Greg Molyneux Photography

Author: Greg Molyneux

Sunday Alone
Sunday Alone — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/640
Yes this was published on a Monday, but yesterday when I was making what I’m ready to declare my best series of flower photographs in years was in fact a Sunday. I have it on good authority that not only is Sunday is a day that ends in ‘Y,’ it always precedes a Monday. Allegedly. But don’t take it from me and always check your sources.
My title is an exercise in layers. At the surface is a shot out to Trey Ratcliff and the eponymous Lightroom preset, Sunday Alone. Next, and as already worked over in paragraph one, I made this photo on a Sunday. As it so happens on a Sunday I was feeling particularly alone. I assure you the pairing of chosen filter and said mood was one of pure coincidence. The last layer is not without a touch of irony—the Black-eyed Susans pictured here are hardly alone. This is a thriving bloom of eager and lively coneflowers packed together in close quarters. Since Saturday I’ve been in full swoon when I first noticed this rudbeckia variety aside my parents’ walkway. I see you Saturday, coming before Sunday like you’re all that. Alone on a Sunday as I may have been, these flowers are serving up a healthy dose of joy.
I proclaimed at the outset that yesterday, a so-called “Sunday,” was my best flower photo shoot in years. With any luck you’ll feel the same as I am going to be posting at least three more photos—though more are likely. Most will be more compositions of Black-eyed Susans, but there will be at least one hosta macro in here.
Shout out to Sassafras Hill Farm for coming through with the identification on the rudbeckia so praised here.
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June 26, 2017
Roll It Over
Roll It Over — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/1250
Monday, June 19, 2017, saw an outbreak of severe thunderstorms fire up across the Mid-Atlantic. Eager as ever to make some photographs, Weather NJ’s, Jonathan Carr and I made way for Surf City Sunset Park. While things looked good at the outset the storms lost steam as they charged their way across New Jersey toward the coast. Sinking air spoiled the party as a once potent line of storms was waylaid right before our eyes. Disappointed but not shocked, this is standard fare for us along the coast. Storm lines have a way of falling apart more often than not.
What was more surprising, especially in the face of such ominous skies, were the bay beach goers keen to keep swimming. Oblivious, one family hopped in the water a mere 20 minutes before would be impact. Another woman arrived about 10 minutes later looking to get in some laps. She at least had the good sense to ask me to holler once the weather took a turn. I don’t exactly scare easy in the face of thunderstorms, but even I would have stayed out of the water with electrified air so close. Alas all is well that ends well, no calamity befell our implacable beach goers. Considering the storms were abating it seemed acceptable, otherwise I would have pressed the issue on account of their safety.
Of course storms fired back up after Jon and I bailed on our shooting attempt. For the next 90 minutes or so our region saw some decent storm action as a line of storms backed in from the ocean. Too bad we were too busy eating chicken at that time. And that’s the way it goes sometimes.
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June 24, 2017
Nothing on the Top
Nothing on the Top — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/1600
In most any work you attend you’re bound to hit the plateau. Elongated sessions of flat expense flanked by monotony—or worse yet—nothingness. It’s the grind. Lacking the mania and output of the peak, yet devoid the pain and failure of the valley. It’s an uneventful period of low growth. It’s difficult to parse lessons when you’re going through the motions. Instead the best you can do is convince yourself to trust the process. Give yourself the stick with it pat of the back trusting this inglorious stretch, too, must end.
This is where I’m at with my photography. Going through the motions. It started when my iMac died in April. With my workflow disrupted I’ve been struggling for inspiration to get out and shoot. It also hasn’t helped that I’ve missed out on a few great sunsets too. These things happen, though, and I must continue shooting to find it. I’ve been here before and have worked through it each time.
Another caveat in my travail is stagnation. I’m at a point with my work where it all seems more of the same. A shallow veneer atop the same photo we’ve seen before. Salt marsh sunset; wash, rinse, repeat. At least I’ve been making more flower shots this year than in years past, and that’s been a welcome break. Yet I itch for more. Can I scratch for different? A break from the comfort zone feels in order. For some time now I’ve had the urge to dip my toes into portraiture. Ever eager to talk myself out of things, this projected change is ripe for excuse making. First there is the gear investment: lenses, lighting, and some screen type apparatus. Yet it’s the second hill that seems hardest to climb. I need subjects. Real life humans willing to sit and work with a guy who is cutting his teeth with something new. I’ve floated the idea past friends and none are keen to engage. And if they are they’re keeping things coy.
Anyway, thanks for listening to my midnight ramblings as work my thoughts aloud by way of blog post. And besides, now is not the time to get too down—it’s summer!
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June 23, 2017
The Life Spectrum
The Life Spectrum — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Life has returned to the salt marsh. Sea birds eager to feed. Chasing down fish schools and insect hatches if not willing yet able to provide said feed. The salt scented breezes lend rhythm to sedge grasses reanimated with life. Few things stir the soul like the nascent green of marsh born anew. Fresh color courses with unmasked energy as the circle of life finds its zenith. Only then when paired with the golden hue of the late day sun does nature pull back the veil on life resplendent.
It was just so out on Dock Road yesterday. The culmination of light, life, and timing. A sublime joy found in the realization of a patient annual wait. For the next six weeks or so we’ll find refuge in the glory of the salt marsh come live.
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June 18, 2017
Once Love
Once Love — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/250
He once received a single red rose. On a break from the bustle at an ivy league coffee shop he sought refuge on a rooftop perch. It was his perch. Behind the cafe, cloistered in a brownstone alley he sat overlooking the parking lot he knew so well. Elevated, and hidden from the world set in motion below. Familiar chain linked fencing, dumpsters holding the byproduct of business, and the backside of the vintage record store a touch off in the distance contained a modest lot with parking meters marking each full space. It was a Friday evening and the town was alive. Princeton is a place that will stir the spirit. Academics, industrious students, professionals, bohemians, and tourists all come together in suburban paradise. Somehow modern, yet frozen in time. It’s equal parts tiny city and friendly home town from a bygone era full of thinkers, doers, dreamers, and seekers.
He loved this place and he loved her. Yet the rhythm of it all fell flat that night. A modest disagreement sent him to work amiss. Pulling espresso shots and crafting drinks he thought of her as he always did, though this time there was angst over their parting. Never did they fight and rarely did the disagree, but today they hit a bump. Somehow sensing his unrest with her colossal emotional intelligence she settled all without a word. She had a prodigious knack for such things. She always knew what to say. What to do. How to be. She could put anyone at ease with striking intuition. Somehow sensing the perfect greeting for a perfect stranger. This struck him more than anything. She fascinated him in all ways, but it was this trait the stood without equal. It was genius.
So there it was he sat. Perched alone, churning over the day’s events and fretting away the moments of his 10 minute break. It was then among a sea of red break lights he saw those red break lights. Out from the driver’s seat popped the striking silhouette of the finest young lady. Bearing no ill effects from the afternoon’s transgressions she bounded weightless from her door to a car windshield in a sea of nicer autos. It was there, under the driver side windshield wiper she placed a single red rose. Laid with all the care as if the world was watching. She never could have known he set up there watching. Stunned atop the rooftop his eyes filled with tears and he knew things were all right.
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June 11, 2017
Adornment
Adornment — 100mm | f/3.5 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/320
You know the grind. You feel it. It weighs heavy as you mire through life’s ebbs and flows. You cherish the highs and bury the lows. It’s in the space between you grind for purpose. Two steps forward. Two steps back. Captured in inescapable reality, caught in the throes of a fated cosmic dance.
You adorn your triumph and bury your loss. Unobserved to others the loss is still as real. No less massive, no less an equal equal force in the intwined gravitational balance. Only buried, left to rot and consume. Of course this is life. An impartial duality to remind you of inherent vitality sprinkled with uncertainty. The fearsome dive to the depths releases you to relish the inevitable rise to new heights. Actions need balance. Yet the weight of it all will pull you back to the grind. Working. Churning. Struggling. Steadfast to best understand what it all means. You’re tired. It is in these moments where you are best to open up; to show your full self warts and all. Let the world see you as you are, adorned with hope, fear, and the grinding middle ground we all feel.
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June 9, 2017
Pinky Peony
Pink Peony — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/1000
I’m not one for literal titles yet here I am. Strange things, man, they happen. In their death throes now, my peonies had their proverbial moment in the sun in late May. Pink and glorious, oversized bulbous blossoms beautified my shrub bed with their bounty. Tissue paper petals bunched together in a gift package of pink, ready to welcome a newborn child. Hardly long for this world they bring a respite of joy to eager viewers keen to seek them out. Many people I know laude the coming of the peony, and I am happy to count myself among their rank.
On another note, does anyone have a trick to keep these things from bending under their own weight? Not long after bloom the flower heads take on the oppressed posture of a people suffering under the yolk of a tyrant. It’s unbecoming of their beauty and power. My peonies could use some support, you guys. It is clear The Man (me) has got them down.
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June 2, 2017
Look Inside
Look Inside — 100mm | f/3.5 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/320
May 2017 brought the rain. With it came puddles of mud and big blooms of flowers. Currently on display are the peonies. I have four peony plants about my front and back yards, each a slight variation of the species. I’m no botanist and cannot label the differences. Two of the peonies are of the pom-pom variety. Bulbous fluffy flower petals with plenty of fluff. The two others are more sparse of petal and unfurl to reveal a large bundle of pollen rich yellow stamen. The pink version is the one you see above. Its purple counterpart will not be in bloom this year thanks to an overgrown spirea.
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May 27, 2017
Identify Yourself
Identify Yourself — 100mm | f/3.5 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/640
My brain gets the best of me. Often I wrap myself sideways in details that stand meaningless to most. Mired in Minutia: A Greg Molyneux Memoir. Case in point, I present this photograph. I’ve been scrutinizing Google images for days, sweating over proper bee identification. Is it a bumblebee? A carpenter bee? A rusty patched bumblebee? Which until yesterday I knew nothing about; bombus affinis is one cool species name, though. Or is it some other bee I don’t even know about? Ah yes, the endless fretting of a runaway mind.
Taxed and unable to commit I sent a photo of my photo to Ben Wurst today. South Jersey’s Captain Planet, Ben’s the clear choice for local wildlife identification. Almost immediately Ben confirmed my suspicion. Declaring this here bee of the carpenter kind. Whew! Are you tired from this tedium, too?
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May 26, 2017