop in two or three image files at different exposures (usually separated by 2 stops) and it’ll spit out a picture. It’s a breeze, as long as you don’t care about reality. It’s more challenging if you want to make an image that closely approximates what you saw.

Now, how can blending two or more images create a photograph that’s more truthful than a single shot? It’s obvious. Any time you look at anything, your pupils change their size to adjust for the light. Therefore, you’re taking multiple exposures and blending them together, too, just like the HDR process. If done correctly, an HDR photograph should appear true to your experience.

Of course, I could have recorded this scene with a single shot, setting the camera to properly expose the blue sky and letting everything else turn into black silhouettes, but that wouldn’t have represented what I saw. That would be my only choice with film. However, with digital capture, it’s sometimes possible to have it all—at least when the wind is perfectly still. Luckily, it was. So, I took five exposures separated by 1 stop and merged them. Photomatix recommends three exposures in 2-stop increments, but that was before I read the instructions!

Digital landscape photography now allows me to more accurately tell my nature stories, in this case, the foggy prairie-fen habitat as viewed from under the dark canopy of the oak savanna. For years, I’ve been waiting to make this kind of image, one that conveys my experience, not a silhouette of it. And now I can. With a digital camera (and sometimes with the help of software), telling the story of the landscape is easier than ever.

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Transcendental Light & The Art of Landscape Photography

In the art of landscape photography, light can have a transcendental effect. Here at Black Partridge Woods, woodland phlox spread in a serpentine wave across the bluff, as streaks of morning light dramatically and ethereally transform matter. ©2013 Mike MacDonald Photography, Inc.—ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Please contact Mike MacDonald for permission to use this or any image.

In the art of landscape photography, light can have a transcendental effect. Here at Black Partridge Woods, woodland phlox spread in a serpentine wave across the bluff, as streaks of morning light dramatically and ethereally transform matter.
Location: Black Partridge Woods, Lemont, Illinois
Forest Preserve District of Cook County

On this typical May morning, along a bluff at Black Partridge Woods, transcendental rays of new-day light fleck the verdant floor and streak across serpentine waves of woodland phlox, casting the divine onto this springtime panorama.

Thirty minutes earlier, though, only flat blue shade from the open sky illuminated the landscape. Editorially and visually, the composition would have told much the same story, but not a transcendent one.

Landscape photography of a woodland is straightforward when fully lit by a diffused sky. Ubiquitous, the even light plays no influential role and is, therefore, not part of the equation. Simply compose for the existing subject matter.

However, when rays of light enter the scene, they ethereally and dramatically influence all tangible elements. Suddenly, the landscape is recast into a complex story of highlights and shadows, and every physical subject takes a back seat to the light, which now fills the starring role. A symbiotic and orderly combination of light and subject matter is required to create the ideal photograph, seriously raising the level of difficulty.

Along with the light comes new challenges, like distracting hot spots or black featureless shadows that can divert the viewer’s attention away from the intended story. Therefore, to photograph amongst the trees, the sunlight must be soft and precisely directed. Soft sunlight can be seized by showing up during the first and last 30 minutes of the day. That’s easy enough. Directing the sun, however, is out of our hands.

In the open prairie, sunbeams travel predictably and virtually unobstructed, and I easily “chase the light.” I scan the scene for a sunlit area, head directly to that spot, check for a suitable composition, and, if I find one, set up and shoot without surprises. However, in the woodland, trees divvy up the morning sun, making the position and shape of the dappled light impossible to predict. Obstructing the sunlight, they hurl their shadows in a slow, constant advance—a forest of sundials. Each flower is given its moment in the spotlight, only to fall back into the shadows. Timing and location are critical when photographing the woodland landscape.

Chasing the light, like I do in the prairie, may sound like a logical plan, but the sundials don’t wait while I take the necessary time to analyze the scene or to arrange the composition. That’s why, when time and space converge to create the perfect moment, it’s usually too late to do anything about it. Then, with the possibility of tomorrow, I glance down at my watch and vow to return to the same spot, thirty minutes earlier, hoping for a rerun of light, weather, and sky.

Chasing the light under the canopy can be a frustrating, unproductive scramble. So now, I employ a more relaxed strategy, one that separates the variables of space and time. Before daybreak, I scout the location for a scene that holds potential, then I stake it out and wait for the perfect moment. With the equipment in position and the composition virtually solved, if that moment comes, it’s likely I’ll get the picture. This approach is less frenzied, requiring only patience and an avid awareness of the creeping light, as it constantly conjures new compositions. Granted, it’s a crapshoot, but these are the images that ascend to a higher level of art and make it all worthwhile.

I tell my students, time after time, that one great picture is better than a hard drive full of good ones. Less is more. Much more. To stand out in the field of photography, stand out in the field at 4:45 in the morning. There are no shortcuts. Whenever I complain, my lovely wife exclaims in a delightful refrain, “Suck it up, Mike!” And, I do.

To learn about landscape photography and how to harness the transcendental light, consider my illuminating photography workshops entitled “Light and The Landscape” and “Art of Landscape Photography.” And, to find out more about all of my photography classes and learning adventures, please visit Creative Eye Workshops.

Posted in Chicago Nature, Cook County Nature, Illinois Nature Photography, Landscape Photography, Nature, Nature Photography, Photography Lessons | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

On the Coldest Days, Winter Plays

Only a few fissures remain on the ice-smothered Sawmill Creek. ©2013 Mike MacDonald Photography, Inc.—ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Please Contact Mike MacDonald for permission to use this or any image.

Only a few fissures remain on the ice-smothered Sawmill Creek.
Location: Waterfall Glen Forest Preserve, Darien, Illinois
Forest Preserve District of DuPage County

Here is clear evidence of raccoons slipping on the ice and breaking through the surface. ©2013 Mike MacDonald Photography, Inc.—ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Please Contact Mike MacDonald for permission to use this or any image.

Here is clear evidence of raccoons slipping on the ice and breaking through the surface.

During the extreme temperatures, a thick labyrinth of

During the extreme temperatures, a thick labyrinth of “white frost” grew up from the frozen surface of Sawmill Creek.
Location: Waterfall Glen Forest Preserve, Darien, Illinois
Forest Preserve District of DuPage County

There were some very cold days last week and most people stayed inside, but I know better. Because, it is on the coldest days when winter plays and her plans change to mischief and whimsy.

After years of winter photography, I still never know what surprises winter will conjure. And this is why I am always excited to explore the natural world on the most frigid mornings.

It was 1°F on this particular morning at Waterfall Glen Forest Preserve in DuPage County. Sawmill Creek still had fissures that had not frozen over. Some were due to raccoons and coyotes that broke through the ice as they slipped and skidded atop the stream. Many accidentally took dips while out for a drink, cracking through the fragile glass ledge that comprises the booby-trapped perimeter of every crevasse. Even the foot of a thirsty feather-light robin punctured the surface during a short jaunt. How do I know all of this? A dusting of snow masked the frozen thoroughfare and where the animals tread, white was swept away, leaving behind black captions of the exposed ice.

Then, near the end of my five-and-a-half hour exploration, winter presented me with a lighthearted surprise.

Swelling from a foundation of ice that was once a flowing Sawmill Creek, stretched a byzantine silver structure just a few inches high, a frazzled framework of fragile, film-like fragments, fused together, cold and clear, a chaotic crystal array conjured by winter in a whimsical interpretation of Tiffany.

First, I placed against my tongue, a single slice of the frigid glass, many times finer than a stick of gum. Melting slightly, it tasted as you’d expect, like an ice cube straight from the freezer. Then, breaking off a section of latticework, I placed it in my mouth.

As the splintered edges made contact with palette and tongue, they rapidly rounded in the sweltering heat. I closed my mouth and the delicate labyrinth crackled as the brittle maze collapsed into a flavorless liquid confection.

This white colony began as multitudes of microscopic crystal individuals, growing together. Home to countless citizens, each member is unique, differing in shape, stature, and orientation, but similarly transparent, tall, slender, and precariously fine.

Like a giant, I reached down with my gloved hand and collected a fraction of their magical world into my palm. With my eyes, I beheld the various inhabitants: taller, wider, and fully formed. I admired their diversity and the complex interrelationships that bind their community together.

As I gently closed my mitten, from within sprang their singing voices. Then, with a tip of my hand, they descended like snowfall onto the unwitting collective below, nearly endless in number. And in their joyful reuniting, new singing rang out in a miniature melody, like multitudes of molecular chimes rung by an orchestra of angels.

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