HDR Photography
This image of Berkeley and San Francisco on Christmas Day 2016 is one of those shots so lovely that I’m not sure why I haven’t shared it already. All of the little details laid out in the hillsides and city streets of the Bay Area… How did I miss this one?
In the era before the Bay Bridge and BART tunnel, the ferry between the East Bay and San Francisco departed from the end of a long pier. (The pier used to be even longer—the Berkeley Marina extended into the water around it.) The ferry ended service in 1937, after the bridge opened, but remained a popular location for fishing until it deteriorated to its current unsafe state. I’m kind of fascinated to see its skeleton jutting out into the Bay, a linear form amid rolling marine layer clouds.
When it’s time for their rounds, riders have to be ready to head into the ring and perform. Being late is not an option, so “hurry up and wait” is the standard: Lots frantic action to prepare, followed by lots of waiting. The sense of stillness amid chaos that goes with that waiting are captured well, I think, in this image.
This expanse of dramatic clouds, Petrin Hill, and the Vltava River was across the street from our hotel in Prague. While always a gorgeous view, most evenings brought rain instead of this kind of skyscape. I was lucky to find this scene on the final night of the trip.
This week’s theme on Decaseconds is apparently athletic fields. In the suburban Chicago grid, little park oases like these are a delightful break from the monotony.
St. Lawrence’s athletic fields take on a particularly Scooby Doo glow when fog rolls in.
The gradual shift from sodium vapor lamps to white LEDs as the primary light source for public places means that this transitional period produced odd night images with dominant oranges and blues produced from trying to balance the color temperatures.
That color contrast makes every scene look a bit like a movie poster.
The classical architecture of Prague’s National Theater is set apart, in this image, from the smooth lines of modernity around it.
Chicagoland’s nearly 2D topography and nineteenth-century population boom conspired to make for a remarkably uniform grid of structures and roads. Even the water that might “go rogue” in another setting is often confined to the grid.
There is more than one statue of Franz Kafka in Prague, but this mirrored head with rotating segments (see the motion blur at the jawline) was the most dramatic I visited. At the time, the head was, naturally, the most surreal aspect of the location. In the present, the crowds of people on the night street (also visible in the reflective base) are perhaps more shocking.
Living in the North Country means a very northern feature to the seasons: wild swings in the amount of daylight. Even a month before the solstice, the sun has nearly vanished by 4:00 PM.
Part of a series of works by Dan Flavin, featured in the National Gallery Salm Palace in Prague.
Passing this tree on the way home from work each evening, I can’t help but be reminded of the intersections among nerve cells called ganglia.
It turned out that, after a week of bland gray skies, I wasn’t the only person attracted to Prague Castle on a beautiful afternoon.
This post represents a big moment for me: the first image from my new Sony α7R IV. This is only the third serious digital camera; my first was a Nikon D3100, and I’ve been shooting primarily with a D7000 for the past eight years. The capabilities from a decade of technological advancement and the engineering switch to a mirrorless design have pretty-well blown my mind. I really recommend clicking through to Flicker to look at this image at full scale—the tiny pinpricks of each star, the details in the windows of every building. The 61-MP capabilities of the α7R IV maybe be considered overkill by some, but I’m finding it to be the perfect tool for the kinds of “zoom in forever”-detailed photographs that I love to produce.
