Sometimes, the photographs I create capture a beautiful visual melody; at other times, there is mood — an accompaniment or counter melody — which establishes a theme.  This image is more like a concerto where neither the melody nor the counter melody are particularly remarkable, yet the combination and interplay between them is unusual and creates a space with many opportunities for exploration.  The water, so constant and anchoring of the scene, provides a visual ostinato against which the Vivaldi-like vertical runs of the trees ascend upward.  The juxtaposition of such strong (often opposing) forces seems unnaturally still; almost as if it were a scene in motion but captured with a too-fast shutter speed.  Yet, in experiencing this place, you realize that the arrested motion is genuine and not an artifact of the camera.  Before taking this image, I gazed at the scene and found my thoughts drifting from questions about how this happened, to wonder, amazement, and imaginations of how this place might have looked many years ago.

 

This scene makes me think and feel, but my thoughts are decidedly non-verbal and unfocused.  I feel small in a spatial sense when I consider the height of the trees and the distances to the horizon.  I also feel small in a temporal sense when I consider the amount of history depicted in the water, the trees, and the foreground.  I’ve had these feelings before with other photographs.  What is unique in this image for me is that I feel small in my ability to relate what I see and feel to other aspects of life.  I will photograph this place again when I next visit Yellowstone.  Perhaps then I will have a better understanding of this scene and how it relates to me, and be more successful in producing a photograph which will evoke in the viewer the kinds of thoughts I experience when I am there.