HDR Photography
Portland, Oregon has its own thing going. The yearly corgi walk has hundreds (literally) of corgis traveling a corgi’s worth of distance (with water breaks in between) to the cool flooding fountain of Jamison Square. The water level in the lower part of the pool slowly raised and lowers, leaving some surprised corgis swimming.
The early-Saturday-morning light stabs down, under the metal bridge, to the precast concrete façade of the new and the ornate brick façade of the old. Overlooked in this corner of Seattle is a small metal door to an underground garage. I’m sure it’s perfectly mundane, but my imagination can’t cease telling me that some caped crusader’s high-tech ride is waiting on the other side. This is definitely where I’d hide my batmobile.
This image of the flank of the Fairmont Olympic Hotel in Seattle, Washington is imposing for a variety of reasons, but none more than the number of bricks, each of which must have been carefully laid into place, necessary to construct the façade.
Waking up early at the Fairmont Olympic means peaking out the window to a contrast: the blue sky says day has begun, but the sodium-lamp-lit streets say night continues. The tan brick and window frame provide a logical grounding point for the viewer, placing you directly into the otherwise-fantastical scene.
This street scene from my trip to Seattle jumped out at me because of the shift in tone: As the cars drive around the corner, they drive from the last dark, street-lit parts of the dawn into the full light of day. The passage of time is mapped onto the transition of light.
The streets of Seattle are almost empty, early on a Saturday morning in August. The retro lettering and style of the Louis Vuitton display and the science-fictional curve of Rainier Tower above it make me think of 1970s-era film. A car chase must be just around the corner. (I suspect I’ve thought this about a post before, but as this is apparently my 600th Decaseconds post, that should be forgivable.)
Seattle’s Pike Place Market has a lived-in, European aesthetic. Tiny stairways and doorways peak out from beneath railings and walkways. I half-expect to see a secret agent carefully eluding his pursuers in the complicated structures. Early on a Saturday morning, however, events seem just a bit calmer.
Portland’s Pearl District is colonized by construction like some sort of reverse-termites; shiny new buildings add to the skyline each day. As impressive as the reflections and the bridges and the gorgeous dawn sky is, I rather love the image of the man reading the paper in the bottom-right corner of the image. He’s literally on the edge of this dramatic image, but so thoroughly unfazed. Reading the paper and eating cereal has to happen sometime!
My co-author is the true Seattleite, and I began to understand the appeal of the place when I spent time there for a wedding this weekend. From atop the Fairmont Olympic Hotel, the view of uncanny Rainier Tower complements the wee cars in the streets below. Dawn is the time to gaze down the canyons.
We recently spent an evening by the Columbus Convention Center. As I explored the neighborhood, I was struck by the combinations of tiny, earlier buildings (lik the wee gray one in the center) and new, shiny, modern behemoths. Columbus seems to be in the process of figuring out if it wants to be Pittsburgh or Cleveland.
The view from atop Berkeley’s Campanile is a nostalgic one, with San Francisco and Oakland popping up in the distance above the sprawl. Walking along those broad, slightly cracked, and sun-baked pathways of Berkeley’s campus never quite felt natural, though. Can a place magnified beyond human scale feel that way?
Is there any sight more quintessentially Canadian than folks politely queuing for BeaverTails in sub-zero temperatures?
Having been outside the crazy-sphere of city life for a year now, I like looking back on the outrageous geometries that San Francisco calls reasonable. (I’m guessing the number of patches are repairs to that very steep street is a testament that road crews are just as uninterested in climbing it as the average pedestrian.) It’s really not surprising that so many classic movies take place in San Francisco: drama and strangeness is built right into its structure.
Spring may be here, but it was still 7ºF when I awoke this morning. Thinking back to the coldest I’ve ever been (and the appropriately Canadian/ninja response), this image seemed appropriate to convey the feeling of “spring” in the north.
Continuing on the Ottawa theme, today’s image is much farther to the other end of the “clean——dirt” spectrum than my last. There’s something about the grimy copper colors of the bridge, the salty road, and the slushy sidewalk that speak to an alternate-reality, Judge-Dredd-esque, cyberpunky Canada.
Decaseconds 