HDR Photography
Having recently finished the fantastic Bioshock Infinite, I’ve had images of early-twentieth-century American exceptionalism floating through my brain. No matter what you think of the (sometimes questionable) policy decisions based on such a policy, the iconography is undeniably seductive. Neoclassical design features and waving flags on a crisp Sunday afternoon! Though this moment on St. Lawrence’s campus might not be literally of that time, the spirit of it was overwhelming.
Winter crisps and desaturates the landscape, and draws the eye from the Northeast to places more southern, where I wonder if, “the grass is greener on the other side.” That might sometimes be an illusion, but then there are cases like this one: the grass is literally greener on the other side.
The rolling, bucolic hills of the Connecticut-New York border are one of my favorite places. The foothills of the Berkshires roll along under the late-autumn reds and browns, the clouds pucker towards rain overhead, and the decrepit skeletons of agriculture linger among the charming homes that now dominate the landscape.
A friend in northwestern Connecticut had me out to his property to photograph this amazing, craggy, ancient Linden tree. Vines cling to the heavy, sprawling shell of the tree, and it’s not a stretch to imagine fairies flitting between the leaves. Nothing captures fantastical rays of light like f/22 aperture. Every ray and every bent photon is transmogrified into beams and rainbows from the dimension of quantum uncertainty.
Snow comes early to the North Country. Nothing quite justifies a cold morning more than waking up to a lovely dusting of snow and flakes in the air. The oak trees are still stubbornly holding onto their leaves, and thus there was a cozy snow-free zone (and a welcoming bench) from which to watch the snow this morning. Johnson Hall of Science looks friendly in all seasons.
On my way back from my conference in Connecticut, I drove through the Adirondacks, where winter is arriving fast. The hills were dusted with snow and all but the most tenacious leaves were carpeting the forest floor. I pulled off the road for this shot in Tupper Lake, where the grasses, placid waters, and stubbly hills matched perfectly with the dense clouds and the random distribution of sunlight. The moment felt chaotic, strange—just a bit primeval. I had a chance to do landscape photography that truly excluded any human intrusion (save the eye of the photographer himself.)
When I have to be up early to shoot a horse show, I make certain to take advantage of the occasion. In looking across the autumn North Country fields, I was amused by the “chronological asymmetry” between the looming living tree and the stump of “tree-past.”
Vancouver can be a bit of an alien place at times. Gazing across the water, I don’t know that any image better represents the combination of dense urbanity, maritime connection, and epic nature than this one does. With the last warm hues of sunlight reflecting from the water and the windows, the blues of the forest (and night) beyond begin to dominate.
While I’m on the trend of remembering summers past (and mourning the end of our own summer), I’m also going to reminisce about our trip to the University of British Columbia’s Nitobe Memorial Garden last summer. Look at that lushness. Foliage everywhere. And, as I like to joking call it, the “enormous bonsai tree” framing the soft scene.
Driving into the canopy of trees on the way to Grizzly Peak means relief from all of the stress of work and life, and a moment with the beautiful roads of northern California. Today is my last day in Berkeley, and so I can’t think of a more fitting metaphor for finishing graduate school and moving away. On the Rimway, as in life, adventure is ahead.
I only spent two nights in the surreal alpine mountainscape of Oregon’s Timberline Lodge. Though my previous photos were either in the dark of night or far-off scenes, I’m quite enamored of this morning shot. The mountaintop and the slopes stand in the distance, the morning light is casting long shadows, and the shiny carafes of coffee promise a sharp start.
The days just after Thanksgiving hold still, quiet moments; the early morning fog was thick, viscous, and sinister as the fairy tale stuff. The poisonous-looking red berries, the gnarled tree limbs, and the mysterious lamposts all seem plucked from the forests of Fillory. The somewhat shallow depth of field makes it particularly surreal.
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.
Sunset over New York’s Duchess County (as seen from the northwestern edge of Connecticut) glazed the land with an epic but bucolic light. The fields stretched out under a dusting of snow and Christmas lights glinted in the distant houses. The icing on the cake was the smell of woodsmoke on the evening air.
This is what New England is all about.
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.
Decaseconds 