HDR Photography
As shot from Pier 14, Coit Tower stands atop Telegraph Hill. Its white surface, in conjunction with colored lights, make it absolutely stunning to see at night. Such surreal objects can lack a suitable sense of scale when photographed. This photograph satisfies me so in large part because the homes clustering the hill provide that scale, and a sense of the familiar to match the alien.
Far along the beach, the Atlantic waves crash against Brazilian stone. The Sun has just dropped behind the horizon, and I’m standing on these steps beyond a strange little pseudo-bridge and this odd sculpture. To this day, I’m still not sure whether it’s functional, or purely decorative.
Charcoal grill, barbecue sauce, and enormous chicken thighs. The moment we slapped those bad boys on the grill, the first bits of fat made this massive flare-up. Not the best for smooth grilling, but so gorgeous in the camera’s eye.
Basically, it’s chicken from the depths of Mordor.
Just around the corner in my neighborhood, across the parking lot of the Energy Biosciences Building, is this little slice of Downtown Berkeley neighborhood. The mixture of tacky, earthquake-proofed 1960s architecture, charming older apartment buildings, abandoned structures, and sprinkling of trees make it home.
Today’s post comes courtesy of Colin Hill.
The last hints of unseasonable spring snow grace the ground, and the gently curving roads of the Berkshires make an amateur racetrack for the teenagers of the town.
Orange and blue may be the most overdone color combination for movie posters, but I’m more tolerant of the hues when when they spring natively from the night sky and the sodium lamps of a city. Something about the stone textures of big buildings really appeals to me.
(And if you look carefully, you can see Brendan, my fellow photographer, in the bottom of the picture.)
I live above a four-way intersection, and see three or four big crashes a year—typically from drunk drivers who run the red light. This particular night, however, saw insanity in the intersection due to a multi-hour power outage. The normally orange-hued nighttime tarmac was, on this night, lit only by headlights, emergency flashers, and road flares. It was all very strange, very surreal, and the perfect subject for a photograph.
San Francisco’s waterfront is really pretty spectacular at night. There’s so much color.
The water practically glows with reflected light. The buildings tower over the scene. The long exposure captures the trails of aircraft in the night sky. San Francisco’s waterfront along the Embarcadero may not have the most enormous and prestigious structures, but nights like this make that irrelevant. The scene makes “enigmatic” and “cyberpunky” into something almost friendly. (Or at least inviting.)
High atop it all is that fascinating golden penthouse structure. The visual similarity to a treasure chest must be more than coincidence.
The bus is inherently uncomfortable: the seats are too hard, the surfaces feel like too many other people have touched them, and the other passengers come with a side of freaky west coast aggression. All of that misery is forgotten late at night; an empty bus ferrying me home is such a calm respite from the sodium-lamp misery of the outside world.
This week, a massive snow and ice storm smashed the Northeast. As night fell, so did the snow. Across the street, with the wind blasting the fresh snow into weird drifts, this home looked particularly inviting.
Christmas time is here again, and Decaseconds is over a year old now. Looking back on the Christmas tree from a year ago, this year’s is off to a good start. The Charlie Brown Christmas Special Soundtrack was playing, the lights were turned down low, and we had just gotten the first strings of lights on the tree when I snapped this shot.
UC Berkeley’s Doe Library is impressive enough during the day, but when it’s lit up at night (from inside and outside), it’s truly imposing. On this particular evening, the ruby hue of its exterior really caught my eye.
San Francisco features this incredibly rapid transition from enormous, modernist towers to older, mostly wooden structures. This transition seems to be located, at least partially, along the divides between the flat portions of the city and the truly, insanely steep bits. Today’s photograph shows the full gradient between the two zones. I particularly like the two tiny figures, sitting on the steps, in the bottom right corner of the image. This tiny detail provides a little bit of a human element to an otherwise dehumanizing scale. They seem to be silent observers, casually taking in the flow of traffic as the sun’s last photons scatter through the atmosphere.
UBC’s Green College (shown here from another angle) is almost 100 years old, but when you’re inside it, the passage of time seems to stop. The heavy, wooden columns and beams seem to have been there forever. The trees are enormous, and enigmatic towers and cottages dot the interior, like the buildings of some alternate-reality castle.
Decaseconds 