HDR Photography
The Ottawa Convention Centre’s fantastical facade of fenestration is a lovely example of the way a pattern of triangles can be assembled to form all sorts of other surfaces with complicated geometries. From the standpoint of symmetry and group theory, it’s quite elegant; from the standpoint of a passer-by on the street, it seems a bit sinister.
The North Country is green and lush at this moment, but it’s worthwhile to look back on the recently-thawed saltscape that was spring. I still feel a certain sense of amazement at the number of fierce winters homes like this have survived.
Summer means ice cream! There’s no more fitting place for a crowd to be during the Dairy Princess Festival than crowded around the local ice cream stand. The contrast is strong and the setting is familiar in that “classic Americana” kind of way. Even the edge of the house next door adds that bit of small-town welcoming spirit. A scene of Norman-Rockwell-esque friendliness.
I know camouflage is situational, but this is ridiculous.
The Fairmont Château Laurier dominates downtown Ottawa; the effect is only exaggerated by the distorted effect of this multi-shot panorama. The people and buses and even the capital seem normal, but as it rises, the structure becomes increasingly Hogwartsian.
Up early in the morning (to photograph a horse show, naturally), I watched a storm brew over St. Lawrence’s fields. The model-railroad trees and fences and the morning colors scattered through the clouds made it worth being up at such an hour (almost).
Independence Day is a great time for an extra shot: down Park St. in Canton, NY on the first night of the Dairy Princess Festival. Ice cream and muscle cars and John Deere and music in the street. America!
Sports! America! Red white and blue (uniform colors)! (And the reflection of a crowd full of families, watching the action.)
During my safari in Zulu Nyala, I came face-to-face with this Cape buffalo. They’re apparently unpredictable, and have never been domesticated. I appreciate the idea of the “rogue cow cousin,” like the Wolverine of cattle.
This past weekend, I photographed the grand prix event at the Lake Placid Horse Show. With a $75,000 pot, a lot of money was on the line. (You can see more of my photos of the competition and candids of the audience at the Plaid Horse.) This particular shot of Mario Deslauriers, one of the grand prix competitors, really caught my eye. Watching his competition, with that knowing smile, seems like the confident move of a seasoned pro. Jumper competitions are so fascinating, with competitors of all genders and ages.
This tiny island sits in Tupper Lake’s appropriately named Rock Island Bay, amid this quintessentially Adirondack-y landscape of rolling hills and coniferous trees. This particular island has always been notable to me because of the degree to which it aligns with my boyhood ideal of “where to hide out.” Swimmable, but just barely for a 10-year-old, from the shore. A tree for the barest shelter and a twig, now and then, from which to craft a fishing hook. When the day of adventures is over, a little island like this one would be just big enough for a boy-sized lean-to for my childhood self. Wouldn’t that be paradise?
A year ago, I stood atop this waterfall in the corner of Connecticut, relaxing and hiking in the last few days before I traveled north to Canton to begin the faculty life. There are three things that this image captures:
The entrance to a Shinto shrine is normally marked by a torii. The posts on this cross country course at St. Lawrence University coincidentally share a similar structure with torii; I wonder if the American variety shares any of the spiritual properties?
My last visit to Trinity was a great chance to see all of the Harry-Potter-esque buildings on campus. Their mass and majesty can be a bit overwhelming—so impacting the senses that I wouldn’t be surprised if I perceived a boy flying past on a broomstick.
Rivers cast a net over the northeast, one usually escaped with myriad bridges. Most are schlubby, utilitarian affairs, existing only to convey traffic (and never to inspire.) This particular through-arch bridge south of Canton, NY, however, brings a certain class to the whole “crossing a river” affair. The wood construction puts me in mind of Viking longboats and Scandinavia in general—very appropriate for the North Country. When even the patterns in the clouds align with the bridge, the drama is only heightened.
Decaseconds 