“Freedom Salute” for returning soldiers, St. Louis, Missouri. Photo by Erik M. Lunsford, copyright St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

Tranquility, elusive as it has become, opens the doors to private contemplation. Distractions withdraw the mind from clarity and realizations. Sitting in the shadow of a young tree, alone on a high hilltop deep in thought, the warmth of the sun seeping into porous skin, I contemplate, trying to understand how time elapses with barely but a whisper of notice. At what point do we stop remembering the timeline of our lives? Certainly, we say yesterday, last week, four years ago, but when does the realization hit of how much time in our lives has ultimately passed? There is nothing tangible behind us except the journals of our memory and legacies left on others. Is it possible to “be” even with the forward marching movement of time?  I guess it depends on whether or not we believe we are heading towards the book’s index or just the next chapter.

Photographs copyright Erik M. Lunsford

As reliable are the midwestern Daffodils that bloom in spring, so is the annual tradition of the spring fashion shoot for the Post-Dispatch. From pinks and yellows to muted green tops and Capri pants, this year’s late-teen model Madison handily switched between outfits and looks despite a shooting day filled with rain, cold, and wind at different locations in the Missouri Botanical Garden.

Since the shoot was primarily outside with inclement weather locations inside, assistant Max Gersh and I kept shooting gear to a minimum. The Canon 1D Mark IIn was our primary camera, and we anchored the lighting with an Alien Bee B800 connected to a socked Beauty Dish running power from a Vagabond power supply and fired with a CyberSync transmitter. A pair of Dynalites, several light modifiers, and a collection of reflectors followed in tow.

Normally, inclement weather is enough to scratch a shoot, but the deadline and model restraints were too narrow for rescheduling. We had to shoot regardless – six outfits, four hours – quite a feat on a newspaper budget. Karen Hagenow of the Missouri Botanical Garden set us up with transportation, which turned critically important once the rain came. Certainly the hope for a bright spring day never materialized, and we were forced to use the inside locations, mainly to my dismay.  I believe it is hard to show spring when it is wintry outside, no?

In conclusion, did we accomplish our goal? Well, of course. I enjoy most the photograph with the yellow and red tulips (above) and the full-length with the white magnolia flowers (top, left). Curiously, it was raining during both sittings, and it was an interesting sight watching Max cover the lighting gear with a small umbrella.  Although, as I mentioned before, some (more) sun certainly would have entertained our shoot much more than the rain. Alas, as a photojournalist, adaptability is key,  especially when time and conditions are working against you.

A violin on the wall peeks through a row of repaired bows. Tags with owner names dangle with thread. Geoffrey J. Seitz turns to one violin in particular. “If you want a portrait of me, there you go, that’s me.” It was the first violin he made, more than 30 years ago. He used hard rock maple cut from an old table at an antiques shop.

It’s not clear where you’re supposed to stand in Seitz’s longtime violin shop on Loughborough Avenue. To the left, violins. To the right, violins. The difference is, the ones on the right are finely polished and on shelves, awaiting new owners. On the left, the violins are still being crafted or awaiting repair.

“This business is based on a real old-fashioned style of business,” says Seitz. “One could take my business and just go back a hundred years and plunk it right down.” Seitz and his employees chisel, grind, saw, sand, and scrape away at injured violins all day. And, between those jobs, they make new instruments. “This is a pretty recession-proof place,” he says. “People will still be playing the violin. There will always be music.”

It would be easy to think of his job as a lonely one, but the violins make for great company. Seitz picks up a violin after a customer leaves and places it on his shoulder. Leaning into the familiar piece of wood, he pushes the lapping gray hair from his head and plays for a hushed room.

Watch  a slideshow narrated by Geoffrey below or at STLtoday.com