HDR Photography
Beyond Sather Tower’s bars and columns is Telegraph Ave. and the city of Oakland. I never forget that view, but I do somehow always forget the red tiles at the top of the campanile. I guess my brain abstracts away the details, even when they’re a major part of the scene.
The odd angles and extended shapes of the Seattle Public Library make a lot more sense when they interlock with the silhouettes of adjacent buildings. The more I learn about the structure, the more I want to know.
Photographs with late-model cars and trucks have always been an odd challenge to my photography; they tend to appear as ugly, pedestrian chunks that I try to avoid in otherwise charming scenes. (The world has enough documentation of Toyota Corollas and Ford F-150s.) However, when I look back on old photographs from the mid-twentieth century, it’s inevitably the cars and the clothes of the past that are the most charming aspects. The common-car-filled images that I capture in the present must be a sort of investment; the boring cars of today will make this image a classic document of everyday life in 30 years.
Northern Vermont is a magnificent place in the winter: skiing, hot cocoa, quaint inns, etc. This warm winter has left those skiers waiting for the actual snow to arrive, however.
The HDR technique brings out all of the subtle textures of brick and roofing where comic book heroes dwell: on the roofs of fancy hotels. When a supervillain takes the (imaginary) party below hostage, a skylight makes a perfect entrance. Also, a great way to end The Game.
New buildings are rising constantly in the Pearl District of Portland, Oregon. The reflective surfaces and exposed structure have me waiting for James Bond to send a villain tumbling over the edge of the top floor.
I was told to go to the Seattle Public Library, and gaze into the eldritch angles of its geometry. I rather like the reflections on glass and water in this image, and I think the gridwork is quite cool; still, the idea of sneaking some kind of Lovecraftian building into the architectural melange of a city sounds like the plot of Ghostbusters. Excellent.
My co-author is the true Seattleite, and I began to understand the appeal of the place when I spent time there for a wedding this weekend. From atop the Fairmont Olympic Hotel, the view of uncanny Rainier Tower complements the wee cars in the streets below. Dawn is the time to gaze down the canyons.
Continuing my observations of the end of the year are a couple of photographs of campus buildings that have a bit of literal spirit to them. First is Sykes Hall, one of the older dorms. With the full moon by the tower and the HDR’ed light trails (a happy accident), the scene says “Halloween in May.”
ODY Library doesn’t have the same old-school creepiness, but rather that brutalist, Soviet vibe that says the ghosts must be a bit more modern.
For my little mini-project of documenting the end of the school year at St. Lawrence (previous days showed the cars, and the dorms, and the boat house, and the emotional remembrances), I also wanted to capture the interior of the slightly creepy Herring-Cole Hall at the end of finals week. Only a single student is still toughing it out to the end.
Having been outside the crazy-sphere of city life for a year now, I like looking back on the outrageous geometries that San Francisco calls reasonable. (I’m guessing the number of patches are repairs to that very steep street is a testament that road crews are just as uninterested in climbing it as the average pedestrian.) It’s really not surprising that so many classic movies take place in San Francisco: drama and strangeness is built right into its structure.
This photograph is a double-case of finding interesting details by looking away from the obvious. On one hand, this subtler image was captured opposite an intense sunset over San Francisco. The color palette is heavy with pastels, but accented with a few harsh reds from Oakland in the distance. In the image itself, there’s a tiny building under the right-hand span of the bridge. Seeing something so (let’s say) adorably sized next to something so dominant and enormous makes for a charming contrast.
Dotting the road to Ogdensburg’s bridge to Canada are tiny, abandoned houses like this one. It’s rather charming, and just a bit sad, but mostly it reminds me of Neal Stephenson’s Anathem, and the obversations that a society can retreat from the frontiers and back into the cities over time. Sprawl and civilization are not inevitable.
The contrast of textures and shapes really attracted me to this shot: glossy glass and steel in the background buildings in contrast to the Harbor Court Hotel’s matte brick, and ephemeral sea birds in contrast with the solid structure of the hotel.
The St. Lawrence University Outing Club always has something interesting set up outside their house, no matter the season. Even when they’re away on break, the frames and supports and ground-work for some crazy stunt of the future are ready. This peaceful moment seemed uncharacteristically placid and I just had to capture it.
Decaseconds 