HDR Photography
Sunlight of late summer maneuvers through the Seattle skyline, and I can’t help but enjoy the way reflections and the impossible geometry (one of my favorite clichés) of Rainier Tower’s slender base stand out among the more “traditional” shapes of the surroundings buildings.
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.
The year has nearly come to an end, and winter has finally arrived in the North Country, but before I look to the future, I wanted to take another look back at my summer travels to the West Coast, and particularly to Seattle.
An early morning stroll brought almost-empty streets and golden hues.
The standard trappings of city life are a little surprising after a year spent in rural New York. Even this mild-mannered cab (particularly a Crown Victoria) looked like it had been placed by the crew of an about-to-begin film set.
The cheek-to-cheek connection of port and industry with everyday life surprised me the most. Ferris wheels and giant cranes share the water.
Across the cityscape of Portland, rays of morning light slash down from the clouds. The reflective surfaces make a compliment for the texture of the skyscape.
This is more than a vibrant, glowing, living moment of late-night city life from the Pearl District of Portland, Oregon; this picture is the first I’ve ever processed with a new piece of software, Aurora HDR. It was processed only with Aurora, with no other fiddling in other programs. (As you may know, I’m typically a die-hard Photomatix+Photoshop workflow guy.) I’m not sure what place Aurora will have in my workflow long-term, but I have to at least say this: its noise reduction algorithms are by far the best I’ve ever seen. (Noise is the main enemy of good HDR shots.) I’ll bring you a longer report when I’ve had more seat time with it.
Rainy nights make for the best hotel stays; when the city is a strange mix of old brick and modern blah* (hello, Columbus!), a cloudy sky lit by unnatural light matches the alienating mood.
*Where “blah” = solid but uninspired office buildings.
The longer I spend in small-town life, the more alien a view down the tree-lined streets of Seattle becomes. If the warm towers are a rare sight, the man crossing the street with his dog is a more normal image for me to concentrate on.
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.
Portland, Oregon has its own thing going. The yearly corgi walk has hundreds (literally) of corgis traveling a corgi’s worth of distance (with water breaks in between) to the cool flooding fountain of Jamison Square. The water level in the lower part of the pool slowly raised and lowers, leaving some surprised corgis swimming.
The early-Saturday-morning light stabs down, under the metal bridge, to the precast concrete façade of the new and the ornate brick façade of the old. Overlooked in this corner of Seattle is a small metal door to an underground garage. I’m sure it’s perfectly mundane, but my imagination can’t cease telling me that some caped crusader’s high-tech ride is waiting on the other side. This is definitely where I’d hide my batmobile.
This image of the flank of the Fairmont Olympic Hotel in Seattle, Washington is imposing for a variety of reasons, but none more than the number of bricks, each of which must have been carefully laid into place, necessary to construct the façade.
At the moment the sunset sets behind the hills, the sky above San Francisco is still gold, but the massive structures and high-tech vehicles of the city below are activating their illumination machines and preparing for night beneath the marine layer. If the Bay Area is a loose solar system of different worlds, San Francisco must be its cyberpunk crown jewel.
Waking up early at the Fairmont Olympic means peaking out the window to a contrast: the blue sky says day has begun, but the sodium-lamp-lit streets say night continues. The tan brick and window frame provide a logical grounding point for the viewer, placing you directly into the otherwise-fantastical scene.
This street scene from my trip to Seattle jumped out at me because of the shift in tone: As the cars drive around the corner, they drive from the last dark, street-lit parts of the dawn into the full light of day. The passage of time is mapped onto the transition of light.
The raised interstate looks like a crown, with bridges for gems, just above the emerging skyline of Portland’s Pearl District.
Decaseconds 