HDR Photography
I’ve been on a serious St. Lawrence-in-the-snow photography kick lately, but pictures like this shot of Kirk Douglas Hall (the campus’s newest dorm) really justify the trend. Framed by trees and isolated in the snow, the idyllic nature of the place is enhanced.
The wind blew warm at 45ºF, the rain stopped, the sky cleared, and then a new front blew in bringing -15ºF temperatures and, eventually, a load of snow. Standing in the oddly warm breeze, sun suddenly in my eyes, felt momentous. When I looked at this image, with its huge, Yggdrasil-esque tree and Bifröst-esque rainbow and flair of atoptics, I couldn’t help but think that I had my own backyard version of Ragnarök.
(This post was extra-fun to write because of all the excellent, Nordic umlauts.)
In case you were wondering where I get the expression that St. Lawrence University looks like “a ski resort without the ski slopes,” last weekend provided some pretty good evidence. The modern-but-slightly-Nordic buildtings, the oft-cleared pathways, and the gates with reflective tape on them all remind me of ski lodges. Perhaps the best way to describe the school during winter break is a ski lodge for cross-country skiers?
No cropping, no HDR, and only minimal post-processing were applied to this image. Wandering in a snowstorm with a prime lens felt, well, primal, and I wanted an image that captured that. I know that there’s no such thing as the “true” photograph of a place or a moment, but at the edge of St. Lawrence’s campus, at this particular blue hour, the magic needed no adulteration.
This is the kind of image that I look back on the most: the ones with the strongest sense of place, the most obvious path to escape into the image. As we start a new year, I’d like to think that it’s a mark of my increased confidence as a photographer that I can make more with less. (Though don’t get me wrong—there are times when I’m glad to be able to make something out of nothing.)
Pardon my sappy cliché for the moment: a brand new year and a perfect, untouched field with interesting features in the distance. Here we go!
The North Country is carpeted in snow (not shown). I like to think back to the lazy, shoveling-free fall days when homes were just beginning to mystically gird themselves for the oncoming blizzard. Life merrily passes by these old, modest homes.
Late fall doesn’t mean rich, verdant scenes or flame-colored leaves. In the North Country, late fall really means early winter. The fields are brown, the trees are bare, and the scene is dusted with snow. Other than the greens of the pines, the world hibernates. The birds scattering to the air are the only signs of life, but the scene has a sort of cliché, stark beauty.
When photographed with a wide-open aperture and that “bokehlicious” depth of field, amplified by the Brenzier method, a quiet corner in St. Lawrence University’s Johnson Hall of Science can be magically welcoming. That particular chair in the corner, lit from above, looks like just the place to kick back and learn some science.
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.)
Driving through Buffalo in the snow-entombed aftermath of the recent blizzard meant sliding our car between snow drifts and abandoned vehicles, all brutally carved out of the way by earthmoving equipment. Though I’m used to seeing a cut in an earthen hillside, it’s quite different to see cuts as necessary to open a snowy highway. Given the way this storm will stick in folks’ minds, I like the idea of a fuzed, muted scene that already seems placed in memory.
Having spent almost the entire fall in the St. Lawrence County, having the opportunity to travel and change my scenery is welcome. Even as I contemplate the Chicago skyline, the North Country says goodbye with this pastoral sunrise
Watching the Women’s Ice Hockey team cruise to victory over Dartmouth was satisfying from both the standpoint of a fan (Here we go, Saints!) and from the standpoint of a photographer. Though I know that my 70-200 mm f/2.8 lens will forever be the patron saint of action photography, I really enjoy the challenge of shooting with a 35 mm prime lens. Appleton Arena is a gorgeous old rink with acres of wood, and the less extreme lens gives me the chance to capture the action and the ambiance from the standpoint of a fan in the front row.
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.
Having read about the Brenzier Method of producing wide-angle photos with intense bokeh, I thought I’d give it a try. I’m not totally happy with this image of the grass shifting in the rain outside my building, but it’s exciting to try new things and aim towards new possibilities. In the mean time, I think this image nicely captures the strange, silhouetted glow of being outside a busy building at night.
