HDR Photography
The intersection of Hearst and Euclid was an everyday sight (and site for lunch) during graduate school. Just as daytime settings become otherworldly by night, chronological distance from those days have made the setting alien and exciting. How could this place ever have seemed normal?
I didn’t think the day would ever come but I’ve become nostalgic for my time in Berkeley. The coming of fall has got me thinking about walking to campus at the advent of a new school year. Walking up Channing, past this Buddhist temple every day. The temple never meant anything to me personally while I was in Berkeley but now I find myself missing walking past it in the mornings. Memories are weird.
I love the way the rings and building reflect off the pool on quiet mornings like the one when I captured this shot.
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.
I always found this random spiral staircase and the centered bamboo topiary to be an interesting fit for the otherwise sober-looking engineering building.
And here’s looking back up (on a different day and from a different direction). The Campanile also figured heavily into my morning (and afternoon) routines, being the signal that I was finally at work and also that I was ready to head home. It’s maybe the most recognizable thing about Berkeley.
In this image, my entire walk to work during graduate school is captured and arrayed. The go-to-work route of my co-editor is also hidden in the farther reaches of this picture (with the far-off Albany Hill marking its start). That hill is interesting in part because it used to have several similar siblings in the area that ere dynamited down to make room for more housing. Being a primarily landscape photographer, I’ve always liked the relationship between physical spaces and memories—and the ways the two can shift together over time. The connection of photography and memory, and the effect of going back to old photos, has been a growing interest of mine. (I articulated my general feelings in this post from 2014.)
A lot of the houses in North Berkeley look like they would make great dollhouses, or part of a great ersatz miniature town, if only you could shrink them down. We can always pretend, eh?
I can’t think of an appropriate thing to say about the Bancroft Library at the University of California so I’ll leave a picture instead.
Photo nostalgia for the day: the strange, flat light of the marine layer burning off the Bay. The mix of architectural styles from the early twentieth century makes Berkeley, on a day like this one was, seem like a scale model of itself.
The view from atop Berkeley’s Campanile is a nostalgic one, with San Francisco and Oakland popping up in the distance above the sprawl. Walking along those broad, slightly cracked, and sun-baked pathways of Berkeley’s campus never quite felt natural, though. Can a place magnified beyond human scale feel that way?
After getting some distance I’m starting to find myself missing things about Berkeley.
Fire trails seem like a friendly, common, down-to-earth feature of many California hillsides. There’s a strange context alongside the blazing sky and the busy city in the distance. When I look farther off and see the Golden Gate Bridge and Angel Island, the juxtaposition feels only more emphasized.
But perhaps I like that vision. We build things both grand and humble.
When I looked out my window to a scene every night, it was easy to dismiss the weird, Californian beauty of the Triple Rock bar/brewery and the rooftops beyond it. Now that I’m 3,000 miles away, this odd-yet-normal/everyday-urban scene seems so much more special.
Decaseconds 