HDR Photography
Pressing yourself to try something different is important: different setting (no crazy vista here), different lens (70-200 mm f/2.8 in place of my frequent wide-angle lens), and a different mood. There’s a stillness to a mausoleum door that never gets opened—something odd and unsettling and heavy that I think this image conveys.
From the crust of winter, looking back to summer and reunions and picnics on the quad brings that inner warmth.
Rose gardens are more frequently Brendan’s purview on this blog (check out this post, or this one), but my visit to Portland, Oregon this summer gave me the chance to shoot some rose gardens of my own. The dramatic sky, the far-off pavilion, the spouting fountain, the acres of roses, and the mis-matched ramp and stairs at the edges of the picture: Peninsula Park Rose Garden hits all the right fairy tale notes. I was lucky to be able to capture it at just the right heavy summer moment—though I have to wonder how it would look in the fuzzy first moments of sunrise, too.
Spending the past decade in urban environs, easy access to cuisine from outside the European canon was always a given. When I arrived in the North Country, I was ready for the snow—but perhaps not for the near-total absence of food from Asian cuisines. Just up the road from Dave’s II (which I’ve photographed previously) is No. A-1 Oriental Kitchen, which seems to satisfy every preconception of what a Chinese food restaurant in New York might be (according to twentieth-century American cinema.)
My trip to Chicagoland meant a pilgrimage to Stonewall Farm in Ixonia, Wisconsin, where the ponies had shaggy winter coats that matched the landscape perfectly.
The American Theatre in Canton, New York has survived many a winter (and an unfortunately interior remodeling) with much of its twentieth-century charm intact. Continuing my investigation of the “slightly sinister” in small-town America (from yesterday and last spring), this is yet another charming vision of Americana. The echo of a passing car’s headlights in the street below only adds to the mystery.
In the past, I’ve documented the slightly sinister feel of Canton at its most David-Lynchian. Here again, the lights of Main Street are friendly and inviting, but with that edge that small towns have. I can’t wait to see it carpeted in snow—the ambience changes again.
A rural childhood lends itself to stretches with zero requirements: impossibly muggy summer afternoons or frigid winter nights trapped inside. I spent many of those stretches drawing maps of fantastical places, and I can’t help but wonder if my current interest in aerial photography stems from the process of projecting real scenery onto my imagined childhood maps. This meandering oxbow near the Columbia River Gorge has that feel of a place perfect for a fort, doesn’t it?
There’s too much unsettling photography out there to limit my Halloween to just a single photograph! The image of a completely dark San Francisco (in the moment between the sun beginning to set and all of the headlights and streetlights turning on), with its specific skyline rising from the mist of the marine layer, just screams “post-apocalyptic cityscape.” Or do I detect a hint of Blade-Runner-esque “California of the Future” in the angles and orange colors? While I’m on the topic of future and past, I have a question:
Do you George Lucas your work?
This photography is one of the first that I ever took with a “real” camera, in the late fall of 2011. The RAW file was sitting quietly on my external storage drive, fallow and ready to live again. In comparing this image with the original approach I took to processing, I see enormous differences and enormous improvements—or at least an evolving artistic sensibility. I’d call this approach “George Lucasing:” going back to old work and updating or improving as my skills improve. And I’m not sure I like that it’s something I should do. Photography captures a moment, and needs a sense of finality. On the other hand, if I am spatially removed from a place (be it San Francisco or South Africa), without the immediate opportunity to return, can this creation be a healthier expression of nostalgia?
For Halloween, what better scary and spooky sight than an abandoned farm? The creepier part comes in the origin of this particular farm: this is part of the abandoned set of “I Dreamed of Africa” in Zulu-Nyala near Hluhluwe, South Africa. So this is an abandoned, decaying facsimile of someone’s imagined African paradise. Eerie!
I found myself wandering around McMenamins Edgefield (just outside Portland in Troutdale, Oregon) with some free time before a wedding ceremony, so I went exploring. I love the way the confluence of additions and annexes to buildings wind up producing these strange internal spaces; they do a lot to magnify the mystery of an already mysterious place.
Today’s photograph is from two years ago, and what was once my mundane walk home has now become a totally alien scene of science fiction flora and architecture. The overwhelming light of the windows and the sharp geometries imposed by noise reduction algorithms really add to the effect.
When denser, darker, smoother clouds than have ever been seen before appear over a science building (even if it’s MY science building), I find myself wondering if some mad science is afoot.
Nostalgia views the world from a distance but with specific acuity. A view from Grizzly Peak of the Berkeley Marina might look like a warm, buzzy vision of NorCal, but with my own memories I attribute specific instances and moments to every aspect of the landscape: Kites flying over Caesar Chavez Park. Stories of a ferry to San Francisco that once ran from the decaying jetty. Learning to sail on the tiny boats on the “left” side of the peninsula. Sailing from the Marina to Angel Island, crewing a professor’s 40-foot sailboat. Finding a place to live, driving up and down University Ave. from the hotel to the hills. Crossing the highway on the bicycle bridge for a long, flat, sunny ride along the shore. All of that experience is encoded into the image, but I’ll always be the only person with the key to decrypt it.
When red leaves are backlit, they seem to glow so unbelievably. HDR photography can turn this setting from charming to almost overwhelming.
Decaseconds 