Nature's Botanical Sand Art
(My little photo project during the pandemic - 9 of these images are published in Lenswork No.151, Feb 2021 Issue)
Living in Southern California and primarily as a landscape photographer, seascapes are perennial favorite subjects. A well-known local beach, however, had never appealed to me for serious photography. Although it sits at the foot of a picturesque state park, the beach itself lacks visual characters for conventional landscape compositions. In other words, it is too “ordinary”. I enjoy going there leisurely but never thought too much about it in terms of photography. After all, there are so many other exciting places to photograph.
That changed in 2020.
In early June, after rarely venturing outside for more than 2 months due to the pandemic, I began taking morning walks with a couple of friends (while maintaining social distance and wearing masks of course). We often visited this beach. With all summer trips cancelled, I somehow started looking at this place from a different perspective. One day I brought along my camera and tripod. While trying to compose a typical wide-angle scene with a small pool of water as foreground, a sand pattern at the edge of the frame caught my eye. The wavy pattern looked exactly like part of an undersea kelp forest. Fascinated by this, I started to examine it more closely. It was so delicate and detailed, as if it were an artist’s pencil sketch. I remembered seeing photographs of sand patterns by other photographers, but never noticed them myself. Then, once I started deliberately observing the sand details around me, many more sand patterns emerged. I was mesmerized by how they seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Then I realized that they were in fact just hidden from my plain view, hidden from my ignorance. I was oblivious.
During the next few months, on weekend mornings, if tides were low, I’d set out to look for these sand patterns. Although they can be found anywhere along the coastline, I always return to the same beach. I never get bored because each time there is always a sense of the unknown. Chiseled by water, usually decorated with tiny trails left by all kinds of small creatures that live on the beach, these patterns usually form around small pools of water or behind small rocks, but these small pools constantly change, and the rocks travel with the waves. Often, just when I’ve focused properly on the composition, a wave would come and wash the pattern away. Like footprints, they are ephemeral. They are never the same. They play hide and seek with me. They challenge me to slow down and observe more thoroughly. When overlooked, they may simply seem to be unremarkable little formations on the beach with fleeting lifespans. But for those who do pay attention, they are truly remarkable with natural shapes and textures so ingenious and realistic, and a level of detail so refined and delicate, that can only be created by the artist called nature.
Collecting them into a portfolio can take time. Some days I can find quite a few undisturbed unique patterns, while other days I’m not as lucky. To me, each of the patterns in this portfolio resembles certain plant life one way or another. My son joked that a lot of them resemble weeds in the grass. But in them I can see leaves, branches, flower petals, herbs, bushes occasionally graced by a tiny butterfly, small plants with their roots, kelps, lone trees, or even small forests…
All photos in this collection were taken with Canon 5D IV and primarily 100mm macro lens. For this project, I prefer keeping the contrast relatively low, so I usually shoot early in the morning before the sun comes up (and before crowds arrive). They were converted to black and white in post-processing and the editing steps are kept simple and straightforward. If they look like pencil sketches, they really do.
If not for the pandemic, I probably would have been busy planning or going on photo trips to somewhere else more exciting, and this little home-based project would never have come about. Now, I will always look for them, so the project is essentially everlasting. The key takeaway from this experience? It’s one of the best lessons that photography has taught me: the beauty is indeed everywhere.
Read MoreLiving in Southern California and primarily as a landscape photographer, seascapes are perennial favorite subjects. A well-known local beach, however, had never appealed to me for serious photography. Although it sits at the foot of a picturesque state park, the beach itself lacks visual characters for conventional landscape compositions. In other words, it is too “ordinary”. I enjoy going there leisurely but never thought too much about it in terms of photography. After all, there are so many other exciting places to photograph.
That changed in 2020.
In early June, after rarely venturing outside for more than 2 months due to the pandemic, I began taking morning walks with a couple of friends (while maintaining social distance and wearing masks of course). We often visited this beach. With all summer trips cancelled, I somehow started looking at this place from a different perspective. One day I brought along my camera and tripod. While trying to compose a typical wide-angle scene with a small pool of water as foreground, a sand pattern at the edge of the frame caught my eye. The wavy pattern looked exactly like part of an undersea kelp forest. Fascinated by this, I started to examine it more closely. It was so delicate and detailed, as if it were an artist’s pencil sketch. I remembered seeing photographs of sand patterns by other photographers, but never noticed them myself. Then, once I started deliberately observing the sand details around me, many more sand patterns emerged. I was mesmerized by how they seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Then I realized that they were in fact just hidden from my plain view, hidden from my ignorance. I was oblivious.
During the next few months, on weekend mornings, if tides were low, I’d set out to look for these sand patterns. Although they can be found anywhere along the coastline, I always return to the same beach. I never get bored because each time there is always a sense of the unknown. Chiseled by water, usually decorated with tiny trails left by all kinds of small creatures that live on the beach, these patterns usually form around small pools of water or behind small rocks, but these small pools constantly change, and the rocks travel with the waves. Often, just when I’ve focused properly on the composition, a wave would come and wash the pattern away. Like footprints, they are ephemeral. They are never the same. They play hide and seek with me. They challenge me to slow down and observe more thoroughly. When overlooked, they may simply seem to be unremarkable little formations on the beach with fleeting lifespans. But for those who do pay attention, they are truly remarkable with natural shapes and textures so ingenious and realistic, and a level of detail so refined and delicate, that can only be created by the artist called nature.
Collecting them into a portfolio can take time. Some days I can find quite a few undisturbed unique patterns, while other days I’m not as lucky. To me, each of the patterns in this portfolio resembles certain plant life one way or another. My son joked that a lot of them resemble weeds in the grass. But in them I can see leaves, branches, flower petals, herbs, bushes occasionally graced by a tiny butterfly, small plants with their roots, kelps, lone trees, or even small forests…
All photos in this collection were taken with Canon 5D IV and primarily 100mm macro lens. For this project, I prefer keeping the contrast relatively low, so I usually shoot early in the morning before the sun comes up (and before crowds arrive). They were converted to black and white in post-processing and the editing steps are kept simple and straightforward. If they look like pencil sketches, they really do.
If not for the pandemic, I probably would have been busy planning or going on photo trips to somewhere else more exciting, and this little home-based project would never have come about. Now, I will always look for them, so the project is essentially everlasting. The key takeaway from this experience? It’s one of the best lessons that photography has taught me: the beauty is indeed everywhere.
