HDR Photography
Skytop overlooks Mohonk Mountain House. Though built as a stone replacement for a wooden forest fire watch tower that (ironically) burned down, today it mostly serves as an end-point for a relaxing afternoon hike. As any good landscape photographer will tell you, human figures it your shot helps to provide a sense of scale. Do those figures look tiny enough?
Last Wednesday, I showed you the light trails of concertgoers leaving Equus Run Vineyards. Today, I bring you a bird’s eye view of the same moments. In the distance, Margaux is quiet for the evening; in the midground, car headlights bounce off the grapes; in the foreground, light trails highlight the bridge and the road through the trees.
These bright oranges around the quad last fall marked the formal inauguration of St. Lawrence’s latest president, Kathryn A. Morris.
The line where the crown of trees around Lake Mohonk gives way to the much-farther-away trees of the valley beyond looks like the sort of trompe-l’œil that might, these days, be generated by a glitchy machine learning algorithm. In this case, however, it’s just down to the unique mountaintop-lake location of Mohonk Mountain House
Equus Run Vineyard holds summer concerts, using the ample space available among the vines.
Our little cottage is across the street; after listening to the concert, we got a secondary show watching concertgoers depart.
Legend Mary Chapin Carpenter was playing, so the line continued for quite a while.
Colton, New York’s hydroelectric dam brings together dark, deep, deceptively passive water on one side and a raging torrent on the other. It’s perhaps a useful metaphor for the experience of preparing to leave a place one has lived for a decade. Visiting sites like this is also a reminder that sometimes I avoid exploring the interesting places near me until I’m preparing to leave the area; something analogous happened near the end of my sabbatical.
Tranquil summer fields beneath a vividly hued sky make for a perfect Kentucky landscape.
The first railway tunnel in Canada ran from the docks on the St. Lawrence Seaway to downtown Brockville, beneath businesses above. In one case, ventilation for the tunnel ran up through the building above and was hidden as a bank of chimneys on the building’s roof. Though the narrow tunnel has long since finished serving its use, it was recently rehabbed into this fascinating community focus. LED light strips along the walls shift through rainbow colors and pass red blocks of light down the corridor to simulate the passage of a train.
Though it may lack the verticality of Blade Runner’s Los Angeles in 2019, the cloudy skies and slightly sinister oranges put me in mind of the film’s iconic imagery.
On the path to Mohonk’s Skytop, this gazebo hangs into empty space. The Bob-Rossian layers to this image make the uncanny perch even more dramatic.
With so many tall, vertically oriented structures in a city, it’s probably no surprise that some of them should fall into pleasing alignment with one another. The modest glow of sunrise light through the gap between the clocktower and the adjacent building provides a friendly spark to guide the eye to the center of this image.
In this second case, it’s harsher Sun, rather than palm trees and clock towers, that has found its way into a special alignment through the streets of San Diego. Bright light falls into this canyon that should otherwise be dawn dim.
While the L.A. River might be better known as the site of chase scenes in action movies when dry, the wet winter in California has turned it into a reflective ribbon through the grid.
Far in the distance of last Friday’s post was Mohonk Mountain House’s swimming area; I thought it deserved a closer look. The glacier-formed cliffs, tall trees, and array of wooden structures reminds me (oddly enough) of a Shinto shrine—though obviously without the spiritual aspect.
Dawn makes for this dynamic moment when parts of a scene are thrown into dramatic sunlight while others still benefit from delicate, scattered, indirect light.
I like these shots for how the Ford Mustang and Dodge Charger are bathed in relatively gentle, flattering light, but headlights and sunlight make the rest of the scene comparatively high-contrast.
High above the hills and mountains of Southern California, there is a moment, right around dawn, when the dark hues of earth and the reflected light from the lakes lets one image what the area looked like before human structures sprawled through the valleys.
Decaseconds 