Light moves through

Posts tagged “photography

Patterns of Sky

Ocean mirrors the sky, it is a way to find flight whether we have wings or not. We watch, we walk out, we ride a swell and find ourselves brushing cloud.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


The Wild Life

Climbing Beacon Rock is not nearly as impressive as the story of the man who hacked out the trail many years ago. Another impressive thing is the voracity of the summit chipmunks who stand on your boot and give you miniature high fives in the hopes of winning a wee bite. The northwest jays are in on the racket too, squawking and preening and swooping. I once would have decried this borderline domestication but now I relax into a pleasant cohabitation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Redwood State

Highway sign state lines are ebullient but meaningless demarcations, the metal remnant of old power struggles invisible in the real world. But there are the subtler signs of a shifting state: the feel of the air, the color of petals and wings, the resident trees. I love coming down from Oregon into California coast, Redwood amongst the Fir, salt in the wind, elk in the grass, and a feeling of being home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Winged Water

 

 

These photos are from an early spring run at Lacamas Lake, just over the border in Washington. Tranquil waters but for the ducks tear assing around – seems there was only one female and two males. I’d never seen a duck fight before, quite a show.


Catching Up the Night

I think that most folks who happen by here also amble on over to my other blog, Heaps of Nimbus. But just in case you’ve never been out that way, I wanted to post a few photos that have appeared over yonder.


The Soft Step

Still high from the visit to the near shore, I hope you’ll indulge me posting just a few more photos of sand and sea. There are so many ways to find home, being the lusciously composite and complex beings were are, aren’t there? Your strength of bone may call you to rock of desert or mountain, your roots may seek forest floor, your windy spirit may crave the wide open spaces. Mostly my salty blood yearns for ocean, to walk to the edge of sight and float out a ways in that surrender and embrace.

 

 

 

 

 

Reposted from http://heapsofnimbus.wordpress.com with permission of myself.

 

 


On Point of Ground

On Point of Ground

Rock stands as bastion before battering tides but changes, bit by bit, into something more, something that gives root to green growth and gull. Its stillness is illusion, as is its silence: it constantly sings in scales great and minute. It holds heat of suns and gives mineral taste, it offers the long beach of soft rest and beyond time finds its way back under waves.

 

 

 

 

 

 


On Our Way

Easter/Eostar/Passover on the Oregon Coast, what better way to celebrate deliverance abundance rebirth?

 

 

 

 

 

 


The Green Giving Water Pt II

Despite advice to the contrary, I love going and chasing these things.

 

 

 

 

 


The Green Giving Water

Every drop that falls is a moment of green. Every drop will bear light, break rock, sink into ground and reach back into air.

This gorge is a great bastion of living water, always moving, even the stillness of mountains an illusion. All of it honoring life in green.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Rock ‘n Roll Ain’t Light Pollution

In Portland you’re in a band or five, and/or you’re dating someone who is, and/or you’re ordering drinks from someone who is, and on any given night you’re at most 27 feet from a band or five practicing, performing, and/or drinking.

Here are a couple photos I snapped of my good friends performing at the Firkin Tavern, who have at least 33 bands between them, but on this night were representing Frontloaders and The Betwixties (not pictured: Dramady, because I was too shy to ask if I could shoot them too). I wish I had a sonic adapter for my lens so I could reveal the aural magnitude of their music, but hopefully your eyes can soak in the rock.

 

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Cat Mountain, Part II

This will be the second and last post about cats for now, lest I seem like a crazy old cat man before I’m officially either of the first two.

We left off with Ryan and Jackie taking in Bhikku the stray, who suddenly gained a lot of weight, which ended up being two brothers she birthed in the closet. They kept them both so we get to have this little pride of mother and her sons, Sal and Lew.

When I lived with Ryan and Jackie after first arriving in Portland, Sal was my roommate. He’s a big fella, but not as big as these pictures make him seem. He flops for love, which he did even before he lost a leg in the war. As noted elsewhere, he is truly the fastest three-legged cat I’ve ever known. People really freak out about fat cats but when you look at a family sharing the same household, all getting outside a lot, all hunters, and Sal is the hunky one, I think that Sal is just expressing his true Sal-ness as it was meant to be.

Lew has traditionally had trouble expressing his emotions, as Ryan originally explained, but he’s doing better. He has a penchant for high fives, a kink in the tip of his tale, and a handsome ascot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Cat Mountain, Part I

My dear friends Ryan and Jackie, whilst living in Ohio, adopted a tortoise shell stray they named Bhikku. They didn’t realize it was an adopt one, get 3 deal. She had a litter in their closet, and they kept the brothers Sal and Lew. The family all lives in Portland now on Cat Mountain. (The story of Jackie’s cat Barry Sagittarius will have to wait for another time.)

This is Bhikku on a sunny afternoon in February as I paid the pride a visit. Little mother is full of affection and temper and strangeness.

 

 

 

 

 


As Above So Below

 

A pigeon whispered go east, so I went east up the hill and up and looked at all the wide reach and snapped happily away, all the clouds and sunbeams and winding roads and river. But my gaze fell down and I fell in love with the entire little world at work on the ground. So much stone and so much time meant whole civilizations of little green beings tucked happily into cracks of light. For a little while I forgot about the wide view and got down on my knees to marvel at something I wouldn’t normally even see, miniature grasses and trees thriving in their own great place. I watched the last light fall and felt unreasonably glad.

 

 

 

 

 


Winter Blooms

Bare branches give a greater view of sky, of the vastness surrounding our small moments of light. Here there are small orbs hanging over the expanse, reminding us of the tenacity of flesh, an offering on supplicant limbs that hold out their gifts when all else has gone down into ground. How delicious for eyes to find the few petals, to admire the precious fruit catching the light at the end of the day.

 

 

 

 

 

 


People the Light

What an extraordinary joy it is to take people’s pictures. I spent many long years in the wilds eschewing photos of folks, cropping them out of the shot when they were there at all, spending days adrift in clouds and mountains and waves as I chewed on twigs. I still love that work, but as friends and strangers have been taking the risk of stepping in front of my camera, I’ve been learning about so much: the mechanics of posing, flattering bends and beneficial angles; how to use the lighting from sun or stand; and the connection, giving space to allow people to emerge, coaxing them along, and jumping in to create alongside.  In this set are a few of the couples and families I’ve shot with. I’m grateful to all who have allowed me to stumble along working with them, and I look forward to working with more.

I almost forgot! You can now view more Noel Tendick Photography on my portfolio site, where you will soon be able to purchase prints as well. You can even like my FB page, if you can believe that nonsense.


Metal Outrun on Water

This hike to the waterfall was framed by metal: leaking tank at the trailhead, rusted pipe slashing down the hill, handrail to provide sense of safety at the sheer edge of wonder. I loved the rust of the great pipe, some kind of mighty endeavor, a harsh mineral intrusion that was now being assimilated by animal and vegetable. I look forward to the handrail meeting the same fate, collapsing out of vision so we can scrabble up the rock with a clear sense of height and yawning space and feel a little more sharply that compelling call to motion that thunders in great falls.

 

 

 

 

 


Rail Yard

I love trains, and I love how large their presence looms here. Sometime I’ll do a proper essay, for now a quick leap from standing on rails to a high overlook of the yard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Autumn Bridge

There are still some Canada Geese lingering by the river, but most have passed overhead in vast formation. There is still some gold in the trees, but most has fallen into great heaps of rust. The sun is still on its way south, the light clear and thin, and the cold sting has erased any lingering feel of heat. It’s winter and we ready for it like crows, still on wing but huddled close and calling against the coming cloud.

 


Fall Gorge

The Columbia River Gorge is 30 minutes and another world entire from my door. I’m so grateful for its infinity of exploration, and for great friends to go there with. Running, backpacking, day hiking, spelunking; with flask, memorial candle, camera that may or may not work that day; in wind, rain, mist, trails of ice: it’s all out there.

 


CaliFall

Cali Fall

I spent the first week of November traveling between worlds, this one to others, in a number of ways. The easiest to explain is flying from the grey and fire of Portland to the gentling sun of Santa Barbara. After a week of workshop in the desert foothills, the wealth of the locals paling next to that of those scrub hills, I spent my last night in California right by the ocean. In both locales I ran, swam, explored inward and outward, and took a few photos along the way. Autumn is vastly different down there, but it is known nonetheless.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Halloween Flight

Autumn arrives in so much orange, in a lifting of sky and settling low cloud. The ground gives up an astounding array of color and light, an incredible feast that bears traces of loss. We tromp out into the fields to gather the last big abundance before the rains. I love this season, love the feel of air and the slope of sun to the south, the streaks of geese on their way and the falling dark. The boundary between worlds thins, and though we cover it with costumes to hide our fear, there is a beauty in knowing that what dies isn’t gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Wedded Light

As Reverend Blue Sky, I’ve been honored to be the officiant at a number of wonderful weddings, standing with the lovely couple at the edge of an incredible place, learning the language in which they speak of love enough to offer a small translation to their gathered community. As I develop my photography practice, I’m finding a new way to perceive and share the light of the wedding day.

These are images from Rachel and Ned’s wedding on the Mendocino Coast, Oz Farm. No shots of people, just the ambient surrounds that held such a lovely time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


What’s In A Name

Your three Floral Friday rose facts, taken from the Portland International Rose Test Garden website.

  • The world’s largest rose-bush is located in Tombstone, Arizona. It is almost two hundred years old and is adorned with more than two hundred thousand white blooms when in full bloom. Its trunk is nearly six feet in diameter, and its branches form a canopy large enough to shelter a crowd of 150 people.
  • Until the early nineteenth century, dried rose petals were believed to have mysterious powers [I still believe they do-NT]. Napoleon gave his officers bags of rose petals to boil in white wine to cure lead poisoning from bullet wounds.
  • Perhaps the oldest painting in the world depicts a five-petaled pink rose. It resides in a cave on the island of Crete and dates to about 1450 BC.

The first two photographs are from that very Test Garden. The last two are from my momentary studio (one was previously published here but has been reworked some) and I assure you were not the result of teen angst devastation heartbreak; rather, I wanted to free that rambunctious color to exultant motion before it simply paled and fell. Better to…

The wakizashi might be a bit much, but you know, sometimes you just hafta throw a sword in there.