Posts tagged photography

Between Two Worlds

A very still and quiet morning on Star Lake, NY. Kodak PixPro WPZ2

The alarm wakes me up at 5:45 am.

Breathe in life.

The rain drips from pine boughs above and plonks out a metronome on the corrugated steel roof. Each metallic tock a punctuation point on a reason to stay in bed.

It's still raining.
The day is going to be overcast.
It's still dark out.
This is going to be a waste of time.

I'd made myself a promise: to push out past my comfort zone.

So I pull back sleep warmed sheets, step out into the still damp air, and feel around for the clothes I set out the night before. I hit start on the coffee maker, gently latch the front door as I sling my camera over my shoulder, and make my way dockward.

I explore the potential of puddles as I walk along the little road that leads to the switchback down to the water. The indifferent sky overhead casts the world in a muddy monotone of blue grey and grey blue.

The path down to the lake is carpeted in tan pine needles. They spice the air with their scent as they crunch beneath my morning shod feet. Through a widow in the trees ahead I can see the water reflecting in the faint grey light. It is blanketed by a wispy fog that is blowing steadily westward.

Fleeting.

Already the fog is lifting and with it goes the last traces of sleep that cloud my head. My pace quickens. The fog is lifting rapidly and there is still a ways to go before I'm out on the water.

Heron-legged, I insinuate myself from the dock into the rocking kayak. I do a knobby kneed dance trying to keep the boat still in the water, get myself in the boat, and my camera in the boat and not in the water.

Paddling backwards into a three point turn, I wonder if that is a water droplet tickling my leg hairs like a spider.

As I straighten out my boat in the water I catch my first photograph.

I am caught between two worlds. Facing west the sun is at my back and the landscape before me is a pastel drawing. The fog moves like torn gauze, wrapping itself around the houses tucked away into the hillsides along the shore.

First few images are with my waterproof Kodak PixPro WPZ2 since I had nervously wrapped up my vintage SLR in a plastic zip lock bag. 6:11 am according to the timestamp.

Over my shoulder the sun has yet to rise from the east. It doesn't arrive with a pinkening but with a roaring flame, dressing the horizon with orange light and casting the dawn cloaked pine trees in shadow.

Shot with a Kodak PixPro WPZ2 at 6:04 am.

The fog retreats steadily across the lake as I chase after it. I am thinking quickly. Trying to frame the background with the shoreline. I'm learning as I go to make sure the last stroke I take with my paddle will drift my bow in the direction I want my camera to aim. Otherwise, by the time I've dropped my paddle and grabbed my camera, I have just enough time to watch my shot drift out of the frame.

I’m not into the film vs. digital debate, but in this case I think film wins out. Film grain and fog make for painterly images. I love this one. 35mm Kodak Gold 200 in a Sears KS 500 SLR.

The wind starts to pick up as I make my way out into the middle of the lake. The sun has risen all the way over the far hills and is kissing the cheeks of houses on the far shore, lighting them up like a Winslow Homer painting.

I take another picture, lower my camera, ratchet the film advance to the next frame, and it sticks.

36 exposures.

I only brought the one roll of film. An hour hasn't passed since I got in the boat.

I paddle around for another hour taking pictures with my little digital camera. In my race to capture the sunrise I realize I'm so busy recording everything that I'm not actually paying attention. I don't want this to be something I remember looking through a camera at. I want to remember it with my skin.

The feeling of the sun warming my face. The ripe peach glow it makes behind my eyelids as I close my eyes, set down my paddle, and let the wind carry me.

The last frame I shot before setting down my paddle and drifting for a while. Kodak PixPro WPZ2

I think those are the photographs that mean the most to me from this trip. The ones I chose not to take. They live only inside me. The sound of the morning water lapping at my hull. The breeze as it caresses my temples. The feeling of being exactly where I wanted to be, and a touch of melancholy knowing that soon I will open my eyes and paddle back to the shore.

Jordan LeeSeptember 8, 2026Star Lake, Adirondacks, analog, 35mm film, lake, photographyComment

Holding Loosely

Star Lake, NY. I’ve photographed this house many times. Never really getting what I wanted. I was aiming for a retro camp vibe. 35mm ORWO Wolfen NC 500 on a Sears KS 500 SLR.

I've been thinking a lot lately around this idea of holding things loosely.

I tend to grip everything in my life with a white knuckled intensity. I don't want to fuck up. I want to enjoy it right. I want to explain it properly. I want to get out of it what I wanted to get out of it. I want to control the outcome. That's how this trip started out. For the first few days I couldn't get in step with being on vacation. I felt restless. I took my camera with me wherever I went. I spent a lot of time squinting though my viewfinder and shaking my head. Nothing looked the way I wanted it to. I felt like I wasn't vacationing right.

Wanakena, NY. 35mm ORWO Wolfen NC 500 on a vintage Sears KS 500 SLR.

Thursday night was different.

We had our big communal dinner, friends and family sitting shoulder to shoulder, on a rickety screened in porch while a thunderstorm broke over our heads. The rain misted in through the mesh of the screen windows and settled on my shoulders while we ate. Something changed.

As we cleared the table the sun started to set, right as the storm clouds passed. The sky lit up pale yellow. I knew I wanted to see what it looked like down by the lake.

I'd been on a kayak for the first time in my life that morning. So I felt a little nervous sliding the boat into the water alone, like a little kid doing something I didn't get permission for.

Star Lake, NY. Little red house again. Different light. Camera: Kodak PixPro WPZ2

Paddling out onto the water I could see the sun setting just behind the hills to my right. I paddled further out into the lake to get a better look past Scott's Point. When I came around the bend the sun was lighting up the swirling remnants of the storm.

I'd found what I was looking for.

Sometimes you just have to show up and see what happens.

Star Lake, NY. I was pretty happy with this shot, but it is foreshadowing a picture to come. Shot on a Kodak PixPro WPZ2.

Star Lake, NY. There are a few islands out on the lake with vacation homes tucked away on them. You have to get there by boat. Camera: Kodak PixPro WPZ2

Star Lake, NY. This little white boat house will be showing up again as well. Camera: Kodak PixPro WPZ2

Jordan LeeSeptember 3, 2026photography, analog, 35mm film, photo trips, Star Lake, New York, AdirondacksComment

A Second Narrative

One hot day in the middle of a summer two decades ago I received my art degree in the mail. When it arrived I was either away at work, a bar job I got while in college, or was asleep, because I was in my twenties and worked at a bar. I didn't go to my graduation.

A few weeks prior I'd had my final critique with my photography professor and mentor. The meeting was supposed to be a review of the work I'd done during the independent study course I'd taken that year. What followed was a three hour meeting in which we didn't really talk about the art I'd made. Instead Masumi asked me what I was planning for my future and repeatedly told me "Go to grad school. Don't do anything else. Don't stop along the way. You need to go to grad school."

I had another important conversation that week. I told my boss that I loved working for him, loved my job, but even with all the hours I was working and all the cutting back I'd done I couldn't afford to pay my rent. I told him I wanted to keep working for him if he could help me figure out a way to stay. He made me a bartender.

So I didn't go to grad school. I became a bartender. I don't remember giving up on my dreams. I just took one little step away from them, one day at a time, each necessary.

At some point I convinced myself that this was what being a grown up was like. Art was something I used to do. It wasn't a career. Careers are serious, hard, and require sacrifice. So I sacrificed.

It took me ten years to reach my limit. Working at a restaurant when I was in my twenties felt exciting and adult. Working the same job in my thirties, when I wanted to own a house and start a family, felt different. I was tired of missing New Years, Mother's Day, Saturday nights, Sunday mornings. I'd had my head down for so long, taking one necessary step at a time, that when I finally looked up I realized I didn't know where I was going.

So I quit.

I started Wright & Rede. A place where I could be creative, but sell things. Serious things that people could use. Adult things. Not art. Practical things.

In doing so I had to learn social media. How to promote and market myself. I started documenting my work. Business stuff. Not art. I was selling a product.

But sometimes, when I had my camera out, the light would hit just right or I'd be driving my son home from preschool and we'd stop at a park. I'd bring my camera with me just in case there were some pictures I could take to help define my brand. Definitely not for making art.

Then another decade passed and now I'm making art. To be clear, I wasn't making art. I stopped, but now I was making art again. Which I wasn't doing before. Definitely.

And then.

Last night I was looking through all of those pictures. The ones I took because the light was nice. The ones I shot when I had my camera out. The ones to show my kids what I used to use when I made art.

There, hidden in with all the pictures I'd taken telling my narrative of Wright & Rede, was a second narrative. A story about a parent. Someone who stopped to watch the sunrise. Celebrated the bitter sweet moments of watching his children grow up. Knowing that these were moments we'd never be able to return to. Memories we were living in. Pictures where the light was just right, the composition was perfect, and it all came together with how it made me feel. When combined it made something more than the sum of its parts. Art.

I am an artist. I always have been.

Looking back now I can see an unbroken chain of pictures. Taken when my guard was down. When I thought they didn't matter. Just because. Capturing this fleeting feeling I have. To savor life, all the little quiet moments, because they are always slipping away and I can never have them back.

It has taken me twenty years to understand what Masumi was trying to tell me. Don't stop. Take it seriously. Take the next step, but in the right direction.

Growth and learningJordan LeeMarch 20, 2024photography, growth, artComment

Untapped resources

It happened. I finally broke down and bought a real digital camera. While this might not be so significant to a lot of people this is a big deal for me. Photography is my lost love. I've been taking pictures since I was thirteen. I have a degree in photography. I also haven't had a functioning camera in almost ten years. I'm sure you are wondering what kind of person goes to school for photography and then puts down the camera when they graduate? Well, I am.

I could give you a bunch of excuses: I had bills to pay, not enough time, the economy fell apart and no one wanted to buy art. That is not the point of all this. The point isn't even that I'm going to start taking pictures again. The point is why.

When I started this business I knew I had a wide array of skills that I was hoping would some how translate into income. I was good at working with my hands. Leather work was my focus at the time. So leather work is what I started with. Once I launched my business I began to realize that I had a lot more skills I could be taking advantage of. Skills I never really thought about until I needed them. My background in photography has allowed me to not only take quality photographs of my work (I can not stress how important a good photograph is when marketing on the internet. Your product is only as good as what people can see on their screens after all.) but to write a story about who I am with my images. No one wants to read about how hard my day was. A picture, taken from my point of view (feet up, beer in hand, as the sun is setting) instantly conveys a message and lets the viewer stand in my shoes for just a minute.

Then I started to realize that I had a lot of other skills that were underutilized. My years spent as a bartender helps me to engage just about anyone I meet. Talking to strangers is hard, but because of my years in the service industry I do it without a second thought. I could even argue that my high school English classes are finally paying off. Having been drilled over and over again on how to express myself clearly (Thanks, Mrs. Morgan) I am able to write in an intelligible manner.

My point is that when I dreamed up this job it was one dimensional: Leather worker. In reality it is more like: Leather Worker (photography and bar tending experience required. Must also have a working knowledge of basic construction, inventory management, journalism, and bad jokes). So what skills do you have that you could be taking better advantage of? Did you really like statistics in school? Did you take dance classes? Are you a horse whisperer? Maybe it is time to take inventory and make sure you are taking advantage off all of your assets, not just the ones in front of you. After all, if your business reflects who you are as a person shouldn't it reflect all that you are capable of?

Growth and learningJordan LeeJuly 22, 2013bar tending, Cleveland Flea, digital camera, photography, potential, untapped skillsComment