You cannot find a more scenic and vigorous 63 miles of country roads for cycling within an hour of the Minneapolis-St. Paul metropolitan area than the aptly-named “Plum City Rollercoaster.”
Every now and then I’m struck with the notion of revisiting an old image. It could be from years ago. I just want to reinterpret the scene. Perhaps it’s because something never satisfied me about my original presentation, or maybe my tastes changed, or possibly just because I want to look at it with a different perspective.
It was an incongruous setting. The harsh artificial lights turned bright ceremonial garments neon and cast a strangely-angled glow on the pink walls of a deep canyon of stone, steel and glass. Snowflakes fell and spectators were swaddled in their warmest for the ten degree Fahrenheit weather. In the background, men on folding chairs surrounded a large central drum and sang loudly to the beat, telling a story, I can only surmise, that was unintelligible to all but a few. The dancers swirled and shook feathers and streamers. The eagle feathers were not, for once, in support of Philadelphia.
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Balance, In Life and Photos
Although I view myself mostly as a photographer of people by inclination, I would like to think I’m at least competent to capture the occasional landscape. And on this day, the drama of the sky and patchy light had me visualizing in black and white. That medium seems to emphasize the patterns and forms in such chiaroscuro conditions.