HDR Photography
Just around the corner from one of my favorite buildings, I found this spot where the curve of a footpath mirrors the curve of the passing road. The last moments of the day make for tiny beams of sunlight around my feet and tapping the tops of trees across the road. The start of summer is a perfect time in California.
Oakland isn’t always the most gorgeous place to behold, with more than its fair share of graffiti-laden, disused industrial areas. (You can see little hints of them for yourself in today’s shot.) When I get down to the San Francisco Bay, and the tenor changes, I can appreciate it so much more. Unlike the east seaboard of the U.S., much of which has a consistent architectural style, the Bay is a mish-mash of little buildings that fulfilled whatever roles were needed when they were constructed. I get a warm, satisfied feeling from the way the chaotic clutter of boats separates the sometimes-distressing Oakland from the clean, crisp water of the Bay.
San Diego’s Civic Center, as I’ve shown previously, is a pretty surreal place. There’s certainly a feeling that you’re supposed to be in the nexus of the city’s of law and justice, but literally just around the corner, the buildings are plastered with signs for race tracks and the curbs and lined with homeless folks. I liked the way this image showed the broad sidewalks mostly abandoned, with only traces of waking life here and there.
North Berkeley has some of the most picturesque homes in all of Berkeley, like this one perched above one of the many creeks criss-crossing Berkeley. Like this one they are rarely as fancy or as large as the homes you find up in the hills but somehow they seem more like they’re actually someone’s home.
Today’s shot has some pleasant symmetry to it: the careful lines of the trellises, the interplay between the blue of the sky and the creamy colors of the gravel, and the complete contrast of the curving and unruly hills running behind it all. There’s something personally satisfying about the way humans carve out little areas of neurotically-aligned geometry, but in the end, it’s nothing compared to the scale of the randomness produced by plate tectonics.
Today’s shot is one of my earlier attempts at HDR; I really like the composition of dark, absolute trees against the dappled sunlight, but with the benefit of time… Well, there are a variety of changes I’d have made in both the shot I took and the post-processing that followed. Reflecting on my past can be quite the learning experience–I’d like to think I’m more critical of my own work than anyone else’s.
The geometry of a horse and rider launching over a five-foot jump is so filled with muscle and agility and velocity that I find the whole event to be hypnotic. It’s over in a fraction of a second, and this makes me all the more glad that I’m a photographer. Though Piper would tell you that this isn’t quite a perfect jump (it’s a bad idea to put your groin above the saddle’s pommel–that can have painful consequences), I can’t help but respect the athleticism on display.
From what is becoming a series, “Piper relaxing,” today’s work: Piper relaxing on the roof, reading Rolling Stone on the most fantastically red, fuzzy blanket ever manufactured. A ray of sunshine for Monday morning.
Once you venture even a few miles from the suburban world of the East Bay into the hills surrounding, all sorts of weird little “model train set” vistas appear. On a rainy, gloomy day, with low cloud cover penning in the view, you could almost be forgiven for thinking you’d stumbled into a giant’s basement hobby space.
Here‘s that same sculpture shot from down below near the actual entrance to the engineering library, in the depths below Bechtel hall.
Today’s photograph comes from the Spotlight Club tasting room at Robert Mondavi Winery. Everything in wine country seems manufactured to create the faux-rustic, comforting charm; though part of me rebels against being manipulated, I have to admit that there’s a powerful nostalgic feeling summoned when I see big leather arm chairs and maps on the wall and wood-panelled display cases filled with the artifacts of a vintner’s existence. Though the room itself maybe be just as carefully manufactured as some Baroque chamber, the sense of again being a boy in my father’s study is no less potent.
It’s amazing how quickly Campbell hall (previously featured in various stages of its deconstruction here and here) has been reduced to a pile or rubble. Just this past week they have completed the demolition but I was able to capture this shot, with the Campanile in the background, just before it stopped looking like a building and started looking like a pile of rubble.
Watching the sun go down on an empty beach can make me feel like the only person on the planet, but little signs of life will always remain–be it foot prints or, in this case, a sand castle. In comparison with my previous sand castle post, this particularly little fortress is so much calmer, smaller, and more considered.
Berkeley’s campus becomes oddly, frighteningly empty during the late spring. By the time summer rolls around, more students return to attend summer classes and the campus runs on a skeleton crew. In the time between the end of final exams and the start of the summer semester, however, only professors and graduate students dare to roam the halls. In this context, the enormous (but now mostly-empty) buildings remind me of the decaying palaces of some deposed monarch. School is dead! Long live school!
Decaseconds 