HDR Photography
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.”)
I was amazed when I first saw the public fishing pier down at the Berkeley marina as it seems to go on forever. It really is astounding how far out into the bay it extends, even as you walk down there. It’s also always packed with people of all skill levels attempting to get something to bite.
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.
Days like these remind me of home, and that anywhere there’s water and a breeze you’ll attract a virtual navy of small sail craft on any remotely nice day.
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.
While down at the marina recently I caught a glimpse of this guy, who had apparently found something interesting or perhaps tasty and was taking it somewhere a bit more private to enjoy. I was actually surprised at how well I could capture that moment just before lift-off, the intricate dance that birds do before they take to the skies.
San Diego’s Civic Center, as I’ve shown previously, is a pretty surreal place. There’s certainly a feeling that you’re supposed to be in the nexus of the city’s of law and justice, but literally just around the corner, the buildings are plastered with signs for race tracks and the curbs and lined with homeless folks. I liked the way this image showed the broad sidewalks mostly abandoned, with only traces of waking life here and there.
North Berkeley has some of the most picturesque homes in all of Berkeley, like this one perched above one of the many creeks criss-crossing Berkeley. Like this one they are rarely as fancy or as large as the homes you find up in the hills but somehow they seem more like they’re actually someone’s home.
Today’s shot has some pleasant symmetry to it: the careful lines of the trellises, the interplay between the blue of the sky and the creamy colors of the gravel, and the complete contrast of the curving and unruly hills running behind it all. There’s something personally satisfying about the way humans carve out little areas of neurotically-aligned geometry, but in the end, it’s nothing compared to the scale of the randomness produced by plate tectonics.
Today’s shot is one of my earlier attempts at HDR; I really like the composition of dark, absolute trees against the dappled sunlight, but with the benefit of time… Well, there are a variety of changes I’d have made in both the shot I took and the post-processing that followed. Reflecting on my past can be quite the learning experience–I’d like to think I’m more critical of my own work than anyone else’s.
I was out on some of the nice walking trails in the hills about Berkeley when I came across this stand of shrubs full of song birds. I caught this one climbing all over this plant, as well as hanging upside down from the stalks. I was able to approach surprisingly close before our friend got spooked and flew off but in the mean-time I was able to grab a few choice shots.
The geometry of a horse and rider launching over a five-foot jump is so filled with muscle and agility and velocity that I find the whole event to be hypnotic. It’s over in a fraction of a second, and this makes me all the more glad that I’m a photographer. Though Piper would tell you that this isn’t quite a perfect jump (it’s a bad idea to put your groin above the saddle’s pommel–that can have painful consequences), I can’t help but respect the athleticism on display.
Decaseconds 