Shutter Speeds

The endless clicking of shutters
has stuttered the words in my pen
where before
thought would undress
for the chance to find expression
in language
I am left dumb
and empty as the space
16 to 200 millimetres
between the last focal element
and the digital sensor

for the image rendered
is not imagery
it does not
as poetry
read

too two-dimensional to have voice
too .raw to express nature
too honest to have depth

Tonsai, Yangshuo, Chiangmai, Halong Bay, sigh...

Dear Asia,

I miss you and your people and my people and my people's people who are all up in there.

Your rocks are nice, your opportunities are fruitful...if only I could seed my photography career there somehow...

What America Does

America: a land of plenty; a land of opportunity; a land of stuff.

This is what America has that Australia didn't:

$15 Mobile Phones
Strobist: bare 580exii with 1/2CTO gel from close right of subject
and slightly elevated, left fill from white bounce card (aka some
cardboard from Cindy's Halloween costume package). bare 430exii
with 1/2CTB gel bounced off ceiling. (The vignetting was done in
Lightroom though...)

Drip Coffee
Strobist: foolishly bare 580exii from 45 deg
right of camera and close to subject with
left fill coming from afore mentioned
bounce card. bare 430exii from directly
behind subject with wide beam (a few
metres back)

Pancakes (not crepes)
Strobist: Same as above, but back light is
set at 45 deg back left of subject.

Hybrid Revolution
Strobist: 580exii through 8" softbox 45deg
right of subject, 430exii with full CTO gel
bounced off back wall

Carnivore Adventure!

Autumn and I are, right now, riding out the last few stressful packing days of our Tasmanian chapter. Before we bid this little island farewell though, we wanted to tick a couple of little achievements. One of these was to see a Tasmanian Devil and a Spotted Quol in the wild. Muthauckahs is cute afterall!

So, with an inquiry to the local carnivore expert, we determined a location in the south of Tasmania called Cockle Creek which promised to be rich in meat eaters.


View Larger Map

Here is the unfolding of our little adventure:

As with any good adventure, wine on the beach
was how it all started.

Then with a good head of lower-economic-
bracket house red, we pitched our tent...

...cooked up a feast of leftover soup...

...and set up a camera trap!
*Strobist: 580exII into softbox infront of and 45 deg to right of subject
430exII bare behind at 45 degrees to left of subject and elevated
~all triggered with Cactus V4

We used some ground up Kangaroo bits (read: "Roo Mince")
as bait for any carnivores brave enough to walk around the
tripods and ominous lighting equipment.

Some critters (read: the army of Pademelons endlessly
patrolling our campsite) were curious enough about the
lights at least...

One of the Paddies was even a little bit curious about the
ground up blob of her (you can tell she's female by the
bulge in her pouch) larger cousin, making us a little
curious about the eating habits of these "so-called
herbivores" ...

...

The pademelons eventually gave up on the meat though,
generally freaking out a little when they got close enough
to smell it. And so we waited into the night...until it
started to rain and we had to pull down all the lights and
retreat into our tent (which survived the near-Antarctic like
conditions quite admirably). Without the lights, we didn't
stand a chance of getting a picture in the dark, so we gave
up and bunkered down for a cold night (well, I didn't
think it was that cold, but Autumn has Californian
blood and she found it pretty chilly...granted, as soon
as it got dark, the ground froze solid and winds started
harassing the tent).

...

Of course, in the morning the meat blob cum bait ball
was gone without a trace, save for some trampled bush.

We didn't find any tracks though, but the fellow pictured
below was flying awfully low to the ground, as though
his belly was laden with a lead weight, or, perhaps,
fist-sized ball of raw kangaroo flesh.

Stories in the Fog

Today, after years of driving past Yak Peak on the Coquihalla, I finally managed to get a crew together to go out there, park on the side of the highway, hike into bear territory and climb the bastard.

So, up at 4:30 after a night of heavy electro dancing and King's Cup competitionery. Up to cat allergies. Up to a two hour drive up the hill and into the sunrise. Up and up and up right into the fog. Fog that would surely lift off; surely burn off as that great big ball of fire lit up the Alpine. Up and up through bear shit and soggy duff. Up to the anchors we couldn't see through the fog. Oh commitment, how you drive a beaten Cadillac of misdirection. To the top of the first pitch and into the rain. Drizzle. Windy slapping downpour...waterfall over 100% of the exposed face.

Turned tail.

And went home to dry out our gear and eat tempura donburi.



The evening starts with some harmless turntable music in the living room.



Less than 8 hours later, I am here...in a cloud.



Jake looks ahead to approaching storm fronts moving down the mountain face while belaying Christina to the top of pitch 1, where we'll later discover a waterfall and learn about the advantages of weather-sealed camera housing.

In The Muir

In The Muir
Originally uploaded by kaare.iverson
on the 8th August, 2010

I visited a grove of giant redwood trees in Frisco. This is what I saw. Monolythes from another time, standing great and tall. (I think that's in nearly Iambic Pentametre, btw)

Latency Adds Potency?

If I lactate latency does it add potency
to the filigree melody of this post's symmetry?
Electrically?

I haven't written to myself on here in awhile, true. Here's the go down though, I did a self-portrait shoot to get my photo mojo going again and here's what happened, something not utterly crap!:



Canon 5D Mark II
remotely triggered, manually set master Speedlight 580 EX II (through a diffusing white umbrella) that then triggered a rim flash from a slave manual set Speedlight 430 EX II! And all of this was captured through my new 50mm f/1.4. Hot!

India (And How She Helped me To See Myself)

The Dalai Lama distributed
his cup full of grace
and I
ceremoniously
accepted with palms up
body rigid, pushed through assembled masses
of exiled Tibetan New Years
to a waiting coach
with no suspension
seen off by a beautiful new friend
to rock nausea through my guts
but still I did not spill

Delhi in her finest bedclothes
stained in spots with pre-dawn
rickshaw drivers
and our coach stopped to kneel
at the feet of them
250Rs. (250% the going rate)
my fingers grate the sleep from my eyes
bargain for my right to 110%
tax for white skin
our second sleepless day begins
the cup full of grace
holding every silver drop
in a rickshaw hopping red-light "suggestions"

We stop
We are 5:30am (5 hours early)
to appointments
at Max Super Specialty Hospital
medical tourism headquarters
our driver moans for 50 more
me, two bags, a tired girlfriend
and a frothy cup of grace
ignore the pleas
50Rs. more
broken English that misses
the "magic" word
for undeserved surplus

Inside we fight our heavy eyes
order chai
receive "VAT"
pull the stopper
and slip a cheeky drop of grace
into soggy paper cups
we slowly sip
my belly rumbles
hunger?
bus-ride-busted bowels respond
and I shit my favourite underwear
while in an uncleaned hospital latrine
I struggle off the many too-warm layers
a mostly full cup of grace
waits on a cafeteria
table top

My a1/a2 vertebrae pop
so I XRAY a 3-day headache
nothing
1100Rs.
and a patronising patriarchal physician
the girlfriend pays 3000Rs. more
for hers
and nearly cries
there was a cup here somewhere

We hit the Hard Rock New Delhi
Mexican import bottle beers
and Nachos
FULL ORDER
my one-day late
Valentine's reprise
in an A/C shopping mall
away from the grey skies of smog
horns
madness
my tab on an empty pocket
I.O.Her 2235Rs.
but 2 beers is like grace
the kind that makes this 3.5-day headache
static-rumble loud

We catch a movie to avoid the crowd
I buy new headphones to drown them out
Sherlock Holmes plays too loud
we dip tissues in the silver stuff
and pack our ear holes
for tympanic protection
finish up
and arrange a battered auto-rickshaw
to the wrong railway station
which I discover after endless queries
(A working miracle in themselves)
muted by new headphones
filling the cognitive areas
left between
the scattered 3.7 day headache
...
ipod off and hidden
we ride the metro
on 500 grams of paracetemol
and 8Rs.
to Old (not "New") Delhi station

Engines and cars
and cabooses and cars
and engines
splash through shit-covered tracks
and on the edge of collapse
near falling in
the crowd and luggage
surge and scream
a man collapses under the press
I help him up
save his life
and remember the cup I'm holding
somewhat chipped
by the press of countless writing
people

Jump aboard 3 cars off
fight my 30Kg load
through upper-class passengers
to A1-12 and 44
opposite ends
penalised arrangements
for moments late booking
no matter
my sleepless battered brain
is 4 days deep
and I'm at my "seat/sleep"
jacket off
and pillow of dirty clothes
rolled
(for safety) pack away
passport, portable hard-drive
(with lifetime of pictures)
ipod
ipod?
card wallet?
FUCKING POCKET SLASHED (new jacket)
FUCKING BANKCARD
FUCKING MONEY
IPOD
gone
CUP OF FUCKING GRACE
cracked
just a few drops left
cut my lips
on the rim
knock back the contents
graceful nightcap
dream of nothing
nothingness
emptiness
...
8.6 hours of gracefulness
to grey morning skies
slipping by this tinted window
grace used up
so the Wala sells us cups of chai
and my addled mind
fits and seizes
my epilepsy tablets still packed deeply in
this dusty rucksack
I dump hot magma chai
all over my crotch
too dehydrated to construct even a tear
I lay back
close the curtain and fall
forward into the next destination
Darjeeling
where I'm dreaming visions of Himalayas
unpeopled
unsupporting
snow covered
and cold like home
2.1 weeks of beard growth
are itching
anxious
naturally gracing my face with warmth
existing untrimmed as is
simply 'is'
I 'am'
this and that 'are'

i order another chai
no spill
no fit this time
and the silver stuff inside
slides down easy
the ground is creaking
or clacking
below
there are
2156 Kilometres
and a lifetime to go

Canadian Man

Met an man
of Canadian nature
bent knees
bent back
the split palms of labour
he called himself Chris
the machinist
he held up those hands
singing psalms of praise
to a Northern life
lines like river valleys
dissecting mountains
pouring down
converging at the wrist
and rooted there

"here, you see"
and he pointed
finger to flesh
"ignoring the rest
the widest crease is here"
beneath
the tendons worked their way
and the digits swayed
branches
counting
falling and rising
"Belgium, Hungary, Iran, Syria, Lebanon, India, Latvia, China, Estonia, Finland..."
and on and on he went
fingers bent or straight
and still the tendons slid
and bulged
and dipped below the thickness
of the wrist
strings bouncing
humming:
East coast Gaelic shanties
West coast hard-core ballads
Yukon caribou wails
and all
under winters' white wash
muffled static
always there to hum
in a moment of silence
always there