Almost every day from September 15 to May 15, I take my dogs for a walk on Long Beach, a narrow spit of sand split off from the main land by the Centerville River. It is a two mile walk through rolling dunes of beach grass, scraggly pines, tangled bushes of beach plums, and rosa rugosa, and stark sand beaches. I have taken thousands of photos there, most of them with my iPhone.

I was always looking for shapes and harmony. The dogs complemented the landscape, with their golden fur so similar to the beach grass and a contrast against the blue of the water. I captured the sweep of the paths, the reflections of the clouds in the tidal pools, the geometry of the wooden piers, the colors of the sky as a sunset developed. I walked through the golden hour where the light bathed the subjects with warm light.

I wanted to practice using my new cameras so that their mechanisms would become second nature to me. So, I decided to bring one with me every day. I made some changes, we walked earlier than usual because there are fewer people and dogs around, and I could concentrate a little more. This meant we were walking in strong sunlight with heavy shadows, not the best for photography. But my goal was to learn the camera, so it didn’t matter what the images were like beyond being properly exposed. This in itself is a form of freedom.

I tried to see a place that is almost as familiar as my kitchen in a new way. I think about how today is different from yesterday in terms of light and mood. I think about how those differences effect my settings and my subjects. I consider how to handle the strong light and what sort of images I could take where that would become a positive feature. And as I reviewed my images, I realized that I was taking radically different pictures and that I like them: the new images are not landscapes with dogs, but about the interactions of the dogs with each other and their people.

One Dog Wants to Be Carried, One Dog Wants to Run