A look at my 2023 photography journey

Photography

Feb 1

Observing the change of seasons, I realized another year had passed. Life after 40 is no longer the same because I no longer believe in longevity. It is precious to live through another year, to be alive and still have some energy left to seek possibilities. There were challenging changes and dramatic life experiences in 2023; however, I am still hanging there with gratitude and look forward to 2024 with plans to improve my shortcomings.

Regarding my photographic journey, I didn't photograph as much as I used to due to all sorts of changes in my daily routine. I did bring my camera with me every time I was out and about, even when I didn't feel inspired. Here, I am looking back and have chosen some images to commemorate 2023. These may not be picture-perfect by any means, but I hope that by reviewing these photos, I will feel more inspired to create and document all the bits and pieces in 2024.

The first couple of these are what you would typically see in the countryside in Pennsylvania. During winter, the bare trees are visually striking, with branches that evoke a feeling of vulnerability. Brick houses stand out on a vast open land, ready to face the blustery weather on a cold winter day.

This was taken at Longwood Gardens during winter before the spring blossoms started popping up. I am always fascinated by nature. When I saw this old tree without leaves, showing its crooked branches, I was eager to capture its honest expression. I appreciate how elements in nature are often unapologetically living, striving for existence.

I took a break at the cafe in Longwood Gardens to have a cup of coffee. Their cheesecake was a sweet delight on a cold winter afternoon, and it went so well with my coffee. Looking out the window, I saw withering leaves with a warm golden tone that warmed up the feeling and my grimy winter blue. The indoor light reflection on the glass, seemingly trapped in the moments, lives on in my photos while my memories fade.

On my trip to visit my friend, I walked by a graveyard, and something haunted me, so I stopped to capture the image. The headstones, in various sizes, stood up at different angles as if they were there to jog our forgotten loved ones. The meaning of existence is reduced to a marking on the ground, among others left behind.

On another visit to Longwood Gardens, I saw sunlight shine into the greenhouse, warming the unfolding fronds of the tree fern. It was captivating to see something so alive, and it warms my heart.

Near the end of winter, I visited Jim Thorpe to get away and explore. I remember it was snowing the day I arrived. The next day, while walking around town, I saw the little yellow vehicle parked by this building with a bleak gray wall. The contrasting warm tone of the car evoked the hope for an early spring to arrive.

It may not have been wise to go hiking with my dog on a snowy day in an unfamiliar town, but my dog was more adventurous than me and did not know her limitations. When I returned from hiking, I carried my dog in a doggy backpack. I felt a cold breeze, and I turned around. The wind was dusting off the snow from the trees, and the falling snow glittered in the morning light before melting away on the ground.

I am often attracted to shapes and forms. The backlit tree branches with brewing blossoming buds oppose the red color wall, foreshadowing the beautiful spring that may arrive when the temperature rises.

In the early spring, I went camping at French Creek State Park. While exploring the nearby area and admiring nature, I saw a person walk down to the boat loading dock with his dog. I took the photos without knowing the reason. The moment conveyed a sense of peacefulness, and I intend to remember it.

Last summer, I was fortunate enough to tour an Amish farm. The herd of cows roamed through the field in the late afternoon. While we were stopping by the field learning Amish's regenerative farming, the cows stopped and looked at us, wondering if we would soon turn into vegetarians.

There were so many events going on in the summer. I went to a vintage car show and shot countless images. The vintage red car parked in front of an older building, and the time turned back, I could almost visualize life back then.

One morning in the late summer, I was sitting in my dining room in the morning, staring at the window for no reason. Or maybe I was fascinated by the light on the window curtain, flowing and moving, ignoring the stillness in the room.

Camping in the fall allowed me to witness some of the magnificence of fall. Sitting on the reclining chair, leaning back, and having my sight following the dropping autumn leaves was comforting. The late evening light was pulling the lengthening shadow, gripping on the last moment of light before sundown.

Every day, every little thing fades away with time passing. Sometimes, I try so hard to hold on to the past and lose sight of now. Reviewing these photos, I knew I had to learn to move on faster before the old age dying brain cells do it for me. I am taking steps forward while the universe allows. In 2024, I intend to walk fast through the thorns of life, slow down in chasing bursting unrealistic expectations, and breathe and feel grateful every time I press the shutter button on my camera.