HDR Photography
California in the summer–always sunny, never a cloud in the sky… And on the east coast (Vermont, in this case), I was instead buffeted by massive, overpowering storms. That refreshing summer storm feeling, and the mountaintop views that go with them, make me a bit nostalgic.
During my time as a student at Berkeley, I’ve had a chance to watch Blum hall begin as a foundation and grow to this glowing glass-and-wood holocron you see here. It’s a beautiful building, and its modern architecture fits surprisingly well with the older buildings around it. Still, I have to wonder: given how small its footprint is, I have to wonder what the cost-per-square-foot of the space inside was?
Enormous. But oh-so worth it for the slightly sinister luminescence on winter nights. (I particularly like the manner in which the street lamps ring the building like matadors trying to keep its stampeding bulk contained.)
So much of New England looks like a post card, but I have to admit that this town green in Weston, MA is particularly charming. The whole concept seems idyllic: this enormous expanse of flawless grass, with an ancient stone wall on one side and a stand of trees on the other. The young family picnicking in the middle makes it perfect.
I’ve always abhorred airports. Actual air travel, if dull, is typically calm and uneventful. Airports are Purgatory-on-Earth where stressed travelers worry and fuss and cope with the imminent delay and cancellation of their flights.
Still, if I have to spend time in an airport, Chicago’s Midway is probably my favorite. It has by far and away the best selection of overpriced food (Potbelly’s sandwiches! Pegasus gyros!) and an at least tolerable amount of seating. In its own way, Midway is not entirely un-beautiful.
The face of this massive grandfather clock comes from the Legion of Honor museum (from which I’ve posted some one of my other favorite shots). The level of craftsmanship exhibited (both in the clock face, and the Legion in general) is just overwhelming. The detail makes me think of some sort of grand alethiometer. My favorite feature, though, is the way the contrast brings out the enscription, “solem arte equor.” If my very rusty Latin is correct, this roughly means “sun by the sea.” Given the Legion’s gorgeous surroundings on the Pacific Ocean, I think it’s quite appropriate.
UCB’s Tolman Hall has a surprising number of urban legends surrounding its uniquely 1960’s appearance. The building is overcrowded and soon to be renovated, but I have to admit that it has a certain charm when the evening light bounces through concrete surfaces of its breezeway. The blues and greens of the shadowed campus and the golden sunset colors are appealing, to be sure, but it’s really the textures that I find so fascinating. The combination of precast and cast-in-place concrete means that there are at least four different textures here, each one reflecting and scattering light in its own, unique way.
My lab is packed with control boxes and oscilloscopes and all manner of signal processing equipment; strung between them all, like the web of a spider on caffeine, is a truly epic array of cables and wires connecting and powering the whole rig. On an average day, when nothing is (seriously) broken, I tend to forget about the mess of electronics, but it’s worth the attention (every now and then) to stop and really appreciate the ordered chaos that facilitates ultrafast spectroscopy.
And now a quick holiday bonus. I wanted to get this one out while it was fresh in my mind: the glorious experience of watching half a dozen Fourth of July fireworks shows simultaneously. It’s moments like this, gazing over the bay and its gorgeous lights, that I really appreciate living here.
The Bay Area has a set of dichotomies that I’ve always loved fitting into photographs. Here, we have the elegance of San Francisco herself, with towers and an array of sailing boats, contrasted with the decay of the East Bay and its own host of boats.
A recent trip to Golden Gate Fields’ delicious/seductive/nauseating dollar days (dollar beers and dollar hot dogs for everyone!) gave me a chance to shoot not only the races themselves (more of that to come later), but also to shoot the mostly-empty rows of seats. They’s all plastic, and over time they slowly lose color and bleach from bright orange to dull, powdery brown. Thus follows the lifecycle of a chair. Gazing out over the ordered sea, their slow march to replacement is obvious.
There are many times when HDR helps us to capture images that appear more similar to what the human eye naturally perceives than a camera would normally be capable. In other cases, however, HDR reveals features that we might never have perceived. In this case, the complete intricacies of a gas-discharge lamp acting as a sign are revealed. (As a neurotic chemist, I can’t properly call it a neon light–those only glow orange!)
One of my earliest posts displayed the surreal beauty of Christmastime in the frigid suburbs of Chicago; given that much of the country is experiencing the balmy joy of summer, I thought a wee reminder of chillier times might be appropriate. (This photograph also continues what has apparently become a series, “Trees Next to Buildings.”)
Today’s image is the result of a little experiment I did, in which I limited myself to shooting only with a simple prime lens. This is perhaps my favorite image that stemmed from the experience: Berkeley’s historic Lewis Hall on a rainy afternoon. The reflections from the wet concrete buildings, the grid of the plaza’s brick pattern, and the intricate array of the hall’s windows combine to produce such a strong sense of place. In contrast with these hard, angular, man-made structures are the curves of the redwood trees. Would the picture have been better, had I taken it with a wide-angle zoom lens? I’m really not sure.
Just around the corner from one of my favorite buildings, I found this spot where the curve of a footpath mirrors the curve of the passing road. The last moments of the day make for tiny beams of sunlight around my feet and tapping the tops of trees across the road. The start of summer is a perfect time in California.
Oakland isn’t always the most gorgeous place to behold, with more than its fair share of graffiti-laden, disused industrial areas. (You can see little hints of them for yourself in today’s shot.) When I get down to the San Francisco Bay, and the tenor changes, I can appreciate it so much more. Unlike the east seaboard of the U.S., much of which has a consistent architectural style, the Bay is a mish-mash of little buildings that fulfilled whatever roles were needed when they were constructed. I get a warm, satisfied feeling from the way the chaotic clutter of boats separates the sometimes-distressing Oakland from the clean, crisp water of the Bay.
