the moon, the fence, and the dog’s bladder

So it’s just after midnight, right? And the brother’s little dog demands to be let outside to pee (how such a small dog can contain such an astonishing quantity of urine is a mystery to me; I think about a third of its body weight must be urine). But it’s a beauteous evening, as Wordsworth would have it–calm and free and all that. So I wander outside as well.

The moon is absurdly bright, and it’s illuminating the fence in a particularly charming way. So I go fetch my gear to photograph it. Camera goes on the tripod, tripod legs are extended, camera settings are adjusted, lens cap is removed, remote shutter release is ready. Then everything went pear-shaped, as the Brits would say.

In order to get the composition I wanted, I had to set up the tripod in front of the brother’s garage. But when you move in front of the garage, a motion sensor turns on a light. Of course, the light turns itself off after a few minutes, which would have allowed me to shoot the photograph IF I stood very still. Which I didn’t do three times in a row.

But the marvelous thing about a remote shutter release is you can stand off to one side and trigger it. So all I had to do was set up the shot, move out of range of the motion detector, wait for the light to go out, then press the remote release. It would have worked like a charm but for the little urine-filled dog, who repeatedly wandered into sensor range.

So I had to corral the wee beastie and put it in the house. By which time the moon had gone behind the clouds, leaving me with nothing whatsoever to photograph. Except the model of greatest convenience.

So here’s me, sulking.

itinerant curbing

I enjoy documentary photography–both the concept and the reality. I love it that there are people out there documenting their lives and the lives of others. It pleases me no end to know there are photographers taking photos of their friends and family members, who take pictures of the meals they eat, who document where they live and work and play, who shoot portraits of the people they meet, who find their mundane lives so interesting they feel a need to share them with others.

I enjoy documentary photograph–but I have almost no interest in doing it myself. Almost none.

But sometimes I get attracted to an object–a bright red snow disk, a gas mask, traffic signals–and I document that object. Last fall I happened to see this chunk of asphalt curbing around which some red PVC wire had been tied, making a sort of carrying device. The curbing had been carried about twenty yards from its original position. I visited the curbing every few weeks and photographed it. Then one day it was in a different spot; it had been moved maybe seven or eight yards away…at which point the PVC wire had apparently snapped.

And it’s still there. I don’t understand this at all. I don’t understand why somebody wanted to move the bit of curbing to begin with, I don’t understand why it was set down where I originally found it, and I don’t understand why anybody moved it further. I just don’t understand it.

And that pleases me.

happy accident

I’m a firm believer in the happy accident. But I don’t trust it.

Sometimes things just come together. The elements just coalesce spontaneously and organically and something momentarily wonderful happens. It doesn’t even matter what those elements are–the ingredients of a seafood gumbo, the arrangement of a flock of birds in flight, a long lightly floating pass from Megan Rapinoe to Abby Wambach in the 122nd minute of a World Cup match. Doesn’t matter what it is; what matters is that it’s witnessed.

In this case, the witness was a machine. My camera.

A few days ago I was at the library and removed the camera from my bag in order to reach something else. I noticed the lens cap had come off, so I set the camera on the table so I could search the bottom of the bag for the cap. When I set it on the table I accidentally hit the shutter release. I didn’t even know the camera was turned on.

I heard the snap of the shutter, but didn’t even bother to chimp the photo. I just located the lens cap, replaced it on the lens, turned the camera off, and put it back in the bag. It wasn’t until later, after shooting some other photos, that I saw this photograph.

It’s not a great photo, although I think it’s an interesting one. I had to straighten it out somewhat in Photoshop (the horizon line was about ten degrees off-true. I didn’t even notice the man in the yellow shirt reading until I decided to process the photo. This was a happy accident piled on a happy accident.