Tag Archives: Tulips

Hocus Crocus!

Holy Springtime, Batman! Its that time of year! Tonight everyone is supposed to set all of their clocks forward an hour to be in line with daylight savings time. Why the planet adheres to this antiquated practice of messing with time (and circadian rhythms) is beside me, however not to be outdone, Mother Nature sent some of her finest blooms up early for all of us to enjoy.

If your know the signs of Spring, there are two flowers to look for: Crocuses and Forsythia. The latter is hard to come by in New York, but there were crocuses aplenty in my old garden in Midtown. They peeked their brightly colored heads out from underneath the fall leaves in little flurries of spring color.

The Daffodils decided to join in on the party, and trumpeted the coming arrival of the vernal equinox with a splash of goldenrod and cream. Their skinny leaves fluttered in the breeze.

I made a new friend in the garden named Jamie, and he has been a resident of Hell’s Kitchen for decades. He told me about his ritual of recording the passing seasons through photos in the garden. We agreed that our little, gated slice of heaven was a perfect timekeeper for the seasons.


A ring of Tulips slowly began to unfurl their velvety bezier curve leaves in the shade of the giant Tulip Magnolia tree in the center of the garden. The bees have not woken up from their slumber yet, so it is only these hearty perennials who have arrived without their presence.


Together, these tiny flowers have set the seasonal clock in motion with their Springtime festival of color and light. The year began a few months ago, but it is now that 2012 really comes to life. The colorful clarion call of the Crocus banishes the winter, and brings an end to the bitter cold.

Spring is here. Finally.

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Twilight Tulips

I went for a walk very early the other morning and saw something special in the garden through the iron fence: tulips that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.

Usually, tulips, crocuses, and forsythia as the heralds of the spring and the sun light. Some moonlight still appeared to linger on the flower petals as they waited for the sun to rise.

I had to be still to take photos of them in the early light and be careful to capture their beauty as it was. The grain on the images is almost velvety.

The air was cool and slightly most. Little birds warbled and chattered early songs and we all waited for the sun to rise.


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Nighttime Flowers + Nature’s Beziers

The Hell’s Kitchen Garden is always a source of inspiration for me. No matter the time of year, or time of day, there is always something new to see, and a new angle to take on things I’ve seen before.

I try and apply the same ability to visualize events and situations in life in the same manner. I am always trying to think from different perspectives to take in more possible outcomes for the things that may happen. As flighty as I may seem, at times I can be quite calculating.

Tonight I felt that my macro lens needed a workout, and set out for the garden just before it got dark. My beloved 50mm 1.4 lens seems to always be attached to my camera, so it was time for a switch. The golden hour had already passed, but the plants were still bathed in the last fading rays of the sun. They glowed.

The crocuses had blared their final fleeting trumpets already and gave way to periwinkles, lamb’s ears, and tulips. It was their night to shine in the darkness. Luckily, I had brought along my Gorillapod to take longer exposures in the waning light. It took a few tries to get the formula for the night correct and decide on a pleasing exposure, but the results are a perfect blend of the ethereal and the earthly.

I didn’t need a flash, ring light, or even much ambient light to set the mood for these small shots, because the graceful curves of the rising tulips were most inspiring to me. It took humans millennia to concoct bezier curves of their own for the jet stream era in the 50’s, but nature had been growing them all along.

Phi, fractals, and other sacred geometry within nature are the true roots of human creativity, and through their elegant symphony all beauty we create is called into existence in homage to that which came before us and what is to come.

Pause and consider the meaning of why our own veins mirror the branches and roots of the trees give us life. There is no reason to look further than our divine connection to nature for inspiration and meaning.

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