Winter Doldrums – Keeping on When There’s No Color & No Snow

The American Tobacco Campus, adorned with Christmas lights

This blog is dedicated to my wife Hanna, who has to put up with my complaining and frustration every winter as I pass through these winter doldrums. It is also dedicated to Isaac, my intrepid companion on many of my excursions. He puts up with cold, rain, and boredom in exchange for the occasional ice cream cone.

In 2008, the year my son was born, it snowed here in North Carolina. Not a lot, but enough to cover the ground in a pretty uniform blanket of white, and to shut down pretty much everything in this Southern city that’s not used to much snow. In subsequent years, we got a few inches here and there, as has been the usual every year, except for the odd bad ice storm we get, or the foot or so of snow that fell while I was in college. It just doesn’t snow that much.

Isaac ready to skate in downtown Raleigh

We are kind of tweeners here in the North Carolina Piedmont–we don’t get the appreciable snow they see out west in the Smoky mountains, nor do we see the milder temperatures of the coast. To be sure, it never really gets COLD here, except once in a blue moon. We are also sort of tweeners in a national sense, getting neither the year-round sunny weather of California or Florida, nor the snow of more northern and/or higher places. In essence, we are stuck in a flat-ish, rainy place where dull greens, browns, and grays slowly replace the vibrant colors of fall. Suddenly, with the holidays already starting to fade, you find yourself amidst the winter doldrums.

Lake Elton sunset, Durham

It is around this time that I start to get whiny, complaining that it’s ugly here and there’s nothing to shoot. We have cold, rainy days, lots of gray, lots of mud. We can’t break these things up with sweeping mountain panoramas or dramatic storms over crashing waves… or, wait… why can’t we?

Carolina Beach, NC

If you find yourself, like me, mewling like a petulant child about how there is nothing to photograph, one thing you can do is go somewhere more picturesque! Indeed–we have taken trips this fall and winter to both the coast and mountains of North Carolina to take in the views and enjoy them. I especially love the coast in the winter, as it seems more pensive, brooding, and moody–perfect for how I like to photograph. The mountains, though not snowy, provided more of that “winter has arrived” feeling, and of course I had some nice low winter light falling over some beautiful views.

Fisherman, Fort Fisher, NC

When at home, I find myself wringing my hands, trying to thing of things to photograph. You see, the impulse, the need, the addiction to taking photographs is always there, always simmering, waiting for another fix. I drive through familiar, and formerly photographically fruitful areas, not stopping nor pulling camera out of bag. I start to despair, and my wife gets irritated. She gets frustrated. I get frustrated–with myself, with the ugly place I live, with the snowless winter, with the ordinariness of everything around me.

Durham Station and downtown

A curious thing happens. Slowly, photos start to accumulate in my archives. I look outside at the drear, I go out at night long after the early sunset. I tell myself I will take what the world gives me, and I will try to find something. It may not be grand, it may not be beautiful, but it is always good practice, and I am always building experience for when something more epic presents itself. But!

Sunset at Mapleview Farms, Orange County

But, what I find is that suddenly I am in places when beautiful things are happening. There is the beautiful winter light that Nature gives us, and then there is all the vibrant artificial light of the city. Paradoxically, I find myself making some of my most vibrantly colorful photographs during a season where I constantly complain about the dullness, the brownness, the complete-and-utter-lack-of-snowiness. There’s still a lot of black and white, of course, but I go back through photos I’d glanced through, and find so much color. It’s striking.

Starry night at Carolina Beach

I find myself, almost inevitably, photographing more at night. The days are shorter, the nights longer, it just makes sense. All summer we are saturated with amazing photographs of the Milky Way in the night sky. In the winter, I think it’s a quieter sort of wonder as you look up to the stars. And even though I live in a relatively small city, surrounded by more rural places, it’s hard to find real darkness out there, where you can really see the stars. But when you do, there is some lovely stargazing to be had, provided you’ve dressed warmly and (obviously) the sky is clear.

Falls Lake Stars

Winter is a good time to try to see things differently, and to explore the familiar in a different way. If trees are bare around the lake and the winter winds are making the water choppy, come back at night when the stars are out and there’s a little layer of fog hanging just over the glass-smooth surface. See some fast-moving clouds after a storm clears? Head downtown to your favorite landmark and shoot some long exposures that capture both the vibrant colors of the city and also the movement of the clouds.

The Sink, Johnnie Mercer Pier, Wrightsville Beach

As always, I continue to shoot details and portraits. When the sky is that flat gray without detail, there’s nice soft light, and you can focus on details and people rather than the sweeping photographs. You can watch how light touches things, filters through them, plays with shadow. Even when the sun is out, the fall and winter light is softer, more directional, more atmospheric.

Isaac, Fort Fisher

Isaac, Fort Fisher

You can also play up the sense of loneliness, or melancholy, or isolation.

Contemplation of the Sea

In short, even in winter, opportunities abound. Though you may find yourself whining and wishing for things more extraordinary, keep pushing, keep shooting, keep exploring. You won’t come home with keepers every time, but you may find that ever so slowly, you have created some photographs you might never have otherwise (and certainly wouldn’t if you’d just stayed home).

Christmas at American Tobacco, Durham

This is a reminder for me, as much as anything, that all is not lost when winter rolls around and we find ourselves without snow. Though I may hope for that photogenic blanket of whiteness, the challenge is–and has always been–to photograph the character and the beauty that is unique to my city, my home, my little universe, because it’s different than your city, your home, and your little universe. Though it might seem ordinary and boring to me, it might be fresh and new to you. One never knows.

Lights, American Tobacco

Just don’t despair–it’s a beautiful world we live in.