A Last Visit with Old Friends - Perhaps

Heading into a weekend at the beginning of February, 2024, snow was forecast for Friday night into Saturday morning. I had such a rough week at work that I was looking forward to sleeping late Saturday and Sunday. Cemeteries in the snow is an adventure I normally look forward to; however, I was pooped.

I woke up at 8 a.m. Saturday (slept over two hours later than usual!), looked outside, and saw that about three inches of snow had fallen. It was still snowing. Do I venture out? Adventure calls. What the hey. I felt up to it. My wife and daughter wouldn’t even be awake for hours, so I decided to head out. Cemetery of choice? Holy Cross Cemetery in Yeadon, PA. This is about ten miles west of where I live in Philadelphia, just outside its border where Delaware County begins. Holy Cross is the first cemetery I every photographed in, back in the late 1990s. I used to live nearby. It’s a good choice in the snow for a few reasons:

• Many, many sculptures, statues, and other structures low to the ground. Interesting to photograph normally, even more interesting covered in snow.
• The terrain is FLAT! However, even with a front- or four-wheel drive vehicle, icy hills are not your friend!
• The cemetery is very large, with many trees. Plenty of areas for wildlife, e.g. deer and fox. (Other than geese, most of the wildlife was hidden during my visit).

Once I got to Holy Cross, it was still snowing lightly, with a six-inch layer of the fluffy stuff on everything. I drove to a few of my usual favorite spots, alternating between my iPhone, Holga (120 mm film), and DSLR to capture certain images. While it is true what they say – the right kind of camera is the one you have with you, I do prefer the flexibility. For instance, there's no way I could simulate a tintype image like the one at right without the Hipstamatic tintype ap on my iPhone.

I drove around the icy roads in my old RAV4 – stopping often to step out into the snow to photograph something or other. Since I fell on the ice this winter and hurt my shoulder, and my left hip is shot (surgery scheduled for April 29, 2024), I have become rather adroit when it comes to safety in the snow and ice. Which of course means that currently, I am rather limited in my hiking and trudging abilities. After the hip replacement (well, after the oxycontin wears off), I have already planned two cemetery adventures with friends. I may even take up parkour in the more densely-monumented cemeteries. (Not.)

It dawned on me during my peregrinations that I was visiting some old friends, statues I had photographed many times throughout the past twenty years. After photographing a few new scenes and some old ones, I turned around and saw this pillared angel, one that I had photographed countless times. In fact, it was the first cemetery angel that caught my eye, ever, back in the film photography days of the late 1990s. It looks uncannily the same, down to the missing arm and weird horizontal lash marks.

Which is more than I can say for the other statues I subsequently photographed. Weathering has caused loss of detail, lichens have darkened faces. Cemetery statues age just as humans do, but show their age more slowly. Even this Victorian-era marble statue of a young girl has deteriorated under her protective metal and glass. Or maybe, because of the metal and glass.

The veiled face of this soul emerging from its coffin has lost what little detail its winding sheet suggested. The diaphanous, sensual angel below has become darkened with interminable age and grime. The pure snow, which can give a squalid scene a fresh, clean, heavenly appearance, simply accentuates her age, these many years later. Or maybe to me, it just gives her a Dorian Gray-like appearance.

But these are old friends. I shouldn’t be critical. The hooded bronze figure above and the green patina Virgin Mary are ageless, and the snow allows them to be photographed with less distraction in the background. I didn’t want to turn my head on the bronze BVM below while she was holding that snowball. After shooting three statues in various areas, I intentionally drove to a few more of my past haunts. None ever disappoints. Statues erode and change with time, yet are always interesting. A blanket of fresh snow brings out new personalities in the sculpture and statuary.

As I was writing this, I realized I had neglected one of my oldest friends. Such is the plethora of artwork here at Holy Cross, that it is easy to miss a few. choice beings The image below of the mourning woman is from a few winters ago. She's always interesting, as is the entire monument. But you'll just have to visit to see it. I added a bit red to the snow, just because.
 

My cold winter trek only lasted an hour or so, and oddly took on the purpose of visiting these statues almost for the sake of just VISITING them, rather than looking for artistic, photographic opportunities. It was snowing lightly as I left my old haunt, my old friends, in Holy Cross. I remember thinking the snow would soon be gone, as would I. Not forever, though, hopefully. This is the last blog I’ll post before going under anesthesia and the knife, to have my hip replaced. I’m assuming I’ll wake up and write again, but if not, I promise to come back and haunt you all. Peace out.

Photographing Cemeteries in the Snow: A Frozen Elegy

Harleigh Cemetery, Camden, New Jersey

Cemeteries are often regarded as serene spaces, where the echoes of the past reverberate through weathered tombstones and ancient trees. When winter blankets these sacred grounds with a pristine layer of snow, a unique and ethereal atmosphere emerges, providing photographers with a captivating canvas to explore.

Calvary Cemetery, Cherry Hill, New Jersey

The snow-covered landscape transforms cemeteries into a surreal and hauntingly beautiful realm. The soft white blanket conceals the intricate details of tombstones, creating a minimalist aesthetic that accentuates the stark contrasts between life and death. Each snowflake delicately adorns the final resting places of the departed, adding a sense of purity to the somber scene.

Calvary Cemetery, Cherry Hill, New Jersey

One cannot ignore the symbolism embedded in the juxtaposition of snow and tombstones. The cold embrace of winter mirrors the inevitable passage of time and the transience of life. Through the lens of a camera, this frozen tableau becomes a poignant reminder of the cyclical nature of existence – a visual meditation on mortality and the enduring beauty that persists even in the face of decay.

Photographing cemeteries in the snow requires a keen eye for composition and a sensitivity to the emotional resonance of the scene. The muted tones of winter provide a natural backdrop that allows the subtle details of gravestones, sculptures, and mausoleums to stand out. Shadows cast by the soft winter light create a play of contrasts, enhancing the depth and texture of the frozen landscape.

The footprints in the snow tell stories of those who have come to pay their respects, leaving behind a temporary mark on the timeless canvas of the cemetery. Capturing these traces adds a layer of narrative to the photographs, inviting viewers to contemplate the connection between the living and the departed. The presence of footsteps also serves as a reminder of the shared human experience of mourning and remembrance.

As a photographer navigates the snow-covered paths, the silence of the cemetery becomes palpable. The hushed stillness of winter magnifies the solitude and contemplative atmosphere, inviting introspection and reflection. This silence, punctuated only by the crunch of snow underfoot, fosters a sense of reverence for the sacred space and the stories it holds.

Calvary Cemetery

The changing weather conditions further contribute to the dynamic nature of photographing cemeteries in the snow. Foggy mornings, gently falling snowflakes, or the soft glow of twilight can dramatically alter the mood of the photographs. Adapting to these elements requires patience and a willingness to embrace the unpredictability of nature, resulting in images that capture the ephemeral beauty of the moment.

Evergreen Cemetery, Camden, New Jersey

In conclusion, photographing cemeteries in the snow is a poetic exploration of life, death, and the enduring beauty that transcends the seasons. The frozen landscape becomes a canvas for contemplation, inviting viewers to reflect on the passage of time and the interconnectedness of past, present, and future. Through the lens of a camera, cemeteries in the snow reveal a frozen elegy, where silence and solitude merge to create a visual ode to the eternal cycle of existence.

EPILOGUE:

Not bad for a Chat GPT generated article, hm? I simply typed in, “500 word essay on photographing cemeteries in the snow,” and out popped this AI masterpiece in a second! It even came up with the title, "Photographing Cemeteries in the Snow: A Frozen Elegy." I just added photographs that I took last week during and after a couple snowstorms in South Jersey. What do you think? Kind of serious and melodramatic - frozen, even, huh? Maybe I should have said, "Make it sound like Ed Snyder wrote it ..."

The Winter of Our Discontent (Shakespeare, not Steinbeck)

My artistic experiences this winter (it is still technically winter here in Philadelphia – Feb. 2021 as I write this) have not been one of discontent. Rather, reckless winter has allowed me the opportunity to photograph cemeteries and their statues under a blanket of snow. Standing in a blizzard with an umbrella and camera may seem ridiculous, but I assure you, it is anything but a fool’s errand. Numb fingers are simply a sign of weakness leaving the body.

Tintype Hipstamatic App image

The zeitgeist of a Victorian snowfall creates a mood of singular isolation. And freedom, of sorts - it takes one out of the literal social isolation forced on us by the current pandemic. And Paul Simon was wrong – everything does NOT look worse in black and white.

Why Shakespeare and not Steinbeck? Shakespeare’s lines from Richard III are lines of opportunity, versus Steinbeck’s, which are pure misery. Granted, the euphoria of photographing a snowfallen cemetery in below-freezing temperatures can be quickly replaced by misery if you mistakenly lock yourself out of your warm, running vehicle (which I have been known to do). However, Shakespeare is optimistic about the future. As am I. The playwright is saying that even though we may now be miserable (‘Now is the winter of our discontent’), better days are coming (’Made glorious summer by this sun …’).  (Cue the song, "Better Things" by the Kinks.)

But I digress (which is one of the qualities you find most endearing about me). My limerence with cemeteries is boosted when it snows. It just is. I have to get out there fast, while it is still snowing, if possible. Primae noctis, as it were. Not than anyone else is even considering doing the same thing, but it does give me the feeling of being first in, a unique time in a place where I can be ultimately alone with my passion. And in the middle of a pandemic, its rather liberating to not concern myself with social distancing or wearing a mask.

So would I recommend this nostrum of shooting angels in the snow? Well, it is certainly easier if you live in a polar climate zone. Its not something I can easily demonstrate to you, however. You just need to get out there in your gloves, boots, and hand warmers, and let the snow muses guide you. Helps to have an SUV, too, so you don’t get stuck. 

I photographed graveyards in the snow quite often this winter. The Snow Demons were appeased last year – they made no appearance. Apparently, COVID must have royally pissed them off, because they have been out in full force, whiting out my world since even BEFORE winter began (our first snowfall was on December 16, 2020)!

Please realize that cemeteries are places of respect - an obvious consideration when you are photographing in them. While there may be no one else around you there in the snowstorm, burial grounds and monuments mean many things to many people. Be respectful as you work. And be careful. Don’t climb on the monuments. Don’t lean on them. I’ve seen a person who had a large gravestone fall on her. She nearly lost her leg. It was crushed, but was later saved. Luckily there were several people around to lift the thousand-pound granite grave marker off her. So consider the possibility of a monument falling on you in a snowstorm. Think anyone would find you before you died of exposure or trauma?

Defunct crematorium in a snow squall

The Gear

So if I have not scared you off the topic at this point, let’s talk about the gear. Obviously, you want your equipment to be either waterproof or well-protected. I own neither. Which is why I typically carry only one camera with me, protected by a snow umbrella. I leave the rest of the photographic arsenal in the car, running back to swap them as needed. This way, I’m guaranteed to lose such things as lens caps and filters in the snow.

Cross-processed E6 image

Do I use real cameras or the camera in my cell phone? As time goes on, this distinction becomes less relevant. I do have an old iPhone 6 which I use quite a bit. Not bad images except the battery peters out in the cold. If I use it outdoors in winter, I have to keep it connected to an external battery. The apps are interesting as well, I use basic Hipstamatic and Hipstamatic Tintype in addition to straight shooting. I do drag conventional cameras out in the snow with me as well. Certainly, digitals are easiest to use. However, I’ve been shooting quite a bit lately with a 120mm (film) Holga and running outdated slide film through a Nikon F3 35mm film camera, then cross-processing the E-6 film as C-41 (which is kind of standard practice now, since E-6 chemistry is no longer widely available). I like to surprise myself. Digital can be too exacting. At right, you can see an example of a cross-processed image.

Hipstamatic Tintype App image 

It has not, historically, snowed often in the Philadelphia area (at least during the current geological epoch). So when it does, I attempt to make the most of it. It helps to have a plan. Which cemeteries are easiest to access? Are the roads plowed? Luckily for me, the graveyard at left is within walking distance of my house! I have some go-to locations and some go-to statues that I like to check in with during a snowfall – some take on the white cloak better than others...

You can see the same cemetery angel dozens of times, but there might be this one time, as you approach it in the hush of a snowfall, bootfalls crunching, that you seem to be seeing it as it had looked long ago. The more modern mass-produced gravestones mostly hidden, the bespoke, Victorian statuary gently “shrouded in white, allowing the outlines of something older to emerge.” The quote is from science fiction writer William Gibson’s novel, Pattern Recognition. A strange book to be reading during a pandemic, when old patterns are nowhere to be found, new ones emerging all around us.

Actual lychgate shot with Hipstamatic Tintype App

So if this seems to be a winter of discontent for you because of the new patterns that life has assumed, consider COVID-19 as a sort of lychgate, a gateway to another world. I wrote a blog for the website of New York’s Absynthe Gallery recently, entitled "Artist in Residence," which is about creating art during lockdown in a pandemic. Challenging, to make art in the Time of COVID. But as Gibson says in Pattern Recognition, "There are times when you can only take the next step. And then another.” If you’re interested in seeing how other artists are adapting, the gallery is hosting an online “Drink and Draw” Zoom meeting with many of its artists on March 6, 2021 (5 to 7 pm). I am in their corral of artists, but I don’t draw (I do drink, however, so I meet half the criteria). Demonstrating how I make photographs or how I write blogs would be about as entertaining as watching gesso dry; therefore, I will be in attendance solely drinking and learning. Here’s the link to register: https://absynthegallery.com/drink-draw/

Learning, you ask? Well yes. One of the best ways for an artist to progress and improve is by expanding boundaries - watching other artists create in mediums other than your own. I leave you with an old image (all that you’ve seen so far in this blog, I created in the past ten months), the Mount Moriah Cemetery gatehouse. This is in Philadelphia. I was truly honored to have it chosen to represent February in the 2021 fund-raising calendar published by The Friends of Mount Moriah Cemetery, Inc. Being on the Board of Directors of this volunteer organization and helping to save a formerly abandoned cemetery from total ruin has also been a learning experience. 

A Winter Death

As I look out the window on this predawn morning in January, I see a lone bicyclist riding up the street. With all the snow and deep freeze of the past few days, I haven't seen many bikes (and it's wonderful that the motorcycles are all in hibernation!). It’s been difficult for everyone to get around. Difficult to walk, difficult to drive. Everything is happening so slowly. I heard on the radio that drivers need to control their “snow rage.’  

A big snowstorm hit Tuesday (Jan. 14, 2013) around 1 pm and the city shut down at two. Then everyone tried to get home. I wonder if this is what death is like, you’re slowly trying to get home. Hung up in certain areas, losing traction. Like the poor guy trying to cross an intersection, as his wheels were spinning, he frantically maneuvered his wheelchair up out of harm’s way. Seeing this, I didn’t feel so bad about the bald front tires on my Saab convertible.

It’s Saturday now and everything is still frozen, with more snow predicted for today. In a geographic area that does not see much of the white stuff, such weather just stops everything. Kind of like how death sometimes happens when you’re busy doing other things. 

“And it's sure been a cold, cold winter
And the wind ain't been blowin' from the south
It's sure been a cold, cold winter
And the light of love is all burned out”

- from the song “Winter” by the Rolling Stones

So maybe I’ll get out and do stuff before death happens. This is where the real permanence lies, the immortality – spend time with your kids or others, live life as best you can. You can try all you want to create something by which you'll be remembered, but in the end, its up to others to decide whether they'll remember you or not. You can commission a magnificent cemetery monument and have it installed on your grave, which people may admire, but the same people can easily forget who you were. Might just do more for your legacy to spend an hour with your child, playing in the snow in a  cemetery. The writer Garrison Keillor says, ...."Nothing you do for a child is ever wasted."
 

Anne W. Tucker, in the book, George Krause A Retrospective, says of Krause's photography: “Photographing tombstones, Krause particularly notices how attempts to preserve memory are undermined. Time, weather, and vandals have eroded efforts at immortality, and the monuments’ deterioration affirms, rather than denies, corruption below.”

"It sure been a cold, cold winter
My feet been draggin' 'cross the ground
And the fields has all been brown and fallow
And the springtime take a long way around"

- from the song “Winter” by the Rolling Stones

Many of us have been taught that when we die, there is something else, something hopefully better (and warmer - but not too warm!) waiting for us -  a springtime, a rebirth. But if there really isn’t anything else, why not make the most of this life? Go take you child sledding in the snowstorm! Take pictures in the cemetery during that snowstorm! Push yourself to create an experience that others can share, either directly or indirectly. This is how immortality happens.