The New York Times, ever the Gen Z style-watchers, have decreed 2000s-era point-and-shoot cameras and their attendant nostalgia to be the next big thing. I was inspired to go back to my own point-and-shoot-shot originals from the era, and uncovered some surprisingly good shots that I’d somehow never before considered. Just look at the tower-like cloud in this sunrise from a 2005 trip to Key West; how did I miss this shot?
Atop forested cliffs, the view to the porch and dock of Mohonk Mountain House has a “child’s treehouse” quality that matches well with the magical feeling of the place.
If the past few posts have been dedicated to creating cinematic vibes, I’ll dedicate these big sunset clouds and desert hillsides at the end of the road to a California cult classic: Repo Man.
Hayao Miyazaki’s films are notable for these beautiful landscape/establishing shots of windswept grassy hillsides beneath huge cumulus clouds. The gentle, rolling limestone hills of northern Kentucky, with some cows grazing quietly in the distance, made me feel like I was in a Miyazakiesque setting.
Fields of wind turbines in the California desert may seem like a futuristic addition, but a recent viewing of Rain Man (from 1988) reminded me that there have been wind turbines in this area for decades.
This array of wind turbines, silhouetted against the sunset and flashing their red warning lights, looks far more sinister in a way that contradicts its positive impact on renewable energy generation.
Apparently the original Lake Cahuilla was a prehistoric lake in the Coachella Valley; its modern recreation is a reservoir in the hills outside town. The relationship between humans and nature in the region is well-encapsulated by that point of comparison.
At the northern end of Coachella Valley, civilization peters out and the wind kicks up. The seemingly endless fields of wind turbines are (unsurprisingly) well-positioned: hopping out of the car to get this shot, I was nearly knocked over by a grit-enhanced gust, the likes of which I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before.
As we pass the shortest day of the year, I looked back to one of the longest: an endless evening, stretching out over Long Lake in the Adirondacks.
I know they both have their shape due to the same causes (i.e., physics, gravity, etc.), but it sure is convenient that the wings of this seaplane and the shore behind it so tidily align.
To borrow an Internet cliché, “Name a more iconic summer combination.”
The enormous Margaux Farm seems, like some equestrian Jurassic Park, to stretch from one horizon to the other.
When an autumn day at St. Lawrence University ends with a storm above the Adirondacks, those horizon raindrops scatter warm hues back to the quadcopter camera.
The castle is the other way! Of course, this sightseer is aiming in just the right direction to see the Dancing House upriver.
This expanse of dramatic clouds, Petrin Hill, and the Vltava River was across the street from our hotel in Prague. While always a gorgeous view, most evenings brought rain instead of this kind of skyscape. I was lucky to find this scene on the final night of the trip.