the surreality of winged flight


Since you’re a follower of this blog, you’ll typically get to see work in progress. I won’t post this on my pro site or any other social media until I wrap up editing of several other images that I’ll likely release closer together.

The images we shot earlier this week were meant to embrace a sort of surrealism. I wanted strong clean lines, to emphasize pretty beauty and airiness.

I didn’t know the cloud cover would be like this, and I never expected to get the birds behind this shot.

But it happened. And I love it.

I’m pushing the hell out of the highlights and whites of this image to create a sense of other worldliness.

For me, it works. It works really well. Click to enlarge.

Image shot on Hasselblad H3D-31, 80 mm, 1/500th (to overpower the sun), f/11, ISO 100.

Wait, I am or am not Clive Owen?

Last night, in a nightmare, I was living within the world of a movie.

The characters were a man and a woman, and the man reminded me of Clive Owen, a British actor known for Children of Men, Sin City, etc.

In the dream, the man and woman were married, and the man decided he’d leave a party or a dinner party early. He drove separately, and Owen was tired. He told his wife he was leaving to go home.

He told her to stay at the dinner, and come home whenever.

As an unseen onlooker, I went with Owen’s character. In the car, Owen’s face was illuminated by the dashboard of what seemed like a BMW. I remember looking at him, and the sequence was as if I were a camera shooting him in a movie. His phone rang and I could tell from the one-sided conversation that he was talking to his wife. The subject matter was as boring as what color shirt the wife should wear to an upcoming event.

“I’m tired. I’m going home. I’m driving. We can talk about this tomorrow,” barked Owen. Meanwhile, from the backseat, I got the feeling Owen wasn’t going home. He was going to a lover’s house. I was an outsider. But Owen’s behavior was suspicious to me.

When he pulled into a driveway and up to a garage, it seemed that I was wrong. This was his house. And Owen parked his car outside the garage, as usual, or so I was convinced in my dream.

When Owen got out of the car, I became him. I was no longer an onlooker. It was dark, and the only light came from a nearby street lamp.

As I walked up a short flight of stairs and toward the door of the house, a person in black rushed out of the darkness and he was striking me with a bat or baton.

In the dream, I started screaming and finally I heard Tina saying, “Jeremy! Jeremy! You’re screaming. You’re dreaming, hun.”

I gasped and screamed a bit more. I think it was at least 4 times in the dream and once outside the dream.