Inevitability

Maybe I am going crazy. I don’t think so, but it’s possible. I feel like the world is cartwheeling towards a new stage of evolution, an inexorable grind into something inevitable, slouching perhaps towards a new destiny, a new normal? Inevitable. Unavoidable. Necessary. Smart. Scientific. Safe. But is it? Can we really live our lives without risk? At what cost? I am reminded of the movie series, The Matrix. Each little pod protecting us from a hostile environment, disease, obsolescence, damage; all so our dreams are not disturbed while we unconsciously produce bio-electric energy for… the machines.

...all images referenced herein can be found below.

With that as a prelude, context if you will, I have been trying to focus on some photography, interspersed with occasional bouts of mild insanity. One of the benefits of living in Arizona is the inevitable arrival of monsoon season. Sometimes it is early and fierce, sometimes late and relatively mild, as it has been this year.

Storms fascinate me. Clouds fascinate me. No surprise then that I would enjoy making photographs of same. This short episode presents captures from just a few weeks ago taken off our deck. I will have to get the entire set uploaded, but here I feature a few of my favorites. This is the beginning of a series on stormy weather and as the portfolio grows, maybe it will evolve into a coffee-table book.

At most times of the year in Arizona, the days start with clear blue sky or just a few streaky clouds. Of course this can change quickly, but I’ve noticed that during monsoon season, the clouds are a little different, more distinctive. It is like the opening notes of a symphony tuning up for the performance, rifts and dissonances in a cacophony of preparation. Then maestro appears. Suddenly the concert hall hushes, the musicians’ attention focused, the conductor raises his arms, instruments are raised, fingers and lips positioned, and the prelude begins. Sometimes it is abrupt, stark, loud, others slow and winsome, at least in my experience. The first photograph in this blog is like the latter: achingly beautiful, causing the breath to catch in your throat.

Arizona Sky is our prologue. We were sitting on the deck overlooking the Verde Valley and enjoying an adult beverage. As the evening sun was setting, igniting the flame-red cliffs of Sedona I noticed something about the clouds, the shadow patterns and colors, and ran to get my camera. It was not a technically difficult shot. It was a “drive by,” a chance opportunity and as Pascal noted, “Chance favors the prepared mind,” or in this instance, lens.

It proved to be a harbinger of things to come. From the idyllic to the ominous, in the first movement you can feel the tension rising, we are on the edge of our comfortable seats in anticipation of the coming show. First, a black cloud on the distant horizon, the Mogollon Rim in the early morning.

It builds throughout the day; the temperature rises along with humidity, roiling the atmosphere. The wind rages and then suddenly we are becalmed. Nothing moves. The dog days of summer come to mind. Still the clouds build, inflated by enormous energy.

Mid-afternoon, the sky begins to darken in the second movement; reverberations of distant thunder can be heard echoing from the surrounding mountains. Sometimes, it just sputters out, the air not containing quite enough “oomph.”

If it’s going to be a good one, however, the rain squalls come, surrounding us in diaphanous veils of cold rain drops, yet always with a splash of color to remind us that even the ominous can be beautiful.

Third movement, oh my! We are encircled by the cell, rain and wind and clouds encompassing us in a dance of counterclockwise movement, a frantic pent up release of joy. The crescendo builds, the climax is coming! Wait for it. Wait for it! And with no warning, the flashes come, all around too rapid to anticipate, to focus. And then the thunder, the glorious thunder, the voice of the other from beyond. “Catch me if you can!” I wait. I aim, hoping for a stroke of lightning, a stroke of luck. Flash! Bang! Unbelievable light. Unbelievable sound. But when I check my exposure, I have clearly missed it, the bolt lost in overblown highlights. Nothing to show, I return to my adult beverage and let it dim my disappointment.

The next morning I am looking through my images from the previous evening. Some good ones, I think, except for that one. That one I almost had. The one that got away. The one that reminded me I just wasn’t quite quick enough, not quite good enough at my craft, my white whale, the one I seemed doomed to pursue, but not quite overtake, at least yet. I’d been studying a new strategy for bringing drama to images in Lightroom and on a whim, I reduced the luminosity of the supposedly blown out frame by eight fold. For photographers, that’s three stops of light, a bunch. Like magic, the jagged streaks of lightning emerged on my screen, but words failed me. I’d done it and didn’t even realize I’d succeeded! The rest was easy.

Every performance has a finale, an epilogue. One of the bonus features of monsoon season is the magnificent sunrises we see. Unbelievable colors of the morning evolve from the admixture of residual clouds, haze from humidity, and the smoke from controlled burns by the Forest Service. Fortunately, I don’t sleep so good at my age and so I often arise before the sun in anticipation of my first cup of coffee or something worthy of my camera, something worthy to share with you.

And so I leave you. Remember to reach for beauty even though the current times may seem hopeless, even though we are convinced we can go along no further, our courage wanes and our bones melt as we face the unanswered questions of tomorrow. Nevertheless, every sunrise is a promise, every sunset a blessing, every memory, every photograph, a moment in time. Cherish them.

Quarantini Musings

Desert Solitude and Vancouver Island Reprise