A pause to remember and respect the hundreds for whom all options have ceased.

Another for their friends, families and those who will miss them most.

Another moment to reflect on the fragility of life in the vastness of this cosmos.

Remember. And then continue on.

There is nothing else to do.

It was a quiet moment yesterday, late enough and cloudy enough that the light was utterly shadowless and had an interesting feel .. a 'rich flatness'. It had been a somewhat long and unfocused day where I could not concentrate. I finally packed it in at my desk and headed over to a local cafe I've begun to frequent more. Warm enough to sit outside, so I did.

My book sat on the table in front of me. I couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus on 'what to do next', kept getting distracted. I read a chapter in my book. Stopped. I pulled out my notebook. Fussed with my pen. Started to write. The act of writing a list of things to do, sequencing them, thinking about them, studying the words and characters led me into a different mental state. I was grateful to leave the one I'd been in. I closed the book and stuck it in my bag.

Sitting there, meditating and sipping my drink. I felt like I hadn't taken a decent photo all week. The notion came to me "From your seat, what do you see?" so I started to look around intently, but was again distracted. Voices in my head ... "you should read! you should ..." I didn't know what. The camera was sitting on the table in front of me, ready, and I flipped it to video mode and took a long, slow pan starting at my extreme left and running to the right. Forty-eight seconds. I watched that video about ten times: it was easier to 'see', to concentrate using the video than to look at the space around me.

And then for fifteen minutes I made photos, without going more than forty feet. This scene was the first I saw and the last thing I photographed. 

You know what is really real when you see it on the video.

It's been kind of an odd week. As much as I tried to get done, it felt like nothing got done. Yet I see the evidence of work all around me on the desk, in the computer, in the inbox of my email. Hmm. A mildly annoying cold poked its way into my nose on Tuesday too. A feeling of something pending pervades... 

Must be the holidays coming on.

So yesterday I was about the house, doing this and that, and feeling a bit chilled I sat down and watched a documentary on photographer William Eggleston. Got a good laugh about when his work was hung in a very notable gallery exhibition, Ansel Adams called the gallery to upbrade them and The New York Times rated it as "The most hated exhibition of the year." That must have smarted, but Eggleston didn't stop at all ... he just kept on going. 

Realizing I'd been around the house all day I got antsy for a cup of coffee and a read at the cafe. Brought the camera along. 

These two fellows were engaged in a spirited to and fro, then all of a sudden they stopped for a moment. A Pause. 

I made the exposure, nodded at the fellow looking at me. He laughed, and they went right back at it with a chuckle ... I heard the word "picture" and "snapshot" float over a couple of times for a few minutes. And then my attention drifted onwards. I looked up and noticed them gone.

Must be the holidays coming on. 

Last evening was a special event: the annual lighting of the classic fresnel lamp at Pigeon Point Lighthouse in Pescadero, California.

I arrived shortly before sunset began and was lucky to find a place to park quite close to where I had wanted to do my picture taking. It's a little to the north of the lighthouse with a broad view of the cliffs and seacoast. 

There was quite a crowd gathered, I have no idea how many in toto but the row upon row of photographers assembled was impressive. The spot I'd envisioned was wonderfully free of obstructions and gave me the view I wanted. I imagined a fearsome din of shutters chattering at the moment of lighting, but you would need better ears than mine to hear it. 

I made about 200 exposures from sunset through the lighting ... then stopped and just enjoyed the glorious view of this beacon alight once more for a half hour. Such a beautiful light! Its beams reach out across the vastness and warn sailors of their peril at the same time they beckon onwards: "Soon you will land in a magical place!" they seem to say. 

That was enough. It was cold, my fingers were frozen. I was done for the night and happy. 

Lots of rendering to do now ... 

I had occasion last night to visit Foothill College in Los Altos Hills: an exhibition of photography made in Cuba was opening. It was a fine show of intense work by a half-dozen or so photographers. Inspiring ... I'll have to go back to see the photos again, of course, since actually having space and time to appreciate photographs is about the last thing you get to do at a reception. A beautiful place too, the reception was in the Krause Center For Innovation gallery, housed by old observatory buildings. 

As I left, the late evening dusk was just fading and the lighting on this lovely old observatory dome and wall stopped me in my tracks. And I realized, I don't have my tripod with me! Ah well, I had the new camera: new technology  ... wonder what it can do? I wonder what I can get with it hand held ...? 

It's amazing, the rush of technology this past half decade and some in photography. The capabilities of today's cameras is simply astounding compared to what was available as recently as 2005, and lightyears beyond 2001 and before. It seemed obvious to me, working in the Dark Ages of digital imaging in the 1980s and 1990s, that this revolution would be profound when it hit production prices. But how could I have predicted it would happen so quickly? I couldn't, I didn't. And I am glad it was: it means I will have time to enjoy it, to learn it fully, to get back past all this equipment bother into Photography again. 

Another milestone passed yesterday ... After a month's persistent work, my office in our new home is finally fully operational. It's been a big job, a lot of work, but the shelving is built and in place, the desk and worktables are arranged, the equipment is hooked up and humming. I'm still unboxing and putting things away but finally there is a place to put those things away, enough mental space to be productive and think again. 

Now to think hard and move forward with a new plan, new ideas, into new endeavors. The hard part, in other words, is now in front of me. And, as it turns out, it's the fun part that I've been working to get to. 

Moving onwards ...

On one of the camera equipment forums someone said: 

I thought this was a lovely idea And some fun photos were posted in response. So I picked a photo and posted it ... 

It was fun to pick one photo, but of course it wasn't really satisfying enough. I found about three dozen that I thought might be worth working on. I picked nine out of that and have posted them to a new set on Flickr ... you're welcome to enjoy them. 

BTW: I never think about rules when I'm making photographs. I just make photographs that appeal to my eye. So I'm not entirely sure what rules I'm breaking ... 

Maybe you can tell me? 

Continuing my exploration and learning the neighborhood in my new home, the City of Santa Clara, California.

The other morning I hopped in the car and drove the mile and a half to visit the Santa Clara Mission Cemetary. I'd seen the signs when driving by the previous day and been a little perplexed: they listed a closing time for the park but no opening time. I still don't know officially when they open the gates, but they were open at 7:10am ... good enough. 

I didn't really know what to expect of the light and as it turned out I was a bit too late: the sun was too high. I'd dropped the 50mm lens into the bag and decided to do some shooting anyway, concentrating on details and areas where the sun was not a glare. 

I'll be going back soon. 

So along comes today and the light is beautiful: overcast and soft. I wanted to walk and had mapped out a comfortable circuit. It turned out to be a great walk! 

This photo is pretty special. It shows a Craftsman house built in 1910 in the city center neighborhood. I was admiring this classic, beautiful home (marked with the plate on the left as a city historic) when the owner stepped out to ask if I was taking a photograph. We had a pleasant chat at the end of which she granted me permission to make her portrait with the house as background. A lovely person, a beautiful home, a great neighborhood to walk in.

A few moments later in my walk there is a monastery with two quiet groves of olive trees and a beautiful chapel. Needless to say, I plan to be spending some time there soon.

So much to see, so much to learn about this area ... 

I posted several more photos to the flickr stream this week: http://www.flickr.com/photos/gdgphoto/ if you care to take a peek. 

Michelin Sunrise

First morning walk at the new place. I walked in the direction of the main street, a six to eight lane local highway, and meandered along it for a while. Lots of old-timey small businesses. Passed the civic center park and reflecting ponds with their signs broadcasting "Feeding The Animals Is Prohibited In A Public Place". hmm. 

The sun rose orange and warm in front of me. Bibendum skated on his slatted field of white at the tire place. No cafe to stop at in this direction: I turned around and walked back via a quiet side street. Sat in the park for a while reading a book and watching the pigeons. 

Ducks in the pond. Pigeons on the edges of the pond. All of a sudden the ducks would all rise together out of the water, fly around in a loop, return to the pond. Then the pigeons do the same thing. 

Lots to see, my eyes are still overwhelmed by the newness of it all. 

These things take a while. 

I'd lived in Cupertino for 14 years when I moved here, in an apartment down the street from my new job at Apple Computer. Over that near decade and a half so much living had flowed under the bridge it is a book to write in my dotage, a huge piece of my memoirs. The attachment to my apartment there was deep and intense, and it took me lot of energy to move on from it. When I did, it was the joy of moving in with my partner and best friend that made it easy to endure the effort. 

So I hardly thought that living in Sunnyvale for a mere five years, in a time when my life was seemingly much simpler, would make moving so difficult. We get along well, the apartment here has been convenient and comfortable if nothing particularly special. We're moving to a condominium in a town new to me, which is exciting in and of itself. 

And yet in this five years of living here, through a period of economic challenge and many event personal and deep if not "large" in the same way as my time in Cupertino, I have found great joy in a simple morning walk that I've tried to do every day. These neighborhood streets, the flotsam and jetsam of wind and traffic that fill the ground with signs, the cafe where I sit on morning and enjoy the chill or warmth of outdoor air ... they have become mine, a landscape in my thoughts through which I see and travel distances unimaginable any other way. 

Our new place is only six miles away. The neighborhood there is new, unexplored in large part, and very walkable. But still: it is hard to move. It is difficult to tear oneself away from the familiar, from the comfortable, from the intimate that you have come to know and love. 

It will happen, it is happening. Half my stuff is already bundled ready to move.  I'll be closing down the office tomorrow for a week or two. The new place is almost ready to move into ... the truck will be here Wednesday morning. And while it is only a few minutes drive away, I will no longer be part of this place, this walk, these small things I see. 

And I am ready now, waiting, to see what I find and where my footsteps lead my eyes. In a new place again. 

United Airlines sent me a note in May that my frequent flyer miles were going to go away if I didn't book something with them before the end of June. So I thought, 'heck, i haven't been to NY since mom passed away, i should visit my brothers and see what's going on back east.' 

One of my friends was available and I had the time to visit yesterday. So on September 11, 2010, I took the train from Westchester down into Manhattan. The significance of the date was not lost on me. 

New York City is, indeed, a living organism. There wasn't a lot of time, I had another engagement on my calendar in the evening. I  rode the Harlem Line down to Grand Central and feeling the heat as I exited the train brought back vivid memories of growing up in and around this place. 

The City in Summer is always about sweat. It's always about movement, constant movement, the sound of so much going on resonating and colliding in the hot, damp air. Riding the subway, mid-day on a Saturday, it is jammed as if in rush-hour in any other city. I didn't really remember the path to my friend's place on 7th and First: I felt my way there riding the subways after a cursory glance at the map, and walked when I got off nearby. 

The street is New York. Every block, every neighborhood full of people talking, eating, buying, selling, sitting, laughing, crying, running, walking. All different ages, all different kinds. It is exhilarating. Buzz about the Towers. Buzz about the mosque, about politics, about what's good and what sucks. I talked with a woman on the subway platform, jammed and jostled with passengers in the cars screeching through their tunnels underground, enjoyed an ice cream cone while watching a woman and her two youngsters doing the same. There's enough to keep your ears and eyes full no matter where you turn. 

So glad I made it here at this time.