Art Drop #10: Shooting with the Moon

Discarded intentions on a road trip to the Gulf of Mexico.

There is a particular kind of regret a photographer feels when a photograph is not able to be taken. We find ourselves looking for photographs all the time, framing up compositions in our heads whether there is a camera in reach or not, always looking for that next great shot to capture. So when a photograph cannot be taken for whatever reason it can be a stinging loss for the artist but also, in a way, for anyone else who might have come across the potential artwork. Is there a term for these? Non-photographs? Unrealized photographs? The photographs that got away?

We felt this loss again and again on our recent road trip down to Florida.

The landscape passing us by. Photograph by Tom Bland.

ROAD TRIP ANTICIPATION

When we last wrote to you we were giddy with anticipation of our first family road trip from northeast New Jersey to the panhandle of Florida, where we hadn’t been in four years. Although we usually fly down there we thought why not show our daughter more of the country, see some friends and family along the way and come back with a boatload of photographs to sift through? I believe I forecasted that we would be spoiled for choice for Art Drop #10. You might have already guessed that the reality did not live up to expectations. Does it ever?

ERUPTING MOLARS AND MISSED OPPORTUNITIES

As we drove from New Jersey to Delaware, through Maryland and into Virginia, some congestion and a cough intensified in the back seat. Our daughter’s new molars picked this particular week to push through her gums coupled with referred pain in her ears and headache. “Owieee… owieee…” was the constant refrain. Oh, and fever too! She wasn’t sick, this is just how her body responds to emerging teeth. I had a suspicion then on that first day that we should just turn around and head back to New Jersey. But no, we pushed on with urgency.

We saw so many photographs along the way…

“Look, there’s a photograph.”
“That’s a great shot right there.”
“Look at that building.”
”That tree is amazing!”

We often used our shorthand of a quick point in one direction or another as we whizzed by at 70mph, instantly seeing what the other person saw and feeling the same regret. With an unwell child in the backseat, these opportunities had to be ignored and the urge to record them suppressed. Our creative eyes were awake and working the whole way down through Tennessee, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia and Alabama with nothing to show for it, just one pang of loss after another from each photograph not taken.

Approaching the beach. Photograph by Tom Bland.

THE ASSIGNMENT

On our approach into Florida, hopeful that things would get better, we gave ourselves an assignment – “let’s challenge ourselves to photograph the beach in a new way.” We have a sizable collection of work made in this corner of Florida over the last fifteen years and in a way, it’s a creative muse for us.

Two sanderlings. Photograph by Tom Bland.

Having this challenge in place was freeing for me because I could spend more time collecting shells with our daughter who was still under the weather. We engineered pools that were filled by the rising tide and giggled at the adorable sanderlings running back and forth with the waves. Though the emerald green and turquoise waters were beautiful, I’ve taken that photograph already, both in focus and intentionally out of focus. The sparkling sunlight on the water? Yep, I’ve captured that too, sometimes as a double exposure. The crashing, frothy waves on a day when the Gulf of Mexico is churned up? I have that shot.

This is one place we’ve returned to again and again and found something different each time, only I couldn’t think what our angle would be on this trip.

Palm tree stencil by Tom Bland, and a delicate wave by Diana Pappas.

So, what could I do that was new? And how could I fully engage my artistic self while caring for my daughter? I am incapable of being an artist when I am a caregiver – within my brain those two roles are so at odds that they will not work in tandem. I needed to find a solution that would allow to me to freely create something new without being needed as a mother.

32 MINUTES UNDER THE MOON

One night, once our daughter was asleep, I put on my winter coat, set the camera on the tripod and went down to the beach by myself. It was just how I like it, empty. The sunset crowd that enjoyed their cocktails on the walkover overlooking the beach were long since indoors, the last streaks of sunshine gone from the night sky. The beach was all mine, and the waxing gibbous moon was gamely illuminating the entire scene. I didn’t need or even think to bring a flashlight.

Face to face with my light source, the moon.

I was out on the beach for 32 minutes and took 38 photographs. I composed each shot blindly because the electronic viewfinder couldn’t see a thing. Most exposures were 30 seconds long, and took another 30 seconds to process within the camera. It was the most fun I had on the entire vacation. I’d press the shutter, wait two seconds for the self-timer so it wouldn’t register any camera shake, then wait another minute before I could even see the photograph. At which point I’d recompose, adjust, experiment, tinker, create.

In that minute or so after each press of the shutter, there was nothing to do but look around at the moonlit white sand, listen to the crashing waves, look up at Orion dominating the winter sky, have space and time to think about the next photograph to attempt. Ultimately I was forced to slow down, be patient and just enjoy this powerful sensation of being at peace. I may or may not have been singing to myself too.

ART DROP #10

For this month’s art drop we are presenting two of my night photographs from Florida’s emerald coast. The first, Moonlit Gulf, soaks up the available light, revealing the striated bands of color that are normally seen during the day. The crashing waves are softened by time, the spin of the Earth’s axis just perceptible in the slight blur of the stars.

Moonlit Gulf, photograph by Diana Pappas.

Moonlit Gulf
Rosemary Beach, Florida, USA
by Diana Pappas

The second offering, Color Field Gulf, was taken much closer to the water, ignoring the stars above, while thinking of a Mark Rothko painting I saw at the Newark Museum of Art a few weeks ago. It is right on the edge of being recognizable as a seascape. Just as in Moonlit Gulf above, the colors coming through (thanks to the moon and a 30-second shutter speed) surprised me.

Color Field Gulf, photograph by Diana Pappas.

Color Field Gulf
Rosemary Beach, Florida, USA
by Diana Pappas

Moonlit Gulf and Color Field Gulf, by Diana Pappas.

Prints of Moonlit Gulf and Color Field Gulf are only available until March 7, 2024, with no further production of this work for at least a year. To read more about the paper, sizes, and pricing click the button below to visit the art drop page on our website.

When I think about it, we drove 20+ hours to get to a place where I could be the artist that I am and focus 100% on creativity for 32 minutes. I want to say it was worth it. We could have done without the teething pain and associated symptoms along the way though!

Next week we’ll be in touch to share a photo essay from the next stop on our road trip. To our readers who have been with us from the beginning and also to those of you who have joined us recently – thanks for reading!

Until next week,

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