Considering the World in Black and White

On Saturday, Amy and I gathered some lunch materials and and made the short drive to the top of Murphy Dome, about 20 miles from our home north of Fairbanks.  Amy was equipped with a sketchbook and watercolors, I with my camera. Maddie, our dog, was unencumbered.

Murphy Dome is the closest place to town to get above tree-line. When it’s clear, there are expansive views in all directions including all the way down to Denali some 160 odd miles to the southwest. However, on Saturday, it wasn’t clear. Low clouds rolled over the hilltops as we drove, and eventually we entered dense fog. Plumes of the stuff drifted through the scraggly spruces, but above, occasionally, we could see a hint of blue, or a rare patch of sun. We pulled down a small side road, just before the summit of the dome and drove down a few hundred yards to a small pullout with a narrow view through the alders. The view showed fog.

I left Amy to sketch and write, and took off down the road, my camera slung over my shoulder, and a second lens in my pocket. Before we’d even left home, I’d decided that any photos I made that day would be Black and White. I wanted that restriction. We often hear reference to the phrase: “creative freedom”. Yet strangely, it is often the opposite that truly is the driver of creativity. Restricting the way we see the world, or perhaps, the way we record it, requires us to adjust our own perspective. That adjustment can provide a window into something new, something different. Regardless of the outcome, for me, this is an important exercise.

So I explored. The fog rolled past, obscuring and revealing the ridges of the dome, and the fading yellow of the high elevation birches. Eventually, the sun won the battle and the skies above cleared, while the clouds hung on for a bit just below our perch on the mountain. I made images of the grasses, first sharp, and later allowing the wind to blow them while I extended the exposure. Then I tried camera-motion blurs, and a few landscapes of piles of fog retreating from the slopes, and details of the frost-covered vegetation.

Nothing I got is outstanding. But it doesn’t matter, that wasn’t even a part of the expectation. The purpose was to limit my way of seeing, and by doing so, discover something new. And so I did.

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