Little to add

If you’ve been paying close attention to the obscure sections of the media, you might already know that today is the 50th anniversary of the moon landing. You know, Earth’s moon, Luna, that big grey thing in the sky, just to clarify. And I’m vaguely curious to know how much attention this gets in other countries; I imagine it’s at least a tad less in Russia, for instance. Nationality is a stupid thing, and while we might credit any accomplishment to the country where most of the participants hail from, major endeavors such as going to the moon were not only built upon the efforts and expertise of people around the world, they relied on the scientific accomplishments from all of previous history. This is a human milestone, pure and simple.

My own perspective hasn’t really changed from when I covered the 40th anniversary, so I’ll refer you back to that one – it’s got a picture and all. [I know, I’ve barely been posting anything recently and with a topical subject at hand, I’m chickening out and using an old post. But we already know I suck. And worse, I’m about to do an outside link too.]

But for a newer perspective – well, okay, no, it’s also fifty years old, but it might be as new, i.e., previously unknown, to you as it was to me – we go to the Astronomy Picture of the Day from a few days back, and a composite video of the Apollo 11 lunar lander’s descent. Overlaid is the communications between Aldrin and Armstrong in the lander itself, as well as ground control in Houston and all of their monitoring and concerns. The targeted area for landing turned out to be too dangerous, strewn with boulders and debris, and beyond it was a crater with uneven slopes, so Armstrong had to take over and manually drift the lander to the side to avoid these – with fuel running dangerously low. Now, I knew about their fuel reserves long ago, but it’s quite another matter to be watching it, realtime as it were, as the lander drifts towards a safe spot while the clock is ticking. There’s little for us to compare it to, because most of us aren’t even airborne – um, uh, spaceborne, vacuum-borne, aloft, whatever – when we do anything, but the lander had to set down precisely and gently, and even a rougher landing could mean that they wouldn’t be able to leave again.

You see, there weren’t a lot of options. The little engine in the base of the escape module (the upper stage of the lander, that would detach and carry them back to orbit to rendezvous with Collins in the command module) was fixed-thrust and non-gimbaled, meaning it couldn’t be aimed, so any corrective aiming had to be done with the reaction control system, those little nozzles around the module that you see in all of the photos, which also had limited fuel. Set down at too steep an angle, and while the escape module might leave the moon’s surface, it wouldn’t be able to adequately correct its path and make rendezvous. So, descent and landing had to be pretty kosher. As it was, they touched down so gently that they didn’t even compress the landing struts, those legs of the lander, and their egress to the moon required a bigger jump off the ladder than anticipated.

One more silly bit, because it’s actually an interesting aspect of physics. It’s easy to think that the lander wasn’t too hard to handle because of the lower lunar gravity, which is true insofar as descent acceleration went. However, even in microgravity, objects still have their mass, which has inertia, and inertia still has to be overcome. A very large or dense object can take a lot to move, stop, or change direction, so while it might take less fuel, it’s not like tossing around an empty crate. It might be likened to heavy objects on a slick sheet of ice – starting their movement, or stopping them, still takes considerable effort.

Anyway, enjoy the celebrations (he says in order to post this before the day’s over.)

Storytime 29

trail of unidentified larva through center of leaf
Far too many things going on today for a long one, so this is brief. Today’s storytime post is all there, if you look closely. The faintly brownish trail of some arthropod larva that twists through the middle of the leaf, and by that I mean, between the top and bottom surfaces – and terminates at the larva itself. It has the appearance of being on top of the leaf because the upper membrane is so thin, but it’s inside – I checked at the time. If I’d backlit the leaf, the damage within would have been more obvious.

The first point that I’ll draw attention to is the apparent random nature of the damage, not appearing to follow any particular pattern and only limited by the main rib down the center of the leaf – probably not the most efficient method of eating, but give the species a few thousand years. If the plant doesn’t develop its own repellent traits in that time.

The second came to me as I typed, but I have a faint suspicion that the darker lines along the path are actually the waste, where the larva was defecating as it made its way along – you notice how they’re all oriented towards the bottom no matter which way the larva was progressing. You always know you can count on me to bring you these little details.

who needs alt text for this?Okay, one more stupid thing, which is a screenshot of the text file I use as backup when I’m writing posts (having been burned before on system crashes, plus what’s a storytime post without a link to another post?) But it’s awfully suspicious the way so many “the”s lined up at the beginning of the lines, doncha think?

[No, after adding that I didn’t get any more – not even the one in quotes.]

Just a couple of highlights

There will be nothing earth-shattering to be found in this post – I’m simply trying to maintain a little content while new images are a tad scarce.

great blue heron Ardea herodias on Neuse River
Two recent outings with the Itinerant Mr Bugg produced far fewer photos than foretold expected, which is just how it goes sometimes; by no means should anyone attempt to infer that either of us is lacking in skills, and it should be borne in mind that I have a slander attorney on retainer (you know, with all this disposable nature photographer income.) Sometimes, things are just slow. Despite such hardships, we still managed to coax a few useful images out of the days, a few of which you’ve already seen – or have now anyway. A pair of great blue herons (Ardea herodias) were stalking back and forth quite some distance off, reluctant to come any closer and thus necessitating the use of the long lens. Above, my favorite of the frames I captured, while below sits The Girlfriend’s vote.

great blue heron Ardea herodias in Neuse River
Both of these, by the way, are cropped tighter from the original frames – the herons really were some distance off, more than a hundred meters away. At least we had a good light angle on them – for the most part, anyway. As one took a short flight across a narrow stretch of deeper water, it showed that there were still some patches of shadow. Really, I have to believe this was on purpose.

great blue heron Ardea herodias landing on rock in Neuse River
Fartistic poses are all well and good, but I’m always after behavior, and so I tracked this one during its short flight and did a sequence of the landing. The wings are pretty dynamic here, but I wish I’d been closer, with less shadow.

landing great blue heron Ardea herodias throwing up an unexpected splash
And then – wait. How, exactly, did the bird produce such a big splash for what should have been a landing on either a protruding rock (of which there were plenty) or at most a few centimeters of shallow water? I’m inclined to say that it struck the water with one wing, which seems odd because, as large as they are, these are not clumsy birds. Under the surface, the rocks in the areas get covered with a fine layer of silt and algae, which I can attest is an extremely slippery concoction, but I’m sure the birds have a lot more epxerience with this than I do. I never even saw this happen in the viewfinder, but then again, as the sequence was firing off the mirror was only in position to show me the gaps between frames for tiny fractions of a second, so this isn’t surprising.

great blue heron Ardea herodias trying to regain its aplomb
Still a few drops of water in the air betraying the heron as it tries to pretend that never happened. But notice the contrast of the dark band cutting across the scene, indicating that the heron chose the one rock in the entire river that actually fell into shadow, which of course reduced the detail and clarity of the resulting pics. Naturally. Did either of the two herons that we saw in the same location decide to come closer or make for better pictures? They did not.

unidentified sleepy dragonfly
Much the same could be said for this dragonfly a couple of days later, still not stirring from its overnight sleeping spot. The undergrowth prevented getting a better sun angle, but it was a largely dark species anyway, so we’ll have to be content with a silhouette and a single bright spot on the compound eye. This wasn’t the best of spots for the dragonfly, because they need a lot of warmth for their wing muscles to work, which is why they perch primarily in bright sunlight. This one was still sluggish while others, smart enough to catch the morning sun early on, were already zooming around.

So now we see the other side of the coin.

unidentified dragonfly hovering over perch in early sunlight
This one was flitting away from its perch after prey before returning to the same spot, and clearly it’s getting as much sunlight as it can – and so was my lens. The Mamiya 80mm macro has a deep aftermarket hood that remains attached, and is recessed enough on its own, but there are still conditions where sunlight can make its way to the front glass element, and when it does, it’s noticeable. While pretty well-corrected against ghosts and internal reflections, nonetheless it has a glare problem, which is what produced this horribly washed-out appearance. It’s why I always recommend a lens hood when shooting in sunlight, even when you’re not expecting to be facing into the light, because it’s not hard to find a subject that forces that perspective, and even reflections from water can throw some glare. It was readily visible through the viewfinder, however (which is good – often, ghosts never show until the final image since they’re affected by the aperture,) and so I was able to correct it fairly simply.

unidentified dragonfly returned to its perch
World of difference between the two frames, right? And all it took was holding out my hand to shade the lens better. There was a balance point between it blocking the sunlight and actually getting into the frame, but that’s what expert nature photographers can accomplish, donchaknow.

Now if I could only get some photos that were artistic or something…

I have a few other posts lined up, but they’re more philosophical that photographic, and either way my time this week isn’t looking too promising, at least until later. We’ll see what transpires.

Storytime 28

Eastern garter snake Thamnophis sirtalis in threat display
This week, we have a little curiosity: an eastern garter snake (Thamnophis sirtalis sirtalis) providing a threat display of flattened head and inflated body, attempting to look big and dangerous. First off, very few snakes ever engage in such displays – everybody knows cobras, of course, but they have a much more distinctive shape when displaying (and none at all when they’re not.) And the two species of hognose snake are known for it… except when they don’t bother. But this image, from 2013, marks the only time I’ve ever seen a garter snake do it.

In a way, this doesn’t seem too remarkable, since I’ve seen ridiculously few garter snakes at all in North Carolina, and the last time one was featured on the blog (as well as the first time,) was 10 years and three days ago. However, they were by far the most common snake to be found in Central New York when I was growing up, and I’ve handled literally hundreds of them – all sizes, all dispositions, all times of the day. Only one was particularly aggressive, biting me several times as I scooped it out of a ditch, and I put this down to it having survived a recent encounter of some kind. For the most part, garter snakes are pretty mellow, and typically defecate on anyone that picks them up as their main defensive mechanism, besides wriggling madly. There was a natural gas junction box on the corner of our property, which had some gaps in the mortar of the concrete footer, and the garter snakes simply adored this haven; one summer day, sprawled across the top of it where I could see the gap, I captured twelve snakes exiting the box.

Yet the one pictured here was encountered at the Eno River, at the edge of the parking lot, and it was about as quiet as possible in any such setting. I had been waiting to meet with a student and was strolling along the edge of the parking area, so I knew no person had been near for several minutes at the very least, no visible or audible commotion, and no large birds. I approached quietly and not particularly close – there was no danger that I was about to step on it. What, exactly, caused this one to produce this rare display remains beyond me.

After meeting with then student, by the way, I did a little more poking around and captured another snake encounter, much more dramatic.

I’ll point out something while we’re here. The lightest markings along the body, very very pale blue, are not markings at all but the complete lack thereof; those are actually gaps between the scales where the underlying skin is showing through, indicating how much the snake is swollen, Most times you can only see this as the snake is swallowing something sizable, stretching out beyond normal proportions. But it adds a bit of contrasting color to the pattern, and maybe that was the point: it was showing off for the camera. Ya never know…

I still found what I’m looking for

I’m going to spoil the entire post by prefacing it with, “If you look hard enough, you’ll find what you were after, even if it doesn’t actually exist.” That’s all you really need to know, but I’m far more long-winded than that, so let’s see what I’m talking about.

I followed a link over to an article on Psychology Today’s website, partially because I’ve already addressed the exact topic and wanted to see if they were still flogging a stupid horse. Answer: yep. The article is, “The Beauty in Numbers, and the Numbers in Beauty,” and it’s written by Dr Oscar Fernandez, an associate professor of mathematics, surprise surprise. I can’t say that I was impressed, and I’d hope his other writings are better than this article, but I’m not betting on it. As you may have guessed, Fernandez is harping on the Fibonacci sequence, closely related to the ‘golden mean,’ and often linked to the ‘rule of thirds’ – all supposedly guides towards how to make art more compelling. But Fernandez doesn’t seem to understand either averages, or accurate tallying, and has fallen for the old confirmation bias trap.

As usual, his first example is the illustration of how the Fibonacci sequence (“Named after the mathematician Leonardo of Pisa,” and yes, that’s a direct quote – might have been nice if he’d mentioned that Leonardo’s last name was Fibonacci,) produces a remarkable spiral, just like a nautilus shell, or a sunflower head, or a major storm system, among myriad other things! Except, if you look at it, the Fibonacci spiral isn’t particularly natural-looking, nor even a close match to the examples he chose to show. And if you want, you can measure real-world examples of such spirals (I’ve already done that) and find that they don’t actually follow the sequence, or indeed any regular numbers – growth is always influenced by conditions and is, 99.99% of the time, variable. And while it might be astounding to reflect on how any spiral is some indication of mathematical wonder, it’s actually rather simple: if you have a curve, it’s either circular, or a variation of a spiral. In other words, a fixed radius, or not. Big fat hairy deal.

Fernandez soon migrates to studies that have attempted to quantify “beauty,” and we’re not a whole lot better here, if not actually far worse. He says:

Additionally, computer-generated overlays constructed from the golden ratio — a number that one can use to generate Fibonacci numbers — have been shown to detect beauty in faces.

…and of course follows with a Tron-like outline of Jessica Simpson’s face; this is, mind you, after showing with a bunch of overlaid rectangles how La Giaconda (Mona Lisa) demonstrates the use of such. Now, granted, La Giaconda is rumored to be a direct portrait and thus not a stylized representation of beauty, so we can’t judge on the face at least, but I’ll be honest: it’s never done a damn thing for me, aesthetically, artistically, or beauty-wise. Okay, sure, I’ll say it before you do: I’m weird. But this is indicative of the entire problem that every study runs into with such mathematical reveals, because everyone is different – different tastes, different opinions, different things that appeal to us. To arrive at such concepts of ‘ideal beauty,’ the researcher has to use averages, finding the middle-ground among all of the different data points people provide. I’m not all that enamored of Jessica Simpson either, though I’ll admit she has Mona Lisa beat, and I understand the typical traits that a majority of people consider attractive. But ideal? Hardly.

Using averages contains a lot of assumptions, and more than a few flaws of course. Take these four numbers: 9, 12, 99, 128. The average is 62, which represents… nothing, really, especially since none of the numbers are even close. Or try to determine the ‘average’ favorite ice cream flavor. You may find a ‘mean’ favorite, meaning the one that the greatest number of people liked, as long as you have numbers that support it – but if they’re all the same number of people, you got nothing. It’s easy to get a meaningless number. Worse, nothing about an average indicates ‘ideal,’ and in many cases is exactly what you’re not after. If any of those four numbers above represented an ideal beauty, or best ice cream, to each of the four people polled, the ‘average’ is actually disappointing all of them. The only thing an average of this nature might accomplish is disappointing the greatest number of people by the least amount. Hooray.

(For further giggles, look at that ‘beauty’ overlay in the article, “constructed from the golden ratio,” and try to determine exactly how they managed that. The golden ratio, or Phi, by the way, is not Fibonacci’s sequence – it comes close, but how close does it take to count in mathematics? Depends on what you’re trying to do, it seems; if I was off by that much in bookkeeping, I’d be fired pretty quickly, and we’re not even talking about how far off the mark the rule of thirds goes. But going back to that overlay, and the rectangles scribed on La Giaconda, let’s be honest: they were added in after the result, not to produce it. You could do this easily with any ratio that you care to name, ignoring what doesn’t fit and marveling breathlessly at what does.)

Most especially, studies and articles like this tell us absolutely nothing, because they’re missing any and all points that there might be. When we’re talking about ‘beauty,’ for instance, there’s generally a particular purpose – when it comes to people, this is reproduction, pure and simple. That’s the drive behind why we’re rating attractiveness in the first place. And if we ask why attractiveness is important, we quickly come to the conclusion that we’re, as a species, driven by who’s going to produce the best offspring. But the guidelines within our brains aren’t that specific – we’re still pinning down how specific they are, but the bare fact that beauty standards are far from universal is fairly telling. Symmetry is one of the few universal standards, the lack of which can certainly indicate a genetic problem. Most of it, however, is cultural, instilled in us from our immersion within any given society, and has changed radically over the years. If you’re not convinced of this, take those little mathematical beauty guidelines and put them over as many of the classical paintings that you can find, as well as carvings from different continents and time periods. Even worse, we didn’t always look anything like this – our development as a species took place through a very broad range of body styles and skeletal structures. So how magical is this number, if it doesn’t apply to the majority of human development? Do you think Jessica Simpson would have impressed Australopithecus africanus very much? How about the 4th century BCE Asians? What part of this magic ratio applies to hair and eye color? What part of it applies to a genuinely warm smile? Seriously, we rate attractiveness on a shitload of things, and skeletal structure of the face is only a small fraction.

Going back to the beauty of nature, the very first thing that I always point out is how much ugliness is found in nature too – distasteful activities of other species, creepy invertebrates, and just plain unappealing regions like deserts and bogs and such; we really can’t be selective and say, “Wow, isn’t it wonderful what this math produces?” Yet, there’s a fragment of truth to this, because in some select ways ratios really do play a part. Overall, there is going to be a more efficient way to accomplish something: the size of the leaves versus how much energy they can produce versus how much energy it takes to maintain them, whether it’s better to produce dozens to hundreds of offspring with little childrearing versus just one at a time but almost guaranteed to reach reproductive age, and so on. It’s easy to see that no one formula works for them all, of course; it all depends on the conditions, and the predators, and what’s changed recently – which is how evolution even works, especially the bit about adaptation. This largely tells us that, even if we happen to locate some particular numbers or ratios or formulas right now, these may not hold for even another couple of hundred years, and likely didn’t apply for much of the past.

two juvenile Chinese mantises Tenodera sinensis on opposite sides of grass bladeMeanwhile, in some select areas some numbers do hold true; the way molecules bond, for instance, which is responsible for much of the symmetry that we can find now. And in most cases, we find the patterns and geometry that they produce remarkable precisely because they are not the norm; snowflakes are cool, but they seem odd because nature doesn’t generally work that way, and I spot a lot of my photographic subjects because animal patterns are usually symmetrical among a background that’s not. We select some trees or plants as subjects because they’re not lopsided or straggly; we manicure our lawns and lay out our landscaping because nature rarely produces what we find attractive. And that’s fine, because if everything was ‘attractive,’ we’d have to have some other standard for something rare, exceptional, or unique. We like the little surprises, but they need that contrast to even be remarkable.

And that leads us to another bit that’s missed in all of this, which is how and why nature works this way. The tree is lopsided for a reason, whether it’s the sun angle, or from growing on a slope, or a disease, or what have you; being able to see this for what it is tells us more about our world than selecting some self-vindicating standard of ‘beauty.’ Even when we find some place where the numbers plug in ever so neatly, this tells us absolutely nothing about why, and why it doesn’t occur everywhere, unless we make the attempt to have a greater understanding of how such things work – and the simple recognition that numbers and math are simply ratios, expressed in a human-derived base-10 system, and in too many cases, the ‘really cool’ numbers that we find are caused only by conditions that we created in the first place. Nature isn’t always beautiful, at least by our common standards, but part of my purpose here is to point out how often it’s still fascinating, especially when we see the underlying functions and physics that make it that way.

Storytime 27

long exposure star trails over Jordan Lake
I’m running a little behind today, since I normally have the storytime post up by now, but I wasn’t feeling very well last night and had several other things to tackle. But it’s not like I’m being audited or anything. I don’t think.

full resolution inset of above frameThe main image above comes from just barely over nine years ago, taken July 3rd 2010 out over Jordan lake. I’d had some decent success getting images of the Milky Way while facing in the opposite direction, which were much darker skies, but decided for a longer exposure star trail. The exposure time was 559 seconds, which is slightly curious – that’s nine minutes, 19 seconds, and I usually aim for round numbers. I might have cut the exposure short thinking that a plane was going to enter the image – note the bright spot within the trees at right. Anyway, the residual city glow from the area was too bright and the effect wasn’t too compelling, but I stuck it in the folders anyway.

And then, looking for images to use last night, I noticed something, and so I’m including this full-resolution crop to show it as clearly as I can without very specific contrast adjustments. Because there’s a curious pillar of light rising from the horizon, and it goes way the hell up in the sky.

[While we’re examining the photo, of course, we’re going to completely ignore the red and blue spots that come from sensor noise – this is the old Canon Digital Rebel, the first iteration, and it never performed particularly well in this regard, but long exposures in digital tend to suffer from sensor noise anyway and I had the ISO boosted way up, plus I never did the noise reduction trick on this frame.]

Anyway, see the thin stream of light coming from the horizon and stretching up? That is, I believe, what’s called a sun pillar when it occurs during the day, but they’ve also been observed on particularly cold nights with streetlights and so on. I’ve caught the former before, but not the latter, or at least never realized it. The idea behind a sun pillar is, high altitude ice crystals that sit pretty much flat, parallel to the ground surface, reflect light back down to the viewer, so they act like a million tiny mirrors of bright light sources, but because of their orientation it only occurs in a line straight up from the source (more or less of course – when it occurs with the sun, there’s no ‘straight up’ that applies to orbital positions, but from our egocentric perspectives it’s close enough.)

You might think that July in NC wasn’t going to produce ice crystals, and it wouldn’t down at our (egocentric) level, but it doesn’t take a lot of altitude for the air to thin enough that ice forms easily. I’m more curious about the very distinctive single pillar, because I would have thought the sheer number of light sources in the middle distance would have produced lots of them, and cannot think of any particular source that differed so noticeably to produce the pillar. I could see nothing of it while I was out there that night, and indeed missed it several times over when sorting and examining the images for possible retention, but it’s clearly there, and by playing around with sliding the image back and forth, I can see vestiges of it that extend well up into the frame, at least as far as I have cropped right here – it may not be as easy to see on your screen, but that might be because you’re doing something incredibly silly like looking at anything at all on my site with a smutphone and not a proper desktop computer.

I know almost precisely where I was standing for that shot, and can plot a fairly accurate line of sight on a mapping service to see what might lie along that line, but I’m not sure how much that might tell me – again, I have no idea what kind of light source might be so different, and of course nothing of the sort will show up on maps. The best I can hope for is to see something different along the line, something that either sparks some recollection or makes me believe there are distinctive lights there, but I’m not counting on it being so easy. Still, that’s the kind of idle investigation that I get wrapped up in at times, so perhaps we might see an update a little later on.

Because I’m petty

damselfly, probably American rubyspot Hetaerina americana, on reed with dew
I’m doing this because Mr Bugg was crowing that he’d be having fun while I have to go into work this afternoon, and I pointed out how far behind he was with his posting. Naturally, I have to put these up from this morning’s session before he gets to it.

The location is the head of the Neuse River, an old haunt that I still get back to infrequently. It was a little slow today, but we managed to find a handful of things to photograph, like a horde of damselflies all over the place, which I believe are American rubyspots (Hetaerina americana.) The above photo is cropped a little from full frame, which took away some detail, so I’m adding the one below – it’s the same shot, just a little below full resolution. I had to show off.

damselfly probably American rubyspot Hetaerina americana, inset
I can certainly live with those results, shot freehand in ambient early morning light.

But one more, just for giggles.

a lot of damselflies, probably American rubyspots Hetaerina americana, on reeds
Nope, not ‘shopped, just happened to catch a bunch together – when they’re begging for attention like this, well, you do what you have to do.

And June just said, “See ya,” and left

six-spotted fishing spider Dolomedes triton with egg sac over unidentified amphibian eggs
After a busy May, June was just kind of nondescript to me, without a lot to say for it, and I really only have a handful of photos from the month. Still, here we are at the month’s end and thus we greet our abstract.

Following heavy rains one particular night, I was checking out the nearby pond, which has cut some new drainage channels from overflow, one of which becomes a few semi-connected standing pools once the rain stops. Within one of these was a notable amount of critter activity, two varieties shown here. Several patches of unidentified frog or toad eggs were floating on the surface, but not far away I found a pair of the eastern narrowmouth toads (Gastrophryne carolinensis) in amplexus, otherwise known as ‘getting it on,’ so there’s a fairly good chance that we can credit the eggs to that species. The angle of the flash and softbox shows how the eggs protrude from the water slightly, just buoyant enough to extend a hair’s breadth above the surface.

The other player in here is a six-spotted fishing spider (Dolomedes triton,) and this is a little curious to me. This one’s quite small, maybe 30mm in leg spread, what I would have taken to be a juvenile because I’ve seen them a whole lot bigger – yet she has an egg sac attached to her spinnerets. Granted, this is the south, so perhaps this is simply what we should expect.

There were several of the fishing spiders in this small pool, but this was the only one expecting, plus she perched momentarily above the toad eggs, so I was intent on getting the shot. This meant having to shoot down past some weeds erupting from the pool’s edge, which is why those fuzzy green lines are in there; this is what something way out of focus in front of the lens looks like.

I visited a few days later, and only the fishing spiders were seen; the eggs and all traces of tadpoles had vanished, but we’d had another rain in the interim and perhaps they’d simply moved further along the ecosystem. I would have liked to have collected some tadpoles to see what developed, but our backyard pond here already hosts some and telling them apart would be difficult. Just have to put in more ponds, I guess…

Storytime 26

Chinese mantis Tenodera sinensis eating another
I had prepped this one as a potential illustration for the last composition post, but decided to use it instead for storytime – not much of a lateral shift, I know, but this one bears a little explanation. Taken a few years back at the old place, within the towering pampas grass that we had there, I spotted a very large Chinese mantis (Tenodera sinensis) deep within, partaking of a massive meal. This was about the time that the female mantids should be producing their egg sacs, and so their appetites were prodigious – and more than a little disturbing, at least from our perspective. Because that’s another female mantis of the same species, quite likely pregnant as well, that she’s eating.

Most of us would view this with distaste, but that’s because our species is cooperative and relies on social interaction – not so with mantids. When it comes down to it, another mantis in the area means two things to them: a ready, abundant source of nourishment, and competition to their own genetic heritage. I’ve said before that I suspect the newborns engage in cannibalism, though I’ve never seen it directly – their numbers drop drastically within weeks. From a natural selection standpoint, this is what worked best among the options that appeared; the ‘goal,’ if you will, is to pass along one’s genes, and even if the young are eating siblings that have the same genetic traits, as long as one reaches reproductive age, this is successful as far as genes go. But here, we have a double-whammy, ensuring adequate sustenance for the developing young as well as eliminating the number of other mantises (with the wrong genes) that will be competing for food come spring.

Nonetheless, I’m curious as to how much of the meal she was able to finish – it already looks far beyond what I would have imagined she could handle in the first place. I had initially taken it to be a grasshopper of some sort, but no – those hind legs definitely indicate another mantis. I’m sorry that I missed the altercation, really.

On composition, part 28: The story

It’s been a while since the last composition post – I think I’ve covered nearly everything now ;-). But at the risk of talking out of my ass, I’m going to tackle an aspect of composition that’s often very important to get a good feel for, and I say this because I’m not as accomplished at it as I should be, and nowhere near as accomplished as many others. There are definitely some genres of photography that benefit more from having a story within the image itself (rather than, as my weekly posts have it, a backstory told orally,) but almost every genre can benefit from the ability to express one – it feeds that thing inside us that’s interpreting the image, not as a collection of colors and contrast, but as a scene, or idea, or yes indeed, a story. Yet, in many cases, it can be exceptionally tricky to pull off.

staged photojournalist illustrationThe first part that I’ll talk about is perhaps the easiest, which is illustration. Just about every photographer ends up tackling such a thing at one time or another; some of us do it routinely. But even product photography requires a certain skill to portray the product in the best manner possible – sometimes this is angle and lighting, sometimes this is the right setting or background, and sometimes this is elaborate staging. When we’re trying to show something in particular, it’s important to give the correct impression to the viewer, and the first step is knowing what this should be in the first place. Following close behind is detaching ourselves from the sense of place that we have, just being there, and recognizing whether or not the viewer can get the same sense (or, even better, an entirely different one that we nonetheless express, falsely as it were.) That might be a bit confusing in the abstract, so let me provide an example. We know, from simply being there, that we’re at the beach, or someplace late at night, or whatever, but the image doesn’t necessarily express this unless we include the necessary details therein. Conversely, many of my macro shots, while done in broad daylight, still look like they were done at night, because the aperture and shutter speed reduce the ambient light so far that it doesn’t expose the image very well, while the flash unit provides the main lighting for the subject, yet fails to reach the background. But even showing someone at their profession or hobby takes having an adequate representation of those within the frame. For an artist, it’s not enough to show them drawing on a canvas; we should have a variety of artistic tools visible as well. If we think of an image illustrating a pilot, we ask, what kind of pilot? Commercial, military, bush, glider? Only the knowledgeable viewer would be able to tell these from a glimpse of controls and gauges, so we need to provide more details to inform all of the viewers of what they need to know. Even the subject’s basic appearance and expression counts for a lot – a portrait of a nurse is likely to require an entirely different expression from a portrait of a judge, to give the impression that we want to give. And of course, knowing how to evoke these from a subject, especially so they look natural and not forced, is a huge skillset all its own.

black ant pyrrhic victory
[By the way, there are a couple of websites dedicated to bad stock photos, where the photographer put together several elements that they thought would express a particular idea while having no clue themselves how these elements were actually used – labware for scientists, for instance. Some kind of blue water always appears in a beaker or testtube somewhere, because chemicals are blue, right? There’s this curious balance point in such instances, because the photographer wants to adequately express the idea of the laboratory scientist, even to the uninitiated, while the reality isn’t very expressive in itself – yet if the sale is aimed at anything actually scientific, like a journal or textbook, the image becomes ludicrous. And we really want to see people’s eyes – it’s just our nature – but they’re not visible when a microscope is being used correctly, and that image probably wouldn’t sell. It’s fun.]

tourists trapped by snoozing Amercian alligator Alligator mississippiensisMuch harder is the genre of photojournalism, which is what most people think of when we talk about an image with a story. In most cases, we have no ability to stage any portion of the shot, or even mess with lighting, so we have to take it as it is and still get the message across. This means framing and timing become the most important aspects to control, sometimes the only things we have control over. Many times, it means anticipating some particular aspect – action or expression, mostly – and firing off the shutter the moment it happens. An acute awareness of everything in the photo is often necessary. I often tell my students about my wedding photography days, when I was after the ‘first dance’ of the newlyweds. There is actually a very narrow timeframe when the elements tend to come together, because if the guests are in the shot, you want them all looking at the happy couple with delight or warm expressions – one guest looking away, or bored, or eating, is going to spoil the mood of the shot, and this becomes more likely as the seconds pass. Meanwhile, try to find a shooting angle which shows both faces of a couple that are facing one another. And a decent background. And good lighting. These are the kind of things that beginning wedding photographers rarely realize are the skills they never thought to develop. Which is why I say that you save money on a photographer at your own risk.

[If you’re noticing that I’m not illustrating this post with many people shots, the primary reason is that I don’t post people without express permission, unless they’re unrecognizable or in a public place – but I also don’t photograph many people anyway.]

ruby-throated hummingbirds Archilochus colubris squabblingWe read the expressions of any given animate subject (and some inanimate ones,) and nearly every photo can benefit from having something more expressive, more emotional, than simply a straightforward shot. Sometimes it’s simply a matter of observation, and finding the right angle, but most often it takes timing and anticipation. It’s easier with people of course, because they express the emotions that we’re familiar with and we often know when they’re due to arrive. With animals it’s usually very different – most times it doesn’t occur unless the animal is relaxed and acting normally, which is much trickier for wildlife, but can even be a chore when the family pet knows we’re up to something. But for most species, they don’t actually express the emotions we recognize, and when we get something that appears expressive, this is more often than not simply a mistaken impression – which still works just fine, we just can’t anticipate or even provoke it.

And then there’s the scenes, the happy accidents that tell us something just from the details, the items in the image that have their own meaning or mood. A flower lying on the concrete can be simply trash, or it can have its own story (strictly imaginary, but that’s okay too,) depending on how we approach it – angle, lighting, and surroundings. We might wait for someone to walk past the flower, and shoot them receding in the middle distance from a low angle – in reality, the factors are unrelated, but the viewer puts them together and forms the story of the rejected lover or whatever. In such cases, we need to be alert for the possibilities and the moods that any given element might provide, and exploit them as needed. Remember that lighting plays an important role here, setting mood or even hiding distracting details, so knowing how to manipulate this to our advantage is a useful skill. Referring back to the macro comments above, know that you can underexpose an image intentionally and use a flash unit to provide specific light onto a subject or portion of the frame, rendering the whole thing shadowed with attention (the brighter light) drawn to just one region; the same thing in reverse can be done by strategically blocking the ambient light where needed.

The more of an emotional response we can provoke from the viewer, the more memorable our photos will be – for good or bad, it must be noted. Being able to evoke those ‘thousand words’ from our images can add a lot to the impact that we have.

The author's promotional self-portrait - now you know why he's not doing as well as he'd like
I’m throwing this in here, even though it falls more into the line of ‘career portraiture’ than ‘story,’ but as I said, I don’t do enough stories myself. Realizing about ten years ago that I had no images of myself that I wanted to use on the site, I set about to take one. The setting was pretty carefully chosen to reflect ‘nature photographer,’ using the little splash of fall colors that I had available. The light was muted, which kept the shadows under control, and from the right angle to do just enough shaping of my lumpy forehead. The branch in the foreground conveys a sense of discretion, of hiding in the foliage a little, as does the color of my shirt; the leaves actually fall into good positions for framing without blocking or interfering with anything. And while I liked this pose and used it, my arm is actually blocking the camera itself – that could be a spotting scope on the tripod. It would also have worked better to have a little light hitting the lens to give a bit of color in there. Had I been viewing this as the photographer, however (you know what I mean,) I would have changed some aspects: how the shirt was hanging, chin higher, left arm, things like that. But for this version I at least dubbed out the damned pine straw hanging on the foreground branch…

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