when space speaks

While looking through my photos I see a pattern: I'm either zooming way in for the smallest hint of detail or pulling way back to gather in the view. 

I've mentioned negative space here before, and how I love the freedom of it. White space lets your mind wander. So, how does empty space in portraits help tell a story? There is emotion in the distance of it. The tinyness of them out in the big world. The hint of hands being held. The farawayness of conversations shared.

Today give yourself some space, and put your loved ones right in the middle of it. See what it does for your story and theirs. Share your thoughts and images in the comments!

Making space

1. l i g h t h o u s e., 2. 334 :: 365, 3. Magnitude, 4. DSC_4769, 5. in my rear view, 6. 1/52

From the Shutter Sisters book:

Negative space: "The space around and between the subject(s) of an image. The use of negative space, as a balance to the subject(s), gives the viewer’s eye a place to rest and is an important element to the overall composition of an image."

It also creates stunning, powerful images like the ones shown above from the Shutter Sisters Flickr pool.

When we shift focus, mindfully crafting the composition of our shots, we are given the opportunity to find a new harmony, and to fully reinvent them. Today slow down and pay more attention to the space and energy around your subjects. You might be surprised.

white space

In photography, white space (also known as negative space) is used to create a balanced and harmonious image. It is defined as "the space between elements in a composition." What I love most is that it's ever changing, depending on how you look at the world and move your camera. There is a certain stretching of my brain that comes with this thought, that nothing is constant. And with that is comfort in knowing everything is in relation to the edge of the image. 

There is a certain dreaminess that is achieved with composition in photography. It exists only as a place within the frame. And if you are like me, it gives you room to breathe and space to think. It comes as no surprise then, that I am drawn to white space when I look through my camera. It's true what they say:  negative space can have a positive effect.

Annie Leibovitz was right, there is nothing wrong with white space. So, tell me, how do you view the world around you? Look for space in your photography today ... and share with us what you find.

when necessity breeds resolution

A stove, hot enough, becomes effortless. You rake the embers and a new rush of heat floods its belly, ready to consume without coaxing.

Lately I've pointed my camera at negative space. I've exaggerated the rule of thirds and contemplated emptiness. It's a new January of a new year. I've got eleven months to write a novel I've only started with napkin scribbles. I need emptiness. Emptiness makes every new thing possible.

Negative space lives in a hungry belly. That kind of flame eats the air—you can see it. In the vaccuum of the stove, at that degree of heat, the very lack of oxygen burns. Embers on the bottom. A log in its bed, almost superfluous. And a fire that swirls high above, licking its own cast-iron ceiling.

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The new years' resolutions of others put me in a quiet frame of mind. I never make them. I read about it from a distance as though the whole concept doesn't apply to me. Which could be a fancy way of saying I don't like publicly aspiring to stuff I might never achieve. Which is a fancy way of saying I am a noncommital chickenshit. Fair enough. For whatever reason, the new year has always meant more to me as the the beginning of winter's downhill slide towards spring than as the some new era of betterment.

This year feels different.

I've got a lot to do. I've got to shuffle my life around in order to do it. Issues of logistics and time and motivation aside, I'm in a state of waiting for the smiles and shoulder-taps of ghosts. That's how it feels, anyway. Muse-like whispers that crop up as soon as you get out of your own way. A story that begins to feed on its own without coaxing.

I'd grimace if you made me call it a resolution, but it's something to do with the word discipline. Which doesn’t play well with words like stuck or paralyzed or doughy or twitter. It's the discipline of prepping my creative belly. To get it as hot and as empty as I possibly can.

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If your creativity during the upcoming year could take shape—or if the space that accommodates it could take shape—what would it look like? Show us.

the silver lining of emptiness

Here's something I need more of in life.

Space.

Just space.

Look what leaps out of space. Stretching, possibility, deep breath. Unbidden shape.

I don't mean space as das spielzimmer space. Or even the metaphorical space granted by Friday night toddlers-only pizza parties at grammy and grampa's house. I'm talking about the kind of contentedness of spirit that causes the head to empty so that new things—ideas, muses, inspirations—simply go SPROING! as they should: like a projection. A thing that gives you a poke. Or that drips languorously, catching the light, catching attention.

Space is what allows a SPROING! to turn from drop to glistening pool. Sometimes it's simply time. Sometimes it's a fleeting moment of true self-love. Self-confidence. Faith in oneself. Or perhaps a newfound moxie, one that finally has you shake off those harrumphing, cynical voices that hiss that's silly or that's not worth your time or that'll never go anywhere, so why bother?

Is negative space a positive for you, too? Does yours crop up like a surprise, or is it intentional? How does emptiness amplify the sliver of what you frame in portraiture, nature, landscape, still? How's it make you feel to tilt your camera—and your notion of what's possible—that much further than convention prescribes? Show us.