Framing the sunset

How do you feel about sunsets? What do you think about when you’re watching the sun dip slowly below the horizon line? Are you an avowed opacarophile? I think most of us love a good sunset!

Fiery water – Nikon Z5

How do you go about framing a sunset? What decisions do you make when you compose? The so-called rule of thirds can be useful when framing landscapes like this. Typically, I’ll keep two thirds of the photo as sky, since this is usually where the most interest is – beautiful clouds and shifting colours. But as you can see in the above photo, I decided not to do that on this occasion.

My decision here revolved around the difficulty of balancing some of the brightest sections of sky with the reflections on the water. The dark shadowy landmass serves as a strong dividing line between sky and sea. I also found the texture and colour of the water more intetresting than the sky at that moment, so I chose to include more of it.

During editing, one sticking point was the brightest section of sky, right in the middle, casung me some visual distraction. The sun breaking through those clouds is strong enough to draw the attention away from the texture of the water. To address this, I opened it in Lighroom, selected a mask over that bright area, and lowered the highlights a little more. Doing this brought out some cloud detail and minimised it as a visual distraction.

I think it works OK. What do you think?

In the space between inspiration

Lately, I’ve been exploring the idea of quiet photography: noticing the quiet corners and seeking the details. When the big moments of inspiration don’t strike, it’s important not to feel the pressure of having to make photos. But if there is the tiniest inkling of wanting to pick up the camera at such times, why not commit to the small photos of everyday moments? Isn’t it in the everyday that we find a fresh view of the world?

Fire Panel – Sony RX100

Oh, where would I be without my little Sony RX100? Small, black, and set to silent mode, I re-discovered the joys of using it last year after keeping it in a drawer for too long. When the big Nikon seems too hefty for the moment, I’m always happy to find some fresh detail with the little Sony camera. Somehow, it feels less serious and more fun than my Nikons when inspiration lacks. Of course, it can make great pictures, but then again, so can a 100 year old film box!

Splashes of yellow – Sony RX100

What do you do when your photos don’t inspire?

The sun was out, there was a nice breeze, and we had an entire afternoon free. A drive to Blanchetown should have provided fruitful inspiration for photographs. But it didn’t, mostly. The weather was kind, the company good, the battery charged, and the Nikon Z5 ready for anything. So, what happened? It was me…

You know those days as a photographer when things just don’t come together? There’s a disconnect between what you see and how you feel. You compose and press the shutter but the result fails to inspire you. At times like this, I do a few things:

  • Remove the pressure from myself by leaning into other moments. Not everything needs to be camera-worthy and not every moment needs to be recorded. Enjoy the day and put down the camera;
  • Take out a different camera for fun and just focus on other scenes – details, textures, shadows. There’s good stuff in the small stuff.
Peeling and rusting – Sony RX100

Finding the details again

Sometimes, it’s easy to fall into the trap of wanting every photo to make a big impact. But those magical sunsets full of great colours don’t come around too often. Those moments when the photographic mind and heart are synchronised with the wider world aren’t always available to us. At these times, it’s important to take a step back and access other areas of the photographic process: enjoying the moment, seeing the details.

Peeling and rusting 2 – RX100

Accepting fate and below average photos

Sometimes, even when we dig into another bag of tricks, the photos don’t turn out great. Over time, we develop a sense of taste and curate our photographic output, so what might please someone else won’t please us. Part of the creative journey is developing taste and deciding which photos meet our taste standards to become the ones that really make an impact.

The remaining, less than stellar, photos are still important because they’re part of the journey to get to the photos that meet a well-developed artistic taste. Some days are about honing the eye and sensibility. Not every photo is going to be a winner and that’s OK. In fact, it needs to happen, otherwise things get boring and you don’t sharpen your eye, your imagination, your taste, and your art.

Waterbirds on twisted branches – RX100

Seeing in 2025 quietly

As city revellers were ushering in the new year, we were driving with good friends through silent streets around the wharfs and docks. Earlier, we’d had dinner at a pub on the edge of the marina and witnessed a sunset full of delicate hues.

The Marina at Sunset – Nikon Z5

Once again, the opacarophile strikes! Low in the frame, the masts were like trees – but stripped back, orderly, severe, and made by human hands. Tiny streaks of boat fuel and chemicals on top of the water, iridescent in the fading light, reminded me of how these places are underpinned by our need to exploit the environment for reasons of vanity and leisure. I gazed at expensive apartments across the water, with expensive boats moored nearby, and thought about the very few who could afford that kind of life.

Some mundane reflections

I’m learning how to handle the Nikon Z5 better. I have no complaints about the hand-feel of the camera. The grip is typically nice in that Nikonian way – though not up to the high standard of the Olympus E1. The Z5 doesn’t have all the external button control of higher models in the Z lineup, but it’s the entry level camera, after all. That’s no bother to me.

I once wondered about the role my tiny Olympus OMD EM5 Mark 2 would play in the aftermath of my Z5 purchase. Admittedly, I don’t take the Olympus out as much as I used to, but on days when I want to carry less weight, it’s the better option. I’ve also become so used to using old manual focus lenses on the Olympus, just for the central sweet spot of the glass, that it seems a missed opportunity not to use it.

Reeds at Meningie, SA – Nikon Z5

I should explore the use of vintage glass on the Nikon Z5 this year. I invested in a good quality M42 adapter, so now I can use all of my old Soviet, German, and other glass. Pleasingly, the Z5 automatically detects a non-CPU lens and switches to Focus Peaking mode. No longer do I need to go into a menu and turn it on!

It’s a new year. We’ll see what happens. Some things will change and some things never will.

Two rust-buckets at Tennant Creek

Two sunsets in my previous post, and now two photos of rusty stuff for this post! Can you detect a theme here?

This old rust-bucket – Tennant Creek, NT – Nikon Z5 with Viltrox 20mm lens

Tennant CreekJurnkkurakurr to the Warumungu people who have lived in the area for many thousands of years – is located 1000 kilometres from Darwin. In other words, it’s a long way from any big city! The town features a history of gold mining and some of that equipment and the story of that time can be found in a local museum.

I daresay that many travellers pass through Tennant Creek as quickly as possible, mindful of the stories they’ve heard regarding the residents and crime. Whilst it’s true that a recent history of such social turmoil exists, it’s wise to remember that the land speaks of much older stories and times long before colonialism. As ever, visceral reactions to news stories and statistics obscures the lived experience of local people and ultimately, the real drivers behind social problems.

Another old rust-bucket – Tennant Creek NT – Nikon Z5

Making photos isolates a moment in time. Photos often lack context and tell a story that the photographer wants to tell. The idea that a viewer would have an emotional reaction to a photo drives the work of many photographers. Indeed, street photography is littered with such raw moments and reactions.

Such thoughts enter my mind as I carry the camera and stop at a street corner in Tennant Creek. Rather than lift the viewfinder to my eye, better to think on the people who have lived here for thousands of years and face the cultural whiplash of colonialism and bleak over-representation in the justice system – a system that usually protects the rich and powerful and punishes those who can least endure it.

Two sunsets for the Opacarophile

The Urban Dictionary defines an Opacarophile as someone who loves sunsets. It would be fair to say that many people find beauty in sunsets. Certainly, at the end of a day out on the road, our thoughts turn to whether we’ll find a suitable spot to witness the sunset and make a good photo. There’s always some resigned grumbling when heavy clouds obscure the sun!

The importance of the setting sun

The setting sun signals the end of the day and the turning of the earth. One might ponder our long line of ancestors, staring at the shifting hues and watching the sun retreat below the horizon. Such an event reminds us of our smallness and our place in the world.

Evolutionary science suggests that when we experience the beauty of sunsets, we tap into our evolved aesthetic faculties – brain wiring that allow us to see the rightness or harmony of something in order to judge its value and health. A healthy mate is vital to produce healthy offspring and continue the species, so beauty in this context represents a healthy mate and potential long-term survivability. A beautiful sunset stimulates the same aesthetic faculties that allow us to determine the health of a potential mate and the rightness and harmony of things.

Perhaps that theory is a long-bow to draw for many! My favourite is the Biophilia Hypothesis, which I’ve mentioned in a previous post. The idea that humans are drawn to natural areas because we have a deep-rooted connection to them, having lived in such areas for most of our history, is a compelling one.

Two sunsets, two interpretations

Sunset, Meningie SA – Nikon Z5

Having spent much of the day driving around the Cooring, Meningie provided us with the most wonderful of sunsets. A variety of colours, shifting from moment to moment, reflected in calm water. This single sunset made up for all of the sunsets we missed. Can you spot the lone duck in the above photo?

I’m glad I had my Nikon Z5 with me for this. I’d attached the excellent Nikkor 24-70mm F4 S lens after deciding that my usual lens, the Nikkor 40mm f2, needed a break. I know that many photographers prefer a tripod for such scenes, perhaps combined with Neutral Density filters, but our day-trips are about chance and hope, best represented by hand-holding the camera and moving to the next potential aesthetic wonder.

Sunset, Meningie SA – Nikon Z5

What a difference a moment makes to the colours of a sunset! I’m being a bit cheeky, as the colour in the photo above is actually a momentary interpretation of the automatic white balance in the Z5. Once I saw what white balance it had chosen, I decided to stick with it. The first photo is much more like the original sunset we saw. I simply exaggerated the blues and pinks by setting a Tungsten white balance during editing. It’s one thing I’ve noticed in my Z5: the automatic white balance is sometimes over-eager. Still, I find it’s best to grasp these chance moments and chance settings!

Lonely towns and broken dreams

When driving along the dusty Southern Flinders road into Hammond, it’s clear that it was once an important town along the formerly vital narrow-gauge rail line that fed so many settlements in the area. Whilst not completely abandoned, another decade or two may see Hammond left to the relentless heat and wind.

On the outskirts of Hammond SA – Olympus E1

I was drawn, of course, to the dilapidated ruins up the road, marking the dusty way to more ghost towns beyond. Yet another reminder that nothing is everlasting.

The E1 proved a great companion here, even on a bright sunny day. As long as I looked after the exposure compensation carefully, so as not to blow out highlights too heavily, I was rewarded with at least half a dozen photos the equal of my Nikon Z5 in all but overall size and resolution. Still, as discussed before, megapixel counts are often overrated.

A once grand entrance, Hammond SA – Olympus E1

If I have the stamina, I also pack my Z5 alongside the E1, but the bag then does tend to drag at the shoulder a little. Fortunately, such long drives into the mid-north necessitate lengthy car rides, thus allowing my shoulder to rest between destinations. As ever, my concern is for a solid shoulder-slung camera bag that allows me to pack enough gear for a comfortable day – hopefully as inexpensively as possible whilst still retaining usability and build quality. My current bag cost all of $60 AUD and allows me to pack both the Nikon Z5 and the Olympus E1, though other features are lacking, including a strap that isn’t adjustable.

Hello Trespassers! – Hammond SA – Olympus E1

The E1 still surprises me. For a camera from 2003, with limited dynamic range, it can certainly handle enough tonal range to produce some of the most attractive photos in my folders. Sure, a good subject helps a lot, but the E1 seems a good match for scenes I would have thought it would struggle with. Perhaps I’ve gelled with it to the point that I’m looking for scenes with more mid-tones and less gap between light and shadows, as this is where it shines best.

Old mysteries behind closed doors, Hammond SA – Olympus E1

Well worth the drive, if you can stand the dust and the gnawing sense of a town that has all but been forgotten. I love it, of course – the sense of melancholy is always a stern reminder of time’s vengeful movement. One interesting feature of our time there: a resident playing modern pop music loudly from inside the old town bank, drifting on the same winds scouring the bones of the empty buildings.

Flowers, trees, and Chihuly

In my previous post, I didn’t have a lot to say, other than to talk about the sculptures of Dale Chihuly. Turns out, I still don’t have a lot to say, so I’ll let the sculptures speak for themselves. Sometimes, we need the contemplative therapy that photography can provide.

Float Boat and Niijima Floats by Dale Chihuly, 2012 – 2019 – Nikon D40

How shiny are those polyvitro baubles? Even on a cloudy day those colours really pop. By now, I’ve resigned myself to the idea that old CCD cameras like the Nikon D40 just seem tuned to produce punchy and colourful photos, even when set to RAW.

Magenta Flowers – Nikon D40

As lovely as the sculptures are, the gardens are full of opportune moments for one with a camera. Luckily, the flowers were in bloom.

The Sun by Dale Chihuly, 2014 – Nikon D40

The Sun really exemplifies Chihuly’s installation – an explosion of powerful colours spreading dynamically in all directions.

The original sculpture, green in all directions – Nikon D40

The amazing art of Dale Chihuly

It has been one heck of an exhausting fortnight and time has been limited and my motivation low. Apart from work and a possible change on that front, there have been some unexpected things to deal with that are proving tough to endure. So, instead of my usual ramblings, I’m just going to post photos of Dale Chihuly’s amazing sculptures – currently installed in our Botanic Gardens.

Sapphire Star, 2010 by Dale Chihuly – Nikon D40

It looks like glass but the sculptures are composed of a specially formulated polymer called Polyvitro. The material is robust enough to be outdoors in the weather and reflects the light beautifully. We thought it was glass at first!

Cattails and Copper Birch Reeds by Dale Chihuly, 2024 – Nikon D40
Lime and Lava Red Tower by Dale Chihuly, 2021 – Nikon D40
Blue Crystal Tower by Dale Chihuly, 2024 – Nikon D40

Out on the street again

In my previous post, I went out with the Nikon D40 and made some street photos. Even though it’s an enjoyable experience, street photography can also be tiring if not in the right frame of mind. I find that placing too much pressure on myself to make good photos can take a lot away from the experience. And out in the street where you need to be alert to interesting scenes that may last mere moments, missing one can lead to frustration.

Gathering before busking – Nikon D40

As much as that experience can lead to moments of regret at having not been quick enough on the shutter button, going down that path simply leads to more frustration and lack of joy. There are so many moments on the street that it’s always possible to find another. In simple terms: don’t get stuck in a moment missed because you’ll have just missed another moment.

Fresh milk and soft toys – Nikon D40 with Tamron 17-50 2.8

What do we do as photographers?

A photographer collaborates with the world to make a photo of a moment that never repeats. As much as there’s pressure to record all of the moments that pass so quickly, the photographer also brings the attention of others to a framed moment in time. In doing so, the photographer creates an awareness in others of the larger world we inhabit. And how often do we inhabit it without much care for the present moment?

In this context, street photography is like being in a whirlpool of moments. That’s both exciting and potentially exhausting if the pangs of regret haunt us too easily when the camera and the moment don’t quite line up. In those cases, better to accept the passing moment and move into a new moment with open eyes and mind. And have we really missed a moment if we haven’t recorded it?

Celebration and relief after a street performance – Nikon D40