Every Spring, I make time to venture into the wilds of my mother's yard to take photographs of her azaleas. As far as landscaping flowers go, I'm not a big fan of azaleas (I find them to be size-challenged, temperamental, and short-lived in our region), but I have an affection for hers as they seem to be determined enough to survive in our muddy terrain, and besides, I basically grew up with them.
The pinks always bloom before the whites. I've never been quick enough to capture the smaller pink blooms on film before they expire; however, I have learned over the years that I have a small window of opportunity in which to capture images of the whites. That window falls between the first wave of new blooms and the first rain. During this time, the blooms are full and clean. Yet once the first rain falls after the initial blooming, the petals shrink, "burn", and are no longer as appealing in appearance. One or two more rains, or one good frost, and the blooms will be lost for the season.
Whenever I travel, I try to photograph the local flora. Though I am not a huge supporter of the cut-flower trade, the beauty I find in any wildflower (or, heaven forbid, an entire field of them) brings to me a sense of indescribable joy. Upon reflection, though I may not have more images of flowers from different places in my photo boxes than of people or landmarks, I'll concede they probably run a close second.
When I photograph flowers, I seek what my mind perceives to be a perfect image. This entails visually evaluating almost every bloom, every cluster and arrangement, every blank; however, I feel that I should clarify that I am not searching for a conventionally "perfect" flower. I take many pictures throughout this process, knowing I will discard over half, possibly even two-thirds of them once I see them on a bigger screen. I usually end up with between six and twelve keepers, images that I feel are a good representation of my efforts and the flowers themselves. Sometimes, I will be rewarded with a single image that surpasses all the others I've taken during that session; this image will be one that literally takes my breath away.
It's this split second of disbelief and awe that prompts me to make this sojourn every Spring. I search for a split second of unity with nature in exchange for a fifty foot stroll into the back yard and thirty minutes' worth of discarded images. What I find instead is a split second of humility after looking up Nature's skirt and realizing what a clumsy, overcomplicated human being I am. Even so, it seems a pretty sweet deal to me.
With full knowledge and appreciation that everyone's perception of beauty is different, I'd like to show you what took my breath away this year.
Until next Spring, then.
