Enduring Landscape
This black and white photograph captures a timeless scene of resilience and simplicity. An old, weathered grain drill stands proudly in the foreground, its large wheels and sturdy frame a testament to the hard work of generations past. Beyond it, the rugged landscape unfolds—rolling hills and a dramatic, rocky bluff rise against a vast sky, where clouds drift lazily, casting soft shadows over the earth.
There is a quiet strength in this image, a reminder of the enduring connection between humanity and the land. The grain drill, though aged, symbolizes the determination to cultivate and create, even in the harshest conditions. The landscape, with its untamed beauty, whispers of perseverance—nature’s unyielding spirit mirrored in the tools we have built to work alongside it.
This black and white photograph captures a timeless scene of resilience and simplicity. An old, weathered grain drill stands proudly in the foreground, its large wheels and sturdy frame a testament to the hard work of generations past. Beyond it, the rugged landscape unfolds—rolling hills and a dramatic, rocky bluff rise against a vast sky, where clouds drift lazily, casting soft shadows over the earth.
There is a quiet strength in this image, a reminder of the enduring connection between humanity and the land. The grain drill, though aged, symbolizes the determination to cultivate and create, even in the harshest conditions. The landscape, with its untamed beauty, whispers of perseverance—nature’s unyielding spirit mirrored in the tools we have built to work alongside it.
Over the years, I have captured several photographs that I aspire to display on my wall. While not all of my photographs, whether film or digital, resonate with me, this particular one stands out. It exudes a profound sense of endurance and an unwavering determination to never give up.
The camera, akin to the antiquated grain drill depicted in the photograph, exhibits simplicity yet functionality. Contrary to the notion that substantial investment in specialized equipment is prerequisite for capturing photographs that resonate with an audience, this image was captured using a Proud Chrome Six, an inexpensive camera I acquired from a camera lot a few months ago and captured on Kentmere100, a somewhat inexpensive medium format film.
Photographers, including myself, often prioritize acquiring the most advanced equipment. However, the true essence of photography lies not in the gear itself, but in the subjective experience of the photographer. It is the unique perspective, emotions, and composition that transform a simple image into an extraordinary capture. This realization holds profound significance for individuals with visual impairments, as it emphasizes the power of perception and the human spirit in creating remarkable art.
The Ravens Call
I heard him before I saw him—a low, guttural croak that sent a shiver down my spine. Turning, I caught a glimpse of glossy black feathers as the raven landed behind me, its eyes glinting like polished obsidian. With a single, mocking call, it took flight, soaring into the endless blue sky, leaving me alone with the echo of its voice. My grandfather, a lost son of the Cherokee nation, used to speak of the raven as if it were more than a bird—a mysterious shape-shifter, a trickster not to be pursued. His stories, told by firelight, wove a tapestry of awe and caution, his voice low as if the raven might overhear.
To the Cherokee, the raven is a messenger, carrying the voices of ancestors across the veil. The Navajo, too, speak of ravens guiding lost souls, but their tales come with a warning: follow a raven too far, and you may cross into the spirit world, where time unravels and the air hums with voices that linger in your bones. One misstep, and you might never return to the living realm. Grandpa once told of a hunter who chased a raven’s call through a foggy woodland, only to find his shadow walking beside him, no longer tethered to his form. That story stayed with me, a quiet chill in the back of my mind.
The elders say when a raven perches, silent and staring, its gaze heavy with knowing, you must leave an offering—cornmeal, tobacco, a whispered prayer. For the raven does not forget, its memory as long as the rivers that carve the earth. Ignore it, and you risk its wrath. Its wings, they say, can cast a shadow that swallows you whole, drawing you into a realm where light fades and the world feels wrong. My grandfather warned of a woman who scoffed at a raven’s stare, only to vanish into the night, her footprints ending where the bird had perched.
Do I believe these tales? No, not in the way the elders did. I’m a man of reason, more at home with my Sony A7Cii than with spirits and shadows. But standing there, the raven’s croak still ringing in my ears, I felt something—an unease, a pull, like the bird knew more than I ever would. Respect it, I say. Leave it be. Offer a nod to its mystery and walk away. The raven doesn’t need your belief to hold its power; it demands only that you don’t tempt its gaze.
Shot on the Sony A7Cii with a vintage Minolta lens, capturing the fleeting moment that raven pierced the silence. The photograph is raw, like the stories themselves. What do you think? Ever felt a raven’s eyes on you, or heard its call in the quiet? Share your stories below. #Sony #A7Cii #Minolta #Konica #RavenTales
