From Dawn Till Dusk

I reclined my seat and started to doze as the plane taxied through the fog and rain of Lagurdia International Airport. Like a five year old falsifying a snore in the back seat of the car to get carried into bed by their parents, I disguising my disregard for FAA regulations with an apparent catatonic slumber. Giving up on my returning my seat to its upright position and removing my headphones, the flight attendent moved on. Sliding into a much needed nap, I woke with a jolt some hour and half later as the pilot announced over the PA our initial approach to the Milwaukee area.

Grabbing my backpack from the over head bin, I stutter stepped and spin moved around the stragglers in the ile, eager to end my travels. Leaving my offices on Madison Av some four hours earlier, the cold midwestern air greeted my exposed skin as I waited for the familiar sight of my grandfather's van. Within a few minutes we were heading north on 57 towards my grandfathers 97 acre farm near Adel Wisconsin.

After an hour chat with my grandfather on our way north and a pleasant reunion with my grandmother as soon as we walked through the door, I headed towards the guest room. Before sunrise the next morning, I rolled out of bed. Greeted by the subtle smell of the wood stove in the next room, I dressed and headed towards the backdoor with my camera in hand.

These photos document my first day spent exploring my grandfather's farm and shop, from dawn till dusk.

Ten miles to the east, the morning's sun reflected off the water of Lake Michigan, creating one of the most beautiful sunrises I have seen.

The back of my Grandfather's Dodge Ram.

Local Suffolks grassing in the cold November morning

All of the license plates my 76 year old grandfather has ever owned.

The inside of his barn.

After a stint raising sheep post retirement, my Grandfather now enjoys his time hunting for antique tools, cleaning and researching them, and subsequently selling the cream on eBay. Check out his Ebay Store.

Red.

A brisk November Sunset.

I shot all of these photos with a Zeiss 35mm F2.0.

Tire tracks compressed by the mornings frost, leaving lasting marks in the recently cut grass.

As the sun sank towards the east, I returned to the very stairs where I started my day, some ten hours earlier. Curiously anticipating the next days estate auction, I found comfort in the periodic dashes to the woodpile and the biting cold of Wisconsin's november night. Tired from the days exploring, I put up a meek fight against extending my evening, and was in bed before 10.

Here are some more links

Snow Flurries (Picasa),

Follow me on Twitter.

Early in the Morning and Late in the Evening

As the days shorten, the shadows come later and leave earlier. This fall, I have made a point to take photos early in the morning and late in the evening.

Connected by this common thread, these photos were shot with my 5D mark II and a canon 50mm f1.4 lens in the last two months.

Washougal, Washington, September.

Studio 26, September.

Western Pennsylvania, October.

Chelsea Market, October.

Best Made Studio Space, Tribeca, October.

Washougal, Washington, September.

Upper West Side, October.

Best Made Studio Space, Tribeca, October.

Washougal, Washington, September.

Sometimes pictures convey more than words. I love when the shadows are long and the light warm.

Here are some more links,
Fall Colors (Picasa),
Grass Fed (Picasa),
Atom (Picasa),
Forts (Picasa).

Changing Seasons: Fall in New York

LL Bean buck over Colby's campus in fall 2008, a few weeks after starting A Restless Transplants and buying my first camera.

An over ambitious sip of Joe's coffee scalded my tongue. Sucking and blowing repeatedly in attempt to ventilate my mouth, my breath hung on the cool mornings air as I sat on a rock outcropping in Central Park. Rising over Midtown, the morning's light cast long shadows over the lake and through the autumn foliage.

Canvas Sneaker over Colby's Quad in January of 2009.

As June quickly slid into September, the reality that I wasn't returning to Maine for another winter slowly took shape. Each changing shade of foliage and brisk morning helped confirm my permanent acclimation to my new life in New York. Three times in the last few weeks, I packed my REI backpack with my 5D Mark II and lenses and headed towards the rock peninsula near 79th street and Central Park West with the hope of capturing the changing season with a shoe. Despite successfully avoiding joggers, tourists and leashed French bulldogs, my shots failed to turn out.

Common Projects sneaker over Cobly's Quad in March of 2009.

Last Sunday morning, I woke early and dug through my pile of shoes. Perhaps as homage to my time spent in Maine or their relevance in the frequent mud puddles familiar with fall in New York, I grabbed my eight-inch Bean boot and headed towards door.

Van's Authentic over Colby's Quad in August of 2009

Ralph Lauren Wingtip over Colby's quad in October of 2009

The morning's light bounced the buildings of the Upper West Side as I grabbed a cup of coffee at Joe's and headed towards Central Park's lake intent on waiting for the sun to rise above the buildings of midtown. Patiently, I sat facing south towards Manhattan's skyline. Periodically testing my coffee, I tuned out tourists' conversations and turned an occasional glance at a group of forty-somethings performing a lost east Asian ritual associated with Subarus and merino wool socks.

Danner Mountain Light II over Colby's quad in December of 2009.

Checking my watch, I realized that fifteen minutes had marched past and I reclaimed my camera from my drawstring backpack. I removed my left Bean boot, set the frame and tossed my shoe in the air.

British Walker Buck over Colby's Quad in April of 2010.

Taking a sip of my now tepid coffee, I picked the boot off the exposed bedrock and tossed it up in the air for another countless shot. Reflecting off the glassy water, the morning's light warmed the chain-link sole as I fired the shutter near the height of the boots arc. Looking down at the preview screen, I couldn't help but smile. I like calling a new place home.

Here are some more links,
Changing Seasons (Picasa),
Changing Seasons (ART).

A Window with Ice Shanties

I slid across the ice. Accidentally at first, and then as my comfort grew, I evolved my technique from a means of avoiding a broken tailbone to a proper, Risky Business-esque maneuver. Building a head of steam, I scurried across the frozen lake aiming squarely at a wind-swept portion of ice. A few feet before the snow stopped, exposing the glassy surface, I hopped, landing squarely with the toe of my right foot touching the back of my left Danner Mountain Lights. For twenty feet, I slid. Across the lake, in a protected cove, a group of colorful ice shanties broke up the green and white horizon. Marching across the frozen landscape one slide at a time, I made my way towards them, camera in hand.

Months ago, I searched through flea markets and antique malls looking for windows. My interest in old windows as picture frames and not economic replacements was bewildering to most Mainers at local flea markets. After turning over many rocks, I eventually found some windows that were both aesthetically pleasing and practical as frames. Working with Tucker, we stripped the excess paint and applied a few coats of sealant to protect the frames.

Looking through my Picasa page for groups of photos, I quickly settled on my images of ice shanties. Drawn to the bright colors contrasting the bleak landscapes and the idea of being in a place you shouldn't, protected from cold and wind, I selected my 12 favorite and ordered them in 9"x7" archive-quality prints

Throughout the summer as I transitioned into my new life in New York, Tucker put the finishing touches on the window frame.

Red and White.

Outside of Skowhegan, Maine, one of my favorite shots.

Near US Route 1 on the mid Maine Coast.

Anchored to the ice near Canaan, Maine

Built on the concept that each frame and group of images will be unique, the finished window tells a story more complex and evolved that a singular image mounted on the wall.

The finished window is 40" high by 25" wide and has 12 9" by 7" color prints.

A lonely shanty Down East.

Frozen footsteps captured by thaws and freezes.

The Ice Shanty Window is the first of a series of my favorite images partnered with antique windows.

The shanties complement each other and providing context through repetition.

Offering a view to a distant world, my window with its twelve images hangs over my living room for the time being. If you are interested in owning the Ice Shanty window, or one of the following ones, please send me an email at foster.huntington(at)gmail.com.

Here are some more links,
Windows (ART),
Ice Fishing (ART).