Marcoclicks

Name: Marcoclicks
Address: Hewlett Street, Roslindale, MA, 02131, US
Telephone: +16177333547
Price range: $$$

Fine art photography that focuses on abstractions grounded in the natural world.

05/19/2026

It’s striking that the leaves on some trees are fully out while others have barely begun to blossom. I guess that’s diversity in the natural world (where it’s still acceptable?). It means we get to see the progression from bare branch to graceful leaf again and again, with trees of different species and even within the same species.

That’s a bit academic. What attracts me is the contrast that now focuses on color - the play of yellows and greens and everything in between. I love the way they play together, the light greens leaning toward the yellows and the dark greens speaking a bit of blue. Go figure!

Or just look!

05/09/2026

These mornings as the days get longer, I catch the sunrise as it’s further along on starting the day. What a blessing! The array of colors gracing the crabapple trees in the orchard on the slope of Peters Hill is not as dense as the lilacs across the street, but that makes each one stand out. I was about to say “dramatically” but somehow that doesn’t seem the word for crabapple trees. Perhaps that’s my limitation!

For me, it’s mornings like this that allow me to put aside what is going on in our world, our country - just for a little while - and rejoice to live near such a wellspring of natural beauty. I thrive on the juxtaposition of everyday urban images and sounds with glimpses of the natural world. It creates the opportunity, the possibility of remembering what’s really important. Useful, nowadays.

04/30/2026

The cherries, what a delight to witness their subtle variations of pink and rose and almost-red. Perhaps it’s a good preparation for the lilacs and their colors.

As much as I’ve enjoyed the cherry blossoms, I’m captured by their slow transition into their full summer regalia. As their blossoms fade, their yellow-green leaves begin to grow and we are given a much more complex symphony of colors.

These colors work well together. Indeed, for me at least, the more colors working together, the more complex the resulting image. I like this diversity, there’s nothing to be frightened of; challenging yourself can be worthwhile.

In nature, and in art, and in our public life, we are enriched by complexity and diversity. Maybe we’ll find some leaders who can see that.

04/18/2026

It’s a bit confusing to see what’s going on here, looking at just this image. When I stood in front of this tree, it was pretty clear - a bunch of vines circling the tree’s trunk. It didn’t look like a death grip but it also didn’t look like a warm embrace.

And that’s where I ended up - not sure exactly what I was looking at - not sure in the sense of the why rather than the what. I have no training in botany so I’m not surprised that I’m a bit lost. And I actually don’t mind. It gives me license to imagine my own explanation.

Honestly, I didn’t come up with anything more profound than “boy, what a lovely collection of textures!” And I’m content to leave it at that. Not everything has to be really deep.

04/07/2026

The days are getting longer even if spring seems no closer. The temperature teases us with glimpses of warmth, tempered by spells of wind and dank drizzle. I suppose we need rain, but this? Not much help…

My mornings start at the same time as they have but the sun starts earlier. Lately it has coincided with peach clouds over the hillside from the edge of the Orchard on Peters Hill. I’m not sure which captures me more - the stunning sun rise or the interplay of crabapple branches playing in the foreground.

It’s a tangle, for sure, one that was slow to emerge, as slow as trees grow. Other tangles come on more quickly - to wit, our mad leader. We’re in our own tangle now and it seems increasingly intractable. But I’m not ready to let go of hopefulness. After all, we can see the sun rising beyond the branches. It’s not much but I choose to see that and work my way toward that sunrise.

03/23/2026

This is clearly not the Arboretum. This is the first time in 15 years of blogging that I’ve not used a local image, which is probably of no significance to anyone but me.

I was visiting my oldest friend and we drove to the coast of Oregon on a windy day, not nearly as much uproar as this image suggests. I think that’s just how it works on the Oregon coast. Lots of rocks and lots of water crashing against them.

Such a contrast to our coast and certainly a contrast to my neighborhood! Even the look of the clouds seems different, but that may just be that I was surrounded by a constant amazement of being somewhere that occasionally looks so foreign.

The joy for me of traveling to twofold: seeing places that stretch me to understand my world and coming home to my familiar territory!

03/03/2026

There’s little question that the dominant element in our present landscape is snow. It hasn’t been that way for several years and it does have some appeal. Yet, on my walk around Peters Hill this morning, as the landscape lays under a somewhat pristine coating of snow, I felt a small yearning for some color, something other than the omni-present white or its cousin, gray.

This shot is from last March. It’s roots of a Dawn Redwood. And there is at least a bit of color. Modest color, but color nonetheless. Just a bit of yellow, even less orange. But it’s enough to distract my eye from the ongoing white of today.

I’ve heard it will warm a bit in the next few days. Maybe that will shift our landscape, in an out of the ARboretum. I’m ready.

02/10/2026

The moon was waxing gibbous (just so you know) the morning I took this shoot. This is one of my favorite tree assemblages, a Chinese Sumac, I think, on the side of Peters Hill. What I wanted to capture was the snow, glowing in the moonlight.

I get such a kick out of the glow and the shadows cast by the full or almost-full moon (err, I mean waxing gibbous…). The shadows weren’t strong in this shot and actually I’ve not been able to capture them when I’ve come across them. So the luminosity of the snow will have to serve instead.

I’m working to find some joy in my days and the moon adding some brightness to my morning Arb walk is right up there. Being grateful is easier the more you do it.

02/01/2026

Tomorrow, February 2, is Groundhog Day. Aside from being the title of a surprisingly good movie, it also marks an important, often ignored milestone. February 2 is the mid-point between the Winter Solstice and the Vernal Equinox. In other words, it means we are half-way through winter. By the calendar, for whatever that’s worth, we’re halfway to spring!

When I lived in the woods in New Hampshire, for a number of years the folks in our somewhat-intentional neighborhood would have a pot-luck on Groundhog Day - to be together, to fight off some of winter’s isolation, and to ask the critical question: do you have half your firewood left? Some folks did - the longer you’d lived there, the greater the likelihood.

I enjoy noticing this minor milestone and it can serve as a metaphor for the “winter” we face nationally. We are making our way through this season, of both sorts, and the turning points are becoming more noticeable: the days are longer, more people are marching. It helps me to know that we’ve made it this far, even through February weather can be wicked. Its tone may be tempered by other winds of change.

01/19/2026

Out early and quiet, the chill morning too warm for snow to crunch. Still falling if a bit lethargically. Slow and steady through the night, more slow than steady. Yet here we are, with sufficient snow to transform our world. It doesn’t take much. That’s what I love - the familiar becomes unfamiliar: we get to discover (or rediscover) the familiar!

That said, it's one thing in the natural landscape, quite another in our civic landscape. There is so much unfamiliar in our country, so much that we have taken for granted, assumed was unchangeable. There’s nothing inherently wrong with change when it’s thoughtful, compassionate, and reflects some consensus. But that’s not what’s happening now. Far from it. Are we witnessing the end of a 250-year experiment? That would have been a more extreme question six or eight months ago.

We know the snow will melt and spring will come, soon or late. That will take care of itself, it pretty much always has( and let’s hope that will continue). Not so what we face in our civic life. It’s a heavier lift for us, immigrants all. We don’t have the luxury of sitting on the sidelines. May we mobilize our passion, husband our resources, and keep at this sacred task

Address

Hewlett Street
Roslindale, MA
02131

Telephone

+16177333547

Website

http://marcoclicks.com/

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