I have photographed skeleton leaves before here and here. An endlessly fascinating subject, they look like intricate filigree in shades of gold and silver. I like to play with the focus: moving in; moving out, like breathing. Making the leaves pirouette on my lens; the eddies and whirls and swirls of nature. I always hold my breath when I press the shutter… then I wait for the magic.
It’s been an up-and-down few weeks, and I haven’t been as active on here as I would like to be. Getting the time to post is proving more and more difficult, unfortunately. I went back to my little skeleton leaves, and decided I hadn’t quite finished with them. I had a feeling they would work well as layers. I use this technique a lot in my images, and it’s a surprisingly creative and enjoyable process in which unexpected things often emerge. Here, it served to enhance the shimmery opalescent shades – which were just the merest suggestions before – to create something light and lustrous, and a little bit summery.
Spring surprises me every year. Like a switch being flicked, the sudden buzz and hum of life at volume jolts me into attentiveness. As the earth shakes off its heavy, muffled cloak of winter, a veil lifts from my eyes, and instantly they start to sketch shifting forms cast by the wayward light. As the sun shone on our little garden yesterday, we dug to find relics buried amongst the clusters of sprightly iris and anemones proudly splaying their pert figures. I instantly loved the bare little skeleton leaves, which quivered gently in the breeze as they generously sketched and re-sketched their intricate framework against a canvas of rich coffee soil. I like to think the earth kept these little treasures safe for me, just waiting for the light, and for my eyes to open.