HDR Photography
AI-generated images have perhaps made us so inured to impossible images as to dilute the shocking impact of the truly surreal. Bombay Beach’s sculptures, planted in the shores of the Salton Sea, “floating” in the sky, truly look like nothing else I’ve ever seen.
A quiet morning between father and son, fishing from a rowboat on a placid mountain lake: does it get more classically summer than this?
A big panorama of Empire Polo Club helps one to understand a bit how this site can hold both Coachella and Stagecoach.
As summer has officially concluded, I wanted to look back on some images from my first one in Hartford.
Fireworks set off early on the Fourth of July quickly shrouded the area in smoke.
As the moon moves around the horizon, it aligns with different features in the skyline.
Mohonk’s gazebos are iconic, but in my childhood, they vanished into the woods as night fell. The addition of strings of lights to them means that they stand out more without the sunlight.
The mixture of mid-twentieth-century architecture, spotlights, lightning, soft focus, and color grading all sum to transform Hartford into Tim Burton’s 1989 vision of Gotham.
Warm, welcoming, and… monolithic? Though Mohonk is a huge, castle-esque structure, the hotel nonetheless feels deeply cozy in the evening. Perhaps it’s the sense of life about it. Zoom all the way in and people are visible, enjoying the warm air on the many balconies.
Bright end-of-the-day sunlight adds some brightness to a damp November evening in Dublin.
The smoke and the motion in this shot of a drifting 86 at #GRIDLIFE Circuit Legends last month really grab my attention, but it’s the little detail of the hand making the shaka sign out the window that puts this image over the top.
For more pictures from #GRIDLIFE this year, check out this post.
Winter days in the desert are short enough already, but the tall San Jacinto and Santa Rosa mountains cut the light off even sooner. High up with a drone, there are still some final rays to be harvested.
A human-made building-cliff faces a glacier-made cliff; when the sun sets, one glows and the other reflects the light.
The first weeks of school during my senior year at Trinity College, all the way back in 2007, were memorable to me for a lot of reasons; one of those was because it was just unbearably hot for a couple of weeks. Now, having returned to campus as a faculty member, I’ve apparently brought this weather back with me. The mostly-un-air-conditioned Clement Chemistry Building is once again my home—but this time, my office has a window unit.
For something termed a “hazard,” this body of water looks pretty placid in the evening light.
Dublin in late autumn has a damp energy that I found unquestionably intriguing; the optical artifacts from shooting into the setting sun do a fair job of approximating the feeling that every bit of asphalt and brick have some eerie effect taking place beneath them.
And a bonus Piper shot from just about the same moment as we explored the city.
All of the little details of place—the railings and paths, the docks and balconies—stand out in the blue hour. There’s a cozy contrast between the warm lights of Mohonk Mountain House and the cooler colors of the little gazebo atop at rock staring back at the hotel.
Decaseconds 