My thanks to the editor, Janice Doppler, for giving permission for me to archive my featured essay (including my haiku illustrating the zoka technique) on this blog. It was an honour to be selected for inclusion in this groundbreaking anthology! This essay can also be accessed via the "Articles/About" tab of this blog.
Chasing
Chiaroscuro
by Debbie Strange
One of the most intriguing aspects of zoka is its focus on being attentive to the changing seasons, with their shifting nuances of light and shadow. The portfolio of Ansel Adams, a master of chiaroscuro (light-dark) techniques in photography, has been a constant source of stimulation and contemplation throughout five decades of adventures with my camera. I am forever in pursuit of the perfect balance in the images I make. In my daily haiga practice, I might choose watercolours, inks, or acrylics to paint a scene, or I might decide that a photograph (painting with light) would best convey the message of my haiku.
Capturing light and shadow in photographs can be challenging, in the same way that pinning down the essence of zoka can be elusive. I was a photographer long before I was a haiku poet, and I’m grateful that this early passion taught me to look beyond the ordinary.
My photographs often act as prompts for zoka-inspired writing, or tangible haiku moments. They allow me to study transient lighting conditions, seasonal attributes, and impermanent subject matter, and to reconnect with my observations and appreciation of this natural world. A wide angle lens helps to portray the vastness of the night sky (zooming out), whilst a macro lens narrows the field of view down to the tiniest fungi (zooming in).
I appreciate the following quote from Neil DeGrasse Tyson, which impresses me as being quite zoka-like: “If you see the universe as something you participate in—as this great unfolding of a cosmic story—that, I think should make you feel large, not small.”
Though chronic illness and deteriorating vision now restrict my photography opportunities, writing haiku has no such limitations! I have thousands of photographs and dozens of nature journals from which to draw inspiration. I need only sit quietly for a moment, and I am there, still chasing light, shadows, and the possibility of a poem.
by Debbie Strange
One of the most intriguing aspects of zoka is its focus on being attentive to the changing seasons, with their shifting nuances of light and shadow. The portfolio of Ansel Adams, a master of chiaroscuro (light-dark) techniques in photography, has been a constant source of stimulation and contemplation throughout five decades of adventures with my camera. I am forever in pursuit of the perfect balance in the images I make. In my daily haiga practice, I might choose watercolours, inks, or acrylics to paint a scene, or I might decide that a photograph (painting with light) would best convey the message of my haiku.
Capturing light and shadow in photographs can be challenging, in the same way that pinning down the essence of zoka can be elusive. I was a photographer long before I was a haiku poet, and I’m grateful that this early passion taught me to look beyond the ordinary.
My photographs often act as prompts for zoka-inspired writing, or tangible haiku moments. They allow me to study transient lighting conditions, seasonal attributes, and impermanent subject matter, and to reconnect with my observations and appreciation of this natural world. A wide angle lens helps to portray the vastness of the night sky (zooming out), whilst a macro lens narrows the field of view down to the tiniest fungi (zooming in).
I appreciate the following quote from Neil DeGrasse Tyson, which impresses me as being quite zoka-like: “If you see the universe as something you participate in—as this great unfolding of a cosmic story—that, I think should make you feel large, not small.”
Though chronic illness and deteriorating vision now restrict my photography opportunities, writing haiku has no such limitations! I have thousands of photographs and dozens of nature journals from which to draw inspiration. I need only sit quietly for a moment, and I am there, still chasing light, shadows, and the possibility of a poem.
morning worship
a tuft of moss inside
the icicle
Blithe
Spirit, Volume 34, Number 1, February 2024
snowmelt
clumps of deer hair
snag the light
Modern
Haiku, Volume 52, Number 3, Autumn 2021
dripping trees
I wait for the right path
to choose me
First
Frost, Number 3, Spring 2022
solar flares
a spill of buttercups
in the meadow
Acorn, Number
35, Fall 2015
krill migration
humpback whales
scoop up the stars
The
Heron’s Nest, Volume XXIV, Number 4, December 2022
alpine camp
meteors falling
into our mouths
Modern
Haiku, Volume 55, Number 1, Winter-Spring 2024
leaf decay
deep shadows lit
by ladybugs
Modern
Haiku, Volume 50, Number 1, Winter-Spring 2019
chanterelles
dirt makes a map
of my palm
Australian Haiku Society, Winter
Solstice Haiku String, 2021
peat fire
the scent markings
of other worlds
Frogpond, Volume
46, Number 3, Autumn 2023
icefall
the water still
asleep
Scarlet
Dragonfly Journal, Number 9, December 2022
frozen berries
we enter the silence
of hibernation
Presence, Number
69, March 2021
polar night
a snowy owl fades
to black
Kokako, Number
28, April 2018
a tuft of moss inside
the icicle
clumps of deer hair
snag the light
I wait for the right path
to choose me
a spill of buttercups
in the meadow
humpback whales
scoop up the stars
meteors falling
into our mouths
deep shadows lit
by ladybugs
dirt makes a map
of my palm
the scent markings
of other worlds
the water still
asleep
we enter the silence
of hibernation
a snowy owl fades
to black
Debbie
Strange (Canada)
I spent my childhood on the
prairies, and I have been composing poetry and songs since I was a girl. My
father wrote poetry and often recited the classics by heart, kindling a lifelong
love of language in me. He was also instrumental in nurturing my passion for
photography. We enjoyed wandering the Saskatchewan hills in search of that
indefinable something on which to train our cameras and our senses. I see now
that these outings were influential in helping to hone my observational skills.
A few haiku highlights: Random Blue Sparks, winner of the 2020
Snapshot Press Book Awards, is forthcoming in 2024. The Language of Loss: Haiku & Tanka Conversations (Sable Books,
2020) received Haiku Canada’s 2022 Marianne Bluger Chapbook Award. Prairie Interludes, winner of the 2019 Snapshot
Press eChapbook Awards, was released in 2020.
The healing and meditative power
of haiku helps connect me to the world, to others, and to myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment