Two weeks ago, I showed you this series of six images of Payson and Piskor Halls, with the eventual idea of assembling them into a dynamic wallpaper for macOS. I’m happy to say that, after some troubleshooting, that process is done. The result is available here.
While horse shows aimed at English riding don’t tend to have an excess of cowboys present, this hat perhaps suggests otherwise.
Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being takes place in these environs of Prague, and something of the dramatic clouds and deep black of this image reminded me of that novel.
I associate the Bohemian architecture of Prague so closely with spy movies that I immediately imagine an agent rappelling down the side of every facade I photographed.
The “S.L.U.” on this life preserver is a good reminder that St. Lawrence University runs Camp Canaras. Still, I’m not sure it was too necessary on this chilly spring night—Lake Saranac was not overly populated.
Haunted buildings on St. Lawrence’s campus seem all the creepier now that most students have been sent home for remote learning.
I’m very sad to share that my graduate advisor, Prof. Charles B. Harris, passed away yesterday. He discovered the quadruple bond and he taught me how to be a scientist and a mentor. Charles was always so proud of the achievements of his students; we spoke last year after I received tenure and I’m glad I had the opportunity to tell him that he could add yet another successful faculty member to his list of accomplishments. I miss him.
Looking at this picture from the mossy hills of the Bay Area on a misty morning, I’m reminded of his house in hills of Orinda.
Though I complained about the mud of Parisian pathways, there is something perfect about the bright morning sun reflecting off the pale material.
This is a big week for images of annular objects and I want to make my contribution from a less cutting-edge end of the spectrum: looking up a shaft from inside the Paris Catacombs. The rainy day at the other end of this portal means umbrellas obscure the sky.
New Jersey and Pennsylvania are divided by the Delaware River, site of some serious naval shipyards. In black and white, the whole region takes on a seriously twentieth-century look.
Adding to my collections of homesteads in places like Vermont and Wyoming is today’s shot from outside Park City, Utah. Looking closely, you can see the array of vehicles in the landscape, looking extra-miniature against the mountains beyond.
On this year’s Martin Luther King Jr. Day this year, the coastal roads through the Marin Headlands were completely packed with people searching for the perfect view of San Francisco and the Golden Gate.
From modern lasers to something a bit older: the lakeside view of Mohonk Mountain House, looking much as it has for more than 100 years. The sheer face of the cliff contines into the structure and reflects in the water.
Rolling hills (in this case, outside Park City, Utah) normally vanish into Rayleigh-scattered blue haze. (That was particularly the case this summer in Utah.) The magic of a red filter for black and white photography is to simultaneously reverse both the fading and the bluing effect. The result are landscapes like this that seem to go on “forever”.
A family farm on a hillside in northern Vermont at the start of winter is like an empty table, ready to be set for a meal. These and other folksy aphorisms, brought to you by a digital eye on a flying robot stabilized by orbiting artificial satellites and electronic gyroscopes. The future is excellent!
For the most photographed bridge in the world, I’m always humbled to remember that the Golden Gate Bridge didn’t even exist 100 years ago. Seeing it now, in the bracket of Alcatraz and Marin, I think I understand better why it’s Roman Mars‘s favorite piece of design in the Bay Area.