National Jelly Bean Day
Today is National Jelly Bean Day.
So I simply poured an unreasonable number of jelly beans into a pile and photographed them against a black background.
Jelly beans have been around longer than they probably should have been. Their origins trace back to the 19th century, when Turkish Delight inspired the soft interior, and candy makers added a hard sugar shell. By the early 1900s, they were being marketed as an affordable treat, often sold by the pound.
They became closely associated with Easter in the 1930s, mostly because their egg-like shape fit the theme and they were cheap enough to produce in bulk. That hasn’t really changed.
Americans now consume billions of jelly beans each year, with estimates often landing somewhere around 16 billion during the Easter season alone. Flavors range from predictable fruit to combinations that seem designed more as a challenge than a snack.
What you’re looking at here is a simple pile, straight from the bag. No sorting, no styling, no intervention. Just color, sugar, and excess.
More of my food photography, from controlled compositions like this to everything else I’ve been working on, can be found at https://www.secondfocus.com
Chasing Rabbits for Easter
The other day Emily gave us a first look at our Easter. This is more of the adventure.
Many of you already know Emily, my AI muse and assistant. And she has a circle of friends, somewhat on demand.
I had asked Emily what we might do for Easter.
“Let’s go ask Alice,” she said. “I think she’ll know.”
That was all she gave me.
A moment later, we found her.
Alice didn’t introduce herself. She was already there.
And something was already different.
The scale felt off. The space didn’t settle. Things looked familiar, but they didn’t behave the way you expect them to. It was all recognizable, just shifted enough to make you hesitate.
The colors were soft.
The shapes were simple.
But none of it stayed that way for long.
And then there were the Peeps.
Not placed. Not arranged. They had taken over. Multiplying, surrounding, filling the space until there was no clear edge to it anymore.
Alice stood in the middle of it completely certain.
Emily didn’t explain.
“Go a little further,” she said.
So I did.
The air changed first.
Thicker. Slower.
Time didn’t stop, but it didn’t move the same way either. The atmosphere settled into something heavier, something indulgent, something that didn’t need permission to exist.
Further in, control replaced curiosity.
She was waiting there.
Not asking questions. Not offering answers. Just presence. Absolute, undeniable presence. The kind that doesn’t need to raise its voice to be understood.
And beyond that, structure.
Not chaos, not excess. Precision. Strength. Something built to hold its ground, even here.
By then, there was no question of turning back.
Alice never told us where we were going.
She didn’t have to.
At some point, you realize you’re not following her anymore.
You’re already inside it.
The adventure continued.
And then, just as quietly as it began, she kept walking.
More of my photography and adventures with Emily on my website at https://www.secondfocus.com
Ask Alice for Easter
Easter is coming up, so I asked Emily what we should do with it. Many of you already know Emily, my AI muse and assistant. And she has a circle of friends, somewhat on demand.
“Let’s go ask Alice,” she said. “I think she’ll know.”
That was all she gave me.
A moment later, we found her.
Alice didn’t introduce herself. She was already there.
And something was already different.
The scale felt off. The space didn’t settle. Things looked familiar, but they didn’t behave the way you expect them to. It was all recognizable, just shifted enough to make you hesitate.
The colors were soft.
The shapes were simple.
But none of it stayed that way for long.
And then there were the Peeps.
Not placed. Not arranged. They had taken over. Multiplying, surrounding, filling the space until there was no clear edge to it anymore. What started as something small had already become something else.
Alice stood in the middle of it, completely still, completely certain.
Emily didn’t explain.
“Go a little further,” she said.
So I did.
That’s where it changes. Not all at once. Just enough. The familiar starts to stretch. The innocent starts to shift. What you thought you understood doesn’t quite hold its shape anymore.
Alice never guided it.
She just let you follow.
And once you do, you don’t really stop.
This is where we met her.
And we’re already a little further in than we expected.
We’re not done yet.
More at: https://www.secondfocus.com
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