HDR Photography
This image, taken from the air over Campus Security and with the restored steeple of St. Lawrence University in the background, might not be quite up to my normal quality standards. I find it more interesting for another reason: it’s the first (good) picture I’ve captured with a quadcopter drone. I have to admit, the potential of the technology for landscape photographers is pretty exciting. Now if I can just get a drone to carry something as heavy as my DSLR…
When the water level rises in Stone Valley, the landscape gets odd, and impossible islands form where there were once minor changes in the landscape.
The water rushes through ferns and tree-roots and creates barriers in the landscape that redefine hiking for the day.
Sunset after an aggressive summer thunderstorm is a strange place of pinks and blues.
Our recent trip across Lake Champlain to Burlington, Vermont with the Mini (you can see it hiding in the bottom-right corner) included time on the ferry behind these four motorcyclists from Quebec. That medley of Ducati, Honda, KTM, and Harley-Davison, set against the backdrop of far-off sailboats and mountains, makes for a strong “adventure trip” vibe.
On this through-arch bridge going into Canton from the Adirondacks, I used the Brenizer Method to make a super-wide, narrow-depth-of-field image that brings to mind some slightly sinister movie scene.
This image from inside Herring-Cole Hall at St. Lawrence University reminds me of the ending of 2001: A Space Odyssey: All bright white surfaces and traditional motifs, but with a shape, geometry, and brightness that doesn’t seem quite of this Earth.
Backing up from grand views of public spaces in modern, urban settings, I present some photographs of small yet appealing shapes from a recent hike. I like the way these stones have carved pillars beneath them where erosion was prevented.
The living things make their own little shapes in Stone Valley, too. The moss hasn’t grown as much in the shadow of the mushroom.
I occasionally play with self-portraiture, but I almost always shoot with natural light. I was inspired by this shot to try some super-stark and very dramatic lighting. I’m quite happy with the way the point-source LED lighting from my cell phone created the tiny sparkle to my eye. If I were a more poetic person, I’d say something about the glint of an idea forming.
These images are from the Genessee Country Village and Museum, which recreates some of the aspects of nineteenth-century American life. I thought that a bit of black and white photography (with an HDR touch) could be the perfect tool to convey the moment-out-of-time aspect. Here, a balloon is ready for launch.
The old buildings have a smallness to them that I appreciated: the distance between stories was not so large, and they feel on more of a human scale.
My American town always reminds me of Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town,” and I think his comment about the play also applies to life in the North Country: “[It] should be performed without sentimentality or ponderousness–simply, dryly, and sincerely.”
Water levels in the Raquette River through Stone Valley (site of some excellent rocks) were quite high, leading to normally dry areas (like this one) overflowing with impromptu waterfalls. Surfaces and water levels in various areas didn’t want to match up, and made for a feeling like the whole river had been “assembled” out of order.
Early spring is a great time to be in the North Country—all of the nature, none of the mosquitoes. The latter half of that equation has shifted as we enter July.
Camp Canaras has a central lodge, a merry place of varnished wood and Scotch served neat. Late at night, long after the campers are tucked in, the place takes on a ghostly, abandoned vibe.
Inside, the minor remnants of the party still remain, along with the major remnants of large animals.
Camp Canaras has some remarkable views during day and night, but especially in the morning. There’s a weird collision of action-movie-preparation scene with rustic vibe to a boathouse; the scene captures the sense of possibility for the rest of the day.
As a youth, I read tales of “wandering islands” on the backs of giant sea creatures. As the fog burned off at Camp Canaras, I couldn’t shake the illusion that the island was drifting closer. (Of course, Saranac Lake might make for a disappointingly small range to wander.)
Decaseconds 