For this blog, we head up to the northern part of the Outer Banks. There, a lighthouse stands in the midst of the narrow strip of land between the sound and the ocean.
Just because there is a lighthouse or other iconic image at a location does not mean one has to photograph it in the usual manner. You know. Those same-old, same-old, “just another pretty postcard” that we refer to in our workshops.
I love architecture, so each time I visit this area, I challenge myself to do a different shot of the lighthouse. This was the one I made on the most recent visit with our workshop.
The structure of the stairs and the textures against the brick walls is captivating. The different patterns one can record by twisting and turning is amazing. There is no one right way to photograph this scene. We’ve seen it done by our participants in many ways, some which make us say, “I wish I had done that.”
There is a grace and rhythm to these stairs that reminds me of music.
Reflections are fun, and again, why always do a perfect reflection. It can become hackneyed. Arnie and I are always drawn to the reflections in this area.
Their patterns are dependent on the light and winds. It takes patience to get just what one wants, and even then, if you fire off ten shots in a row, each one will be different because of the vagaries of the wind.
There are several spots that keep producing reflections that I like. This vantage point is tenuous at best. One needs to be sure-footed, but it is worth it for me!
I inch out and set myself down carefully, as there is no place for a tripod. I have to tripod myself.
A couple of years ago, when I was photographing from this perch, an otter swam right under me. Not this time, though!
We always head up to this location in the afternoon, because we prefer the light on the sound side here at that time of day. That’s something to keep in mind as you plan on where you are going to photograph.
We love shooting into the light, especially here where the background is simple. Still, one has to pay attention to where the light is shining through objects or where the reflections are in relationship to one’s subject.
And converging lines? Sure, sometimes they can work for you, but more often, they can keep you from separating your subject from the background.
Here, there was a subtle bank of light shining through the underpinnings of the roof as well as separating elements of the gazebo itself. It was a matter of only a few inches up or down, left or right that made the difference between some life in the silhouette and none.
In this last photograph from this area — for this blog, anyway — I show a bridge, one listed on the National Register of “Hysterical” Places, as our family always used to call it.
The textures are wonderful, and the way the wood catches the late-afternoon light is magnificent.
This time, a stormy sky presented itself. A classic case of complementary colors for the taking. Golden bridge against a Paynes Gray sky.
Paynes Gray? It is a color in painting that has a remarkable amount of violet in it. Violet and yellow? Complementary colors. It’s what helps the bridge to pop.
So, the next time you go out photographing, check your position. Don’t just stand where you first landed. Look at color. Have patience. Try rendering your scene in a way you’ve never done it before.
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