The Sites: Iowa City

Last summer, I returned to Iowa City for the first time since completing my undergraduate studies at the University of Iowa.  So much was still the same, but so much else had changed in that time.  The golden dome of the Old Capitol shone across the Pentacrest, finally free of the scaffolding that had hidden it during my final years on campus.  New wings and new buildings had sprung up, causing me to pause as I looked across the landscape at those new features that I didn't remember.
 

View of Iowa River, south from Hancher footbridge

In 2008, the Iowa River raged beyond 500 year flood levels, drowning much of the University's property, along with large swaths of Iowa City and Coralville.  While I was there, the river was back in its banks where I remembered it, but the ghosts of its destruction were all too present on the arts campus where I'd spent so much of my time.  It had been heartbreaking to watch the flood from afar; it was even more heartbreaking to see how much work was left to be done.  Even now, the city, the University, and the federal government continue to wrestle with questions of liability and relocation of facilities.  

Dehumidifiers, Voxman School of Music, 2009

The bulk of the collection of the Museum of Art is being housed in Davenport's Figge Art Museum, nearly an hour away; the School of Music has been holding classes wherever space is available, extending to local community centers, schools, and churches large enough to accommodate rehearsal and performance space.  Along with these pressing issues, the students, faculty, and staff are turning their eyes to the future.  New walkways are being built along the river that will serve as earthen levees above 100 year flood levels.  The College of Engineering's Iowa Institute of Hydraulic Research is applying its energies towards mitigating future disasters through understanding past floods.  

Nile Kinnick; Kinnick Stadium

Kinnick Stadium - hallowed ground for the Hawkeye Nation - had been renovated, with refurbished end zones, an artificial field, and a new pressbox.   It stands silently next to the University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics, the energy of decades of fans still emanating from its empty bleachers.  Through the gates, I could catch only a few glimpses of the field where I had once marched, back when it was still real grass.  I paid my respects to Nile Kinnick, promising to return soon.

View west from Old Capitol steps

I ended my day by sitting on the portico of the Old Capitol looking out over the west side of campus, watching the sunset.  

Old Capitol at sunset

I tucked myself against the columns of the building, where I used to read and study. 


The swiftly changing light cast a glow over the limestone buildings of the Pentacrest.  As the sun finally faded over the horizon, I went in search of the Adler Building, the new home to the School of Journalism and Mass Communication.  

courtyard of Philip D. Adler Building

Recent alumni publications had featured the facility, namely the sculpture in its courtyard, and I wanted to see it for myself.  The courtyard glowed with the languages carved from the sculpture.


There isn't much I wouldn't do to be in Iowa City this weekend as my Hawkeyes take on Penn State for Homecoming.  Instead, I will be a part of that Hawkeye disapora, though my heart will be there, ready for the boom and praying for a chance to sing our victory polka.

Pentacrest at twilight

To assist with flood recovery efforts for the University of Iowa, please donate to the UI Flood Relief Fund.

The Collections: New Additions, part II

My continued travels this fall have granted me the opportunity to add to the collections.  Please use the links to your right to browse at your convenience for the latest from Mannek Photography.

View of turkey vultures circling from Licklog Ridge Overlook, Blue Ridge Parkway

The Tips: Rethink the Mundane

Anything can be interesting if you look closely enough.

Fall leaf; UNC-Chapel Hill campus

There is a beauty in simplicity, in the things we see every day and either take for granted or ignore completely.  As the seasons change, they bring new temperatures and warrant new wardrobes.  Fall arrives and we marvel at the spectacular color of the trees that paint the landscape in shades of red, orange, and gold.  Once the leaves descend from the branches, they seem to disappear from our line of sight, suddenly becoming just a nuisance, merely something to clear from our yards.  Yet against the faded bricks of a cobblestone walkway, the vibrant colors still cling to a shadow of their former selves, as if begging to be noticed one final time before being scooped into a yard waste collection bag.  


Take a moment to see the simple and small things around you: not every shot needs to be a sweeping landscape or sparkling skyline.  For example, as I sit here writing, I am looking at the crown molding and how it comes together in the corners of my living room.  I'm now thinking about corners: molding, baseboards, bricks and mortar, wood planks...the purpose of a corner is to bring things together.  
Now my mind is running with the concept: how many other corners do I encounter on a daily basis without ever having noticed them as anything other than something to pass on my way to somewhere else?  A potential series is forming - interiors, exteriors, ceilings, floors...all because I paused for a moment while staring at the wall. 


Stare at your walls.  Look more closely at the trees after a rainshower.  Take a moment to ponder the bright spark of curiosity in your cat's eyes as she follows a glint of sunlight across the floor.   Embrace the banality of your surroundings.  You may find your own corners to be quite interesting.

The Collections: New Additions

New shots have been added to Architecture, Fauna, Flora, People, and Place.  Please use the links to the right to explore the latest.

The Shot: Thundercloud and Moonlight

During a particularly stormy week, I sat out on the deck one evening, watching lightning flash in the thunderclouds in the distance.  Every now and again, the weather radio would chirp a warning for the area: flooding, straightline winds, downed trees and power lines, the usual accompaniments to this sort of weather.  The worst of the storms stayed to the north and east; my area of town had barely received any rain and only the occasional wind gust.  The frogs continued to sing in the creek below; the bats continued to hunt, flying within feet of where I was sitting.

Moonlight in clouds

The storms marched across the sky and what had previously been just a glow of lightning now became the occasional streaks in the clouds.   Off to the southeast, the moon had also risen, glowing from behind a break in the clouds.  It was one day from full, so it was quite bright, casting a odd glow on the rest of the sky.  

I retrieved the camera and tripod from inside, setting up on the deck.  My vantage point allowed me to capture a building thunderhead to the east and well-developed anvil to the northeast.  I experimented with the night settings, adjusting the shutter speed in an attempt to capture some of the streaks in the clouds.  The glow of the moonlight added another dimension to the scene, eventually resulting in this:

Thundercloud and Moonlight

[Disclaimer: Always be aware of your own safety when shooting, particularly in potentially severe weather.  No shot is worth life and/or limb.]

The Sites: New York City - Lower Manhattan and Staten Island Ferry

Despite countless trips through the airports of New York on my way to other places, I'd never explored the city itself.  With a friend living in Queens playing the gracious host, I covered four boroughs in five days; ate my way through countless restaurants, cafes, diners, and street carts; covered both "tourist" ground and places off the beaten path; and tried to take in as much of the place as I could.

Liberty Island

The Staten Island Ferry afforded two views that literally brought tears to my eyes.  My father's family came to this country through Ellis Island from what was then the Austro-Hungarian Empire and what is now the Czech Republic.  Despite the wind and the spotty rain, I stood on the outer deck as we passed Liberty Island.  The idea that I was standing there because my great-grandparents had once stood there nearly a century ago was over-whelming and incredible.  It made me - in a word - grateful.

Lower Manhattan from Staten Island Ferry

Before the combination of dusk and mist became too much, I looked back at the receding skyline.  The angle of the ferry leaving Lower Manhattan aligned just right to present a view of the gaping hole still left from 9/11.  On my last day, we went to Ground Zero - something I felt I needed to do, having watched the events of that day unfold on live television from my college campus.  It made me - in a word and all politics aside - angry.  The memory of what happened there was palpable in the air, moreso than the thin veil that seemed to hang over the rest of the city.  

Liberty Island from Battery Park

We didn't stay long and we continued on to Battery Park, where the shadow of memory seemed to lift enough to begin to remember what makes this city so great: its cultural icons, its stunning architecture, its delectable food, and above all, its people.

The Equipment: Digital vs Film

I was a late-comer to the digital photography bandwagon.  I held out for years, clinging to my film, relishing the anticipation of waiting for my shots to be developed, that delayed gratification of finding out whether a time, a place, a trip was sufficiently captured until sometimes well after it had passed.

The beauty of film is that you learn to make every picture count.  You could take continuous shots, hoping that one of them will turn out, but you'd also waste a lot of materials, not to mention time spent changing rolls and space to store all those cartridges.  In the end, you'd pay to develop shots that you'd rather toss.  Instead, over time, you gain a sharper and keener sense of what looks good on that 4x6 (or 4x7 or 3.5x5 or 4x11) strip of paper and you train your eye to find it in the space around you.

Church on Spilt Blood; St Petersburg, Russia

Some of my favorites shots were captured on film.  The entirety of all my trips to Russia are chronicled on film.  I was perfectly content with my equipment as it was: it was small, portable, powerful, and captured consistent shots. I saw no reason to make the switch.

 In May 2007, I went to Jamaica.  While I was there on business, I couldn't help but be in awe of the beautiful scenery around me: the Blue Mountains to the south, the Caribbean to the north, the flowers exploding with color amongst the lush greenery.  I tried to capture what I could.  

I will never know how those pictures turned out.  I put my trust in the developers at the local photo shop as I always had and they failed me on several levels.  This was the turning point.

Topsail Island, NC

That fall, I spent a weekend in Topsail, NC.  It was the last trip where I used my film camera.  I knew it was time to bite the bullet and make the change.  I researched, I browsed, I tested, I looked high and low for the features I needed versus the features I wanted.  In the end, I settled upon the best blend of those things I could find and I set out into the world, a digital convert.

Paella for 12; Madrid, Spain

The first test of the new equipment came in Madrid.  It took time for me to understand that a lot of images can fit on a 4GB memory card, resulting in my compulsive reviewing and deleting of shots immediately after taking them, rather than just running with the moment and dealing with the sorting later.  One evening, our group went for paella.  Paella for 12 people is made in a gigantic pan, requiring two people to carry.  It was beautiful, but I know in my eagerness to review the shots I'd taken, I likely deleted the best one. 

The lesson I took from this experience was to rely on instincts learned from working with film, but also to embrace the freedom that digital storage provides.  I made peace with the fact that no one other than me will probably see 40-60% of the shots that I take, especially when experimenting with a new setting or method.  Wildlife bumps this ratio even higher, as most critters fidget, making great moments even more elusive amongst mediocre snapshots.

Some things about digital photography still bother me: manipulation of images beyond a basic crop or red-eye removal feels impure.  The lure of a darkroom and the skillful artistry to balance the chemicals to coax the images from the filmstrip looms as a set of skills I never fully mastered.  I'd like to think there is still room for both.