Every year, as the Richmond humidity starts to climb, my garden undergoes a transformation. The stars of the show aren't the fleeting blooms, but the architectural, dependable Hostas.
Years ago, I might have been able to tell you the name of every variety I planted. Today, those nursery tags are long gone, buried under layers of mulch and time. But does a plant need a name to be a masterpiece?
Some of my hostas are massive, command-the-room giants that dwarf everything around them, while others are small, quiet clusters tucked away under my weeping cherry tree.
Looking through my lens, I see them as characters rather than cultivars. There is the "Luminous Sentinel"—a study in soft, hazy light—and the deeper, dramatic emeralds of the maturing blooms. I’m enjoying the mystery. There is something liberating about photographing a plant for its form, its glow, and its mood—rather than its pedigree.
My goal was to capture the delicate details of a single hosta bloom nestled in the soft, diffused light of the evening. To create that beautifully blurred background, I used my Fujifilm 70-300mm lens—a favorite tool that I often pair with an 11mm Fuji extension tube when I want to achieve an intimate close-up and a shallow depth of field. When it came time to edit, I chose a preset that introduced a gentle green haze, transforming the natural shadows into a beautifully moody tone
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