5/10/12

Bryant House

Black and White in Bloomington ii.

Several hundred yards down the track, the rain started to fall. So much for keeping promises. Pocketing my camera and exiting an unlocked gate, passing a sign saying "Class D Felony", I walked through neighborhoods to meet with Pops and JAH for dinner. A good meal is just what I needed. It usually is.

Pops.

An hour earlier, wanting to shoot more than study, with camera in hand and music in ear, I wandered out. I was tired of sitting and didn't have time to wait; clouds loomed overhead, taunting an early arrival of late night storms. Walking with misplaced deliberateness past the restaurants on Walnut Ave. idly awaiting their dinner guests, I could think of only one place to go. 

Sometimes getting on track is just a few minutes away.

Hopping the fence next to a train station turned cocktail lounge, I was back atop a familiar overpass. The clouds hung heavily, threatening nothing more than continued taunting, or so promised the weather report.

On Track.

This wasn't my first time there this semester. I did so with greater clarity, or so I thought, this time.

JASH. May, 2012.

Black and White in Bloomington i.

It had been weeks since my desk had been clear, let alone my mind.

Order, finally, at the end of April.

I spent too much time in March and April hunting for new ways to look at the world, literally. Looking back, I was unfocused as I sought clarity no lens could provide.

By the time I left town, four Nikon One Touch/L35AFs of varying vintages hung on my wall.

(They can be had cheap, though often untested, online. I averaged $7 a camera, which, considering the well-performing 35mm f/2.8 lens, is well worth it. One for my car. One for my bag. One to break. One that probably doesn't work.)

Between finals, I needed something to relax my eyes and my mind. One can forget the importance of getting out when it seems that one should stay in. 

A beautiful day beckoned the aforementioned visit to the Other Quarry with AF. Stopping at CVS on the way there, I picked up two rolls of Kodak Tri-X 400 on discount. AF sat in the car with the air conditioning running; the long overdue playlist for Endres turned down. I never shoot black and white, but it seemed fitting; "shades of grey" is more a more accurate name, however. 

Over the edge.

AF lent a hand for a few frames.

After my last test, a classmate approached me saying, "I'm packin' today." He pulled an M6 out of his bag. I responded in kind, or in difference, showing him my One Touch. There's a virtue to both, though I look forward to running a few rolls through his M6 when I return to Bloomington in August.

Slides in April ii. "Professor."

Back when there was snow still out...

I paused on my way toward the door.

The prof.

A burst of color.

A quick introduction.

A simple question.

Two frames preserving 1/250th of a second.

I promised the prof. I'd send him copies once the slides were developed and scanned. "It should only take two weeks or so."

It only took a few months to finish shooting the roll, something I wish I'd taken care of sooner.

I gave the prof. an awkward nod as I passed him in the coffee shop before class every morning, acknowledging my own inaction and avoidance of recent obligations in more ways than one.

Simple promises or not, I could work on keeping those I've made.

Scanning this roll was just one way to start.

4/26/12

(picture removed)

In what has been a  maelstrom of turmoil, more personal than academic, I was asked if I was going on an outdoor adventure. With neither context nor reason to believe that such activities lay ahead, I thought quickly as I finished my business at Salvation Army- a new pair of L.L. Bean Bean Boots tagged $8.99 in hand. With intrigue established and restlessness unending, I thought of one place we could visit within the one hour time constraint.

In the car, songs from a playlist weeks late and still unsent to a dear friend dulled the silence.

Familiar businesses gave way to the gently rolling hills of southern Indiana.

"Where are we going?"

I responded only that providing a proper name compromised the integrity of the location, instead mitigating the mystery and AF's doubt by letting her know that this destination was somewhere very special to me.


It's a place I've kept secret for far too long, even from myself.


Stopping in front of the familiar yellow gate, I felt as if I was visiting a stranger. The circumstances, my circumstances are different every time I've returned. To date, I've only taken one other person, AF aside, to The Other Quarry, but in time, I'm sure I'll bring more.

My trio of cameras watched from the top of a monolith that would dwarf JAH's Mini. With our backs to the teal and cerulean waters, glistening unusually bright under the clear sky, I found a shard of catharsis as we whipped a stack of forgotten clays at a jagged wall of stone.

Sometimes you just need to break something.

4/19/12

10/29/11

Eyes at Avicii

2/25/12

Another JAH. Lake Monroe.

2/4/12

Seating for one.

Valentine's Day Murder

All that was left by the time I woke up.

12/14/11

At The Dunnkirk

10/13

Pop's Rocks

The leaves fell unexpectedly.

These days the light does the same.

Back to the Other Quarry

Delaying dinner, I finally returned to the other quarry a few weeks ago.

The early October air was still warm, enticing me to make a jump I was ill-prepared for.

Fading.

I'll jump in the spring, when the water is warmer and I can pick apart shadows from boulders.

Locked In.

A few years ago, my friend Adam and I snuck in on a warm summer afternoon, cigars in hand, and climbed to the top of the stadium.

As the sun set, we enjoyed our Romeo y Julietta No. 2's.

I haven't been back in the stadium since then, a game last fall, aside.

Just over a month ago, I returned, keeping an eye out for security guards and whoever else I might run into as I unlatched a gate.

While Adam and I hopped a railing to get out that one evening, this time I found myself locked in. Gates were shut by an invisible crew while I was hiking to the top.

Locked in.

After walking through the entire stadium looking for an easy exit, I finally climbed onto the wall of a cement ramp leading to the upper levels.

Sitting on the ledge, I realized fifteen feet separated my camera, and feet, from the unforgiving asphalt.

I tightened the straps on my backpack.

Sometimes all you need to get out is to just jump.

Streamside and a country drive.

Friday. 6:00pm

After weeks of watching the sun soften to the perfect glow, roughly from 7:00 to 8:30 pm, and hours of studying for my upcoming final, I grabbed my cameras and headed to my car. After replacing the long dead batteries in my dad's old Nikon FM, I started driving. It wasn't about the destination, though a bridge left uncrossed on my last excursion seemed like a good starting point.

The sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds, intermittently casting rays of light through the foliage as I climbed into the underbrush.

As I approached the stream's edge, two large shapes darted towards a deep channel. Looking closer, several large bass sat at the bottom of the channel, mouths pointed upstream. In waters brimming with fry and minnows, the bass' size didn't surprise me, but their numbers did.

Much of my time in third and fourth grade was spent exploring the woods, lake, and nearby streams around the house. Fascinated with both fishing and biology, I caught whatever I could both for conquest and curiosity. My love for streams and creeks lingers as a tribute to my childhood and my dreams of someday returning to fly fishing.

Digital and analog. Different and just that.

I enjoyed the simplicity of the FM's three dot metering system, though I didn't trust it's inconsistent guidance. With my D7000 set up as similarly as possible to the FM (ISO and ASA at 400 with 35 f/1.8 and 50 f/1.4 lenses, respectively), I used it as a crutch that let me compare questionable exposure readings before shooting with the FM.  Not taking notes for each shot was a mistake I'll need to correct next time, though, I don't know which pictures I used the D7000's meter on. Shooting and reviewing the results from both cameras has shown me a lot and will continue to do so.

After an hour, I returned to my car, continuing on back roads concerned only with my direction and the views around me.

Air blew through the open windows, clearing my head and cooling my body as I wound my way over and around the rolling hills.

I stopped at the top of a hill to look at the layered landscape bowing up and down across tree tops and fields in various shades of green.

More from the FM.

This trio was far too hungry to pay attention to me. The slap of the mirror briefly earned the attention of one horse before he returned to grazing.

Just thirty minutes from town I'd found a place not entirely new or familiar.

Driving back, I knew this was only the first of many similar trips to come.

Notes on July.

Pieces of the first month back.

Less

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet

Shrooms, steak, and chevre.

Lake Monroe.

Pick your power.

The only way.

Responding from somewhere new.

The adventures I've had in the past seven months only whet my appetite for movement and exploration. With the reality and awareness of Bloomington fast becoming the place I've spent the most time, my restlessness has grown quickly.

10 days ago. 10:00 pm. Fresh with inspiration, I grabbed my Parker Jotter and began to write an overdue letter.

I know I need to be better at keeping in touch, writing, and writing back; do you?

Just an excerpt-

"7:45. I skipped dinner, too tired to cook and too restless to sit down and study. Leaving the issues of Chatham v. Pohle on my desk, I quickly grabbed my backpack and stuffed it with my camera and lenses. With a vague set of directions, I drove south, anxiously watching the time as the sun began its descent.

Past the turn for “Rooftop.” Somewhere ahead lay a small road and a quick turn towards a stretch of highway I’d never seen. I stopped to take a picture of an abandoned tractor trailer adorned with Indiana University in large red letters. Was the decoration done before or after its retirement?

Cutting through the forest, the gravel road meandered gently like a river. At several turns, the gravel extended into the brush, partially burned and forever forgotten pieces of trash and furniture sat waiting to be consumed by the tall grass.

Impatient, yet wary of the large puddles and myriad bumps and dips, my foot was forced to dance between pedals. I missed my Landcruiser.

The pedal reached for the floor as I drove up a large hill, fearful of losing traction on the loose gravel.

Despite the signs instructing that visitors be escorted into the quarry, it was apparent that no one had showed up for work in years.

The rusted gate and padlock relieved any apprehension about proceeding.

The sun committed to its descent and with camera in hand, I took off in a jog towards the closest corner. There’s never enough time at sunset.

In the spontaneity of this trip and the warm glow of the sun, I was invigorated by an anxious serenity. Since delving into cases these past three weeks, I’ve struggled to keep hold of my voice. In the presence of the abandoned, I found inspiration and joy.

In the warm light, the limestone glowed a soft shade of yellow.

Two structures sit alongside a tall pole in the middle of the quarry. Their foundations and walls sit submerged, leaving only roofs  to remind visitors of their presence.

I’ll have come back to this place before you read this. 

Here, there was an urgency I needed to respect and abide by; this was my presence in a moment purely private. 

My legs struggled, but carried me forward reluctantly. From within the heat of my jeans, my muscles cursed me for my reunion with the squat rack just ninety minutes prior.

I continued around the far side of the quarry; the heat remained as the light softened. The airy weave of this new New England-sewn madras pop-over lent no relief.

Leaving my backpack on top of a rock near the path, I clumsily climbed down piles of loose stone towards the clear water, agility and steadiness lost to iron and denim. Size was no indication of stability, I learned. I tightened my grip on my camera.

The dichotomy of madras and raw denim was vilipended by the lingering heat and humidity; both shirt and jean clung to me. Sweat dripped into the viewfinder as I made a futile attempt to capture the light.

The sun shifted orange, signaling it was time to turn back. Just a third of the way around the pool, I took off towards my car, tired and content with the thirty minutes prior."

I still haven't gone back to the quarry, but I will soon.

Here's to remembering that even in the most familiar places, there's always more to discover.

The Red Truck on College Ave.

You never know what (or who) you'll see if you just pay attention.

Please be careful while driving.

Welcome back.

New chapter, new apartment, same town.

Unpacked.