A Girl of the Forest

     The last rays of warmth reach through the leaves as autumn takes on her splendor before the winter steals her color. The birds' songs have faded, but the forest sings in splendid, living color. The girl makes her way through the soft underbrush, her steps light over the flutter of fallen leaves. Everything is lovely but everything is fleeting, and she seeks to capture what she can before autumn fades away into memory.

~

     I did a wonderful session with Hannah Glass, one of the loveliest humans who certainly looks at home in the forest. We went exploring to catch peak autumn colors before they faded, and they proved to be lovely despite the drought that has been prevalent in the Middle Tennessee area the past few months. 

     I couldn't have asked for a more perfect shoot. I'm sad to see the colors fade, but that just means that more adventures are on the way (snow, perhaps?). Only time will tell just what lies ahead.

A Hello to Autumn with Brenn

      The world is different and vivid, even just for a breath, a blink of an eye, a moment in time. The vibrant colors, the smell of earth and leaves, the rustling as you traverse over the cool ground. Autumn is otherworldly, a flicker in time that is here for only a second and gone the next. Beautiful and sentimental, autumn is a time of both beauty and death, a reminder of life itself. I am reminded of this beautiful tale from Bambi: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Og6sgvFHwLQ. 

     I love autumn. The coolness and the colors are glorious, and I always wait in anticipation for it to arrive. I used to live in Maryland, and I recall fondly the loveliest shades of orange, yellow, and red during late September and into October. Tennessee tends to take a little longer, usually arriving in late October and early November. It's a longer wait, but some things are lovely enough that they are worth the wait.

     I had the opportunity to do a shoot with Brenn, one of my favorite people to photograph. She was there from the very beginning of my photography journey, and I've been able to capture several of her fun hair transformations (I can always count on it to be new and fun the next time I see her!). We weren't sure if we would catch the autumn colors or not, but much to our delight, the colors decided to make an appearance for her shoot.

     Brenn is basically an angel. I always adore photographing her, I mean just look how photogenic she is with that sunny smile! The leaves were the perfect backdrop for such a beautiful start to the autumn season. I can't wait for more fall-themed shoots to come.

Above the Stars, and Even Higher

     I think that it is safe to assume that every photographer has someone that they absolutely would love to have the opportunity to photograph, "a dream subject" if you will. For me, that dream subject was my favorite musician, Adam Young. For over six years now, his music has entranced me in its various forms, from the upbeat oceanic-vibed Owl City to the lush nostalgic tones of Sky Sailing to his recent project entitled "Adam Young Scores" in which he creates a score (like a film score) to a historical event (two of my favorite things in one project: history and music). Most people generally know him as his "Owl City" moniker, however, and last October I had the chance to shoot his Nashville show during his On The Verge Tour. 

     It was a dream come true. I was nervous of whether or not I would even get a photopass, especially since this was my first time shooting a show under my business (my first show was LIGHTS, but I shot that before starting my photo business), but to my great excitement his management team (who is lovely, by the way) was kind enough to entrust me with a photopass. It was like a golden ticket, a small treasure of sorts. I was beyond elated.

     I was also a bit nervous. Since this was my first professional concert shoot and since I was required to deliver the final photos to his management, I felt that they had to be perfect. Plus, since it was a dream to shoot his show, I wanted them to be perfect for me as well. There was a bit of pressure, but I was determined to take the best shots possible.

     The long-awaited day finally arrived and I was ready. I had been having a very arduous week and had an even more arduous week ahead of me (I had mid-terms and was still working on my research proposal for Chile which as I am sure you can tell thankfully turned out well). I was stressed to say the least. But, I was determined to go into this thing and underneath the nerves and the stress, I was terribly excited. 

     I was able to go into the barrier to shoot, which for those of you who do not know, the barrier is basically a photographer's best friend. You don't have to worry about people's cell phones or arms getting in the way, and you are free to move around the stage (depending on how many people are shooting with you). My dear friend and concert shooting buddy Jerod Smith was shooting the show as well, so that made it even better. After the opening act performed her set and the OC team had finished their setup, we were allowed to re-enter the barrier and anticipation began. I prepared my camera and readied myself. Concert photography is an adventure and an effort: you have a short period of time to get the best shots possible. You have to be quick; shooting has to be automatic and you don't have a lot of time to process or decide, you just do it. You go with your gut and flow with the motions of the show, moving with the artist and quickly adapting yourself to whatever light (or lack thereof) you are being bathed in. Stimuli are high: the music is loud, there is lots of movement, various flushes of colors that dance and engulf your entire vision, people singing or yelling behind you. It takes the ultimate focus to truly hone in on the task before you. 

     This is all to say that I was so focused on my camera that I began very spooked when the band finally came on stage. The speakers were louder than I had imagined and the vibrations from them seemed to slam into me full force. Since my nerves were already shot due to exhaustion and stress, this was too much for me. I began to shake vigorously and felt my breath leaving me (not an unsimilar feeling to what happened during my snorkeling spooks), but no more than two feet in front of me was Adam Young himself in all his lovely splendor, and I knew I had to get myself together. I ignored my nerves and tuned everything and everyone out except him. It felt like it was just the two of us, I was so focused. Everything unimportant, the screaming fans, the pulses from the speakers, the extra personnel, all of it was tuned out and ignored. I hardly even noticed which songs he was playing. It was only my camera and Adam Young. 

     I also tried to divide my attention between the other background musicians as well, so I would change my focus to them and shoot them for a little while. I followed the lighting and predicted movements, shooting quickly and deliberately.

     Those 15 minutes in the barrier flew by. Eventually my time was up and I returned to my spot with my friends, but stored away on my camera were my shots. It was like I was holding something that contained precious materials. These were important, these were my payment for the pass. I kept my camera close and the moments stored on it closer. 

    The rest of the concert went by and I smiled and breathed in the moments as old favorites of mine were played. My nerves were still shot and I was still shaking, but I allowed myself to enjoy the moment despite the over stimulation around me. You learn to turn things off when you are an introvert or a person who has difficulty in highly-stimulated environments. I learned this well in Chile. I was typically never alone, which for an introvert is detrimental. I had to learn not to focus everyone else's energy and block it to stay sane. I had to create a "bubble" so to speak. It was the same at this concert. But as I heard songs like "The Yacht Club," I was able to further ignore my nerves and enjoy the moment.

    Before I knew it, the concert was over. But for a photographer, a concert isn't really over after the band steps off stage. You still have to edit and post your images, so you constantly relive the moments as you sift through all the shots and edit them. An aspect of concert photography that most people don't think about or realize is that the majority of the time, the artist never gets to see your shots. As much as it pains us, with concert photography and bands/musicians who are constantly being drowned in photos, it is very easy to miss the professional shots that we photographers worked so diligently to create. 

But sometimes, we get lucky.

     A tweet asking for images to be sent to the official Owl City Twitter caught my attention and I immediately tweeted out a shot from the show, crossing my fingers that it would be seen. To my incredible excitement, he did see it and even favorited the tweet. This is more than I could have ever wanted. I was beyond excited, and it made everything so worth it.

     This show was nearly a year ago. I can hardly believe it. Sometimes I still see my shots floating around on Instagram and Tumblr, and I am often honored and humbled by the response to them. I've even seen art inspired by my shots (I was out of my mind)! You never realize how far something you create will go, and it's truly an exciting experience. I hope to have a similar one sometime in the future.

Here's to more concert-shooting adventures.

Adventures in Snorkeling Part 2

The sea and I had some unfinished business to attend to.

     After my snorkeling misadventure in Chile earlier this summer (Adventures in Snorkeling Part 1), I was absolutely determined to snorkel again.  I had to do this; a somewhat unsettling experience could not scare me off enough to never try it again. The underwater world was just too beautiful and fascinating and I couldn't stay away from it.

   My mother and I took a short-notice but well-needed trip to Destin, Florida, and I knew that this was my chance to once again try to snorkel. Destin is gorgeous, with sugar-white beaches and some of the most vivid blue-green water I've ever seen, and while Destin is known for its beautiful beaches, it is not well-known for its marine life. There is certainly marine life there, but there is not as much to see as there was in Chile or even other places in Florida. The biodiversity is not as strong along the shore in Destin, but I knew there was something out there and I was going to find it.

    We had booked a snorkel tour so that my mother could have the experience of snorkeling as well, but I desperately wanted to find a way to snorkel on my own aside from the snorkel tour. A large misconception that a lot of people have is that you can snorkel at just about any beach you like. This is not the case. The water has to be the proper depth, the waves have to be gentle enough, and you have to be aware and watching for dangerous marine life. I have the curse of knowing too much, so I am hyper-aware of what organisms are out there and exactly what it could do to me, so I am often more cautious than most people. Rip currents are also a big issue in Destin in particular, so it was another thing to keep an eye out for. Aside from all of these possible issues, in the back of my mind I was desperate to find somewhere to snorkel. 

     After driving all night, we arrived early in the morning and at 7:50 am, we ventured out to the beach by our hotel. It was gorgeous. The sun was shining brilliantly in a blue sky, and the glorious blue-green waves washed in over the sugary sands. I was in heaven. There was something else I noticed, too: a small part of the beach had relatively gentle waves compared to the rest of the area and I could just barely see something moving in the water. This was promising.

     Later in the day we ventured back, and cautiously I watched the waves for a few minutes to see the intensity and patterns of the lulls in the waves. They appeared to be gentle enough to allow me to snorkel, and so I pulled out the snorkeling gear I had desperately wished I had brought with me to Chile and entered the water.

What I saw down there took my breath away.

     In the shallow mint water, schools of fish fluttered back and forth around me. At least five different species of fish pulsed in the pastel waters, shimmering like jewels. As they twisted and turned together their little schools, a beautiful whoosing sound filled the water. I swam among the fish, trying to get a better look at them, but they were much too fast for me. Still, I raced behind them, following them as they flashed and danced along. I hovered along, seeking out all the marine life I could. I found several stray pieces of algae and a hermit crab scuttling along the white sand. For what felt like only a few minutes but must have been an hour and a half to two hours, I glided along the shallow bottom, exploring a world I had only ever dreamed of seeing. Much to my great relief and joy, this time, snorkeling felt right. This time, I could breathe. The water was warm, and I didn't have to worry about being on a time limit. I could take my time and adjust to the area as I needed and accustom myself to the act of snorkeling. There was no rush, no need to hurry or get something on time. No pressure. I had all the time in the world to go at my own pace and learn how to snorkel in an open water setting on my own accord.

    For everything that went wrong the first time, everything went perfectly right this time. Eventually, the waves became a little too rough due to an incoming storm and I had to leave, but the intensity of the waves pushed me out just in time to get some shots of the gorgeous sunset.

     The next day my mother and I went on the snorkeling tour. Basically a boat brought us and about 30 other people to optimal snorkeling locations and let us do as we pleased so long as we came back at the time limit. Everything proceeded about the same as the previous day; the first stop on the tour had the same fish as my little spot and looked fairly similar and had similar conditions. Except for one thing.

Jellyfish.

     Jellyfish don't necessarily bother me. I can look at them from afar, but I don't want to get too close to them for obvious reasons. Another issue is that I have absolutely horrific eyesight (-3.25 in case you're curious; basically everything that isn't five inches in front of me is incredibly blurry). I don't have contacts just yet, so I had to snorkel pretty much blind. In shallow water, this isn't much of a problem. I can't see everything all that clearly, but I can see enough to enjoy the act and feel comfortable. However, in deeper water where jellyfish were abundant, this was a bit of a different story. 

     We swam out to deeper water. I could handle snorkeling in it, but the color of the water began to get darker, the floor further down, and everything became less clear. This was slightly unsettling but not excruciatingly so. There were no issues until I noticed a foot-long jellyfish no more than two feet from me and drifting right towards me. I was so blind I almost didn't see it and nearly knocked into it. The jellyfish in the water that day were moon jellies, and these generally aren't particularly dangerous, but they can deliver a painful sting. People with more sensitive skin typically have worse effects, though, and I certainly didn't want to discover if I was one of the unlucky people with sensitive skin. Regardless, it probably would have been a fairly unpleasant feeling to have a foot-long sting on my leg. 

     This was it for me. After nearly knocking into the jellyfish, my adrenaline kicked in and the feeling of being very blind and helpless came full force. Suddenly, a horrible feeling I remembered all too well came back: I couldn't breathe.

     This time, there was no one to help me. No one to swoop in to the rescue, scoop me up, and bring me back to shore. No one to be there for me while I tried to regain my breath and my composure. This time, I was alone. 

    However, I was determined to help myself. I didn't want every single experience with snorkeling to involve me getting spooked, losing my breath, and needing someone's help. I forced myself to calm down and swam towards the shore. I was inhaling water again and feeling my breath being constricted, not nearly as much as during the incident in Chile, but still there. But, I kept focused. I thought of the two wonderful people who helped me the first time, and thought of what they would do. I steadied myself and swam towards shore, all the while watching out for more jellyfish but also calming myself. Eventually I made it back to shore and regained my breath, but I realized part of where the issue that first time in Chile had stemmed from: adrenaline. Yes, the belt, the waves, and the ill-fitting snorkel were the main culprits that day, but the adrenaline and fight-or-flight response to that very first wave that sent me catapulting back to shore ripped my breath from me and made the entire situation so much worse. Sitting on the shore, breathing in deeply and re-situating myself, I realized all of the issues from that first time. As I heard the horn sound for everyone to return to the boat for the next stop, I was a bit disappointed. Would I never be able to snorkel comfortably in water that wasn't incredibly shallow?

     The next stop brought us to very shallow waters where shells and seagrass beds abounded. Part of me was still a bit shaken from the last stop and part of me was also a bit cautious since seagrass beds are great places for stingrays and the like to hide, but I was determined to keep trying. Before entering the water, we saw a pod of dolphins race by as they chased a nearby school of fish. They were there and then gone in the blink of an eye, but seeing them actively feeding was beyond fascinating to me. After the dolphins left, I entered the water again.

     The water was much more shallow and free of jellyfish, and the abundance of little crabs and other small marine life hiding within the the short seagrasses were just too much for me and my nervousness quickly faded. I dug through the grassbeds and along the sea floor, combing for good shells and hermits that thought I couldn't see them. I brushed my fingers through the seagrass, searching for marine life that was hiding within it. Small schools of fish darted around me, often surprised that I had found their secret hideaway. The feeling of sheer joy and fascination from the day before returned once again, and the time began to once again fly by. Before I knew it, it was time to return to the boat. I was sad, I wanted to linger just a little longer. Reluctantly, I swam back towards the boat. 

    On the way back to the boat, something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I whipped around to see something I had been looking for: a crab. After the ridiculous amount of time I spent working with crabs in Chile, I had a bit of a soft spot for them (more like a love/hate relationship to be bluntly honest), and I had been hoping to find one. Having experience with handling crabs, I reached down to grab the blue crab in the way that I knew how to do from Chile so I could bring the crab to show my mother except that the crab had other plans. Infuriated that I had tried to grab her, she quickly darted up from the sand and began to swim in circles around me, lunging out and trying to pinch me. I had no idea that crabs could do such a thing and was a bit taken aback. I dodged out of her way but still pursued her, but she continued to lunge out at me and then threw a ton of sand in my face to get me off her trail. At that point I didn't have enough time to find where she had hidden herself and unfortunately had to call it quits for the day. She had won today. 

     Once I was on the boat again, I realized something: nothing could keep me away from the sea. Nothing could blow out my fascination, not my poor eyesight, not the occasional spook, not even foot-long moon jellies. I just needed contacts and more practice. I realized something else, too: I am absolutely, most assuredly in the right field. When you are doing something you love, you feel it in your core. I am unabashedly, endlessly fascinated by marine life, and it truly invigorates and excites me to be that close to something I find so intriguing and see it in its natural habitat. I sadly never had that real face-to-face experience with the sea in Chile, but I will someday. But, there were many times when I came close. There were days when I would watch my sea stars (estrellas) as they moved with their little water-propelled feet as they slowly but surely glossed across the walls of their tanks. Some might find such a thing boring, but I didn't. I was entranced watching them move. Sometimes I would watch the octopi (pulpos en espanol) as they pulsed and changed color in the tanks next to my project. I could have watched them for hours. I spent hours down by the shore, scouring the rocks for life. I truly loved marine life, and Florida only reiterated that for me. 

     I was so thrilled to be able to snorkel. I was thrilled to prove to myself that I could do it and that I finally had the opportunity to do it right. But more importantly, I was thrilled to rediscover for myself that I'm right where I am supposed to be. It's a truly wonderful feeling indeed.

Oceano

I embarked on a seven week long marine biology research trip in Chile and filmed extensively in and around the marine station. The place is otherwordly, and while this is only a very small part of Chile, the area around the marine station truly boasts the beauty of the Chilean coast.

     I have always loved documentaries. I used to watch nature documentaries all the time when I was a little girl. Since I first purchased a DSLR a little over two years ago, I have been wanting to film but never had the time or resources to do so. However, my time in Chile proved to be the perfect opportunity to try my hand at my first video. I am first and foremost a photographer (well, first and foremost a biologist, too), but film has always been a second love for me and something I wanted to dip my toes into, and Chile made it all the more enticing.

     Nearly every weekend (that is, if I wasn't working on my project), I filmed in and around the station. I explored and filmed just about everywhere and at any time of the day, crawled in weird spaces, climbed over rocks with one hand while holdimg a tripod, soaked my feet, shot at the crack of dawn, stood in places where there was only enough space for one foot, and did various other precarious things to get good footage. It was well worth my time and I am so thrilled with how well this turned out (also special thanks to Brian Bradley for allowing me to use his track in my video!).

     This is merely a small portion of Chile, a speck in the vastness of the beautiful county. I cannot claim that this is "a video of Chile" only because I shot just a small part of it, but this beautiful little coast boasts the abundant beauty of the country. Whenever I return, I hope to venture out and shoot more locations and places. 

     I hope that both through my video and of course my photography you are able to feel as though you experienced just a little bit of what I saw, of all the ethereal, gorgeous views that I was so grateful to experience every single day. 

Disfruta.