The moon ... through the lens of an iPhone

I know my iPhone's camera has its limitations, but I continue to marvel at its ability to capture quality images under challenging circumstances. My experience is that your luck is hit and miss, although my luck so far has been more hit than miss. And this is significant, given that the photographer has no control over the camera's aperture and shutter speed settings. It's a virtual point-and-shoot, but one equipped with face-recognition capability, which I'm beginning to think carries over to distinctly bright things the camera sees in a composition.

Such as the photograph of the moon in this post, which I took Wednesday night, shortly before midnight, as I was out on a stroll for fresh air and exercise. I've tried to take images with the iPhone in very low light without luck, but on reflection, it occurs to me that none of those images had at least one distinct, bright focal point in the composition.

I've also had some impressive luck with it. Regular visitors here might remember the shots of the Eli Lilly complex after dark a couple months ago, or the photos of a blues trio in the low-lighted confines of the Slippery Noodle Inn from five months ago or so, when I took several pictures of the two blues bands performing there that evening.

Luck was with me Wednesday night for the moon photo. Skies were densely cloudy, but I had noticed on a couple occasions during my half-hour walk I'd gaze upward to explore something bright I'd suddenly noticed out of the corner of my eye. Every 5 minutes or so, the moon was darting through extremely small pockets of clear sky before sliding behind the clouds.

It didn't occur to me to try and photograph the sphere until I was on the home stretch of my walk. I was on the sidewalk along Pagoda Drive in Garfield Park, near the foot of the hill that begins at the Burrello Family Center. I glanced up at the sky and noticed the moon nearing an open pocket, and coming up on me to the right near the road was the large, expansive-branched maple tree that I've photographed on several occasions.

I pulled out the camera phone, composed and focus at a point where the pocket was framed between a couple of branches and held my breath to hopefully minimize any camera shake. When the moon slipped into the pocket, I released the shutter.

I uploaded the shot to my Facebook timeline just to have something to post for the day. The version on my camera photo look OK, but I had no idea -- until pulling up the Facebook post version on the computer screen after I got home -- that the image did as well capturing the detail that it did. I was stunned; it did not look nearly that good on the phone.

The version in this post has been edited and enhanced further in Photoshop Elements 10. I lowered the highlights, which improved the moon's finite shape and enriched the blue in the sky a bit. I also ran the image through Noiseware software then sharpened it slightly in Photoshop.

As always, to view a larger version of images in these posts, click on the image.

Every picture tells a story: Don't let the moment get away

Many photographers preach the importance of grabbing a potentially great photograph -- a beautiful landscape, a rare juxtaposition of subjects, whatever it may be -- when the situation presents itself. Sometimes, however, we're indisposed, or don't have quick access to gear, so we pass, rationalizing that "there'll always be another time." Only to realize, shortly after it's too late, that there really won't be another chance.

I've had experiences on both sides of the situation. One of the ones that got away still eats at me. I suppose there is a chance I could get it again, but it'll be a blue moon (or two or three) before the situation presents itself again.

It was just before dawn on a weekday about two years ago, and I was outside jogging, nearing the end of my route. As I climbed a slight hill, I noticed the moon hovering near a building that made for a beautiful photographic juxtaposition (I'm avoiding saying much more because I still cling to the hope of getting it!). It wasn't one of those cliched type shots, either. I even came up with a title for it as I maintained my steady running paces. When I got home, I could have lugged my camera and tripod back to the right spot to capture the frame; it was only about five blocks away. But, I had to get to work, I didn't want to be late, and I figured that the moon will come that way again some time. That was before I understood lunar orbital patterns, which don't repeat precisely very often.

I've been looking for the moon to align just the right way again ever since, but it hasn't happened; or, if it has, I wasn't in the vicinity to notice it. I suppose lunar orbits eventually will repeat at some point, but I'm not sure I'll ever know the wheres and whens, or get that second chance.

One opportunity I didn't let get away occurred on the morning of Saturday, Jan. 8, 2005. I opened the front door of my house to get the morning paper from the porch and noticed that one of those picture-perfect snowfalls had moved through overnight. The temperature was warm enough to enable flakes to stick to tree limbs, but cold enough not to melt them. The skies were a solid gray; dense, uni-color cloud cover through and through. I hadn't seen such an alignment of gray sky, beautiful snow and perfect temperature in a long time.

I moved quickly. Got dressed, grabbed my camera and gear, and once out the door, I snapped a few shots of the neighborhood. One of a snow-shoveling man across the street (right), his burgundy sweatpants and short-sleeve shirt and the brick on his house the only color in an image dominated by luscious snowscape, made for a nice wintry juxtaposition. Then I headed to the nearby park, where I had a field day finding beautiful, elegant, artsy images.

Most of the snow on the park's ground, including that on the walks, was still pristine, untrodden. When I reached the landscaped seating area where, in warmer months, parents often rested while children frolicked on the nearby playground equipment, I was taken by how the elements had transformed the area into a surreal, and maybe a bit haunting, work of art: the benches, tree branches and path serving as painter subjects, and the solid gray sky a muslin-like backdrop.

For the longest time after that, a long-range shot of that scene (left), taken from a path entry point, was one of my two favorites from that day's shoot. The other favorite (below) was of a row of tall, stately evergreens perfectly highlighted with white stuff -- not too much, not too little. Then a month ago, I started exploring some artsy features in my editing software, gimmicks that could transform the look of a simple photograph into a virtual painting of various styles and textures.

I tested a few "looks" on an image I hadn't considered a "favorite" previously: It depicted a snow-covered bench in the aforementioned playground seating area, flanked by flakes-covered bush branches and sidewalks. One of those "looks," which used a textured applique that made the snow pop out of the virtual canvas, I loved immediately.

That photograph is now my favorite from the shoot, and I used it for a while at the top of Photo Potpourri's s homepage. I've since swapped it out with the photo you see there now.

And, oh, I've not seen a snowfall exactly like that ever since.

To see a gallery of photos from the Jan. 8, 2005, photo shoot and other winter scenes, check out the "Winterscapes" folder at my site at SmugMug.