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Refuge on a Country Road

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Messing about with the world's greatest point and shoot: the Canon G-11 (now G-12, but who's counting?)

Above: Low Contrast setting, which opens up the shadows, and below, Normal Setting.

The shadows on the old barns are so deep that Low Contrast works to open them up and show more detail, which I like. Especially if I ever intend to paint these scenes.
 Boy, could I see a watercolor of this scene.  Here's the Normal Contrast setting.

 And here's Low Contrast. See how the detail pops out? It lets me see what's going on in the darkest darks on the bank and barn.  So I can use both shots as reference.


I hold the Canon G-11 an inch or so from the rusted hinge and shoot away, marveling at the razor-sharp detail it captures. From landscapes to macro views of wood and hinges, this little workhorse does it all. And on Automatic setting, it decides when I've gone all macro on it, and adjusts accordingly. It's like there's a little brain in there.

I keep walking and shoot back at the old barn before it disappears. I won't see it bathed in such beauty for another year.

How I wish I could conjure these leaves, this sky, for today, when the clouds hang low and weepy. But we've busied ourselves readying the yard for winter birds who will help keep our spirits up when the cold clamps down. Bill built a brushpile to shelter them from the wind and snow, and we put up three more feeders and scattered corn and seed all over the yard. A little thank-you note showed up--the first fox sparrow of fall, scratching about under the brand-new brushpile!

I'm always impressed by the haunting quality of sepiatone photos. In one push of a button, we rocket back 200 years...
and the best part is when you select an effect, such as sepiatone, from the Canon G-11 menu, it shows you what your photo will look like on the screen before you take it! I think back on the days of film, when such options were in post-processing only, when everything was a crapshoot and an expensive one at that, and can only marvel. I've been set free by the digital age. At least in a photographic sense.

Here we are on Tobacco Road.

with our antique barns and little antique doggeh. For a painter, these photos are very useful--they allow me to see relative values of dark and light without the confusion of hue.

I've photographed this little sign dozens of times, with its buckshot holes and its stenciled letters.

Let's get a closeup of those holes.

So many compositions in one small area of an old tired barn. I find such freedom in composing with a camera; it is so effortless compared to composing with a pencil, which I do all day these days. But I'm whistling down the wire on my new book, counting down the paintings left to do. Imagine having almost 160 works of art to do, and finally being down in the 30's. That feels good. Almost as good as walking slowly up Dean's Fork with your best dog.

Who's your best dog?

                                                                     You, Chet Baker. You.


Such a pleasure to see the artist's eye at work! I'm delighted to hear you are closing in on the new book - when will it be published? Letters from Eden lives on my bedside table, and I'll be glad when it has a new Julie book to keep us company.

I SO want a G! Or the new Lumix 4/3 with interchangeable lenses. Life is hard...such decisions! (And then you have to pay for them...)

Wonderful, Julie! Thanks for the heads-up: it does look like a great camera. I love sepia photos too...

Posted by Charles Alexander December 1, 2010 at 9:40 AM

Best best wishes for the remaining 30-some paintings before you! We all can't wait to see the result.

Nick from Ottawa

Posted by Anonymous December 1, 2010 at 10:25 AM

I would LOVE to get a G, I use a 50D but it would be nice to have a smaller camera to carry with me. A friend has the G10 and it's just awesome. Beautiful pics, I'm missing the colors too!

Oh, Julie, this takes me back.
And though the autumn gold looks warm and inviting, I recall lush tones of ironweed, a curling barbed wire fence, friends stretched along the quiet dirt path.
Every bit of it wonderful.
You're so lucky to be able to visit Dean's Fork often.

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