Probably my most frustrating subject for photography is trees (well, actually people are more frustrating, but that's another story). I can 'see' great compositions with trees -- singly or in groves -- but bringing them to anything resembling what I'm seeing is hard. Sometimes, it's simply the fact that trees refuse to grow in places with a perfect backdrop -- there might be
considerable clutter that can't be removed or minimized, either in camera positioning or in post-processing. Therefore, many of my tree portraits are documentary rather than artistic.
In so many ways, trees are such a staple of our visual life that they end up being taken for granted. So photographing some of the interesting ones I've seen, or their details, will
hopefully help to bring them more into the everyday. For example, I didn't know that bristlecone pines existed outside California until just a few years ago. The Rocky Mountain bristlecone pines (Pinus aristata) pictured here are found high on Mount Blue Sky (formerly Mount Evans). They can also be found on the slopes of the Spanish Peaks in southern Colorado.
Another interesting tree species I've come into contact with is Coast redwoods (Sequoia sempervirens). Photographing them is an exercise in simplifying the composition; there is just no way to put an entire tree into a single image because they easily grow to
200 feet tall or more. Besides the living redwood trunks, this photo denshows the fallen trunk of a dead redwood covered by a groundcover plant and colonized by ferns. The photo illustrates the concept of synecdoche, where a part represents the whole.
When we traveled to New York several years ago, I was intrigued by the closely packed hardwood forests there. I only learned a few species native to the area, such as oak (Quercus sp.), hickory (Carya sp.), sugar maple (Acer saccharum) and American beech (Fagus grandifolia). These thick forests are a little intimidating to this girl who was raised with open forests and wide open prairies, but there's no denying how photogenic they can be.
Artistically, trees lend themselves to several types of imagery, but for me, the most successful are various abstractions. One method I enjoy for photographing trees individually or as entire
stands is intentional camera movement, or ICM. This allows me to blur the image so that background clutter becomes part of the abstraction and softens the composition into a dreamlike state. The very exercise of ICM means I won't be able to fully preconceive the finished product while I'm in the field. For example, I can set the shutter speed to what I suspect will work, take a few photos, then reset the shutter speed and try some more. Usually, from the screen on the back of the camera, I can decide if something is definitely not working and make adjustments right away; however, there are other times when the subtleties aren't visible until I can view it on the large screen at home. Other images using ICM are 'passenger window' shots that are one-and-done because they're taken when I'm on a ride-along from the passenger seat of the vehicle. "Afternoon Drive" at the top of this post was one such -- I took the photo through the windshield as we drove on a gravel road in the mountains. The camera movement was a combination of slow shutter speed and rough road.
An additional artistic take is to capture reflections of trees in water or glass. An example is
this photo, which I still need a title for. The patterns caused by the small ripples in the pond made the colors look incredibly similar to a 1960's upholstery motif. Sharp-eyed readers will likely see that it's the same pond as in the photo above -- I'd moved a short distance to the left and narrowed my perspective to capture this.
Tree details can be either artistic or documentary. The fine details of woodgrain or leaf shapes, colors and veins can provide a challenge to find the
right angle or lighting, or even the best section of the whole to key in on. The woodgrain detail of the bristlecone pine at the left is an example. There were several possible angles and views, but most included too much background, or there was sun glare, or too much shadow. The Japanese maple (Acer palmatum) leaves below were gorgeous in their fall colors, but
again, there were several choices to be made to find a good composition.
Then there's the plain, old documentary method of photographing trees. Many are interesting in and of themselves, and because they're subject to fire, weather, floods, animals, insects and disease, as well as old age, documenting how they look freezes a moment in their lifespan for the future. I've included a few documentary shots below. For example, these two Ponderosa pines (Pinus ponderosa) were about two miles apart on the top of the Uncompahgre Plateau; however, their radically different sizes and
heights show how much the soil and ground conditions influence their lives. The pine at the left is growing on an outcrop of bedrock, and at some point in its youth was bent over, possibly by heavy snowfall. It's stayed very short (only about 12 feet tall) and its roots may only have a small crack for soil and water, although the trunk was nearly two feet in diameter at the base. Just about the only thing that clearly identifies it as a Ponderosa is the needles. I'd love to know how old it really is, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's at least a couple hundred years. The monster at the right has a sign to tell us a little about it: It's over 350 years old (meaning it was a seedling when William
Penn was alive and the city of Charleston, South Carolina, was founded), and is more than 100 feet tall. It's clearly had much better growing conditions during its history than its neighbor.
Another feature of the low-key old-growth forest on top of the Uncompahgre Plateau is the very large pinyon (or pinon) pines (Pinus edulis) that can be found there. They grow extremely slowly -- only about 6 feet every 100 years -- so to be as large as the one pictured, it's probably more than 250 years old. And this one isn't even the largest on the plateau.
I suspect one of the main reasons I like trees is because of their persistence in living. Bristlecones that can live for more than 3,000
years, redwoods that can reach 2,000 years, Ponderosas that are more than 350 years old, -- all of these reflect an elegance of design to marvel at. I've seen junipers that look completely dead until I walk
around and find that one small live vein that keeps the
needles green and the cones producing. Trees can find footholds in the toughest rocks, tiniest cracks, and with the most terrible soil, and still thrive. "Desert Dancer" sees heavy and damaging tourist traffic all the time because of its location in Canyonlands National Park and yet maintains its photogenic flair.
I ended up with more photos than I'd originally planned to use, and still had to cull several out for a later post. And while I have reasons for liking each of these images, there is still the frustration of elements in nearly every one that I'd like to change or eliminate. And so, on to the pursuit of the "perfect" tree shot.
As always, I encourage you to review my website for photo art for your home or office. I'm in the process of planning some changes over the next year that I hope will improve the experience of perusing and shopping. I'd love for you to keep up with my posts and let me know your thoughts by filling out the Contact Denise form on my About tab or including a comment on this post.
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