Tag Archives: denver art museum

Dancing in the Snow

Here are three takes on a shot I took the other day at the Denver Art Museum. Some comments at the bottom.


It’s always fascinating to post multiple takes of a shot. Before I started doing it, I always imagined that if you asked a bunch of talented shooters what they thought of a particular image, the answer would be more or less the same. Consensus, at least. I’m not finding that to be true. I’ve gotten to where I expect significant disagreement, and here’s another example.

I posted these shots to 5280 Lens Mafia, a cool little photoblog community where many of my talented shutterbug buddies hang out. As the comments make clear, there is a lot to argue about, especially when you add in what Mike Pecaut (another mafioso) added on Facebook (he liked the second one).

I honestly don’t know which I like best (which is why I posted all three). In the third one, I have dramatically desaturated the building (that walkway is considerably greener in real life). I desaturated everything except the sculpture in the first one, going for a very contrasty, harsh winter look. In the second I wanted the same harshness, although with a softer finish, hoping for something of an old photo effect. I like all three, but for different reasons.

That there’s disagreement among my trusted colleagues is, in a way, gratifying. It isn’t terribly helpful, of course, but in the end the decisions have to be mine, anyway, which means I put it out there, hear what people say, and act accordingly.

ArtSunday: Impressionism exhibit offers a lesson in tradition and rebellion

[An artist] should copy the masters and re-copy them, and after he has given every evidence of being a good copyist, he might then reasonably be allowed to do a radish, perhaps, from Nature. – Edgar Degas

I went to see the “Inspiring Impressionism” exhibit yesterday at the Denver Art Museum and came away struck by how remarkably it addressed questions of influence and originality in art, issues that have long been central to my own thinking and writing. As a poet, I’ve long been aware of the debt I owe the masters whose genius has shaped my own work, and if my efforts pale in comparison, they’re at least less meager than they would have been had I not spent so much time in the company of Donne, Shakespeare, Yeats, Hopkins, Wright, Thomas, and perhaps most especially, Eliot. Read more