We’re all dealt a hand. It’s up to us, how we play it.
Tag: photography
Real Photographer?
Can you tell us where you stand, on the debate, concerning the “real photographer”?
“I’d have to say, that is usually in the hot sun’.
This was a sticky page.
As administrator of this blog, I have tagged this page to make it my cover, until I decide to change it. I maintain a minimalist presence. My – who am I – and who I am not – was written in the embryonic stage, of this venture. It gives you a synapses synopsis, of Secondhand Surfer ~ unburdened by detail. That is the nature of this journal. It is the “essence” of.
My posts are photos and poems, opinions and confessions. At times I am cryptic, while at others, embarrassingly revealing.
The unexamined life is not worth living.
After thirteen years studying and pursuing a spiritual life, I chose to move beyond what I knew. I decided to Let Go, and leap forward into the unknown. I crossed the threshold of my front door, and began to navigate life, blindfold. Many years later, one day at a time, I continue surrendering to Providence. Continue reading “Real Photographer?”
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Surf Competition
The Circuito Guanacasteco de Costa Rica, held a local competition in Playa Tamarindo, not far from my home.
The first day we experienced twenty-five MPH winds. It was hard to stand up, much less, hold my camera still.
The second day was hot, and like a novice, I had no shade. I will never do that again.
But the week-end did have its perks. I got some good shots. I culled them. It’s tempting to show the big waves and spray, but I’ve got to learn my camera and get beyond the blur.
My favorite heats were the children and the long boarders. But I found myself drifting out of the competition area and shooting the everyday surfers.
Also, I met Fabian Sanchez, the photographer, for Surf Nation; a Costa Rican online Surf Magazine.
With all of this, now in my distant past, I am once again forced to ask myself, what do I want out of this. Why am I doing this? What is fun and what isn’t. I run to the internet to educate myself about settings and lenses.
There are a plethora of facets, to photography, like a cut diamond, it illuminates my soul.
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2013 in review
The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 9,800 times in 2013. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 4 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.
Click here to see the complete report.
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Andrew Broughton
Day 2 ~ A Butt Competition
Amelia is a beautiful city by the sea; but San Francisco it’s not. West Coast/East Coast….Big City/Small Town.
However, I can always find something to do.
Southerners take their Cook Offs very seriously, as you can see by the portable smoker.
And their sitting around.
This-Cook Team Hilliard-had a great set up.
I am a sucker for old cars.
And nothing in town would be complete without Felix.
After walking around, smelling the food cook and listening to the good ole’ bluegrass; I walked home with my Olympus TG-2
When I envision all the money invested in this hobby. I don’t feel so conscience-stricken about my own endeavors. Everyone needs something to do that they enjoy. Something that maybe no one else understands, but those that invest in a similar enthusiasm.
Big butts/little butts-Good butts/bad butts ~ How do they judge?
Good photos/bad photos?
The only bad photo is the one you don’t take. I had to get out there to get these pictures.
It’s comparable to a good wave that comes to you and you don’t go for it. You have to charge!
I’m not in San Francisco or New York or even Atlanta, but I live on an island that’s culture is as important as any.
I’m right where I belong.
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Page 3
Yesterday, I went to the long-awaited Sisters of the Sea-15th Annual-Surf Contest. I had the shortest lens, of any serious photographer. Maybe, that’s why no one saw me as serious. Maybe, that’s why every time I set up to get good shots, three or four spectators would position themselves in front of me.
This morning I had a friend send a message, informing me that there were waves. When I walked out the front door, past my fading zinnias, my eyes focused on the white rock in my yard, my nose detected that smell.
It’s a bit like the bottom of a dirty garbage can. Alright! I knew the waves were going to be better than I thought. The wind was coming out of the west, blowing the paper mill pollution across the island, like incinerator dust blown out of a burning garbage bin.
Don’t tell anyone, the pollution here is our secret.
Come to think of it, so are the waves.
