A S C R A P B O O K O F S O L U T I O N S F O R T H E P H O T O G R A P H E R
Enhancing the enjoyment of taking pictures with news that matters, features that entertain and images that delight. Published frequently.
21 November 2016
When evening falls around here this time of year, it looks like this. Some celestial body hovers in the darkest part of the sky over the little lights of the neighborhood below. The sun leaves a little glow and an even smaller light comes from the boats of the crab fishermen.
We weren't planning to take this shot. We just happened to see it late last week. So we ran down to the bunker, got the Nikon D300, swapped lenses, ran back up, pushed the Power switch in the wrong direction to turn on the LCD backlight so we could check our settings and framed the shot.
It was over in a flash. Like so many things.
We're in a melancholy mood. We've just learned of the passing of William Trevor, whom we greatly admire. Admire enough, we mean, to actually read what he's written. A good deal of it, anyway.
He wrote melancholy short stories, life being mostly that. But he also wrote a novel in which a photographer was the protagonist. Mrs. Eckdorf in On'Neill's Hotel.
O'Neill's Hotel had once been quite the place. But now it was a rundown bordello.
'You get the feeling that something might once have happened there,' said Mrs. Eckdorf with a needling irritation in her voice.
'I mean in O'Neill's Hotel.'
See? Easy reading. Even Philomena isn't paying attention to what Mrs. Eckdorf is trying to do in the novel. You can get distracted and come right back, wondering what might have happened when your eyes scanned the page without paying attention to the meaning of the words.
Seems like we lose someone we can't afford to lose every week now. Or does it just feel that way when evening falls?