In this issue

1. My Artwork of the Week

2. Frontispiece

3. Photographer's corner-on tripods-why I love them and why I don't.

4. The goods shed that came back from the grave

5. Waiata mou te Ata-Ice Dreaming

6. Fevered Mind Links (to make your Sunday morning coffee go cold)

7. Endpapers

My Artwork of the Week

I was sharing a cup of coffee with a fellow teacher who taught geography a long time ago. We talked about all the little towns scattered across Canterbury, many of which were no longer anything but labels on the map or road signs at an intersection.

"You do know," he said, "that they are all spaced roughly 10 miles apart."

"Oh? Why is that?" I asked.

"Because, back in the day, 10 miles was a comfortable distance to travel by horse," he replied.

When I moved back for the second time to the Maniototo, the locals asked me where I was from.

"I was born here," I would answer.

"Yes, but where are you from?"

"The Maniototo."

"Yes, but are you Naseby or Patearoa or Gimmerburn or…"

At first, I didn't get it. But, after all, what did it matter? It was all the Maniototo.

Well, it mattered to them.

One day I found out why.

My elderly neighbour was talking to me about his life. He grew up in Patearoa and married his wife, who came from Gimmerburn.

10 miles away.

"In those days," he continued, "it was a big deal to go to the town next door. It wasn't considered right to marry a woman from the same town. You had to marry out of your own area."

I kept a straight face.

And I wrestled with the thought.

I could easily have said Naseby because that is where our family lived. However, Naseby somehow seemed to me like the armpit of the Maniototo. It hunched down at the bottom of a gully, surrounded by hills, forest and abandoned mine workings. It looked upwards but not outwards. Yet, for all its beauty and sense of time past and passed, it had a certain hippy vibe that didn't resonate with me. It was focused on what had happened before, but I was looking forward and outwards.

And anyway, I was living in Ranfurly 10 miles away.

Then the answer came to me. Like most people of my generation, I was born in the Ranfurly Hospital.

Literally.

The next time somebody asked me, I had my answer ready.

"I am Ranfurly."

And that made them happy.

They knew who I was.

Frontispiece

Atamaarie e te whaanau:

good morning everybody.

Saturday is a sacred day for me, a time to sit down and attempt to craft Breathing Light and what needs to be said for this week.

It didn't quite work out that way yesterday, so my inner compulsion alarm clock got me out of bed at 3 am to meet the 9 am deadline. Yesterday was a series of conversations about running an idea past my inner circle and seeing how they felt. They are my beautiful whaanau, whose advice I trust. And I've made a decision. More about that later.

About ten days ago, something felt different when I stepped out the front door. Something in the light suggested that winter had passed its used-by date and that spring was subtly and furtively sliding in to take its place. Somehow the morning had a greater sense of wakefulness and energy compared to the dour dullness of winter.

Then I looked at the lawn. For the last two months, the grass has been sulking, and the mosses in it looking very pleased with themselves. Now, however, the grasses on the comeback trail, with small patches erupting with joy. But, of course, my cherry tree never got the message about winter and what it should be doing. So it has continued to flower sporadically throughout the winter.

So what am I to make of this?

It would appear spring is arriving early. About two months early.

I would love to hear what is happening in the northern hemisphere. Is your autumn early?

Please drop me a line and let me know.

I finally finished offloading the files from my old computer. And that has, of course, taken me down memory lane, discovering pictures I haven't seen in 10 to 15 years and finding new ways to process them.

In a way, this is the Maniototo edition. A place where I was born and where I've lived three times in my life.

It's lovely to pick up all those old files and rework them, knowing what I know now. They say that you never finish a work, that you only ever abandon it. However, there is something to be said for coming back to them years later, revisiting them through the lens of experience and understanding.

Photographer's corner-on tripods-why I love them and why I don't.

My mentor of twenty years, Richard Poole, when lecturing his students on the subject of tripods, would always say to them:

I have a love/hate relationship with my tripod. And it is a heavy one, although switching from metal to carbon fibre has significantly reduced the weight.

Choosing a tripod is probably one of the most important gear decisions you can make. I meant to say: selecting the right tripod.

There's an old saying:

So what are some things to look for when you buy a tripod?

Firstly, purchase a tripod that comes up to your eye height with all the legs extended, but without ever using the centre column. Unless you want to have an affair with your chiropractor.

Never use the centre column.

Unless you have a thing for camera shake or have a passion for ICM (intentional camera movement).

Here is an experiment you can try:

Go into the camera shop, and choose your preferred tripod. Extend all the legs and the centre column. Now mount your camera upon it with your longest lens (that 100-9000 zoom lens you bought so you could photograph gannet eyeballs at 1.5 km). Now tap the end of the lens barrel. Does it wobble? Better still, please take a picture, download it and check it for camera shake. Is there wobble?

Then you don't want it.

My own tripod is a beautifully-engineered Chinese Sirui carbon fibre tripod. When I bought it, the first thing I did was dismantle and throw away the centre column. However, that's not a problem. I am 1m91 tall, and the tripod extends 2 m above the ground. So I don't need a centre column. And I don't need to worry about camera shake.

Buy the heaviest tripod you can afford, and then buy the next heaviest one.

I hate using my tripod because it slows me down. I prefer to photograph intuitively; however, while stabilised lenses make life easier, when you're out in the landscape, see the shot of a lifetime and want to make a perfectly sharp image, you can't go past using your tripod. And a remote release.

There is another advantage to using a tripod.

It allows you time to breathe, reflect and consider. It forces you to get past the initial excitement, settle down, and begin a conversation with your subject. It allows you to stop, relax and listen.

And that is where the magic image will be.

The goods shed which came back from the grave

It is said that art imitates life. Sometimes, however, life imitates art.

In the 1930s, they pushed the railway from Dunedin up to Clyde to service all the small rural communities throughout Central Otago. In a time before trucking was the predominant method of transport, the railway moved stock and people backwards and forwards.

When the Clyde dam was finished in the 1980s, there was no longer any need for the railway, so they tore it up. Only when a Department of Conservation employee had the bright idea of creating a cycling trail did the district find a new way of attracting people to the area. It was New Zealand's first cycle trail. Needless to say, it provided a substantial economic boost to an area predominantly focused on sheep and beef farming. Small communities and fading pubs in places like Becks and Lauder suddenly took on a new lease of life. Property values rose in all the small forgotten towns along the former railway line. When the idea was floated, most of the locals pooh-poohed it. "That'll never fly," they said.

They were wrong. The Otago Rail Trail quickly became a hit.

When they ripped up the railway lines, they removed the Wedderburn goods shed and put it in a paddock nearby.

Then people who had seen Grahame Sydney's iconic painting of the Wedderburn goods shed started calling in at the Wedderburn Tavern, asking where it was. Inevitably they were disappointed to hear that it had been taken away.

It wasn't long before the locals got the message. So they got together (probably over a few beers) and put it back. After all, once a tourist has photographed the goods shed, the logical thing is to drop in at the pub and have something to eat and drink. Win-win.

I would watch my photography students at my annual Maniototo mid-winter workshop eagerly photograph it, convinced they had done at least as good a job as Grahame Sydney. Then I would show them a picture of his painting.

"Can any of you see the difference?" I would ask.

At first, they wouldn't. Then they would. And that would lead to a lovely lesson on photorealistic painting and the fact that while Grahame's work appears to be photorealistic, it is more an expression of the glorious Maniototo landscape than a literal document.

It is a beautiful example of life imitating art.

I have included his version below.

I'll leave you to work out the differences.

Waiata mou te ata-Ice Dreaming

Ice dreaming

I have heard lake ice

gibber and groan under the blueblack burdenblanket of the night

fretful, fitful and splintered

in its long dreamingtime nightsleep,

as the silent quilt of winter’s weight

bound it into place with dark glimmerchains.

I have stood at its lipcurled. teethbared edge

Watching my slowbreath curl ever upwards

in wandering, wondering incensed prayerspirals,

while diamondpoint glitterstars

placed in mysterious, mystic rune patterns,

ice shards pinned across the underside of the night

stitched their cold light into my heart

and uplifted my soul.

Fevered Mind Links (to make your Sunday morning coffee go cold)

Bees can remember human faces — and 7 other surprising facts about these important insects — ideas.ted.com

Most people know bees for two things: their sweetness (in the form of honey) or their stings. But they’re so much more than that. Honeybees, for example, live in highly structured social groups where each bee has a role to play. Some bees are solitary and can chew holes in wood.

Nick Cave on Songwriting, the Mystery of the Unconscious, and the Sweet Severity of Truth — www.themarginalian.org

“Once a poem is made available to the public, the right of interpretation belongs to the reader,” the teenage Sylvia Plath wrote to her mother upon the publication of her first tragic poem.

Bahman Jalali (1944-2010) -Iranian Photographer — darz.art

Bahman Jalali (1944-2010) was a renowned photographer best known for his portrayal of social issues, photographs of the Islamic Revolution, and the eight-year Iraq-Iran war.

“Little Prince” Author Antoine de Saint-Exupéry on Losing a Friend — www.themarginalian.org

“Ponder for a long time whether you shall admit a given person to your friendship,” Seneca counseled in considering true and false friendship, “but when you have decided to admit him, welcome him with all your heart and soul.

Every Good Bird Does Fine — daily.jstor.org

To some extent, we all know music when we hear it: a melody, a rhythm, a progression of individual notes that, taken together, elevates the whole into the realm of auditory art.

Goblin Market — www.poetryfoundation.org

Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: “Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy: Apples and quinces, Lemons and oranges, Plump unpeck’d cherries, Melons and raspberries, Bloom-down-cheek’d peaches, Swart-headed mulberries, Wild free-born cranberries, Crab-apples, d

Life Helps Make Almost Half of All Minerals on Earth — nautil.us

The impact of Earth’s geology on life is easy to see, with organisms adapting to environments as different as deserts, mountains, forests, and oceans. The full impact of life on geology, however, can be easy to miss.

Cloudy Kitchen's chocolate fudge 'brookies' recipe — www.stuff.co.nz

These “brookies”, aka brownies and cookies, are the combination of two of my favourite things - brown butter chocolate chip cookies, and super fudgy brownies. And I promise it is worth the effort.

How cold is space? Physics behind the temperature of the universe — www.space.com

Though sci-fi movies would have us believe that space is incredibly cold — even freezing — space itself isn’t exactly cold. In fact, it doesn’t actually have a temperature at all.

Elena Renken Takes Us Behind “How the Brain Allows the Deaf to Experience Music” | Nautilus Behind the Scenes.mp4 — vimeo.com

End Papers

I wasn't sure if I would make it to the Divine Editor's publishing deadline. I feel for journalists working under time pressure. It would seem Breathing Light will go out on time. Sometimes these newsletters write themselves; at other times, they are more of an arm wrestle.

We have had days of relatively balmy weather (midteens). The weather forecasters have been gleefully promising us snow down to low levels for this morning. As I look out the window, the underside of the clouds has a distinctly translucent look, which tells me snow is falling upon the mountains. The wind has ground to a halt, the temperature is dropping markedly, and the rain is slowing down, getting a solid feel. Usually, storms from the Antarctic get diverted by the ramparts of the Takitimu mountains on our southern flank and pushed away up the east coast. I suspect it is going to be different today.

However, there is much for which to be grateful. I have warmth, shelter and kai (food). And the opportunity to wonder at the cycles of Nature. I am blessed. We are all blessed. Do we choose to be aware of it.

As always, I wish you love, peace, truth and wisdom. May the next week be a thing of joy and wonder for every one of you.

Ngaa mihi arohaa nunui ki a koutou:

much love to you all.