Heiwa Koen (Again and Again)

I follow about 600 people on Instagram now, the majority of whom are photographers. I do this to make connections, get content and location ideas, and to spur myself to keep striving for improvement. Sometimes, though, it feels masochistic. I see photos taken in exotic locations that get hundreds of likes (I average 50 or 60) and think, a tad bitterly perhaps, "I could take a great photo too, if I were in that location at that time of day." For example, someone might post a portrait of a woman in a red dress sitting on rocks at the beach at sunset, or a hiker topping a mountain summit at daybreak, or dancers at a Tokyo club in the middle of the night. Of course, time and location alone don't guarantee a good photo, but they can definitely provide a good start. I suppose I could rearrange my lifestyle, change my sleeping hours, and spend less time with my family at home in order to do more shoots in exotic locations, but I am a creature of habit, and I like my routines, so instead, I mostly just shoot what's around me, including whatever I can find in the park next to the school I teach at, Heiwa Koen. If I leave my house at 5:20 in the morning, instead of 5:50, I can get in 30 minutes before school, which is about as efficient as shoots go. One advantage to spending a lot of time in the SAME location is you get to know the location. You know where to go at what time to get certain shots, so you can check the weather and plan accordingly. There is one area in the park with flower beds that contain blooming flowers, no matter the season, whether tulips in early spring, or sunflowers in the summer. I don't know who plants them, but I often stop by there on my bike to see what is in bloom. Usually, I use my 35mm for its close-focusing ability. These tiny flowers, which look like little suns to me, are about the size of M&Ms.

Heiwa Koen is also home to many crows, and if I know it's going to be a cloudy day, I'll often grab my 70-200 telephoto lens instead of my 35 to catch their antics. There's something about crows on a cloudy day that speaks to me, and again, having spent a lot of time in the park, I usually know where to find them.

The Jizo statues scattered throughout the park are another favorite subject. They are guardians of travelers and people with ailments, and every one has a distinct face. There are thousands of them throughout the park, and if I go searching, I can find new ones every visit. Even as they become covered in lichens and moss over time, their peaceful unchanging expressions are a comfort to me.

Since getting my 35mm lens with close-focusing abilities last year, I've felt my photographic focus shift. I pay more attention now to the world of the very small. I've realized that changing the scale you use to view the world is another form of travel, and one that doesn't involve trains and massive expenditures of time and money. This ladybug was in a small, unremarkable field with a few scattered wildflowers in the park. Previously, the field would never have caught my attention. At first glance, there's nothing there. But if you sit down, get close to the ground, look around and wait... you start to notice that the field is actually full of bugs, ants, tiny flowers, and little dramas playing out all around you.

Of course, Heiwa Park also attracts humans. I tend to be a bit shy about taking candid shots of people, but these fisherman didn't seem concerned with my presence, so I indulged myself. By chance, I'd brought my telephoto lens that day (probably intending to shoot crows) so I was able to sit at a distance and wait for something to happen. It didn't take too long for one guy to hook a funa, which my dictionary says is a type of carp, though they are not colorful like their famous koi cousins.

None of these photos are particularly dramatic, nor likely to garner the type of response on Instagram that photos taken in more dramatic locations do. But, hopefully my "local" perspective will appeal to some viewers, and I can reveal aspects of the park that a one time visitor would likely miss. I'll probably continue to feel the occasional twang of envy as I view dramatic images in my Instagram feed, but I realize that it's also possible people will look at these photos and envy my time spent in this comfortable and familiar little neighborhood park.

Lightning Storm in Nagakute 長久手市での稲妻

Last Friday, after hours spent editing photos from a portrait session with two dance instructors, I was in bed by about 9:30, ready to catch up on some sleep, when I heard the far-off sound of thunder. The soft, distant rumbling was soothing at first, a sound of summer, like cicadas and the pop of fireworks. But, gradually the thunder grew louder and more frequent, and I noticed the room starting to light up, even with the curtains closed. I considered closing the sliding glass door and turning on the AC to cut out the sound, but something told me this was going to be a big storm, and the shutterbug in me started to get excited. So instead, I got up and started getting my camera gear ready. By the time I had my camera and tripod set up in the stairwell of our condo, the strikes in the distance were coming pretty regularly.  I used the intervalometer on my 7D so that I could take continuous 6 second shots, with a one second gap between them. Generally, when trying to photograph lightning in Japan, I might capture one strike for every 20 or 30 dark frames, IF I happened to have my camera facing in the right direction. Even with my wide lens (24mm), I can only observe a smallish cut of sky at a given time, and trying to guess where the next strike will come is a challenge, but on this day there were so many strikes coming that my hit rate (as well as my miss rate) was much higher. At first the strikes were fairly far off, and mostly hidden behind the clouds.

But, as they continued to get closer and more frequent, I realized this was a rare sort of storm, and decided to get my other camera going as well, so I could cover more of the sky. My 6D doesn't have an intervalometer, so I set it to 8 seconds, pushing the shutter manually every time an exposure finished. When processing, I tried both color and black and white, and liked both. I liked the cool of the sky against the warm lights of the city in the color photos, but I thought the black and white had more drama and emphasized the lightning bolts better.

Finally, the locus of the strikes passed right over us. I dropped the exposure settings on both cameras by another stop to compensate for the increased intensity of the light from the bolts, but even with that the strikes were so bright that I had to underexpose even more in post production. Our whole building shook as the bolts dropped around us. This was by far the best session I've had shooting lightning, and despite getting so many shots, there were many more that I missed. Still, it was a very satisfying night, and I ended up being so excited that I didn't get to bed until after midnight. So much for catching up on sleep.

The Jizo of Heiwa Koen 平和公園の地蔵

If you spend any time in Japan, it doesn't take long to notice the little stone statues tucked away here and there in the woods, and at shrines and in cemeteries. These are Jizo, statues of Buddhist divinity. They are benevolent deities who can be guardians for travelers, guides for lost souls, or protectors of children. I love their calm, quiet presence, and am always happy to find them.

Heiwa Park, with its massive cemetery, has many Jizo scattered among the gravestones. There must be thousands throughout the park, enough that I find new ones every time I visit. Often, the Jizo are adorned with hats and bibs (usually red). They are adorned in memory of children who have passed at too young an age, or in thanks for children who have been saved. The hats and bibs protect the Jizo from the elements, and also serve as a way for parents to mourn the passing of their loved ones.

There are other sections of the cemetery that are less visited, and the Jizo in these areas, having been less attended to, often take on a more organic look.

I love how the moss and lichen add color to their faces, and help them to blend into their natural environment.

Looking at their benevolent faces, their expressions impervious to the ravages of weather and time, always makes me happy.

Update: I went again to Heiwa Koen and discovered more Jizo.

Heiwa Koen (No Crows) 平和公園(カラス抜き)

Diligent followers of my blog will know that I am fond of crows, and often stop off at Heiwa Koen on my way to school in the mornings to photograph them. Usually, I use my long lens for this so I can have the crows be larger in the frame. But, one morning last week, I decided to change my routine and went to Heiwa Koen with only my 50mm lens, and a plan to photograph things other than crows. I only have about 20 minutes for these morning sessions, so I usually just stick to one small area of the park. I lock up my bike, pull out my camera, and see what I can see. During early spring and late fall, I often head for the trees to get photos of the cherry blossoms or fall colors, but this time I decided to just walk around among the gravestones, and look for small details, like kanji etched in stone, and cobwebs on bushes that remind me of trees enshrouded in fog..

There are also various Jizo statues throughout the cemetery, there to help people with their health, success in life, childbirth... I always enjoy their calm presence.

As well, there are plants and flowers in and around the gravestones, some planted by park visitors, and some natural. In the background of the photo with the butterfly is the Muen-zuka, a burial mound for people who died without relatives to pay for and tend to their graves. It is surrounded by flowers and Jizo to watch over the ashes of the forgotten souls within.

Limiting myself to a particular lens and area makes me work harder to find things of interest, and to look for patterns or perspectives that I might not notice at first glance, like this splash of green showing through a hole in a small stone monument in the park. (Of course, there were also crows, but having only my 50 made it easier to not obsess on them.)