HDR Photography
Mohonk Mountain House has grown like lichen across its mountaintop, but its oldest core shapes much of the structure’s identity. Tea time happens at 4:00 PM each day, and guests sit in the array of front porch rocking chairs with their tea during the warmer months.
Just around the corner, gazebos crusted with snow dot the cliffs.
Following Thanksgiving, all structures seems to sprout these luminescent, multicolored silica-and-copper growths. I’m sure the world’s building biologists are hard at work on a cure for “Christmas lights”, but in the mean time, they sure are pretty.
Morning sun across the old wood of Mohonk’s porch matches perfectly with the coils of vapor from a hot cup of coffee. I think this photograph effectively captures the ladder-like pattern in the chair shadows and the possibilities of hiking in the hills beyond the lake.
Decaseconds turns five years old just about this week, and today I’m turning 30. “Now” is a good time to think about age and the passage of time, I suppose, but I’d rather focus on something else: achievement. We’ve gotten a lot done in the past years—and there’s a lot more to come. Looking back on my early photographs on places like Berkeley’s Campanile, I can see all of the steps that led me to now. On to the next year!
Johnson Hall at sunset in the North Country. No other comment needed.
Having lived in dorms with entrances under archways myself, I’ve always found them friendly and inviting places. Perhaps that effect stems from the Batcave effect of having a “secret” entrance in a cave-like stone structure. Good place to store the batmobile.
Visiting nearby Canada means looking at a mirror-version of the United States, reflected across the border. Like looking in a mirror, everything is still recognizable. Up is still up. Down is still down. But the brands and the metric units and the nationalism is different. Does looking in the reflection of Ottawa in the Shaw Centre reverse the transformation?
An added bonus: this is technically a self-portrait, with my tiny self down in the foreground.
There are three ways to interpret the title:
Semesters mostly end in a slow burn to the end of final exams. There’s a different end date for almost every student; only seniors share a collective terminus at graduation (and they’re too conflicted about the whole thing to really enjoy it, I’ve noticed.) Last year, I used Decaseconds to document the feeling of the campus contracting, like a balloon in liquid nitrogen, at the end of the semester. This year, the sky and the sun seemed ready to provide a dramatic end to this semester’s classes.
I’ve posted shots of the intense geometry of the Seattle Public Library before, but I thought this shot captured a new facet of its oddness: an ordinary if elegant entrance and ground floor that suddenly shifts to an impossible angle as the building rises.
Nearly every surface in this image is brick. From the alleyway to the retaining walls to the towers: brick, brick, brick (or pavers). I understand sheathing a structural steel building in glass or densglass or (heaven forbid) “exterior insulation finishing system,” a.k.a. Dryvit, but the kind of person-hours necessary to assemble all of that orderly brick is mind-boggling.
This four-story apartment building was so clearly designed to be flanked by siblings of similar stature. It’s now the contrary holdout on a lot dominated by a monster tower block that threatens to engulf it.
Charleston is full of churches, so many that it has the nick name Holy City. Among them is the historic Huguenot Church which, while it is not the largest is definitely one of the most distinctive, and I’d say my favorite.
The Century is a classic of early-twentieth-century Art Deco styling, but I also appreciate the somewhat understated courtyard that it presents. There’s such great texture in the brick, and the setting looks almost boring until the lovely structures in the windows and their frames become apparent.
There’s no better place to see the abrupt transition from the semi-“undeveloped” to the densely urban than the edge of Central Park. Trees give way directly to the new generation of “needle buildings,” these spiky skyscrapers that have attracted: (1) big money from Russian kleptocrats and (2) complaints from fans of New York’s traditional architecture. I might be sold on the futuristic spires for their sci-fi appeal.
Decaseconds 