HDR Photography
The first weeks of school during my senior year at Trinity College, all the way back in 2007, were memorable to me for a lot of reasons; one of those was because it was just unbearably hot for a couple of weeks. Now, having returned to campus as a faculty member, I’ve apparently brought this weather back with me. The mostly-un-air-conditioned Clement Chemistry Building is once again my home—but this time, my office has a window unit.
For something termed a “hazard,” this body of water looks pretty placid in the evening light.
A couple of months ago, I published what I anticipate will be my final pictures of St. Lawrence University, and with this post, I believe I’m releasing my final pictures from St. Lawrence County more generally. They’re an interesting pair, because I feel they capture the dichotomy of the area.
The first image is a high, dramatic drone shot into the Adirondacks, taken near Colton. Nature! Topology! Wilderness! (Clicking through to Flickr, you can see this shot was even featured in their Explore page.) This was perhaps what I was expecting when I moved to the North Country. This was the last such picture I captured on a rare quiet weekend while preparing to move out.
The second picture is one I took on the last day of classes at St. Lawrence. A charming view of our small town, I suppose, but also a vast, flat landscape with a few too many parking lots and strip shopping centers to quite constitute rural life. This was perhaps a better depiction of everyday life in the North Country, and a strong contrast with the drone views that I get now.
“Coachella Valley was just battered by Hurricane Hilary.” — What an odd sentence to write. Today, we’re looking back to times when the idea of this dry lake bed being hit by a hurricane sounded like science fiction.
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Every town between the high peaks of the Adirondacks and the low point of the St. Lawrence River seems to have its own modest hydroelectric dam to capture their slice of the accrued aqueous kinetic energy.
Rather than a fortress in a forest, this is a fortress composed of forest—or at least, it feels that way. While the far-off mountains and the lights of Palm Springs may be visible from the air, the ground-level setting is far more constrained and cozy.
P.S. Can you spot your humble photographer in this shot?
Holiday gatherings with palms in place of pines are out of the ordinary to this northeasterner, but the strangest modification remains the outdoor dining.
Though there’s chaos in the turbulent flows of rapids through Stone Valley, I like the rhythm in the repeated lengthscale between crests. The long exposure smooths out the water, but the trees remain sharp and spiky.
Warm morning light on palm fronds and mountain faces, placid reflections in the water hazards: I’m not much of a golfer, but images like this one help me to understand the appeal.
Movies are filled with imagery of high castle walls holding off hordes of attackers. I suppose this picture of Colton, New York’s dam is a bit of the opposite: the chaos is caused by the wall, rather than the wall being constructed to protect from the chaos.
Though a photographer might briefly visit many locations, actually staying in a location means being present at the moment when the light is just right. In this case, sunrise pouring into Coachella Valley lights up the mountainsides and the rooftops, but not yet the valley floor itself.
Being there to capture the sunrise picture is great, of course, but being on location in this case also meant being able to follow it up with a sunrise dip in the hot tub.
The dry seabed that is Coachella Valley provides a very flat surface for construction; as a result, modern constructions mostly fall on whatever pattern/array is convenient to the developers. In a few places, however, interruptions in those arrays stand out in an aerial view.
The palms on this golf course, for example, are on a clear grid, with the fairways and greens cut into it. Was this a palm plantation before the course was build?
Here, the green lawn of a larger home stands out, covering multiple grid positions, while neighboring homes cluster into smaller, more regularly arrayed lots.
Though this subdivision isn’t itself on a grid, the clubhouse nonetheless interrupts the pattern.
Flying a drone in downtown Hartford requires some extra permissions, but they’re worth chasing for the opportunity to capture shots like this one: Bushnell Tower, the State Capitol, and a rain-checked fireworks display arrayed above Bushnell Park.
A big, broad, western-America sunrise may feel summer-y, but this one was taken in the depths of winter.
My first drone flight in Hartford—floating above the trees of Bushnell Park—coincided with Juneteenth. The Connecticut State Capitol (former site of Trinity College) and this vibrant mural are located at the western side of the park.
Decaseconds 