Michael Zide - Consenses

Silver Bush

Walking back with my two dog companions, we climbed a path that took us along the overhanging cliff that parallels the beach. In the brooding light, the bleached wood of the worn scrubby brush caught my eye. Whether writhing in pain, or dancing in ecstasy, its twisted branches seemed to continue animating its dead form, resembling an undersea creature caught in the moving currents, denying it the chance to find a peaceful resting place.

Landscape photography is mostly recognizing opportunity. It’s about taking the world in visually and emotionally in an instant, when the weather, the light and the landscape act as allies and collaborators towards a creative end. The more the subject creates a tension between what it is and what it alludes to or suggests in my mind, the higher the pitch of excitement and anticipation, and of course, the more magnified the fear of potential failure in letting the opportunity escape.

Like most days on the Vineyard, my dogs were walking with me. This particular day , we were heading up Island along the beach at Windy Gates. A late afternoon fog came on shore. The light that had been casting strong shadows onto the clay and rocks had quickly become soft and directionless. Whatever preconceived notions I had carried in my head about what I might find to photograph, evaporated. Walking back with my two dog companions, we climbed a path that took us along the overhanging cliff that parallels the beach. In the brooding light, the bleached wood of the worn scrubby brush caught my eye. Whether writhing in pain, or dancing in ecstasy, its twisted branches seemed to continue animating its dead form, resembling an undersea creature caught in the moving currents, denying it the chance to find a peaceful resting place.

The gesture, the soft silver light reflecting from the dried branches, and the surrounding grey fog brought clarity to the moment. All the layers of interest had come together. All that was left was the gentle release of the shutter.

Ice & Pier

his photo was taken one early morning on a “seriously” cold day. This was the kind of day you left the water running to avoid the risk of freezing pipes. When I found this scene, I went to work as quickly as I could before the early morning sun changed its position. I have a picture in my imagination of a story my father told me about his visit to a subterranean cavern. Although my travels never led me there, I think that I might have shared in something close to his personal moment of wonder on this bitterly cold morning next to the sea.

It was early morning on a “seriously” cold day. This was the kind of day you left the water running to avoid the risk of freezing pipes. When I found this scene, I went to work as quickly as I could before the early morning sun changed its position. My tripod legs can be extended almost straight out to get very low to the ground, but that still left me with a camera perspective higher that I wanted. So I started digging a hole to lower the tripod’s center column a foot or so. Setting up a view camera in nature is always a race against time, usually it’s against the quickly changing light, but it could be the rising wind or lifting fog, but there is always a deadline to be met. My hands kept freezing in the cold. Between several trips to unfreeze my fingers under the car’s heater, I managed to bury the tripod enough to complete the photograph.

Many exposures, twenty or so on one sheet of 4X5 film transformed the moving water and gave a layered look. Multiple exposures are always unpredictable. On this day the outcome was a welcome surprise. The effect helped shift the image in the direction of dream, a more fitting place for my response in that moment.

A narrative threads runs through many of my photographs, repeating themes or stories from childhood that float up and out into the light. Perhaps they are reconnections to forgotten but significant moments in childhood. Separated by distance and time, they still exist, attached just as tightly to the wonder they inspired in me long ago. I still have a picture in my imagination from my father’s story of his visit to a subterranean cavern. Although my travels never led me there, I think that I might have shared in something close to his own moment of wonder on that bitterly cold morning next to the sea.

Sunflower and Clouds

It was early winter when I noticed the cloud formation in this photo. I got in my car with two dogs and drove out looking for forms in the landscape, hoping to find a way of tying the two (the clouds and the land) into a visual whole. I was overwhelmed by the spectacle of the powerful unbroken lines of clouds that fully extended themselves between the two horizons. If the photograph had been taken with a lens whose field of view was wide enough, the viewer could have seen the total domination of the sky by that unbroken band. The sunflower’s gesture speaks in a sad and wistful tone. They are an emotional contrast to the unabashed voice of the clouds, which speak of power, promise, hope and triumph. I remember the scale of those mammoth sunflowers, earthbound but majestic. The clouds and sunflowers provide a fitting visual and emotional counterpoint to one another.

I felt privileged to be witnessing something so remarkable and so strange. It was a once in a lifetime display of nature and I was overwhelmed by the spectacle. During a period of half-hour or so, these bands of clouds only strengthened. They drifted from lower in the south and eventually took their place, dominating the highest point of the late afternoon sky. An astounding sight, unbroken lines of clouds fully extending between the two horizons. My emotions went back and forth between the power of the event and the fear that I would not be able to make this moment into an image that spoke to what I was experiencing.

First, let me say that what started off as the inspiration for this image, those amazing clouds, may have taken more of a background role in how this photograph reads. If the image had been made with a lens wide enough in field of view, the viewer could have seen the total domination of the sky by that cloud band without end. The voice of the sunflowers speaks clearly, but in a sad and wistful tone. In emotional contrast, the unabashed voice of the clouds speak to me of power, hope and triumph, not the approaching end to the cycle of growing, of promise. I remember the scale of those mammoth plants, earthbound but majestic. Whether foreground or background, their strong presence provides a fitting emotional and visual counterpoint.

Like so much in photography that depends on decisions made in the moment, one works fast and hopes that they have made a photograph with some power to last. If there were other emotions felt before I saw that incredible sky, they are gone from my memory.

Frost and Window

Take a clear pane of glass; add layers of rime in geometric and random patterns of Nature’s invention and you have thephotographic analogy of handing over the key to the candy store to a wide-eyed child. Choosing from the endless photographic possibilities in the intricate patterns of frost was like choosing which canister to lift first from rows and rows of sugary confections. It was an embarrassment of riches. I could have spent hours working on this particular “puzzle,”deciding which angle honored the best truth of this event. I stared through the glass at the diffused glow of a rising sun, filtered by morning fog. I tried to find a solution that would bind all the elements together and articulate an idea that would speak to wonder, mystery and perhaps poetry.

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