Mad Dogs and Englishmen ~

Only mad dogs and, if we are to believe Noel Coward, Englishmen go out in the noonday sun. I am neither. I don't like it out there. We Oregonians come in two stripes: those who soldier through the gray months to revel in our hot, sunny summers, and those who are just the opposite. Contrarians like me.

But I come to this sad state of affairs more or less honestly. I'm not a complainer -- Northwesterners seldom are, though we'd be easily excused should we start -- but aside from the heat and glare, the light quality positivity sucks. Speaking as a (albeit grumpy) photographer, I find that less of a challenge and more of an annoyance. It's not chasing light, it's being chased by it. There's little to recommend in hard, blocked-out shadows, and even less in squinty light where color and texture lay down to die. It's boring. It's hot. I need beer.

This past week, however, provided a brief respite from the solar ennui. It so happens that a big chunk of British Columbia (home, one might imagine, to more than its fair share of both mad dogs and Englishmen) is ablaze, and all that smoke has blown southward our way. The skies flattened out into a watercolor backdrop, muting both color and depth. Sunsets took on an appearance I can only imagine are commonplace on Mars. Emphysema be damned; I'm walking around in this with my camera.

The grayness and the rain and the lovely cool temperatures will return, as they always do. The colors will soften out and umbrellas will make an appearance. Herein lies the great unfettered joy of wandering about, seeking out those remarkable visual stories that the world puts forth when it rains. I stop whining, or at least cut back on it considerably. By October, it's photography perfection as the brilliant fall colors wrap themselves in a muted autumn sky. (It's also baseball's post-season and the return of hockey, otherwise known as my High Holy Days.)

Art is about passion, in photography and in all else. No matter what philosophical road I may choose to follow this day or that, it boils down to this: my passion is chasing that elusive, quiet, enveloping light.

And going out in the noonday rain.