John Michael Swartz

I struggle to leave my apartment when I become fixated on my inside routines (e.g. somewhat unnecessarily, but very ethically, migrating this modest homepage from Next.js to Eleventy).

The alluringly sharp sunshine got me out to Greenwood Cemetery, however. The Ft. Hamilton Parkway entrance had just opened for the season, and it's literally a five minute bike ride from my home.

The light was sub-optimal for most things I typically care to shoot: although I was out between about 3:30 and 4:30 (just ahead of my weekly therapy session), the sky was cloudless, the air cold, dry, and clear of haze. It was quite windy besides. So it made sense to dabble in some high-contrast, moody black and white photos of trees and monuments. Monuments in front of trees. Trees in front of monuments. I think that about covers it.

I have really enjoyed learning how to photograph the amazing trees that surround me here in Brooklyn, especially when they are completely leafless: the patterns of the branches of different species, how these are reinforced or interrupted by adjacent trees. How to frame these patterns once you can see them. Being okay with not necessarily representing a whole tree in the frame (though who doesn't like the occasional Hero Tree who Stands Alone).

I continue to learn how to use my new camera. During this particular outing I realized that spending too much time inside of the viewfinder can lead to a strong sense of disconnection when returning to the world outside. The effect is probably mostly due to my eyes readjusting to strong daylight. But part of it was also my attempt to learn how to control the camera while it's pressed to my face. For the past several years, I've only used cameras without viewfinders. And I may continue to prefer only using the viewfinder on this camera in most situations. My photos often benefit from the vague framing encouraged by a dim-ish viewscreen a foot away from my face: I'm still looking at the "real thing" and gently facilitating the capturing of a facsimile. I love a mannered, hyper-intentional looking composition, but I have reams of those pictures and I'm trying to move on.

Being. In the place where I happen to be making pictures, happened during this outing. Not so far from the entrance is a fascinating, whirling grove of trees and graves I hadn't encountered before. The peculiar jumble of elements seems unique. It felt anchored by the one grande dame pictured here. For lack of better phrasing, the energy was palpable. The stuff of feng shui. Sprezzatura maybe. I'll be back to examine how the feeling evolves with the seasons.