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"Disney Hall 2" by Lacquelyn Sloane Siklos on Zatista.com

I’ve been pretty obsessed with architectural photography lately. There aren’t too many art forms that are based on capturing other art forms: that’s an interesting notion in an of itself. Of course, it’s much more than that, too — most photographers with a passion for it don’t just stand around pointing their camera at buildings. The subtleties at work make this particular corner of the photographic medium really fascinating.

"Havan Series.2" by Vanessa Lazaroff on Zatista.com

In just the same way that no two painters will paint a particular building or town the same way, no two architectural photographers will shoot anything the same way. Some aim for capturing structures with as little distortion as possible, employing complex lighting schemes to illuminate any and all shadows (while keeping the lights themselves invisible to the viewer).

"Against a Gathering Storm" by Dominique James on Zatista.com

Others seem to be offering their interpretation of the ultimate intentions of the architect. It’s amazing how the right photographer can imbue a building with a air of foreboding or even stoicism.

"Weld Boathouse at Harvard" by Keith Dotson on Zatista.com

And still others play with abstraction and distortion — surrealism within the context of cold, unmoving glass and steel is their game. It’s a bold move to work with illusion in such a rigid context, but the photos end up looking (for lack of a better term) cool!

"Bell Tower" by Kelly Feil on Zatista.com

I have some questions I’d like to lay on an expert in the field — if you’re out there, please speak up. For instance, what qualifies as architecture? Buildings and houses, obviously, and bridges, too. But how about boats?

"Ferry Reflection II" by Susan Grissom on Zatista.com

And how do different points of view figure in to the equation? Does it work to shoot buildings from within other buildings? How important is context, especially in an urban environment?

"3rd Avenue Looking South" by Adam Regan on Zatista.com

I might be over-thinking the whole thing, but it just seems like there are a lot of gray areas inherent in the practice of making art from other people’s art. It’s a great notion, sort of like indirect collaboration. I wonder if anyone has ever compiled a number of different images of a given building and then shown them to the architect all at once. It would be interesting to see which ones align with the original architect’s vision for the structure — but then again, maybe they all would. Regardless, it would make for a great conversation.

Zatista artist Klaus Rossler gets fall. His images capture the beauty of decay – the essence of the season. It’s a melancholy time for most of us, watching nature’s spectacular color show in the best weather of the year, knowing that frigid winter temperatures are not far behind.

Gilded Leaves #11 on Zatista.com

The point is too poignant to miss: in death there is beauty. But take a closer look with Rossler’s eyes (by way of his camera) and you’ll see that fall isn’t the only time when it is illustrated for us.

"Handle the Rust" on Zatista.com

Where most of us see only decomposition and decrepitude in rust, Rossler sees the flares of color as the marks of time. We are so well accustomed to looking ahead at what’s new and advanced, it’s easy to forget the trail of detritus behind.

"Scratches" on Zatista.com

Imperfections, scratches and signs of wear have a way of blooming over the years. Much maligned when marring the surface of something new, it’s ultimately our perspective that determines the value of the scars of obsolescence.

"Crackle #4" on Zatista.com

Our man-made creations have a way of blazing before returning to the earth. Cars, buildings, and steel take a bit longer than leaves to mulch and disappear, but they will in time – and not without revealing something new.

"Trunk Deco" on Zatista.com

Forget about form and function. Rust transforms objects like fall transforms the landscape. Some call it a cancer, but artists like Rossler might disagree. Parasitic, maybe, but within the scratches, crackles, holes and rough edges, rust brings about new scenes – acting out the final drama of life for all human creations. The passage of time has the final call.

In the midst of busy days and enjoying (or even trying to fit in) lunch, we often miss the passing of the noon hour. Catch it right, though, and you have a moment worth noticing. The light is flat, flat, flat, but somewhere in the starkness or lurking in the shadows there is something that catches the eye of some artists.

High Noon, Mexico by Jan Pieter Van Voorst Van Beest on Zatista.com

You can literally feel the heat in this photo, in fact, I’m feeling a little jealous of this gentleman’s hat. Where was that cantina again? I could use a taco al pastor and a cold Pacifico, STAT. Oh wait, I’m still in my office in Maine? Darn.

Singularity Afternoon on Malheur Lake, Oregon by Michael Axel on Zatista.com

The thing about the light at noon is that there are no shadows. That’s a pretty obvious thing to point out, but have you ever really thought about it? It can make barren landscapes look downright lunar. Some cultures throughout time believed that a person’s shadow is their soul. So then what’s going on at lunchtime?

Afternoon by Yehan Wang on Zatista.com

Sometimes it’s what’s going on in the shade that gets really interesting. That high noon sun has a certain way of reflecting off the ground and illuminating things in a very unique way. You might not always notice it as you run for cover in the mid day sun, but that’s why we have artists — it’s their job to notice those things.

Stay tuned for the last installment of 24 Hours on Zatista, Part 3: Dusk

"To Market" by Bonnie Jones on Zatista.com

Yesterday I arrived at my local farmer’s market to find one of my favorite young farmers calling out like a carnival barker. “This is it people! It’s go time! Get it while it’s good!” he shouted, smiling over the fruits (and veggies) of his labor.

"Hot Tomato" by Ann Painter on Zatista.com

I looked around and realized he was speaking the truth (ever earnest, he’s hardly one to spin a yarn). Everywhere I looked crates were stacked high with perfect vegetables, all color and gleam at high noon. Here in Maine where I live the growing season is mercilessly short–June to October more or less–and that means that by mid-August we’re in full harvest mode.

"Radishes" by Konnie Kim on Zatista.com

How could it be? How could the few short weeks of blushing tomatoes and luscious summer melons be upon us already? It’s a stark realization every year, but this year I have a new tactic.

"Peppers" by Tony Dunphy on Zatista.com

Sure, I’m going to stack my freezer high and gear up for some canning, but I’m also going to load up on some harvest art for the “less accommodating” months ahead. That way, at least my eyes can feast on some fresh local veggies when I get the trucked-in-from-California-or-grown-indoors blues. The color will do my place good, too, and remind me that once upon a time I drank iced coffee and wore shorts and worked up a sweat walking bags of fresh produce home in the hot summer sun.

"No Cargo" by Tracy Mewmaw on Zatista.com

Wow, the summer is really getting away from us here and it looks like there may be no hope of getting away before the New Year. I can’t say I feel alone in that predicament though, pretty much everyone I know is forgoing vacations to save a little money or just get ahead on a few projects around the house.

"Early Morning at Portland Head Light" by David Cleaveland on Zatista.com

The good news is that there is a close second to actually going places: buying really, really good photos of those places. I’m a pretty bad photographer, so my vacation shots would be all “fingers over the lens” and “long arm goofball self-portraits” anyway.

"Old Deerfield Barns" by Diane Gray on Zatista.com

Plus, think about how easy it is to spend a couple thousand dollars just on hotels and food (and the odd bungee jump at a random state fair)! By comparison, buying an outstanding photo of a beautiful destination is a great deal. Just fix yourself a cold beverage, hang your new piece on the wall, point the fan in your direction and kick back – the environment will thank you, too.

"Chaco Canyon" by Arthur Davis on Zatista.com

After taking in some barns and lighthouses in the Northeast, it only makes sense to stop off in the Southwest. Green chili salsa and margaritas anyone?

"Johnboat" by Tracy Mewmaw on Zatista.com

This one is even shot point-of-view – nothing like a swim on a hot summer day!

"Muir Beach 2" by Rachel Hutchins on Zatista.com

Maybe make a stop just north of San Francisco to take in some redwoods and a nice deserted beach.

"Mt. Hood Sunrise" by Elizabeth Wade on Zatista.com

And then swing by the Pacific Northwest for some salmon and a microbrew or two. Ahh, what a trip!