Happy Halloween!

Unidentified animal lurking in the shingles ...

Is he an alpaca? A floppy-eared giraffe? A long-necked bunny?

Whatever he is, I was startled when he suddenly emerged from his camouflaged location in Port Townsend, Washington.

Fun to see, fun to photograph. So I took two shots -- one full-frame for the overall effect, and one close-up for the details.

Clever art. Surprising art. Made my day.

Images copyright ©2019 Carol Leigh

Unintentional Art: Dumpsters

My talent (and my curse) is that I notice little things, details, the "small picture." And that I can see artistry where others see nothing.

Here's a good example. Dumpster art!

While in Florida a few years ago, I spotted a dumpster that had this most wonderful background color and texture. And someone or some thing had scraped/gouged it. The bluish color and the vibrant yellow were pretty terrific. But what made it "art" for me was the "half sun" there in the upper right.

Naturally, to the amusement of my friends, I had to stop and take a shot. Chris, my spouse, totally understood. (Which is why I love him.)

But before the Florida dumpster, there was this heavily textured one I saw in Newport, Oregon. To me, it looked like a collage, with a grungy background, a rectangle of bright red, and then the narrow brownish strip running vertically, holding everything together. A no-brainer. Click.

Interestingly, somewhere else along that long straight street in Newport, on a different day, I again noticed a dumpster. Taking a second look, the "art" looked remarkably similar. So I photographed that one, too. Comparing my photos later I saw that yes, it was the same damned dumpster, maybe a mile or two apart.

I am nothing if not consistent in my concept of what makes "art."

Images copyright ©2019 Carol Leigh.

Pigeon in the glass, alas . . .*

What is it about windows that attract us? Especially ones we can't peek through, on old buildings, and with broken glass?

They are a mystery, an unseen world, a view into something unknown. And if there's a pigeon on the windowsill, well, for a photographer that's BONUS!

Taken in Bellingham, Washington.

UPDATE: We were back in Bellingham a couple of days later and the windows are now all boarded up. Heavy sigh.

*With apologies to Gertrude Stein, for transmogrifying her famous poem, "Pigeons on the grass alas."

Photo copyright ©2019 Carol Leigh

Car shows this summer

The first article I ever had published was a photo essay in a travel magazine about car shows. Well, not about the shows, but about car “parts.” And the photos were pictures of hood ornaments, door handles, headlamps, etc.

My photographic predilections haven’t changed much since then, back in the early 1980s. I still immediately gravitate to the bits and pieces, rarely, very rarely, the entire car.

Here are a few images from the car shows Chris and I went to on Whidbey Island this summer. There are just four photos, actually, but two different versions of each. Why? Why feature both the full-frame image and a cropped, square version?

Two reasons. Instagram and marketing.

Instagram initially wanted pictures that were square. So that’s what I put there. Then they began accepting full-frame images. But all of my pictures I post online are in frames and they’re low-resolution. That’s on purpose. Makes them less liable to be stolen.

But a framed, non-square picture on Instagram gets chopped up and my pictures look stupid that way. So, square they remain.

And for marketing purposes, by offering my buyers on Fine Art America both a full-frame AND a square version, they have a choice. Easy.

Naturally, a lot of the pictures I make don’t work as squares, but some do, and here are four examples. All these pictures look good both in square and full-frame versions. You may prefer one over the other, but both versions look good. To me, at least!

Images Copyright ©2019 Carol Leigh

The white fawn story...with a happy ending

During the first week in May this year, a white fawn was born on or next to our property. We saw him all wobbly, trying to follow mom across our driveway. Here’s a link to that blog post: https://carolleigh.blogspot.com/2019/05/a-white-fawn-in-woods.html

The next time we saw him was July 18 and he had a very large wound on his right hindquarter. We figured maybe a coyote got to him. We worried.

Then on September 12, we saw that his wound was healing quite nicely. And finally, on October 7, it looked as though the wound had healed and he had no problem getting around.

I can tell by the pedicles appearing on his head that he is indeed a he. It’s going to be fun to watch him grow. Great story, no?

©2019 Carol Leigh

Motivation . . .

Although I've been creating art for a long time, there are times (more frequent than I'd like) when I feel completely uninspired, think that I've made nothing wonderful, I'm a failure, woe is me, etc.

I can snap myself out of it by viewing what I've made over the years, and Pinterest is a great place for me to do that.

There's nothing like seeing a LOT of my art spread out on one page. I see pictures I'd forgotten I'd made. I see pictures that I distinctly remember making and I wonder why I didn't keep on making a series of THAT.

Here's a link to my work on Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/caroleigh2013/carol-leigh-art/

I also see how scattered and varied my work is. Other artists have a "look," a "style" about their work that makes it immediately recognizable as theirs. So I worry that I don't have a style. But just briefly.

My attention span is apparently short. I get worn down and weird(er) if I'm making something that's similar to something I've previously made.

As a result, I've learned to embrace my scattered-ness and accept that this is who I am, and why force it?

My ever-growing Pinterest board is one way for me to show my work to a larger audience. It's also how I bump myself out of artistic self-pity and rejoice in what I've made over the years.

Do YOU have a Pinterest board that features your work and only your work? If so, let me know. I'd love to go over and take a look.

Copyright ©2019 Carol Leigh