HDR Photography
Coming to St. Lawrence, I was not prepared for the amount of forest space on the school’s 1000-acre campus. Flying above the Grasse River, campus looks wild and vaguely Nordic. I’ve never run into a frost giant on the way to work, but now I’m sort of wondering whether I need to prepare for that, too.
An almost-island was hiding in the background of this photograph of Stone Valley. Most of my childhood adventures involved sorties from some kind of tree-based fortress; this formation silhouetted against the setting sun reminded me of those adventures. Or maybe just the fort from a particular film. (Even it’s neither truly secret, nor a fort.)
Classic Stone Valley! A few minutes and meters down the trail from Monday’s image, I caught my favorite part of the hike at a great time of day. Previous trips to this this spot turned into rehearsals for navigating slippery rocks. This has turned out to be one of my favorite pieces of nature photography, but there’s more to come next Monday.
On the way back from the Outer Banks, a perfect storm of conditions led to this amazing mist over a Watauga Lake. As the mist lifted this small island came into view like some kind of mini magical realm (or the setting for some kind of horror film).
Bannerman’s Castle on Pollepel Island in the Hudson River was once an arsenal, and then a tourist destination, before it burned down in 1969 and the island was closed to the public. Now the fortified silhouette of the ruins apparently inspires an incredible amount of use as a hideout for the supernatural in fantasy fiction. Though I didn’t know it at the time I took this picture, this island is one of the major inspirations for Lev Grossman’s Brakebills College. A sunset train ride down the Hudson River is the perfect occasion to stumble on a structure like this.
There’s a tiny (abandoned?) cabin in the woods of this scruffy, autumn-inflected island. This fall has been warm and dry, the Sun bakes the glacier-cut stones, and the water is already cold. In this environment, I can’t help but imagine escaping to a little cabin of my own.
As a youth, I read tales of “wandering islands” on the backs of giant sea creatures. As the fog burned off at Camp Canaras, I couldn’t shake the illusion that the island was drifting closer. (Of course, Saranac Lake might make for a disappointingly small range to wander.)
I spent the early part of this week at St. Lawrence University’s Camp Canaras (like Saranac Lake spelled backwards) for a retreat. Cold and rain tamped down expectations of canoeing; instead, I had an early morning hike in the sound-dampened world of fog.
At night, the camp took on the otherworldly quiet of the Adirondacks after dark.
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?
This tiny island sits in Tupper Lake’s appropriately named Rock Island Bay, amid this quintessentially Adirondack-y landscape of rolling hills and coniferous trees. This particular island has always been notable to me because of the degree to which it aligns with my boyhood ideal of “where to hide out.” Swimmable, but just barely for a 10-year-old, from the shore. A tree for the barest shelter and a twig, now and then, from which to craft a fishing hook. When the day of adventures is over, a little island like this one would be just big enough for a boy-sized lean-to for my childhood self. Wouldn’t that be paradise?
As a child, I held on to the fantasy of discovering a secret island all my own–one stocked with secret forts and pirate treasure and relaxing fishing spots. During our trip to Brazil last fall, I was entranced by the rocky but just-the-right-sized islands off the coast of Florianopolis. If I could have only gotten out there, I know pirate treasure awaited me.
I’ve previously spotlighted the gorgeous shades and cinematic landscape of southern Brazil, but in this particular photograph I feel I’ve captured the truly epic feel of the place. Rocky islands dot the coastline and comic book clouds drift through the gold-and-pink hued sky. I can’t imagine anything more gorgeous.
Foggy, miserable mornings in Berkeley are the perfect time to reminisce about the perfect Atlantic views of southern Brazil. Standing high up on the succulent-shrouded cliffs, the azure waves crashing below, the start of an afternoon storm blowing across the water, puts life in perspective.
One of my favorite views in the Bay Area from from Grizzly Hill. (You might recognize a bit of this picture from an earlier night shoot.) I love the combination of dense city in San Francisco, sylvan suburbs in Berkeley, and proper trees in Strawberry Canyon and LBNL.
Grizzly Peak, in the hills above Berkeley, is a great spot to get photos of San Francisco–if the weather cooperates. Though it was a bit foggy on this particular day, it afforded a great chance to see some interesting shadows. San Francisco itself is just visible beneath the sun.
This is also a great instance of just how useful HDR can be, as a technique; sunset images without tone mapping typically require the foreground to be completely silhouetted.
Decaseconds 