Valentines
It’s February in California, the time for first flowers. Storms are followed by sunny days and breezes. Mustard and sourgrass line the highways and carpet the orchards. Johnny-jump-ups, hound’s tongue, and some first poppies poke up along the trails. We’re all hiking towards the equinox.
What is it about wildflowers? Somehow, they speak to so many good things at once: life, beauty, hope, renewal, faith, fertility, the promise of the landscape “springing” forth from winter. A bridge between the everyday and spiritual worlds. Tiny, fragile, and fleeting, but powerful. They’re all about love, of course, just waiting to be found. Like valentines. Old memories or new beginnings.
As to beginnings: I’ve started spending time in macro land with the small camera, shooting tight portraits for the first time in years. And what’s my subject? Flowers.
I’m not looking for rare new species or chasing splashy spring displays. I’m just revisiting my own favorites where they live: Down by the creek; in meadows and marshes; on hills amidst waving green grasses; in the cracks of rocky outcroppings; or along a sandy desert wash. These are portraits of old friends like shooting star; snowy phlox; fairy lantern; mallow; mariposa lily; fiddlenecks; heliotrope; datura; desert five-spot (shown above); owl’s clover; paintbrush; iris; larkspur; farewell-to-spring; leopard lily; penstemon; columbine; and sky pilot. Plus the elusive, freckled ghost flower! They each evoke memories and meanings for me. And you never know when—or if—they’ll appear. That’s the magic.
Though I come from a view-camera background, ala ‘f64’, sharpness is not what I’m up to here. I want to get in close, to find new ways to see an old world. To show emotion through shapes and shadows. And waves of surprising color, both delicate and bold. Soft or sharp? No matter. Let flowers show me the way.
My tools? A Sony a7rv, mostly on a tripod, but sometimes not. My 90mm Canon tilt/shift macro with a Metabones adapter for Sony. Extension tubes, sometimes stacked. Plus long zooms. Long zooms with teleconverters. Very short lenses with extension tubes. A focusing rail. Some ND filters. A small reflector, a diffuser, and a black card for blocking light. My Bluetooth remote release. A Therm-a-rest Z seat to kneel on in frosty or soggy meadows.
Sometimes it’s the outside shapes and gestures that get me. Is it one flower? Two flowers? Maybe three? It’s the subtle dance and spacings that make an arrangement. What needs focus? Should I shoot wide open or start stopping down? The background bokeh and colors are as important as the foreground flowers. Tiny tweaks with the camera make huge changes.
On other days it’s even more macro: A closeup kaleidoscope of shapes, shadows, and color. Here, I want to feel like I’m “falling into flowers.” Maybe it’s about picking one narrow plane of sharpness through the softness. The tilt/shift macro takes some effort, but it can really help align those focus points.
Is the wind kicking up? Go with it! Either pick a slow exposure and let the flower blow around the frame or take the camera off the tripod and move it yourself—or try both things at once.
And OK, just for fun, how about NO focus? Glowing Rothko shapes from 1-inch flowers? Moving tracers of blended color? Cool! I’m all in.
It’s a leap of faith.
Maybe I have nothing much to give, but I’ll hope someday to offer up these bouquets of bright blooms, my own humble valentines, to anyone who wants them. Maybe they’d help point the way for some soul who feels a little lost and alone but might then take heart…? I didn’t make these valentines; I found them. Or, really, they found me. The earth renews itself through flowers—and for no reason at all, other than love.
If and when you’re able, open the door and head outside! Wildflowers are free. And if you come across a five-spot or a ghost flower, maybe stop and look more closely—there’s a world inside each one.
As Robert Hunter wrote and Phil Lesh sang: “Just a box of rain, wind, and water. Believe it if you need it, if you don’t, just pass it on.”
By Scott Atkinson
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