Here is a picture from the other day at the pier in Venice, Florida. Isn’t it interesting how so many places are named after a city in Italy?
I suppose it’s no surprise; it just makes me wonder what we’ll name places on Mars should we ever begin to colonize there. If there are no bodies of water, Venice may not be high on the list. You never know.
I take a lot of these shots and just can’t seem to get enough of them. It reminds me of times I visited Hawaii and would float for long stretches in the water, rocking with the waves. Now that I live in Florida, it’s ironic that I can go whenever I want but seldom do.
When I see a bunch of shells on the beach, I want to hoard them like a pirate. At some point in history, these were money.
This photo is reprocessed from an earlier version here. The tools for post-processing are continually being updated, so lately I’ve been having a little fun going back to old photos to tease out a new look. I don’t recall what tools I used back in 2015, but this time, I used the latest version of Skylum’s Luminar.
Nevertheless, what got my attention in this scene is all of the shells in the foreground; they must have been deposited after a storm. You can go to a store and buy a bag of shells for ten bucks, or you could just go to the beach and pick them up yourself. Better yet, send me the money, and I’ll get them for you! (just kidding)
There’s a reason they call it the Skyway Bridge. I like to think it has something to do with the sky. I’m just saying.
I remember taking this after an afternoon rain. I pointed the camera from a rest stop along the highway facing northwest. I’ve been using different lenses lately, but I think I’ll bring this old 24-240mm along with me more often. By the way, this is a fifteen-second exposure, so it must have been quite dark.
According to the EXIF information on the photo, I took this on July 16th at 8:00 pm. But I think it’s wrong because the sun sets around 8:30 at that time of year. I think the clock in my camera was off by an hour, and it was actually 9:00 pm. Inquiring minds need to know; I’m just saying.
My recollection of the last time I visited here in Carnon is a little spotty. I seem to remember something about fresh croissants every day.
That, and the scenery and the excellent food and, let’s not forget the wine. My memory of the trip is a string of highlights all tied together. I’ve been thinking about it lately because I’ll be heading back in a few months.
To see the sunset like this, you walk into the park after closing. Doing so I thought I’d be alone but found a crowd along the shore, all with the same idea. After sunset, I took a quiet trail back to avoid the crowds. However, the trails have lifesize cutouts of historical figures, and more than once, I was startled by conquistadores and aboriginals staring back at me. It was a little unnerving, to say the least.
Living along the coast, you develop a sense of normalcy about living where others vacation. So it’s good to get away for some perspective and then come back. It’s human nature; nothing lasts forever, even that feeling at the start of a long weekend.
I have never been at the center of a Tweet Storm unless of course, we are referring to squawks on the beach. Maybe this is a good metaphor for that.
Speaking of which, I just heard the in-depth interview of Jack Dorsey on Sam Harris’s podcast. The guy is pretty zen, way more than I expected. Long story short, Twitter is a work in progress and, from what I can glean, Jack has his heart in the right place.
I’m not much of a Twitter guy, I just tweet my photos, but that’s probably not the ideal use case. I do like to follow certain people, but I’m not really into participating in public discourse. I’m more contemplative and keep my thoughts to myself. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing; but let just say, it is what it is.
One of the reasons I do seascape photography is that it reminds me of things bigger than myself. It’s easy to forget that we are part of a much larger universe.
When we are children, everything is new, and we are often in a state of awe at the world around us. Then we develop thought patterns and an ego. We get through life by constructing a story of who and what we are. But that inward-looking drive comes at a cost: we forget the awe.
When I create images with a minimal theme, the open space is a reminder to myself, and anyone else, that we are part of something beyond the daily grind. Once in a while, I like to remind my self of that.