Tag: fine art photography

Categories
All Things Connecticut New Print Releases The American Northeast

Autumn Meditations

Housatonic Reverie (Housatonic River, Cornwall, Connecticut)
“Housatonic Reverie”
Housatonic River, Cornwall, Connecticut
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

That narrow interval during Autumn, when the forests transition to a collage of saturated colors, is always a magical time in the American Northeast. It’s a fleeting crescendo in which we bid farewell to the warmth and past experiences of spring and summer, enjoying one last, vivid hurrah before being plunged into the frigid months that will see us into a new year. Autumn resonates deeply within the collective psyche of New England. But now that winter is upon us, already blanketing the Connecticut landscape in a few successive layers of snow and ice, I’d like to bring us back just a couple months to the warm colors and soothing temperatures of Autumn 2013.

Housatonic River in Connecticut’s Northwest Hills
Cornwall & Sharon, Connecticut

In my new piece, Housatonic Reverie (above), we find ourselves peering out over cold rapids on the Housatonic River in Cornwall, Connecticut. As we follow the undulating waters deeper into the landscape, we are surrounded by woodlands still cloaked in the shadows of twilight. But with fresh morning sun being cast from the east through a veil of mist, a gently-sloping hill on the horizon is set ablaze, becoming a glowing beacon of autumn color in a landscape that is still waking up to a chilly October morning.

Housatonic Reverie is just one of several pieces that I managed to produce as this truly glorious morning on the Housatonic Valley unfolded before my eyes. But if there’s one view of a landscape that I almost never capture, it’s a view which includes me! After all, I’m alone for most of my shoots and I’m generally busy behind the camera. But on this particular morning, I was out shooting with long-time friend and photographer, Ryan Dolan. While I was down on the boulder piles beside the river producing Housatonic Reverie, Ryan managed to frame me up in a unique exposure on black and white film (below).

Housatonic River (Photograph by Ryan Dolan)
Using black & white film, photographer Ryan Dolan captured this photograph of me on the
Housatonic River just minutes after I shot “Housatonic Reverie” (photo at top)
© 2013 Ryan Dolan

His resulting image, which actually appears to have been taken perhaps five or ten minutes after I shot Housatonic Reverie, possesses a fascinating aesthetic that is a world apart from that of my own piece. What I found especially intriguing about his photograph was the timelessness that it so effortlessly conveys. Although we may know that it’s me on those rocks and that this image was taken only a few months ago, when we explore the world that Ryan has framed up here, we find almost nothing that tethers it to modern times. There’s the sense that this image could just as well have emerged from a century-old chest in some dusty farmhouse attic… that the photographer down there on the Housatonic is some anonymous soul of the 1800s that has long since been swallowed up by time and all but lost to history. There’s surely a vein of potent nostalgia in this emotive image, but this piece barely scratches the surface of Ryan’s work. I encourage you to explore more of his photography at ryandolanart.com.

My next piece brings us just a few miles south to Sharon, Connecticut, where the wide, shallow breadth of the Housatonic River snakes peacefully through a deeply-furrowed valley. At every turn the river is flanked by picturesque wooded hills, each one with a distinctive profile wrought in radiused slopes.

Twilight on Housatonic Meadows (Housatonic River, Sharon, Connecticut)
“Twilight on Housatonic Meadows”
Housatonic River, Housatonic Meadows State Park, Sharon, Connecticut
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

Shadowy blue tones, swirling mist and the leafless crown of an overhanging tree conspire to produce a mournful aesthetic in my piece, Twilight on Housatonic Meadows. The conditions on the Housatonic that morning were touch-and-go from a photographer’s perspective, for while the drifting blankets of fog lent a powerfully ethereal quality to the landscape, they also threatened to blot out key elements of the vista. I managed to take Twilight on Housatonic Meadows during a fleeting minute when the dense atmosphere thinned out just enough to reveal sparse wispy clouds and the contour of a distant hill.

Connecticut’s Waterfalls Amidst Falling Leaves
Cheshire, Franklin & Simsbury, Connecticut

Roaring Brook Autumnlands (Roaring Brook Falls, Cheshire, Connecticut)
“Roaring Brook Autumnlands”
Roaring Brook Falls, Cheshire, Connecticut
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

Recently, I released a brand new fine art photography collection titled “Waterfalls of Connecticut“, the culmination of some four years of waterfall photography throughout Connecticut (if you haven’t seen it yet, be sure to check it out). Included in the collection are a few pieces that I managed to produce over this past Autumn, but which were still so new that they hadn’t even been released on my online galleries until now! I’ve finally rolled them out at JGCOLEMAN.COM and here we’ll explore these new works and take a look at how Fall 2013 produced some great conditions for waterfall photography.

Roaring Brook Autumnlands (at right) exemplifies the vivid color palette that we associate with autumn in New England. In this piece, we follow the waters of Roaring Brook Falls as they careen dozens of feet down a cliffside in the woodlands of Cheshire, Connecticut. At the precipice of the falls, we are treated to a cornucopia of saturated colors, from the glowing shades of orange in the forest canopy to the bold blue sky overhead. In truth, it can be extremely difficult to pull colors this “pure” out of any Autumn scene. The critical element in Roaring Brook Autumnlands —the condition that really brought this shot to life— was the magnificent, early-morning sun, which cast warm light upon the forest at the brink of the falls while leaving the cliff-face below painted in shadow. The contrast between dark, glistening rock and fiery, luminous woodlands really breathes life into this vista and reminds us of just how awe-inspiring our landscapes can be during those fleeting months of autumn.

Falls Along the Gap (Ayer's Gap Falls, Ayer's Gap Preserve, Franklin, Connecticut)
“Falls Along the Gap”
Ayer’s Gap Falls, Ayer’s Gap Preserve,
Franklin, Connecticut
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

My next piece, titled Falls Along the Gap (at right), brings us 40 miles east to Franklin, Connecticut, where gentle wisps of Bailey Brook plunge over rocky outcrops layered with a collage of fallen leaves. Connecticut was particularly dry during much of the Autumn season, a condition which can oftentimes leave smaller waterfalls throughout the state nearly dry. In the case of Falls Along the Gap, however, the reduced water volume on Ayer’s Gap Falls was the crucial ingredient which allowed thousands of autumn leaves to accumulate in areas that might otherwise have been scraped bare by swift currents.

Within At the Northgate (below), my new piece from Northgate Falls in Simsbury, Connecticut, fallen leaves have completely blanketed the forest floor, dramatically framing off the reflecting pool at the base of the cascades. This piece captures a different side of the autumn aesthetic: that wistful atmosphere in which the last throws of autumn feel more like a beautiful, bittersweet farewell rather than an eager stride into the coming months of snow and ice.

Here again, the dry months of summer and early autumn had left this branch of Bissell Brook with greatly reduced water volume. Northgate Falls is not a particularly large waterfall to begin with, but it was rendered especially tranquil at this point in late October.

At the Northgate
“At the Northgate”
Northgate Falls, near McLean Game Refuge, Simsbury, Connecticut
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

Wind Gate at the Hudson Highlands
Cornwall, New York

Of course, New England isn’t the only place that offers stunning scenery during Autumn. My next piece brings us 20 miles east of the Connecticut state line to a celebrated place in the history of landscape art: New York’s Hudson River Valley.

Storm King Mountainscape (Storm King State Park, Cornwall, New York)
“Storm King Mountainscape”
Storm King Mountain on the Hudson River,
Storm King State Park, Cornwall, New York
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

In my piece, Storm King Mountainscape (above), we peer out over the wide expanse of the Hudson River beneath a dawn sky awash with color. The facing slope of Storm King Mountain, a prominent, dome-shaped peak that abruptly rises more than 1,300 feet over the river below, glows with with molten color as the earliest sunlight of the morning carves blazing gashes into the shadowy bluffs.

Although Storm King Mountain is the star of this new piece, the photograph was actually taken from the opposite side of the river on a rocky promontory of Breakneck Ridge. Breakneck and Storm King are the distinctive sentinels that form the “Wind Gate”, the mountainous northern entrance into the Hudson Highlands region of New York. While it was early Dutch settlers that coined that term (originally “Wey Gat”), it was the painters of the famous Hudson River School that took to channeling the sublime qualities of this place into profound works of fine art. Throughout the 1800s, Storm King Mountain and Breakneck Ridge were featured in exquisite paintings by Thomas Cole, Samuel Colman, Thomas Benjamin Pope, Regis Frances Gignoux, Homer Dodge Martin and Jasper Cropsey, to name only a few.

A Farewell to Autumn
Wolcott, Connecticut

I’d like to leave you with a piece that portrays barely a foot of the forest floor from edge to edge, but which manages to say just as much about autumn as the vast panorama from Breakneck Ridge or the wide vistas of the Housatonic.

Sugar Maple Castaway (Finch Brook Preserve, Wolcott, Connecticut)
“Sugar Maple Castaway”
Finch Brook Preserve, Wolcott, Connecticut
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

Produced barely ten minutes from my home in Wolcott, Connecticut, my piece Sugar Maple Castaway is a simple, but potent, expression of the beauty of autumn. Da Vinci once wrote that “simplicity is the ultimate sophistication”, and when we draw our attention to just a single lonely leaf beaming with color upon the forest floor… well, there’s no doubt that the old master was on to something.

As part of J. G. Coleman’s Decor Series prints, many of the works seen here are available at Fine Art America. You are encouraged to visit J. G. Coleman’s Fine Art America eStore, or see all of Fine Art America’s new england art or autumn art.

Categories
All Things Connecticut New Print Releases

Happy New Year from the Mad River Valley

Mad River Lullaby (Mad River, Wolcott, Connecticut)
“Mad River Lullaby”
Mad River near Scovill Reservoir, Wolcott, Connecticut
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

“I saw, as for the first time, what a severe yet master artist Winter is. Ah, a severe artist! How stern the woods look, dark and cold and as rigid against the horizon as iron!”

-John Burroughs
“The Snow-Walkers” (1866)

What better way to kick off the New Year than celebrating the quietly beautiful snowscapes that are a hallmark of wintertime in New England? My new piece, Mad River Lullaby, was produced only a few weeks ago and portrays a broad bend on the Mad River as it snakes through snowy woodlands just down the road from my home in Wolcott, Connecticut.

The Mad River is impounded downstream of this vista to create the 120-acre Scovill Reservoir, so the serpentine meander featured in Mad River Lullaby is typically inundated. In this rare instance, however, the reservoir had been drawn down several feet, allowing the Mad River to briefly reclaim its more natural footprint. Freshly-fallen snow, courtesy of a December storm, delicately frosted the bare trees and “tidied up” the muddy cobble left behind as the reservoir receded.

Throughout 2013, I managed to travel all over Connecticut and Western Massachusetts and even enjoyed a couple jaunts into Vermont and Eastern New York. Nature was not so shy during many of these travels, presenting several opportunities to capture rare and intimate glimpses of her beauty wherever I set off into the landscape. But, as nature photographer Moose Peterson once said,” The real prize is what you bring home in your heart, not on your memory card.” Indeed, when I browse through my work from this past year, I recall countless fulfilling days of being out in the wilds. Those experiences… those memories… are the reason that I love this art form so deeply.

To all of my viewers, I wish you and yours a bountiful and memorable new year in 2014!

Categories
New Print Releases The American Northeast

Journey Into the Berkshires (pt. 3)

Falls on Mount Everett (Race Brook Falls, Mount Everett State Reservation, Sheffield, MA)
“Falls on Mount Everett”
Race Brook Falls, Mount Everett State Reservation, Sheffield, Massachusetts
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

“When we try to pick out anything by itself,” wrote renowned naturalist, John Muir,” we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.” Such is the case with that territory we call The Berkshires. From the standpoint of geology, determining where the Berkshires begin and end is actually a bit more complicated than determining which county of Massachusetts they are named after. Take Mount Greylock, for instance, which has always been popularly thought of as the grandest mountain of the Berkshires. In reality, it’s part of the neighboring Taconics, a separate mountain range to the west of The Berkshires which occasionally spills over into Berkshire County. But even the true Berkshires are actually a vast southern stretch of the Green Mountains that we usually associate with Vermont.

So, for the third and final installment of Journey Into the Berkshires, we’re going to do something a bit different: journey out of the Berkshires, ending our travels at some of the landscapes that lie in the periphery of these iconic mountains of Massachusetts.

Race Brook Falls
Sheffield, Massachusetts

In the woodlands of Sheffield, only a few miles north of the Connecticut state line, Race Brook courses through the heart of the 1,300-acre Mount Everett State Reservation. The stream tumbles feverishly down from the heights of the Reservation’s namesake mountain, draining the forests that flank its southern slope. Unlike nearby Bash Bish Brook, Race Brook doesn’t seem to have a place in the legends of the Berkshires; there aren’t any ancient tales of romance or tragedy to be found in the books, even if that’s only because time has swallowed them up. But what Race Brook may lack in provenance, it more than makes up for with striking scenery.

Race Brook Marble (Race Brook Falls, Mount Everett State Reservation, Sheffield, Massachusetts)
“Race Brook Marble”
Race Brook Falls, Mount Everett State Reservation, Sheffield, Massachusetts
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

Take my new piece, Falls of Mount Everett (at top), in which Race Brook leaps frantically from a precipice, churning to whitewater before crashing into the bedrock below. Patches of vibrant moss mottle the surface of surrounding bedrock, generously nourished by a stray portion of the brook that escapes the falls, instead trickling from the adjacent ledge in fine strands. This is only one of several cataracts to be found along Race Brook, for it is in this area that the stream descends nearly 1,000 feet down the steep slopes of the highlands before joining with Dry Brook in the valley below.

Mount Everett State Reservation is just one of several expanses of protected wildlands in the far-southwestern corner of Massachusetts. Just a few miles to the west is the 4,000-acre Mount Washington State Forest and the smaller, but much renowned, Bash Bish Falls State Park. Adjoining Mount Everett to the north, we find the 1,100-acre Jug End State Reservation. But even though there’s plenty to see here, we aren’t sticking around. Instead, we’re following the mountains south, departing Berkshire County and heading into the Nutmeg State.

Great Falls of the Housatonic
Canaan, Connecticut

The mountains and hills of Connecticut’s northwestern corner are oftentimes called “The Northwest Hills”, a name which could understandably be mistaken for a simple, literal description. Some folks are partial to the view that the Northwest Hills are just as much a part of The Berkshires as the mountains further north in Massachusetts. Indeed, there doesn’t seem to be any physical feature of the landscape that we could pinpoint as the clear place to delineate The Berkshires from the Northwest Hills; where does one draw the line? Even still, there are many that scoff at the notion that The Berkshires extend as far as 20 or 30 miles south into Connecticut, encompassing towns such as New Fairfield, Roxbury, Wolcott and Burlington. These are all hilly towns, for sure, but it’s difficult to equate their hilly terrain with an iconic mountain range that lies far away in the namesake county of a different state. And on that note, if The Berkshires are contained mostly in Berkshire County, Massachusetts, then shouldn’t the mountains in northwestern Connecticut’s Litchfield County be dubbed “The Litchfields”? Well, pretty close: the Northwest Hills are perhaps more romantically dubbed “The Litchfield Hills”.

Great Falls on the Housatonic (Great Falls on the Housatonic River, Canaan, Connecticut
“Great Falls on the Housatonic”
Great Falls, Canaan, Connecticut
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

Our jaunt into the Litchfield Hills brings us only about 5 miles south of the Massachusetts border into the town of Canaan, Connecticut. Encompassing 33 square miles with barely over 1,000 people, the rugged terrain and expansive, unpopulated wildlands of Canaan possess an aesthetic that is practically indistinguishable from that found up north in the Berkshires. Even the bedrock that underlies the landscapes of Canaan is part and parcel to the same vast veins of pale limestone and marble that we find exposed at Bash Bish Falls, Tannery Falls, Wahconah Falls, Race Brook and other rugged gorges throughout Western Massachusetts.

But there’s one major way in which Canaan’s Great Falls differs from those scenic waterfalls of the Berkshires: it’s much larger. Located in the Falls Village section of town, this impressive cataract sees the full, 100-foot breadth of the Housatonic River dumped 60 feet over a massive ledge of time-worn limestone. A 60foot drop is by no means unheard of among waterfalls of Southern New England, but most of those are formed along the course of modest woodland brooks, not sizable rivers like the Housatonic. During high-water episodes, more than 18,000 gallons of water crash angrily over Great Falls every second; no other waterfall in Southern New England is so voluminous. But when you take a look at my new piece, Great Falls on the Housatonic (above), you’ll find it portrayed during a time of much-reduced waterflow, the river streaming swiftly down marble cliffs beneath the dying light of dusk.

Only a few hundred feet upstream of Great Falls, the Falls Village Dam diverts a significant portion of the Housatonic’s volume for power generation. This leaves the waterfall starved for water during drier times of year. During snow melts and spring rains, though, the Housatonic swells far beyond the needs of the hydroplant and immense torrents bypass the dam and crash magnificently over Great Falls. So although seeing this waterfall in all of its crushing glory requires somewhat precise timing, Great Falls is nonetheless an impressive sight during just about any time of year.

Chapel Falls
Ashfield, Massachusetts

Our journey from the heart of the Berkshires to the borderlands of those famed mountains doesn’t end in Connecticut, though. Instead, we’re going to leave the foot of Great Falls and head northeast about 50 miles, back into the highlands of Massachusetts for a quick stop in the forests of Ashfield. It is here that Chapel Brook meanders through the gently sloping woodlands of Pony Mountain, keeping a mostly calm and reserved demeanor until spilling over a series of abrupt rock ledges to form Chapel Falls. My new piece, “On the Flank of Pony Mountain”, brings us into the Chapel Brook gorge where the waterfall plunges over a rock outcropping into the pool below. Foam churned up by the falls swirls along the periphery of the brook, ever cloaked as it is in the thick shadows of the forest canopy despite the rather sunny, cloudless day overhead.

On the Flank of Pony Mountain (Chapel Falls, Chapel Brook Reservation, Ashfield, MA)
“On the Flank of Pony Mountain”
Chapel Brook Reservation, Ashfield, Massachusetts
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

Protected as part of Chapel Brook Reservation, Chapel Falls lies within Franklin County, some 10 miles east of the Berkshire County line. But even if it doesn’t fall within the political boundaries of Berkshire, Chapel Falls and the vast 40-square-mile expanse of Ashfield are typically described as laying within the eastern foothills of the Berkshires. Of course, merely experiencing the furrowed and densely forested terrain of this region is indication enough that it has inherited more than a bit of the character of the mountainlands to the west.

Until Next Time…

With that, we conclude our Journey Into the Berkshires, even if there’s still plenty more to see in these scenic mountainscapes of Western Massachusetts. Looking back at the three-part series of new prints, though, there’s little doubt that plenty of ground has been covered. We’ve traveled to the northern Berkshires to peer out from the heights of Mount Greylock, marveled at a sun halo from the grounds of Natural Bridge and stood at the foot of Tannery Falls. In the central Berkshires, we delved deep into the legend of Wahconah Falls. Bash Bish Falls and Race Brook Falls were welcome stops in the southern Berkshires. We’ve even managed to push into the neighboring highlands to take in the views at Chapel Brook and headed down the Housatonic River to see the Great Falls in Connecticut’s northwest.

“There is something about the scenery,” wrote Clark Bryan in his 1887 Book of Berkshire,” that imparts a quietude, a repose, a freedom from distraction, a healing with the balm of Dame Nature. The unequaled harmony of the surroundings exhales an influence that enraptures the beholder, and creates within him an inward form of the external.” Bryan’s time has long since past, just as the way of life in the Berkshires has surely changed since he penned those words. But the modern-day visitor to this western mountain spine of New England will discover that these forested mountains are timeless in their allure, possessing a beauty and serenity that has persisted through centuries untold. The pieces I’ve introduced with Journey Into the Berkshires are momentary visions of these enduring wildlands; vignettes of a rugged and subtly sublime landscape that I offer to you with the hopes that they can strike the same chords of awe and appreciation that inspired them.

Want to See More?

Categories
New Print Releases The American Northeast

Journey Into the Berkshires (pt. 2)

Nessacus Fortune (Wahconah Falls State Park, Dalton, Massachusetts)
“Nessacus Fortune”
Wahconah Falls State Park, Dalton, MA
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

Within the thousand square miles of Southern New England known as The Berkshires, 19th-century author Clark Bryan found no shortage of inspiration for his 1887 travel guide, Book of Berkshire. “There is a marvelous blending of masterpieces of natural beauty, of the wild and the picturesque,” he explained. “Though there is civilization, somehow a wilderness is not out of place, and though the surface of the earth be ruffled and rugged, often forest-covered and untillable, yet it impresses one as the fittest dwelling-place of the highest civilization.” The mountain spine of Western Massachusetts has retained the same invigorating character that Bryan applauded more than a century ago. Most of this vast and majestic territory is dominated by dense woodlands that soften the rocky contours of its mountains and cast its winding rivers into shadow.

Last week, for the first installment of my three-part series Journey Into the Berkshires, I introduced you to a few of my latest fine art prints featuring the most time-honored natural landmarks of the region. We began at the lofty heights of Mount Greylock, then descended into the shadowy, woodland chasm of Bash Bish Falls. In this second installment, our Berkshire odyssey continues as we delve into places that are perhaps lesser known, but equally stirring and graced with uncommon wild beauty.

Wahconah Falls
Dalton, Massachusetts

We begin our journey by venturing into my new piece, Nessacus Fortune (top), which brings us into the geographic heart of the Berkshires where Wahconah Brook is churned to whitewater as it spills over successive tiers of ancient bedrock. In the foreground, the lively brook fans out as it slips around slabs of fragmented marble. Hardy cliff-side trees and a glancing taste of the distant, glowing forest canopy remind us that this exquisite landscape of stone is actually crowded by dense woodlands.

Known as Wahconah Falls, there is an interesting Native American legend associated with this 40-foot cascading waterfall that comes to us from several different books published throughout the late 1800s. In fact, the story of Wahconah has been written, re-written and re-interpreted so many times that it’s difficult to pin down any one version of the story as the “original”. In some cases, the story is condensed into a single paragraph, while in other books it is related in long form and occupies nearly ten pages. Rarely does one find a local legend that is told with such diversity of size and detail. And, since it is so eloquently related elsewhere at great length, I offer here a fairly abbreviated account.

The tale begins during King Philip’s War in the mid-1670s, a tumultuous time when a broad confederation of tribes in Central and Eastern Massachusetts were engaged in routine combat with the English, trying to push the foreigners out of their territory. Further west, near what we know today as Wahconah Falls, lived a tribe under the leadership of one Chief Miacomo. Miacomo had opted not to involve his people in the grizzly conflict, instead remaining hidden deep in the Berkshires where the English could not find them. And so it was that his daughter, Wahconah, could enjoy relative peace in the tribe’s hideaway in the mountains.

Wahconah's Pool (Wahconah Falls State Park, Dalton, Massachusetts)
“Wahconah’s Pool”
Wahconah Falls State Park
Dalton, MA
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

From time to time, though, warriors tired from battle would slip into the hills and stumble upon Miacomo’s village. They were always welcome to stay for some time and rest, though none of them proved so problematic as a warrior named Nessacus. During his stay at the village, Nessacus fell deeply in love with Wahconah and eventually asked the chief for permission to marry her.

Chief Miacomo favored Nessacus, but he was urged by the tribal priest, Tashmu, to offer Wahconah’s hand in marriage to an old Mohawk warrior instead. Tashmu insisted that such an arranged marriage would promote an alliance between Miacomo’s tribe and the neighboring Mohawk tribe. Secretly, though, the priest simply craved the political influence he would gain under such an alliance; he had little regard for the desires of Wahconah and no interest in the likes of Nessacus.

The tribe looked to Miacomo for a ruling of some kind, but he was unable to come to a decision even after days of consideration. Amidst growing tensions and the prospect of a duel, Tashmu intervened and explained that he had visions in which a vacant canoe would be launched from the foot of the nearby waterfall and left to drift downstream to a point where a large boulder divided the waters of the river equally. Nessacus and the old Mohawk would stand on opposite sides of the river near the boulder and, depending upon which side of the boulder the canoe drifted, that suitor would win Wahconah’s hand.

Little did the tribespeople know, Tashmu and the Mohawk secretly tried to rig the event by digging out the stream bed to hasten the flow of water on the Mohawk’s side of the boulder. Surely, they believed, the swifter current would draw the canoe towards the Mohawk and victory would be guaranteed. The next day, the tribe assembled to watch as Nessacus and the Mohawk assumed their positions on either side of the boulder. A canoe was released upstream and the two suitors stood in wait as it floated down the river, approaching ever closer. The Mohawk’s jaw nearly dropped, however, as he watched the canoe take an unswerving course for the opposite side of the boulder, ensuring that love would prevail and Nessacus and Wahconah would be wed. Baffled, the Mohawk set off into the forest on his way back to his home village. Tashmu, surely just as awestruck at the development, stormed out of the village shortly afterwards.

Various renderings of the tale differ on the point of how Tashmu and the Mohawk somehow failed despite their best efforts at cheating. In some cases, no attempt is made to explain the outcome, leaving us to believe that it was the Great Spirit, or perhaps the magical strength of true love, that managed to draw the canoe towards Nessacus. In other instances, it is suggested that Nessacus may have anticipated that his competitors would cheat, affording him an opportunity to secretly counter their efforts. One version of the story recounts that, days after the event, a tribesman discovered evidence that Nessacus had affixed a makeshift rudder to the bottom of the canoe, ensuring that it would steer towards his own side of the boulder regardless of the tug of the currents. Yet when the man reported his findings to Chief Miacomo, the elder didn’t seem especially concerned…

Nessacus and Wahconah were happily wed, and so it is that Wahconah Falls draws its name from a tale of romance. But what ever became of Tashmu? Most versions of the story agree that he was infuriated after his botched attempt at gaining political influence. Hungry for revenge, Tashmu traveled for a few days until reaching the nearest English army, offering to guide them to Miacomo’s village. Incidentally, the English didn’t act upon Tashmu’s invitation, for they were low on supplies and needed to head back east. But Native American spies had caught on to Tashmu’s treachery and brought word back to Miacomo and Nessacus that their hidden location in the hills had been revealed to the English and was no longer safe. Tashmu was swiftly hunted down and put to death for treason, some say by Nessacus himself. The village was presumably moved shortly afterwards, though if any of the English ever did discover the new location, that information has been lost to history.

Tannery Falls
Florida, Massachusetts

Our next stop brings us further north to Savoy, a rural town of 36 square miles and just over 700 people. Practically empty relative to most of Southern New England, it is no surprise that the vast majority of Savoy is blanketed with sprawling expanses of unbroken woodlands. In fact, roughly a third of the town’s entire land area is preserved within four state forests!

Sanctuary at Savoy Mountain (Tannery Falls, Savoy Mountain State Forest, Florida, Massachusetts)
“Sanctuary at Savoy Mountain”
Tannery Falls, Savoy Mountain State Forest, Florida, MA
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

Savoy Mountain State Forest is the namesake open space, occupying more than 10,000-acres of mountainous wilds in the heart of the town. It is here that we find Tannery Falls, a towering waterfall on Ross Brook that is featured in my new work, Sanctuary at Savoy Mountain. As we explore this piece, we are drawn at first to the blazing sun star piercing the forest canopy at the precipice of the waterfall. From there, Tannery Falls begins its first descent, fanning out into two broad sheets as it slides down a smooth marble rock face. Successive whitewater cascades form the lower half of the fall, heaving the waters of Ross Brook from side to side until reaching a calm, dark pool below. Tannery Falls is surely one of the most aesthetically remarkable waterfalls in the Berkshires, perhaps even rivaling the much acclaimed falls at Bash Bish.

Of course, it’s easy to forget that my actual experience at Tannery Falls didn’t necessarily comport with the image of peaceful solitude that you might envision when you look at Sanctuary. During my visit in May, the mosquitoes had emerged en masse and were so unforgiving in their relentless assault that it required an act of willpower just to stand in one spot long enough to compose a shot. By the time I was packing up my camera gear, every bit of exposed skin was aching from their ceaseless bites. Truth be told, though, the beauty of Tannery Falls is arresting; so much so that I was more than obliged to offer a hearty meal to the local mosquito population in return for the privilege of producing Sanctuary at Savoy Mountain.

But a word of advice: if you should ever find yourself traveling through Savoy in search of springtime sanctuary, just be sure to remember insect repellent and long sleeves…

A Halo at Natural Bridge?
North Adams, Massachusetts

Natural Bridge State Park may get less attention than nearby Mount Greylock, but that’s probably just because folks don’t know what they’re missing. The namesake feature of this 48-acre park is a large, natural arch comprised entirely of marble; the only such arch on the continent. Furthermore, visitors that walk a short way upstream from the arch will find the only dam on the continent made entirely of marble. For my own part, though, I was most intrigued by the 60-foot deep gorge through which Hudson Brook flows beneath the arch. The narrow, winding gorge brought to my mind the iconic slot canyons of the American Southwest, except that instead of red-rock sandstone, the smooth canyon walls of Natural Bridge are carved entirely from pale gray, half-billion-year-old marble bedrock. Before I saw the canyon of Natural Bridge, I never would’ve imagined that such a place existed in New England.

Halo Over North Adams (Natural Bridge State Park, North Adams, Massachusetts)
“Halo Over North Adams”
Natural Bridge State Park, North Adams, MA
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

That being said, you might be surprised to learn that my piece from Natural Bridge State Park, titled Halo Over North Adams, doesn’t portray any of the impressive attractions that I’ve just described. As fate would have it, what were originally partly cloudy skies had cleared while I was en route to the park, leaving me instead with cloudless skies and harsh, direct sunlight that wasn’t especially conducive to photographing the various marble rock formations. But just when I thought that Natural Bridge wouldn’t yield any particularly interesting images, Mother Nature conspired to reveal beauty in a most unexpected way.

Believing that interesting opportunities for photography might be found within the shadows of the gorge, where harsh sunlight couldn’t penetrate, I and a fellow shooter ventured up Hudson Brook. We eventually found ourselves in a shallower end of the narrow marble canyon, flanked on both sides by vertical cliff faces that climbed some 25 feet above our heads to gorge rim. The terrain leading further into the canyon proved impassable on foot, however, dashing any hopes of making it into the depths we had originally set out to access. But as we lingered for a moment before turning back, we happened to glance upwards. Only a narrow sliver of the sky was visible from the canyon floor, but we were amazed to see what appeared to be a strange rainbow emanating from the Sun. I wondered if perhaps we weren’t just experiencing some peculiar optical illusion caused by sunlight funneling into such a narrow crevice, but as we eagerly made our way out of the canyon and into the open parkland, we gazed up in amazement at a hazy halo that fully encircled the Sun.

Neither of us had ever witnessed such a phenomenon and had no idea how long it might last, so we wasted no time composing several frames of the otherworldly scene. My favorite piece from that fortuitous shoot, Halo Over North Adams, portrays the broad halo as it appeared over the landscaped park road of Natural Bridge. The winding road, trees, and monolithic rock outcropping all lend a much needed sense of scale to this image, illustrating the colossal breadth of the halo as it appeared overhead.

Known most commonly as “sun halos”, these 360° rainbows form only when sunlight passes though atmospheric ice crystals under just the right circumstances. Although they are fairly uncommon, they are by no means unheard of, for whenever they do happen to appear over a heavily populated area, they tend to generate plenty of commotion. Unusual atmospheric phenomena such as sun halos and rainbows are the true wildcards of landscape photography; photogenic occurrences that are just as elusive as they are impressive. There is really no way to conclusively predict them, and if you don’t already have your camera in-hand once you’ve spotted them, you’re probably too late!

The Journey Continues…

With the second installment of Journey Into the Berkshires coming to a close, we’ve already explored a good deal of Massachusetts’ mountainous west through an array of my new works. If I could venture to draw any underlying thread from the images and stories here, it is that the wildlands of the Berkshires, in the true character of wildness, have no regard for the narrow expectations of man. Against all odds, these mountains saw fit to grant Nessacus with victory. These mountains summoned hordes of mosquitoes to try and drive this humbled photographer out of the valleys of Savoy. These mountains, it seems, can even reach to the ceiling of the heavens and affix a halo to the Sun itself!

But perhaps it’s this vein of unpredictability that we find in the Berkshires which draw us into these remote and rugged places. As author Robert MacFarlane reminds us: “At bottom, mountains, like all wildernesses, challenge our complacent conviction – so easy to lapse into – that the world has been made for humans by humans. Most of us exist for most of the time in worlds which are humanly arranged, themed and controlled. One forgets that there are environments which do not respond to the flick of a switch or the twist of a dial, and which have their own rhythms and orders of existence. Mountains correct this amnesia.”

Be sure to join me in a few weeks for the third and final installment of Journey Into the Berkshires, when we’ll come down from the heart of this grand mountain range and explore the natural wonders that abound in its foothills and borderlands.

Want to See More?

Categories
New Print Releases The American Northeast

Journey Into the Berkshires (pt. 1)

Greylock Vista (Mount Greylock State Reservation, Adams, MA)
“Greylock Vista”
Mount Greylock State Reservation, Adams, Massachusetts
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

“In most mountainous regions, there is a tiresome similarity among the mountains, the hills, the forests, the valleys, the streams and the landscape, but this is not so in the Berkshire,” wrote Clark W. Bryan in his 1887 work, Book of Berkshire. “Here… the mountains and hills, on every hand, are fashioned in the most varied styles, the valleys are no two alike, and the scenery everywhere passes before the eye of the traveler in the richest and most lavish profusion of dissimilar characteristics.” Well over a century has passed since these words were penned, but the mountain spine of western Massachusetts, known simply as The Berkshires, seems to have retained every bit of the fascinating and scenic character that Bryan discovered so long ago.

Over the next few weeks, I’ll be taking you along on an odyssey through the Berkshire landscapes as I release several new fine art prints in a three-part series I’ve titled Journey Into the Berkshires. We’ll experience some of the region’s most exquisite and awe-inspiring scenery and delve into the fascinating lore that underlies this rural back-country in western Massachusetts. For the first installment of the series, I’ve decided to introduce you to two of the Berkshires most famous natural places; beacons of wild beauty that have inspired travelers and artists for generations.

Mount Greylock
Adams, Massachusetts

When C. W. Bryan sat down in the 1880s to write about the panoramic views from the summit of Mount Greylock, he began by conceding that “the pen cannot describe the scene”. The perspective from this massive mountain, which climbs more than 2,000 feet over the surrounding valleys and affords 100-mile views into neighboring states, is one of the most impressive in all of Southern New England.

In my new piece, Greylock Vista (above), we are whisked to the upper slopes of Mount Greylock where a grand panorama unfolds before our eyes. The deeply-furrowed expanses of the Berkshires reveal themselves as a majestic procession of broad, forest-laden slopes and rural valleys that stretch to a distant horizon beneath a hazy blue sky ripe with gentle clouds.

Spanning several towns in the far northwest corner of Massachusetts, Mount Greylock reaches a height of just under 3,500 feet above sea level, making it the highest summit in Berkshire County. Indeed, taking in the view from this towering peak has long been considered one of the quintessential aesthetic experiences of the Berkshires. It is no surprise, then, that Mount Greylock was the first swath of territory set aside by the State of Massachusetts in an effort to protect forestland and preserve natural heritage. Created in 1898, Mount Greylock State Reservation has steadily grown since its it inception, now encompassing more than 12,000 acres of rugged land radiating from the summit.

The name, “Mount Greylock”, first appeared in writing in the early 1800s and had become widely-used only a few decades later, but there’s still some measure of mystery as to its origin. Some attribute the name to the gray clouds that occasionally cling to the mountain’s summit, said to resemble locks of gray hair. Other sources claim that the mountain was named in honor of Chief Grey Lock, a Western Abenaki warrior that led several bloody campaigns against the English in Massachusetts during the 1720s. Grey Lock was one of New England’s “most wanted” for a number of years and the colonists made several efforts to hunt him down. The cunning warrior thwarted every attempt, eventually retiring from active warfare and, by all accounts, living to a ripe old age.

Chief Grey Lock spent many of his years on the move between Massachusetts and Vermont, though there doesn’t seem to be any credible story that directly associates him with Mount Greylock. Perhaps it simply seemed fitting to name such an imposing mountain after such an infamous, larger-than-life warrior.

Bash Bish Twilight (Bash Bish Falls, Mount Washington, MA)
“Bash Bish Twilight”
Bash Bish Falls State Park,
Mt. Washington, MA
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

Bash Bish Falls
Mt. Washington, Massachusetts

Departing the slopes of Mount Greylock and heading some 40 miles south to the town of Mount Washington, we arrive at the equally-famous and much celebrated Bash Bish Falls. “It is not without a silencing thrill of delight that the cataract of Bashbish greets the vision,” wrote one 19th-century visitor. Another writer dubbed them “the anthem of Nature’s hymn in New England.” Indeed, Bash Bish Falls is the scenic epicenter of the southern Berkshires and the subject of more than a century-and-a-half of paintings, poems and photographs.

But despite the abundance of works inspired by this natural landmark, my piece Bash Bish Twilight nonetheless offers a vista of the falls in an uncommon light: the early hours of morning, before the sun has risen. Illuminated only by soft, reflected light from the sky above, the weathered rock faces of the gorge take on a palette of cool color tones as Bash Bish Brook spills from the uppermost ledges, sending a plume of water careening into the pool below. Above the shadowy forest on the gorge rim, the clouds have been transformed into dreamy wisps with the help of a long shutter speed.

Just as with Mount Greylock, there is a certain degree of mystery regarding how Bash Bish Falls came to be named. Perhaps the simplest explanation is that the name is onomatopoeic: the plunging water is said create a gurgle that vaguely sounds like “bash bish”. However, there is an alternate legend that accounts for the name with a much more intriguing story.

The account tells of a beautiful Native American woman named Bash Bish, who was falsely accused of adultery by an envious member of her tribe. For unknown reasons, the tribe determined that she was guilty and ought to be punished by death. In a gruesome spectacle, she was strapped to a canoe and set adrift down the brook, eventually careening over the waterfall. When the tribe attempted to find Bash Bish’s body, though, they could recover only broken fragments of the canoe. The mysterious lack of a body spooked the tribe, who concluded that she must have been a witch.

Falls of Bash Bish Creek (Bash Bish Falls, Mount Washington, MA)
“Falls of Bash Bish Creek”
Bash Bish Falls State Park,
Mt. Washington, MA
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

Bash Bish was gone, but she had left behind a daughter by the name of White Swan. Over the years following her mother’s death, White Swan had grown to be quite beautiful herself, eventually marrying Whirling Wind, the son of a prestigious chief. The two were deeply in love and all was well for the couple, except for glaring fact that they seemed unable to conceive a child. White Swan, having been eager to bear a child for her husband, was crushed at the realization that it was proving impossible. Fraught with misery, she climbed to the precipice above Bash Bish Falls and jumped, meeting her fate on the same waters that claimed her mother years earlier. What she didn’t realize is that Whirling Wind had secretly followed her; perhaps he thought she had simply gone to the falls to think, and he was hoping to comfort her. He instead arrived just in time to see her jump. Grief-stricken, he too cast himself into rocky waters below. In the aftermath of the tragedy, the tribe pulled the battered body of Whirling Wind from the waters; White Swan was never found. Fleeting images of Bash Bish and White Swan are said to be momentarily visible in the cascading waters of Bash Bish Falls to this day.

But whereas Chief Greylock was undoubtedly a real Abenaki warrior of the 18th-century, there doesn’t seem to be any mention of Bash Bish and White Swan in old records. The legend seems to have emerged out of nowhere in a few obscure sources in the 1950s, always being billed as lore passed down from local tribes. Yet it’s curious that this legend was apparently not prominent enough to make it into Clark Bryan’s Book of Berkshire, published some 70 years earlier in 1880s. Perhaps it’s simply a fantastic story that was dreamed up at some point during the early 20th-century in order to put a mysterious spin on the peculiarly-named landmark. Or maybe… just maybe… there is a vein of truth to this story of love, loss and untimely death in an era before Europeans.

After all, Bash Bish Falls is apparently just as perilous as it is scenic; “the most deadly waterfall in the United States” according to some sources. Whether or not that superlative rings true is probably tough to pin down, but when you consider that over two-dozen people have perished at Bash Bish Falls in recorded history, the facts alone are shocking enough.

On to the Next Journey…

There’s little doubt that the Berkshires are a place of inspiring beauty, and we’ll continue to explore the natural treasures of these mountains through the fine art prints featured in my next installment of Journey Into the Berkshires. But as we’ve already discovered with the tales of Chief Greylock, Bash Bish and White Swan, there’s an ancient and storied history that dwells in these wild expanses of Western Massachusetts. The legends that have grown out of the Berkshires are a captivating and haunting blend of fact and fiction, of the real and the surreal. With my photographic depictions of this rugged territory, I seek not only to capture the enchanting beauty of the landscape, but also to instill within my works a subtle bridge into the past… into the primeval contours of the land… into the enigmatic generations of souls that have loved, lost, lived and died in these mountains for untold centuries.

Want to See More?

Categories
All Things Connecticut New Print Releases

Lighthouse Point: A Truly Special Place

On this day last year, I had recently returned from a fantastic honeymoon in the Caribbean. My wife, Mary, and I had spent several days on the mountainous tropical island of St. Lucia, and even though we were back in Connecticut and had been back to work for a handful of days already, I probably still had a couple East Caribbean Dollars lingering in my wallet. Even now, a full year later, so many aspects of that once-in-a-lifetime getaway are fresh in my mind: breath-taking views of the thickly-forested Piton mountains, a rejuvenating ocean breeze sweeping endlessly over the coastline, a seemingly endless array of fresh food and drink… and all of it with the love of my life beside me!

So why the reminiscing? Because my latest piece, “Morning on Lighthouse Point”, comes to you from Lighthouse Point Park in New Haven, Connecticut. It was here at this seaside park on the Connecticut coast that my wife and I got married a little over a year ago in view of the old Five Mile Point Light. So while it may have been the distant beaches of the Caribbean where we celebrated our marriage for days afterward, it was the soft rhythm of the waves coming off Long Island Sound that serenaded our ceremony.

Morning on Lighthouse Point (Lighthouse Point Park, New Haven, Connecticut)
"Morning on Lighthouse Point"
Lighthouse Point Park, New Haven, Connecticut
© 2013 J. G. Coleman

The lighthouse seen in “Morning on Lighthouse Point”, known traditionally as the Five Mile Point Light for its distance from the center of New Haven, was activated in 1847 after being constructed from a variety of locally-quarried stone. It had replaced an earlier lighthouse which was shorter, dimmer and terribly insufficient when it came to protecting sailors from running their ships into jagged rock outcroppings of New Haven Harbor. This newer lighthouse was a vast improvement over the older structure and cost roughly $10,000, a small fortune in the mid-1800s. Yet for all the improvements that went into the new light on Lighthouse Point, it’s usefulness was short-lived. By 1877, only three decades after its completion, it was rendered obsolete once the Southwest Ledge Light was constructed at a more visible point out in the harbor.

Despite being 166 years old and out of service for more than a century, the Five Mile Point Light probably enjoys a greater “iconic status” now than it ever did back when it was thought of as a mundane navigational aid. While it no longer acts as a beacon for sailing ships, it nonetheless serves as the centerpiece and namesake of a beautiful stretch of shoreline along New Haven Harbor, quietly watching over countless beach-goers and proudly standing witness to several weddings every year.

Want to See More?

Categories
All Things Connecticut New Print Releases

Remember Springtime

When the first fresh snowfall hits the ground, I’m truly immersed in the momentum of nature towards a certain serenity that comes with cold and quiet. But the frigid air and disconcerting lack of foliage that accompanies a New England winter always tends to overstay its welcome. Then, thankfully, springtime comes along, breathing vitality back into a landscape that has laid dormant and seemingly barren for months. Indeed, Spring has always been a special time for me; a time of rebirth and revitalization after a winter that’s felt just a bit too long. But with summer having drawn to a close and colder months around the corner, I find myself a bit nostalgic for those earlier months of Spring that seem so strangely distant now. And so I offer you my latest series of fine art print releases in the hope that they will bring back memories of the joyous reawakening of nature earlier this year.

Whittemore Sanctuary

Take, for instance, the fern-laden forest understory of Whittemore Sanctuary in my piece “Whittemore Woods”. During my visit in May, this 700-acre tract of woodlands beside Lake Quassapaug in Woodbury, Connecticut truly embodied the springtime transition: that time of year when ferns are beginning to burst forth from the ground in droves, but the trees are still staging their awakening and haven’t quite filled out yet.

Whittemore Woods
“Whittemore Woods”
Whittemore Sanctuary, Woodbury, CT
© 2012 J. G. Coleman

Originally, these woodlands were owned by a private corporation… a scenario which can too often lead to natural places vanishing in a flurry of development and subdivision when it comes time to liquify some assets. Luckily, beginning in 1965, the land was leased to the Flanders Land Trust which, at that time, was a fledgling non-profit organization bringing fresh ideals of open space preservation to western Connecticut. Who would’ve thought that by 2012, after nearly five decades of tireless work, the Flanders Land Trust would have preserved 2,000 acres of land throughout Woodbury, Middlebury, Southbury and Bethlehem? As it would happen, the trust ultimately managed to pull together the funds to buy all of the woodlands that are now Whittemore Sanctuary, ensuring that scenes like those pictured in “Whittemore Woods” will last into perpetuity.

Pine Brook Preserve

Another of my new releases, “Down on Pine Brook”, brings us 40 miles west of Whittemore Sanctuary to the banks of Pine Brook as it wanders through the forests of Haddam Neck. Our eyes can move effortlessly through this piece, beginning with picturesque cascades in the foreground where Pine Brook struggles furiously against the resistance of boulders. On the opposite bank of the river, sunlight filters through a dense canopy and floods the crowded forest understory in green-tinted light. The course of Pine Brook recedes far into the distance, its surface punctuated by boulders and marbleized with wispy, whitewater riffles.

Down on Pine Brook
“Down on Pine Brook”
Pine Brook Preserve, Haddam, CT
© 2012 J. G. Coleman

Over 20 acres of this intimate riverscape are preserved under the auspices of the Haddam Land Trust, another of Connecticut’s many land conservation organizations that work tirelessly to ensure that nature will have a profound presence in the Nutmeg State well into the distant future. But if we follow the waters of Pine Brook after they leave the boundaries of the land trust preserve, a larger story of cooperative land preservation reveals itself. The “Salmon River Division” of the Silvio Conte National Wildlife Refuge actually abuts Pine Brook Preserve and protects hundreds of acres of land beside Pine Brook for the remaining mile of its course, right up until it empties into the larger Salmon River. Now carrying the waters of Pine Brook, the Salmon River continues a southward journey towards the Connecticut River, first making a wide bend around the 300-acre Machimoodus State Park in East Haddam. Less than two miles further south, the Salmon River eventually empties into the Connecticut River. In this relatively small stretch of Conneticut River watershed along Pine Brook and Salmon River, we find the combined land preservation efforts of federal government, state government and a local land trust. This sort of multi-faceted approach to open space is a refreshing development, indeed. Increasingly, local land trusts have sought to acquire properties adjacent those owned by the state and federal government, or even owned by neighboring land trusts, thereby helping to create even larger unbroken tracts of open space which are ultimately more beneficial to wildlife than smaller areas fragmented by roads and neighborhoods.

George Dudley Seymour State Park

“New England Oasis”, one of my new works from Connecticut’s George Dudley Seymour State Park, brings you to the banks of Axelson Brook at the height of the springtime awakening. A lush patch of ferns and false hellebore lead you to the quiet stream side, where banks lined with moss-laden boulders meander into the depths of brilliant green woodlands.

New England Oasis
“New England Oasis”
George Dudley Seymour State Park, Haddam, CT
© 2012 J. G. Coleman

Encompassing more than 300 acres of forest and flood plains, George Dudley Seymour State Park lies on the eastern side of the Connecticut River in Haddam. Interestingly, within a system of over a hundred Connecticut state parks and forests, it is among a small handful named explicitly after a person. George D. Seymour was born in the mid-1800’s and, while still only in his twenties, he had achieved such success as an attorney that he was able to channel some of his resources into preserving land. He even set up a foundation which has continued making contributions to open space preservation up to the present day. Through his personal contributions of land, and the on-going efforts of his trust since his passing, Seymour “acquired all or part of seven other state parks” in addition to the full acreage of the park that now bears his name.

Another of my new pieces from George Dudley Seymour State Park, titled “The Clark Ruins”, features a long-abandoned stone foundation quietly being reclaimed by nature in the misty gorge of Axelson Brook. While it’s unclear who built the old structure or exactly what purpose it served, chances are that it would’ve been familiar to the Clark family.

The Clark Ruins
“The Clark Ruins”
George Dudley Seymour State Park, Haddam, CT
© 2012 J. G. Coleman

Comprised of three brothers, the Clark family operated a rather successful business in Connecticut producing a range of agricultural equipment from the 1870s through the early 1900s. During much of that time, the family lived on the land that is now George Dudley Seymour State Park. In those days, however, it was named “Clarkhurst” and essentially functioned as the Clark’s private estate. One can only imagine that Clarkhurst would’ve been a magnificent homestead in its hey-dey, a generous swath of land where the Clark brothers and their families could enjoy their private slice of the countryside while rising each morning to spectacular views of the Connecticut River. But those days came and went long ago. One of the brothers, Henry, ultimately bought out his siblings and became the sole owner of the land, only to pass away in 1914 and leave the property to his daughter. She tried to maintain the extensive estate, even developing it as a golf course for some time, but it seems that these efforts simply didn’t work out as planned. By the time the 1930s rolled around, the various structures on property were falling into a state of disrepair and it was clear that Clarkhurst was beginning to succumb to the rigors of time. For another three decades, the property continued to deteriorate from its former glory, changing hands at least once along the way. By 1960, the George Dudley Seymour Foundation had come to recognize the value of the property as parkland and provided funding to help the Connecticut Forest and Park Association buy the old estate grounds. And so it was that this land, once a glorious private estate over a century ago, came to be George Dudley Seymour State Park: a place of natural beauty for the enjoyment of all.

Every time I’ve visited the state park, I’ve somehow found myself entirely alone there. Sometimes, as I pause for a quiet rest along the trails, I try to imagine what this place must have been like so long ago. I try to envision the Clark brothers standing on the riverbanks of Clarkhurst in the 1880s, secure in their achievements as they overlooked the wide breadth of the Connecticut, with the sun slowly sinking behind the hills that rise from the opposite shore and the sky rendered a glowing twilight canvas of wispy pastels. How timeless must such a moment have felt to them? How solid and permanent must their modest empire have seemed? Surely, they could never have imagined that, generations later, their buildings would be reduced to crumbling foundations, their estate would be bristling with forests and meadows, and some lone photographer would walk quietly through the remains in a world that would hardly be recognizable to them. It’s precisely that nostalgic feeling that I sought to capture with “The Clark Ruins”. On one hand, a pang of regret that those things which are important to us are always fleeting. On the other hand, a sense of renewal not unlike that of the springtime… a sense that loss is part of nature’s glory and that a renewed vitality is always just around the corner.

Categories
All Things Connecticut New Print Releases

Natchaug Mist

Diana's Last View (Diana
"Diana's Last View"
Diana's Pool on the Natchaug River, Chaplin, Connecticut
© 2012 J. G. Coleman

My latest fine art prints come to you from an exceptionally scenic stretch of the Natchaug River in the northeastern corner of Connecticut. Boulder-laden and crowded to the banks with dense forest, the Natchaug River is one of those exemplary gems of Connecticut’s wildlands. In this new series, I’ve portrayed the Natchaug River cloaked in a thick blanket of mist, accentuating the remote atmosphere and rugged beauty of these waters in a unique way that imparts both serenity and mystery.

In “Diana’s Last View”, the Natchaug River boils with whitewater while coursing beneath rocky ledges just upstream of a popular hole known as Diana’s Pool. These days, Diana’s Pool is a nice place to a launch kayaks or go fishing on the Natchaug River, but legend has it that this was the stage for a classic tragedy long ago. It is said that a woman by the name of Diana, heart-broken over a former lover, leapt from the ledges beside the Natchaug River and met her fate in the rock-strewn rapids. Another version of the tale holds that she plunged into the river only after accidentally slipping upon a puddle of her own tears. “Diana’s Last View” is a fitting addition to this legend, possessing an atmosphere that is serene and remote, but also melancholic and almost foreboding.

Natchaug Mist (Natchaug River, Chaplin, Connecticut)
"Natchaug Mist"
Natchaug River near Diana's Pool, Chaplin, Connecticut
© 2012 J. G. Coleman

The wild essence of Connecticut is subtly evoked by “Natchaug Mist”, in which a stand of fog-shrouded conifers loom in the distance over the wispy rapids of the Natchaug River below. The introspective quality of this piece, as well as the others in this latest series, demanded hours of hiking along the river and composing photographs in the pouring rain. And yet, despite the oppressive conditions, I felt a peculiar kinship with the river that day. As I scrambled atop boulders in search of just the right views, I couldn’t help but notice that my wet clothes weighed heavily upon my frame and water-logged boots made each step feel labored. These days are rarely the type that we share with the forests and rivers of our home. Indeed, we tend towards communing with nature only on our own terms… whenever she happens to offer us blue skies, fluffy white clouds and t-shirt temperatures. But there’s something uniquely fulfilling about joining the trees for a chilly, sobering rain shower. It was almost if I and the trees, for just a few hours, were of a single mind… both of us silent and soaked through, but without the desire to seek shelter or escape to comfort.

Related Links