I am a photographer and videographer from Cincinnati, Ohio. I write as a hobby and capture reality as a profession.
Some might think this is a little cliche, however, when you have the blend of a comfy couch, a well brewed cup of coffee and the world at your finger tips you might find it comforting knowing that you can just relax and take every day with a grain of salt.
When you first get your DSLR you’ll probably put it on Auto, point, shoot, done; you have an image. Yes, this dose give you a photo, but you have almost no control over how the camera takes it. Putting your camera in Auto means that you’re giving all controls over for the camera to assess what the camera sees and trust it put the right combination of settings together to expose your image well. Sure, this can be used for the sake of take a family photo while using the timer, or if you’re just starting out or have no interest in the mechanics behind what makes a great image.
We all know how rough this year has been, but that doesn’t mean Christmas isn’t just as special. Families and friend won’t be Ake to gather like we have in the past, but let’s take this opportunity to be thankful for what we all have and not a grinch about what we don’t get for Christmas this year.
Need to catch up? Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4: Cupping my hand, I scooped water up to my mouth to quench the thirst which was trapped in my throat. It felt as if I swallowed a spoonful of peanut butter in one gulp. The cool liquid ran down my cheeks and my nose dropping one after another back into the pond. The ripples collided but continued to spread until the rings disappeared into smooth glass.
So some of you might be wondering if there really is a difference between composing a photo and composting for video. In short, yes there is. There’s slightly different rules when it comes to composing your frame while filming. Since the camera and your subject or subjects would be moving you’re not always going to have them perfectly in frame, and some cinematographers choose to be creative with how they want to portrait their characters.
For those of you who actually know me - I am a coffee snob. I love me some good espresso and dark roast brews. I've been to many places around the U.S. and won't leave until I have tried some coffee from a local or highly recommended coffee shops. If I could ask for something different for Christmas this year, it would for gift cards to your favorite coffee shop; no matters where it is in the U.S.. I would like to take a road trip just to use it. Not only would I go just to use it, but I would take the opportunity to add to my photography portfolio and bring my camera along with me. Nothing like some latte art photography... well, and some professional touristy photography. Hmm, I'm going to add that to my bucket list.
The rest of supper and dessert was practically quiet, then I returned to my room. Sitting on my bed lay a silk pink nightgown. It was cold and slippery to the touch. I searched the room for a bathroom or something with some privacy in case the witch maid came back. In the corner there was a tri-fold stand with thin parchment paper type material resembling Chinese rice paper. It stood about 6 feet tall and about 8 feet wide. I quickly grabbed the dress and ran on my tiptoes behind it. I don’t know why I ran like that, it’s not like I’m trying to sneak downstairs for a midnight snack after mom told me not to. I let my hair down from the braid Logan had so finely done to it. The wavy locks fell down the back of my neck. My body felt as if it sighed of great relief when the silkiness of the nightgown loosely hung on it. Behind the changing wall sat a bowl with warm water. The steam curled and wisped away as it rose, and the warmth felt good on my cold cheeks as I washed the sweat off. I rang out the towel and placed it on the table next to the bowl of water which was cold now, but not because it sat there too long, but there was a cold breeze which flew through the room. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of sudden insecurity, as if someone was watching or listening. However, no one was there. I tiptoed back into the bed and there was a note lying neatly on my pillow. The paper, an ivory shade of white, had wrinkles on every inch of it as though it was crumpled up to never be used again.
I woke up lying flat on my back in a bed of wet powder. I stared at the bright blue, cloudless sky above me and the tips of the iced over trees that seemed to touch the blue. At first, I had no worry of the moment as I listened to the bird’s chirp and fly over my face, then I wondered. Where am I? I wasn’t in the coffee shop anymore. The guy I was talking to wasn’t anywhere to be seen. No footprints disrupted the soft snow all around. Something about these surroundings was familiar, as if from a dream; had I been here before in my fantasy world? The wet snow crunched and made a faint hiss as it started to melt at the touch of my somewhat warm body. If this really was my dream, it seemed all too real. Cupping my hands into the snow I threw a pile of the snow onto my face, but the cold powder felt so real that as I removed my hands from my face. I waited for the ambient mumbling of the coffee shop to enter my ears, or the soft, cozy cushions of my couch to appear under me; but there was nothing except the trees. Snow. Birds. My backpack. My backpack? The only thing from home that made me relax just long enough before the full realization I wasn’t actually home set in.