The boat that floats above this type on the Middle Passages masthead raises and lowers with the tides in a salt-water marsh split by a narrow causeway, a five minute drive from my house. For years it drifted alone, its only companion a sailboat tied up at a cove in a far-off inlet. Someone pulls the rowboat in the winter, but other than that, I’ve never seen the dinghy used. It’s simply there, a piece of lowland scenery, a quiet canvas of morning mist and carking seagulls, sometimes drifting, often mired in the mud flats, always a gift as I walk by.
Some of you may recall that last year; the beauty of the picture compelled me to photograph it over and over again, seeking the perfect mirror shot of the boat resting on its image in still water. I took so many pictures that even I started questioning myself. How many times can you photograph the same thing after all?
That's a trick question though. The scene is ever changing--in the color of the light, the reflection of the sky, the direction of the chop, the ribbons the ducks trail as they paddle through brown water.
And then someone adds the clean lines of a refinished dory to the mix and moors it twenty feet away.
Looks like I have another summer of chasing the ultimate image in front of me.
Some of you may recall that last year; the beauty of the picture compelled me to photograph it over and over again, seeking the perfect mirror shot of the boat resting on its image in still water. I took so many pictures that even I started questioning myself. How many times can you photograph the same thing after all?
That's a trick question though. The scene is ever changing--in the color of the light, the reflection of the sky, the direction of the chop, the ribbons the ducks trail as they paddle through brown water.
And then someone adds the clean lines of a refinished dory to the mix and moors it twenty feet away.
Looks like I have another summer of chasing the ultimate image in front of me.
