My outing with my daughter had three objectives: find a 500-year-old hemlock, play with the camera and sit on a bench together. We had hoped to find all three in Alan Seeger Natural Area, hidden in the mountains of central Pennsylvania.
It took us much longer than we expected to get there, when the collective wisdom of Google maps, our GPS and two Amish women selling strawberries failed us. But my phone patiently guided us to the correct dark, secluded patch of woods. There we found plenty of mighty, ancient trees – though not the half-millennial one promised in the guidebook.
Nor did we find a bench. That was supplied by Penn State, as we later tucked into two bowls of Creamery ice cream and reviewed the photos that we took.
I had shown Grace about how setting could change the depth of field, and how to focus on an object, but move it off-center without losing focus. She, in turn, had found delightful subjects – not the impressive trees above, but a variety of mosses beside the trail.
This one she said looked like a mouse. I suggested we name it Mickey Moss.
She named this one Summer Frost.
When I asked her what she would choose to photograph if she could do a series on one subject, she said, “Plants.” Interesting, I thought, not flowers. I asked her why. “Because plants have character, I guess,” she answered.
We then talked about how much of art is about giving others a new way to see, turning the ordinary into something extraordinary. That’s easy to do, I pointed out, when the subject is flashy, like a flower or a waterfall. It’s trickier when the subject might normally feel mundane. Like moss. That’s when one’s artistic skill and eye come into play.
It’s not unlike people, I added. Flashy people get all the attention. But the more profound perspectives often come from those who quietly get overlooked, who take time to get to know.
As if to underline a dramatic subject, we came to the last photos I had taken. As I had been making my way toward the car in the park, Grace had called out to me. I turned to find a butterfly perched on the end of her finger! It seemed almost magical. What was the point of my lesson if sensational subjects were going to flutter up and beg to be photographed?
But between spoonfuls of strawberry ice cream, she explained how she had carefully approached the butterfly, sliding her finger up to it on the ground until it crawled onto it. This was no magic. It was just patient, watchful determination.
Which is why she is quite likely to become a fine photographer. Or an artist. And why she already has become a tried and true friend to so many.
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