Greg Molyneux Photography

Author: Greg Molyneux

Much and More
Much and More — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
After a week holed up in a downtown Philadelphia hotel it was invigorating to retreat to fresh air and wide open spaces. Backing up a spirited afternoon walk I snagged my gear and made for my usual Cedar Run Dock Road location. There’s something to be said for the familiar, for a mental safe haven that lends a respite by way of the known—not unlike an old shoe. Happenstance had me run into a friend down by the boat ramp. Five minutes of banter ensued cast in mutual appreciation of such a comfortable space. As we said our goodbyes it was time to make some photos.
Tonight I broke from my standard workflow. Instead of dialing in a single composition and sticking with it as clouds come and go and sunset color falls away, I bounced from vantage point to vantage point. Making brackets as I went from seven different perspectives. The clouds were moving at pace and I hoped to get different looks as they reflected upon the many pools of the marsh’s sprawling tidal plain. Of course, I wound up selecting the photograph that is more marsh than pool, but so it goes sometimes. In today’s composition the balance is strong between the thick marsh grasses in the bottom left of the frame weighed against the thick tuft of cotton candy clouds in the top right of the frame. In the middle of these two elements sits a calm tidal pool at the balance point, completing the harmony. Beyond that, warm pastel colors energized an otherwise dormant scene on the marsh. Even in February signs of life still surge. Can you hear spring knocking?
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February 17, 2017
Golden Glow Before the Snow
Golden Glow Before the Snow — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/160
You could say this photograph is the golden calm before the white storm. The spring tease before the winter freeze. Today southern New Jersey danced with the upper 60s but make no mistake—winter is coming. Here in the Mid-Atlantic we find ourselves sandwiched between unseasonably warm air, an arctic air mass, and a boatload of moisture ready to wring out on the Ohio Valley, Mid-Atlantic, and Northeast regions. Despite being a fast mover, snowfall rates approaching 3 inches per hour are not out of the question—nor is an embedded rumble of thunder. Cue Cantore. Atmospheric dynamics have loaded this cauldron and its been set to flame on its road to boil. Bring it, I say.
Considering the current weather situation it was counterintuitive taking in the warmth as I stood along a section of seawall adjacent to Little Egg Harbor. The bay water sat calm with only the wrinkles of a slept in sheet stretched across an unmade bed. Fresh salt air and a false warmth had me thinking of little else but the spring and summer to come. As I casually made a few handheld exposures with my 14mm lens, some other photographers arrived on scene, long lenses in tow on the lookout for owls and other seabirds. I’m not sure their quest was successful, but considering the weather it was hard to call any time spent outside today a failure. Ah, I can still smell the sweet air.
Today’s photograph is continuing something of a minimalist trend I’ve got going on. This marking four of my past five shots made handheld and relying on simple, unobtrusive compositions. I’m taken by the open feel and golden tones, accented by the gentle wrinkles reflecting the golden hour sky atop an easy going bay. Simple. Clean. Calm. Nothing overdone—just a wide open space for the viewer to explore. It’s good to remind ourselves that sometimes less is more.
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February 8, 2017
Who Goes There?
Who Goes There? — 35mm | f/5.6 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/800
Footprints? Footprints on the sand dune? That’s prohibited, yo. Photographic evidence would suggest recently someone was out and about on a section of berm otherwise left perfectly windswept along the beaches of Loveladies, New Jersey. Judging by the small size and short gait I’m going to guess this was a child’s work. Fortunately it was one little path of a mere 20 steps or so running close and parallel to the beach entryway. As best I could tell no harm was levied against any wildlife in this endeavor. So as not to seem I’m casting righteous judgement from an ivory tower, I’ll admit the temptation to cross the barrier and traipse into this untouched land is strong. I myself had a moment of weakness yesterday as I thought, if only I could get closer to that little dollop of dune grass you see to the left of this photo in the middle ground. Adherence to rules shoulder angel was able to defeat go ahead no is looking pitchfork guy. Crises averted.
Putting that lesson in moral conflict behind us, these footprints I’ve been going on about lend a suitable foreground element to the composition. Reminiscent of a snow photo from two years back, the small section of prints brings more to the story. Who was here? What were they doing? This brings a human interest to the piece—a small reminder we the people populate this natural world and leave downstream effects in our wake. Some positive, some negative—and so goes our story of progress. Fits and starts. Two steps forward and one step back. This is not an admonishment as we are only human and perfection is better left to a more ethereal realm.
Before we close this out, if you’re ever looking to get up on the dunes in a compliant fashion, keep your eyes and ears open for a volunteer day when our berms are being cleared of refuse, or reinforced with dune grass or old Christmas trees and sand fence. Local organizations could always use more helping hands.
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February 5, 2017
Overrun
Overrun — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/4000
Heh—”Lovely Rita” just cued up as I began writing up this post. Things are looking up on what has otherwise been a rather pedestrian Saturday in the cellar cold that is February. So pedestrian, in fact, my right shoe found itself planted in some fresh dog poo as I was making sunset photos, but I digress.
Before any of those shenanigans took place—as “Being For The Benefit of Mr. Kite!” randomly fires up, #winning—I was leaving an art show on Long Beach Island just as golden hour was casting light upon the 18 mile sandbar. I figured what the heck, may as well check the beach for a photo op. I. Am. Glad. I. Did. Had lethargy won the day I would have hopped in my car and driven home, belting out off key harmonies alone in my salt crusted sedan. Instead I took a short walk across a wide road.
Once on the oceanside my nose was greeted with fresh salt air and my face a gentle breeze. More often than not ocean winds are ripping, especially in winter, and this can foul up your day real quick if you’re not dressed accordingly. Of course I wasn’t dressed accordingly. I wasn’t a boy scout so to hell with preparedness, am I right? Oh, “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds” now? This Beatles block is something. Fortunately the breeze was little more than a whisper adding little in the way of extra bite to a high temperature that sat in the low 30s all day—Fahrenheit, yo.
With the tide up and the steep cliff face still looming from where the last nor’easter went all Pac-Man on the berm, I was limited to shooting along the East Coast Ave beach entrance only. Led Zeppelin’s “Dancing Days” (live) is playing now for those keeping score at home. Clearly iTunes has a British rock thing going tonight. Fortunately I needed not go any further than the entryway. I had an attention grabbing bit of sand fence exposed at the crest of the sand dune calling my name. “Steve!” It said. But I paid that no mind this dune was mine. The small section of fence has been doing its thing, maybe a bit too well, holding up sand and continuing to build and protect life and property. “Straight Outta Compton (Remastered 2002)” now up. Straight Outta Sand Dune? Alternate title, perhaps?
Anyway, this minimalist feature was calling my name yet the magic didn’t really happen until I got home. During my obligatory first pass photo inspection in Lightroom I knew immediately I wanted to go with a super contrasty black and white treatment. Into Silver Efex Pro 2 I went and the rest is low key history. With that it looks like I am closing out this post with “Here I Dreamt I was an Architect” by The Decemberists. If “Africa” by Toto comes up next I’m declaring this run of tunes damn near perfect. Thanks for listening.
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February 4, 2017
The Observer
The Observer — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
This title and post was made hours before sunset—hours before this photograph was even made. Only I did not know it at the time. Out for a spot of exercise this afternoon between meetings I had finished a light jog and was breaking things down with a cool down walk before getting back to work. With ear buds in and downshifting from jogging to walking I cued up the Introduction to Walking on Headspace. For the past two months I’ve been hitting the app everyday for a daily dose of meditation, and I was curious to hear whatever coaching Andy had when it came to mindful walking. It was much of the usual soft spoken steady support I’ve grown to know, encouraging listeners to bring themselves into the body—to bring their thoughts to the here and now. Comforted I listened. Relaxed I walked.
As the short session wound down and I approached the end of my walk, Andy hit me with a resonate nugget. In dropping an anecdote about staying present to notice the world around you as you trod upon familiar ground, he noted that when you are present and move through focused on the moment the things around you that you see everyday are never twice the same. Through awareness you can walk down the same street, corridor, alleyway, or field of green, and if your present with yourself the moment will never appear a copy. To the observer each time will prove to be unique.
As if the clouds suddenly parted a chord of resonance was struck, finely tuned to my experience with sunset photography. The simple truth that even as I revisit the same locations over and over again, the light will be different, the clouds will be different, the color will be different, the season will be different—I will be different. Photography has brought me into the body and into the present, to the one place life happens—free of the past and unburdened by the future.
In the interest of full disclosure: This is not a paid or obliged endorsement of Headspace. I’m just really impressed by what it’s short meditative exercises have brought me these past few months. Now if you’ll excuse me it’s time for my evening session.
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February 2, 2017
Streetlight Delight
Streetlight Delight — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 1600 | EXP 1/125
A boy’s fascination runs deep. For as long as I can remember streetlight worship of steady snowfall has been a most welcomed seasonal companion. Growing up obsessed with snow I would eagerly strike days from the calendar in anticipation of winter weather. Winter was magic, and snow the tangible proof. Countless hours I’ve spent whiling away watching snowfall from any window that would have me. The daylight hours afforded easy, unobstructed viewing of my favorite weather. Come night fall, however, the snow scaled back to a more demure display. Hidden by darkness only in streetlight could I once again lay reassured eyes upon the flakes.
And so I would watch for hours on end, eyes focused sharply between finger wide gaps in the window blinds. No curtain was safe, no window dressing untouched as I bounced from window to window, streetlight to streetlight, maintaining an ever watchful eye on the falling snow. Mixed with the sense of wonder, small fits of worry would work in as I’d fret over the snow letting up. Inevitability taught me early what is good must always end, and so I took to my post with purpose in hopes to maximize as much snowfall watching as possible. Sensible adults would often chime in with raised brows noting I’d grow out of this first love with age and responsibility. Wait until you have to drive in it, they said. Wait until you have to shovel it, they said. First came the shoveling responsibilities, and I loved it—still do. Then came the driving responsibilities, and I loved it—still do. I suppose Miss Snowfall is a keeper, fickle as she may be.
All these memories came flooding back last night as I walked under the streetlight amidst a snow globe style snow squall. For 20 minutes my hometown was transformed into a convective array of heavy snowfall. Precipitation moved in and out just as a warm summer storm, but for a few minutes at least I was kid again standing tall at all those windowsills.
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January 31, 2017
Dormant
Dormant — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
This winter is dormant. This marsh is dormant. My memory card is dormant. My well adored landscape muse has up and left for more colorful climes leaving my inspiration dormant. As bleak as it seems our focus must be challenged to stay on task as we lie in wait for better days. We’re entering what I like to call the calendar dead zone. The two month stretch of winter that spans mid-January through mid-March. Here in the Middle Atlantic when the holiday hangover ends, and we’re left grinding it out through the long dark nights of winter; when the color is all gone and we’re left with little more than a brown expanse of would be life that annually checks out for a long winter’s nap. We on the human side of things are afforded no such dormancy and so we are left awake through through it all—trudging along color blind until spring’s rebirth—far away as it may seem.
Yesterday I had hope things may spark off for sunset. All day long coastal New Jersey was treated to picturesque cloudscapes and crepuscular rays signaling some sundown potential. Unfortunately by the time I made it out to Dock Road the once formidable cumulus cloud features were squashed down to little more than low level pancakes—and I’m not talking about the big boys, we’re talking kid sized silver dollar flap jacks here. With minimal cloud action draping below 850mb it was obvious coloration was out of the cards. Despite the disappointment I took some solace in being out making photos in what has otherwise been a very unproductive month on the photo making front. Here’s to tomorrow.
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January 29, 2017
Mind Your Bridge
Mind Your Bridge — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 800 | EXP 1/80
Photographs have been hard to come by in 2017. We’re charging through January and this marks photo number three. Rough—suffice to say I need to pick up the pace. Here I was on a cloudy Saturday, desperate for a muse and grasping at straws, so I made a handful of frames of a Martin acoustic guitar using a wide open aperture on my 35mm lens if only to remember what it’s like. I didn’t even have the explicit intention of coming away with a photo for the website, I just needed to get my hands on the camera.
A day or two later I finally began grappling with some post processing decisions. Thanks to strong contrast I opted for a black and white product. Upon closer inspection I wanted to hone the viewer firmly on the guitar bridge, and so for the first time ever I exceeded a 2:1 crop ratio going all the way to 3:1. For those of you saying, uh, what? this explains why the image is so wide—instead looking more like a panoramic. Specifically, a 3:1 ratio means that for every three units on the x-axis (horizontal), there is one unit on the y-axis (vertical). For a baseline, most of my photographs are displayed at a 3:2 ratio. Jargon aside, I’m down with the end result as it brings the eyes right where I want them.
Taking a step back to talk about something more important than my photos: I hope we can push past our differences to build bridges that connect together our universal common ground. We’re all traveling on this spaceship Earth together—passengers and custodians of the future.
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January 24, 2017
Set Aside Bayside
Set Aside Bayside — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Last light and the tide was with me. Which is to say gentle bay waters were low and slow affording me a dry spot otherwise lost to the migrating sea. More often than not I find myself unable to set up shop on this the starboard side of the jetty without getting myself or some gear wet. Nevertheless I like it here—a spot where I made a favorite black and white years back—so it was great to find it available this evening.
Ten minutes to sundown and I was admiring the altocumulus clouds filling the sky. Tight reticulated patterns draped across the deck moving in slowly from the west. Like a cosmic fabric wearing checkerboard markings I was lost in its mesmerizing array. The only question on my mind was would there be enough space in the clouds to allow the sunset color to pass through? It only took a few minutes to find solace as the cloud deck began to heat up in a smoldering red glow. Contented I made my shutters and took in the rest of the show undistracted.
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January 13, 2017