HDR Photography
We were in Traverse City, Michigan, during last year’s Fourth of July celebrations. Fireworks over the Grand Traverse Bay have some added drama, but the area is so far north (and west in its time zone) that the sky still hadn’t fully darkened.
After the main show has finished, private citizens produce their own displays up and down the beach.
Albion College’s Equestrian Center sits on 340 acres near the outskirts of campus. In addition to fields and paddocks, the manor house of the land’s previous inhabitants sits on a nearby hill, overlooking the goings-on.
The facility has a lot of hay storage.
Inside the facility, the region’s Pony Clubs were holding a rally. This particular pony looks pretty surprised to be finding themselves in the wash stall.
Bombay Beach has all manner of contextless structures; why shouldn’t that include a disembodied front porch?
Given their altitudes, I’m not surprised that clouds and mountains would be friends. I’m a little more interested that only a single set of peaks was deemed worthy of a cloud, while its nearby neighbors remain cloudless.
This school bus, parked at Bombay Beach by the edge of the Salton Sea, seems to be focused on some not-school-appropriate activities.
Big, dramatic American landscapes, red filters, and square aspect ratios might be a cliché combination, but while Ansel Adams shot with a tiny aperture for deep and pin-sharp focus, I feel like this wide-open approach and its soft bokeh provide a new twist.
Well-maintained but sunbaked picnic tables on the shores of the Salton Sea seem a little bit taunting—asking travelers to stop for a snack in a place not fully safe to live.
A wide-open aperture captures the desert dust storms and provides some soft bokeh to a prickly American landscape. I like the sense of depth and space it creates.
On the one hand, from the perspective of a young boy, I can see why exploring Bombay Beach would be just about the coolest thing ever. On the other hand, from the perspective of an adult, the view of a father smoking while his kids play in the post-apocalyptic hellscape of the Salton Sea is hilarious.
I’ve developed some odd tradition for epic landscape photography at the end of major holidays (as in this Christmas image)—perhaps it’s something about wanting the day to last forever.
I’ve shown you a far different view of the wind farms at the northern end of Coachella Valley, but an aerial view at dawn provides better documentation of the project’s true scale, and its place in the fascinating geological setting of the valley.
Night falls and the well-watered communities give way to desert landscapes on the outskirts of Coachella Valley.
If ever a reminder was needed that large swaths of Coachella Valley would prefer to be desert, the stark shift that occurs at the border where artificial watering stops provides one.
A different kind of Rückensfiguren from my last post: Teenagers visiting a memorial along the curving roads of the Pines to Palms Highway, far above the desert of Coachella Valley.
A poster of Caspar David Friedrich’s “Wanderer above the Sea of Fog” hung above my bed in college, and I’ve since then developed a love of Rückenfiguren in images. Building from my last post’s theme of self-portraiture, I thought using myself as the POV for an image in Stone Valley might add the right German Romantic vibe.
Decaseconds 