by Susan Lobb Porter | Arty Inspiration, Everyday Ordinary, Photography |
Today I took a walk. All by myself. Imagine that–all by myself! No husband, no friends, no dogs. Nobody tugging me in another direction. Nobody getting bored or impatient while I stooped to examine interesting things. Nobody peeing on every corner. Just me.
And my camera. Canon Power Shot. Nice little thing–small enough to fit in my purse or pocket but with enough bells and whistles to make a pro happy.
I’m not a pro so it makes me very happy. I just disable the flash and let the camera do the rest. Because I’m not looking for great photos…I’m looking for inspiration for my next paintings. Texture. Composition. The undefinable something that passes the squint test.
And I found it in downtown Nevada City, which is neither in Nevada nor a city, just an old gold mining town in the Sierra foothills. The gold rush era buildings ooze yummy–I’m talkin’ YUMMY–texture.
Old funky sheet metal and older, funkier concrete…it’s enough to make a girl swoon, I’m tellin’ you, pass out with the delight.
And then there’s just plain old metal on metal. Not that there’s anything plain about this. It’s just begging me to create its likeness in wax.
Rust. Wood. Sheet metal. Stone.
These will keep me busy in the studio this weekend. They’re for reference only, a jumping off point for plaster and wax. If history is any indication, the final results will look nothing like the original.
I’ll post before and after pics, maybe some during the process. Look for them in the next few days.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Beloved Beasties, Photography |
I’m not a photographer but these days I’m packin’ a camera like a TV cowpoke and his six-shooter. Of course this analogy only works if you watch 50’s reruns on The Western Channel or are older than dirt and have a thing about Little Joe and/or Marshall Dillon.
Which I’m not. And I don’t. Well, maybe Little Joe, just a little, back in the day. He had a cool horse. Mine was a stick. Had a sock head with a yarn mane. Best damn horse I ever had. Never once had to clean up his poo, unlike some other horses I know.
But back to the cameras. I never leave home without one. I’ve got three of ’em. Five if I count some early digitals gathering dust upstairs. Blows me away that the camera in my iPhone is way–I mean way–better than the one I Mr. Spouse spent big bucks on ten years ago. Not complaining, just wondering what George Eastman would think of all this.
The other day I was sitting with Studio Quat on the sofa swing in front of the studio. I had a camera in hand and started snapping pictures. Just playing. Then I decided to see how macro was macro on an older Canon Elph SD1000. Older being at least six years.
Here’s what I got.
Kind of fuzzy. Not great. Shows her age, which in cat years is life # 8.5 . She was only mildly interested in what I was doing as it didn’t involve food. Or scratchy fingers.
So I moved in a little closer.
And closer.
The question was how close could I move in before she got pissed off. Because I was, like, right in her face.
At least this close.
And that was about it. Maybe I could’ve gotten closer but LOOK at those eyes…. You think she was telling me something?
No details on the camera. Just disable the flash, put it in macro then point and shoot. And be extra considerate of your subject when you’re so into their space. Especially when they have claws. And they know how to use them.
