HDR Photography
I never thought much of Berkeley’s Cedar Street during my time in graduate school, but returning for sabbatical brought me a very different connection with it. Cedar functioned as the main connection from my apartment on Spruce to Shattuck’s Gourmet Ghetto, and so I traveled it for every purpose from getting coffee and groceries to an extravagant dinner at Chez Panisse.
Though I’m sure both the homes and the boats of Tiburon cost dearly for their charming setting, it’s easy to forget all of that when the sun is going down and a cool breeze is blowing in the from the San Francisco Bay. That little gray house in the middle with all of the little extra architectural details is my favorite.
High above the wet woods of northern Vermont in early winter, the contrast between dark coniferous trees and blanched deciduous trees makes for a mottled appearance. Down amongst that Ising Model of tree distribution, a little building or two make for odd inhomogeneities.
Coffee consumption is high among professors and highest among scientists of any profession, so it’s only appropriate that a portrait of me in Berkeley’s Normandy Village for sabbatical should include a generous cup of joe.
Rolling hills (in this case, outside Park City, Utah) normally vanish into Rayleigh-scattered blue haze. (That was particularly the case this summer in Utah.) The magic of a red filter for black and white photography is to simultaneously reverse both the fading and the bluing effect. The result are landscapes like this that seem to go on “forever”.
I’m not sure quite what the title simile means, but this picture from our trip to the Cincinnati Zoo does speak to a certain lack of elegance on the part of the reptilian half of the relation.
The marine layer rolls in to blanket San Francisco in damp cold during summer evenings. My favorite part of this image is the way the Bay Bridge and the bayside buildings are highlighted by that rolling cloud bank. In just a few minutes more, the whole city was covered.
Thirteen years ago, I took this picture out the window of my dorm room in Trinity College’s Jarvis Hall. Over the years of renovations and upgrades between then and now, I don’t believe the room or the tree are still there. The iconic Neo-Gothic windows, however, are still there.
From the Interstate across Nevada, the desert landscape astonishes me with its variety. Far from being a boring wasteland, the expanses of waving grasses, shrubs, shallow water, and rock hills provide a spectacular mixture. Even when I know the biology and ecology behind it, my east-coast-calibrated brain still can’t quite grasp that all of this water doesn’t equal trees.
Cityscapes function best with depth: layers of structures and pathways for the eye. The Bay Area view from Grizzly Peak was one of the earliest cityscapes I experimented with photographing. In those early times, it was Berkeley and San Francisco in the distance that most interested me; after my sabbatical at Berkeley Lab, the winding roads where I rode the bus to work and the bright shapes of the Molecular Foundry and JCAP in the foreground hold my interest far more. I enjoy the way in which subsequent experiences can retroactively shift the meaning in an image.
The valley-set redwood trees of Muir Woods are impressive on their own, but there’s an extra something special—a mix of “permanent” and “precarious”—in the trees leaning over on the hillside.
Grizzly Peak’s superhuman view of the Bay Area seems so inaccessible; that we could drive there (albeit on steep, winding roads) is surreal. The alignment of mundane cars along the ridge seems like a different phase of matter from the glowing roads and epic accomplishments of civil engineering below. I suspect that those mundane cars will become a lot more interesting when I look back at this picture in 30 years.
Grizzly Peak’s high vantage point means that a plethora of Bay Area landmarks can be stacked together in one image: From the faintest shadow of the Farallon Islands beyond the bridge, to the Golden Gate, Alcatraz, the Berkeley Marina, the busy travelers on University Avenue, to the Joint Center of Artificial Photosynthesis atop a hill in Berkeley Lab.
Given the dominance of redwoods in Muir Woods National Monument, there’s a little thrill that comes in finding a contrary specimen. Many seem to be clustered along the stream, which I suppose makes sense: different availability of water and light along the banks.
During sabbatical, I posted a lot of views like the one below: A dramatic dusk view of Berkeley and San Francisco from Berkeley Lab’s Building 62, where I spent my days doing renewable energy research. Ending a productive day, I’d step out onto the balcony a 30-second walk down the hall from my office to find these views readily available (when the marine layer didn’t intervene).
But to my memory, I’ve posted few shots of that balcony that was so integral to the sabbatical experience. Circling around to the adjacent Molecular Foundry, I took this image that (in the top left) shows that small balcony (with sun conveniently reflecting), as well as some of the lab infrastructure around in it. In the foreground is the liquid nitrogen storage tank for the foundry with its radiator covered in ice.
