2020. Oy.
Usually, my year-in-review posts are filled with exciting travel photos, epic landscapes, and vibrant New York street scenes.
I also usually have free time, you know, to take pictures.
But with lockdown/kindergarten-homeschooling/working-from-home/raising a newborn… you can see where I’m going here. My wanderlust these days is to someday be able to go to Costco again.
So I was pleasantly surprised to find that, despite this complete dumpster fire of a year, there were still some good photos to come out of it. I was expecting a D, and am relieved to present you with a solid C+.
The most interesting part of this annual collection is trying to make sense of it all. What does this random collection of fleeting moments say about the whole year?
(Yikes.)
Despite never showing anything overtly related to the pandemic (no facemasks, social distancing, etc.) this collection is a surprisingly and unintentionally good reflection of my year.
Our dog passed away in January. Seven days later, my wife gave birth to a beautiful baby daughter. A few weeks after that was COVID, quarantine, washing bananas in the sink, the end of our lease in Brooklyn, and a new chapter in the New York suburbs.
You don’t need a psych degree to make sense of the themes in these images. Solitude, chaos, tunnel vision. Darkness. A literal rollercoaster. An old life out of focus and disappearing in the rearview mirror. New beginnings. Glimmers of hope.
When shelter-in-place orders were announced in March, we left New York and moved to my in-law’s house in Maryland for three months. Needing to create, but with none of my go-to subjects to work with, I found inspiration in one place I’ve never really looked before: nature.
I’ve frankly never understood the appeal of flower photography. But with a social-distancing-friendly Botanical garden nearby, I put on a macro lens and some extension tubes and dove in, spending nights studying flower photography tutorials on YouTube and early mornings practicing with new blooms around the yard.
I realized, despite the still-life scenes, I could try to approach flowers like street photography. I tried to create images with energy and movement. To find subjects with personality. To capture that elusive quality that Jay Maisel calls “gesture.”
I took hundreds of nice, quiet portraits of single flowers. But it was the frenetic, busy frames that drew my eye the most.
Maybe it was just a symptom of missing the crowds and chaos of New York. A desperate, frustrating longing to recreate the feeling of a rush-hour F train when all I had in front of me was a field full of daisies.
You can take the photographer out of New York, but you can’t take the New York out of the photographer.
Without further ado, here’s a look back at the very best photos of the very worst year.
Click on any of the images below to see them large in Lightbox mode.
I took this photo in SoHo in early January. I liked the way the geometry of the signs and the buildings lined up perfectly. I also liked the tension of everything pulling you in opposite directions. It felt like a Fred Herzog, Stephen Shore, or Joel Meyerowitz composition.
Now, looking back at this photo, it has something else that I couldn't see when I took it back in January: it feels like foreshadowing.
I took this rollercoaster photo on the same day as the clam. Little did I know how heavy-handed of a metaphor this would be.
I took a few angles of this roadside prayer stop, but I liked this one best - the way the building became 2-dimensional and how the telephone pole shadow formed a cross, pointing to the lawn chair pews. I also like how dark and ominous the rest of the scene feels - the sunlit building a beacon of light for anyone needing to pull over and take a minute.
When shelter-in-place orders were announced at the end of March, we moved to Maryland to live with my in-laws. We set up a temporary work-from-home space by a window in their bedroom, overlooking the woods. This was the view from my desk. It was mesmerizing to watch the forest come to life as winter turned to spring. In the evenings, the sun dipped behind the trees and the new leaves on the tulip poplars lit up like strings of fairy lights.
As I started to find my style in flower photography, I experimented with getting closer and using an extremely shallow depth of field. I liked the way the soft-focus created a sense of movement and a more painterly look. It also turned the process of making images into more of a scavenger hunt - to find and emphasize individual petals, unique details, and tiny graphic elements.
This bit of hot pink on the tip of this peony petal was the only color variegation on the whole flower.
Good photos are everywhere. This yellow cosmos flower was growing next to the driveway.
One of the unexpected joys of quarantine was taking hikes through the woods with our daughter. It was a whole new world for a city kid. We found morel mushrooms and deer, patches of bluebells and this creek filled with hundreds of tadpoles.
We came back each week to check on the tadpoles and see how much they’d grown. (It was the only proof we had that time was actually passing)
I tried to take a picture to remember the ritual, but with the sky reflecting on the water, it was impossible to see the tadpoles. I held out my had to shade the glare and took this one photo. I ended up liking the image a lot more than I expected.
This peony is a slow-motion explosion.
Brookside Gardens has an amazing rose garden with hundreds of hybrid varietals, including this one, the “scentimental rose.” It looks like a graffiti artist snuck into the park overnight and tagged the petals. The way the stamen orbit around the center of the flower is hypnotizing.
Love-in-a-mist is a flower from the Nigella family. I’ve used the seeds for cooking before, but I’d never seen the flower. I must’ve taken 200 pictures of this one small patch. If they ever discover life on other planets, I wouldn’t be surprised at all to learn that every flower looks like this one.
With more common flowers like tulips, I had to find interesting ways to shoot them to make it even worth making a picture. After all, how many straight-on tulip photos does the world need? These tulips were growing in a tall planter, so I was able to get much lower and show them from a bug’s eye view.
Speaking of bugs, this little guy was weaving his way around the flower petals, munching on those crumb-sized pollen balls. I didn’t stick around, but I assume he went on to eat through one slice of chocolate cake, one ice-cream cone, one pickle, one slice of Swiss cheese, one slice of salami, one lollipop, one piece of cherry pie, one sausage, one cupcake and one slice of watermelon.
I love the energy in this shot. It feels like the flowers are sprouting before your eyes. To create the effect, I sandwiched the hero flower between blurred ones in both the foreground and the background.
All of the flowers in this little patch had straight stems except for this one squiggly one. This image feels more like a painting or botanical drawing than a photograph.
At the end of July, we left Brooklyn and moved to Westchester county. When autumn arrived, the fall colors were incredible. After living in cities for the last 20 years, it felt like l’d suddenly relocated to Vermont. There were still some leaves on the trees in mid-November, so we took a trip to Rockwood Hall Preserve, a former Rockefeller family estate along the banks of the Hudson River. I like the way the trail weaves through the forest, disappearing around the bend, way off in the distance. An S-curve that just keeps S-ing.
Flowers have both male and female reproductive organs. While looking for keywords to tag this image, I learned that the fuzzy bits are the male organs, called “anther,” which comes from the Greek word for “flowery or blooming.” But the word for the female reproductive organ (seen in-focus in the center here) is the “stigma.” Holy misogyny, botman.
During early quarantine, I started a little container garden patch with my daughter. We planted cherry tomato seeds on the kitchen counter in April, moved them outside in May and by June they started to bear fruit.
When I realized how the sun shining through the trees created this incredible glittery background, I took about 50 images of this little tomato. I had to make sure I got every little hair on the tomato vine sharp.
This great blue heron liked to hang out by the lake at Brookside Gardens. I set my camera to take 8 frames per second, waited and got lucky. The fish, unfortunately, did not. Tough year for seafood.
You can’t hear it, but the little daisy in the bottom left is saying “woohoo!”
This Rock Cranesbill belongs on that alien planet with the Love-in-a-mist.
Two weeks after moving to the suburbs, I bought a kayak and named it The S.S. Midlife Crisis. This was its maiden voyage.
I took this image during low tide at Marshlands Conservancy, a nature preserve in Rye. I liked the way the rock formations looked like cresting waves and how they mirrored the shape of the coastline.
I took this shot just a few minutes after the one above. These nearly-bare trees made an amazing silhouette against the gray sky. But it’s that one curvy tree among all the perfectly straight ones that makes the image. I don’t know if its trunk curves because it’s a different species of tree, or if it had to grow that way to find the white space among the crowd.
I took this photo December 13th as the sunset over Rye, our new hometown. This final shot of the year is the closest thing to a return to form of my usual work. Here’s hoping 2021 brings a lot more images like this one, and a lot fewer smashed clams.
I hope you enjoyed this year’s Year in Review. Thanks for reading! And if you want to see more, you can check out the other years in review:
2019’s Year in Review
2018’s Year in Review
2017’s Year in Review
2016's Year in Review
2105's Year in Review
2014's Year in Review.
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Happy New Year, all!