HDR Photography
Being back in the Bay Area for sabbatical, I need to take a proper picture of the great spans (Bay and Golden Gate) of the area. The absurd topology of San Francisco and the incredible architecture of this space is laid before the camera in the Marin Headlands.
Nothing like Nik’s Analog pseudo-vintage photoprocessing to produce the maximally creepy image. This particular lamp at St. Lawrence, ensconced in the boughs of a maple tree, creates the best patters at night. The tendrils extending from a central bulb remind me of the structure of a neuron.
At night, the lit up Seattle Great Wheel sticks out against Elliot Bay like a sore thumb.
I just thought the clouds in the sky looked super appealing last night.
I’ve taken a few pictures around Salisbury, CT in a snow storm in previous years. When the snow is drifting down and the charming New England buildings look inviting, the setting is perfect for feelings of home.
Mohonk Mountain House is a unique hotel in the hills above New Paltz, New York. Though I visited there during the summer as a youth (while reading Harry Potter, naturally), this was my first visit as an adult and during the winter. None of the magic has been lost during the seasons in between.
Admissions buildings are always charming, but the blue hour on a crisp fall afternoon creates optimal conditions for charm. Not a single leaf is out of place.
Looks so good you could eat it.
The weekend marked a Hunter’s supermoon—one that also coincided with the moon rising along the axis of Main Street in Canton, New York, as well as coinciding with the local period of peak foliage. Can one small town handle all of those events? My quadcopter and I were on hand to investigate. From 100 meters up, Main Street looked just about perfect. You can spot the awning of the Chinese restaurant and the movie theater that I’ve photographed previously, but the same structures take new meanings.
The intersection of Hearst and Euclid was an everyday sight (and site for lunch) during graduate school. Just as daytime settings become otherworldly by night, chronological distance from those days have made the setting alien and exciting. How could this place ever have seemed normal?
After classes end for the day, there’s still an astonishing amount of activity on St. Lawrence’s campus. My favorite detail about this picture (other than its, “Hey, I can see my house from here!” vibe) is the chapel tower sneaking over the horizon. It’s mirrored on either side by a water tower and a cell tower that are, uh, a bit less dramatic.
I’m amazed at what I can capture with my camera, especially given that I can’t see this with my naked eyes. Still, I wish that I didn’t have to contend with the bright lights of even a small town.
The lights mark the border between forest and manicured athletic fields. In real life, crossing the border means risking ticks and perhaps a run-in with a deer; in the realm of science fiction, I can imagine much more terrifying consequences from crossing the border from light into darkness as the sun sets.
Shipping containers are ubiquitous yet mysterious. Because they’re used to transport almost everything, they could contain almost anything—and that has been used to great effect by a variety of my favorite authors. There’s little doubt over what these particular containers are holding—mostly supplies left in dorm rooms by St. Lawrence students at the end of the year—but there’s still a healthy dose of mystery in their juxtaposition with the regular structures of a college campus.
Decaseconds 
