Before making my way to LBIF and the soda kiln firing this past Friday I stopped off at the aptly named Harvey Cedars Sunset Park fishing for a sunset. Shocking, right? Pre-sunset conditions looked great—ample high level cirrus clouds stretched the sky and a subsequent light show seemed inevitable. Mother Nature, of course, is never completely predictable despite our best deductions. As the sun faded so too the the clouds fell away leaving a large blue palette behind the lone stretch of remnant clouds you can see above.
This all worked out for the best as I was struggling to find a composition. I spent 20 minutes hopping from one position to another. Modest leading lines and ho-hum foreground was leaving me vexed. The pressure was off as the sky was hardly popping off, but this was still a brow-furrowing endeavor as I prefer to not overthink my photo making process. More often than not I settle into a sufficient frame with little effort and even less conscious thought. I shoot by feel—this keeps photography a liberating enterprise in my life. I struggle with decision making in most other things so it’s a mental break to not go through the machinations of second guessing when I am out shooting.
Is there a lesson to be learned in all this? I don’t know, probably. I will say this, however, the final photograph—while no threat to my personal list of favorites—is not quite the throwaway I expected.
Tend Your Craft — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 160 | EXP 1/30
So this is how pots are made—or fired, anyway. Last night I dropped on by the old yacht club—Long Beach Island Foundation (not a yacht club). Ceramics lead guy and all around bearded fellow, Jeff Ruemeli, was working the soda kiln with an eager assistant whom I do not know well enough to use her name without permission. Over the next few hours I watched the taring of scales; encountered esoteric recipes as ingredients were weighed, measured, and mixed. Saw water boil—with my own eyes! Even listened to some Journey. Then there were (was?) the burritos. Not the edible kind which was a real bummer since I was hungry enough to eat a fist. Apparently after you mix all the powdered chemical ingredients with the boiling water you lump them out onto old newspaper and wrap them like burritos. Cool enough from a learning perspective; hardly satisfactory from a hunger perspective.
Once these machinations were complete I made for my trunk and grabbed my camera—also not edible. Behind LBIF we stood around the soda kiln in almost ritualized fashion. My mind turned to our ancestors from a far distant past. There is something quite literally ancient about pottery. While I don’t know much I do know this—its roots are firmly entrenched in a past long gone, and little has changed throughout the millennia. Was this how it was for Athenian potters? Laboring tirelessly under the yolk of a towering Acropolis and roundly dismissed in their time? Like too many other masters their skill and higher purpose was not recognized until they had long passed on. To the vested Athenian these were mere vessels for keeping grain and wine. Complete myopia beyond functional utility. Historical perspective brings a greater meaning to the here and now where three people who have never been in your kitchen found themselves on Long Beach Island honoring proud traditions born of misunderstood beginnings.
Back in the present and on my way home I stopped for Taco Bell.
I am suffering from an itchy shutter finger. Photos have been few and far between lately, and once I saw a spot of afternoon light touch upon my backyard quick fire hydrangea I popped on the 35mm and squeezed off a few shots. I set my aperture to a wide open f/1.4 in hopes for soft focus and smooth, buttery bokeh. Going for a dreamy feel to wash over weary eyes I imported exposures into Lightroom where cross processing seemed the obvious choice—I wanted to bring out a red warmth through a diffuse hue. Intentional soft focus at the center fades away to increasing blur as the eye works out toward the edges in all directions. Up is down, left is right; a square format crop further facilitates this spatially agnostic end game.
Eye Up — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
I made this sunset photograph Monday, October, 3 out at my usual Cedar Run Dock Road stomping grounds. Conditions were solid and after several weeks of little to no shooting it was worthwhile just to be out there. I could nitpick the low-level clouds over the horizon that kept things from really exploding after the sun slipped below, but coming out a week of endless clouds and rain I was, and am still, in no position to complain.
Let’s get wonky
While I took time on Tuesday to run through my usual Lightroom to Photomatix and back to Lightroom workflow, I was too lazy to blog it up and fire it off for modest internet consumption. Taking a second look today, Wednesday, I started having second thoughts: I hemmed and hawed between two similar compositions with the lone difference being their perspective by way a horizon placement at the middle of the frame vs. placement of the horizon at the lower third—which is the photo shown above. It took a long hot shower and some dinner to move me to a decision.
As a general rule—and remember rules are made to be broken—I prefer a center mass horizon; this is especially true when working at wide angles. This minimizes the distortion caused by sharp angles diving toward the image’s vanishing point, which is exacerbated when you position the horizon in either the top or bottom third. In this case I deviated from standard operating procedure on account of ample cloud action to fill the upper two-thirds coupled with a less than stellar foreground of repetitive marsh grass. Were the horizon to be placed center frame the tide pool slides back to the middle ground and loses a touch of prominence. By taking a composition that favors sky real estate the tide pool is brought forward in the lower third—this has an added benefit insofar as the clouds are better reflected than its center horizon counterpart.
Did I make the right decision? Who knows? This line of thinking may be pedantic but there’s benefits in challenging your own workflows and assumptions. The right balance of purposeful critique measured against the pitfalls of perfectionism will help drive you forward in any of your life’s endeavors. Or it’ll just drive you nuts.
Is #caturday still a thing? The hashtag phenomenon calling all cat people to all things cars on Saturday—you know a caturday? My yard calls to suburban furry creatures as an animated thicket beckons would be Disney characters to newborn prince. Ample cover, low level shrubs, plants, and flowers provide optimal feeding grounds for all kinds of neighborhood fauna. Birds, chipmunks, squirrels, raccoons, possum, and cats make themselves at home on the stomping grounds of my modest lot. Cats especially. Their hunting and lounging must be ideal as they loiter around my house daily. Having zero pets indoors, aside from some unwanted house spiders , it’s nice to see lively bustling about my lawn.
I’m pretty sure the orange tabby cat photographed above belongs to one of my neighbors—he/she is in possession of a collar—but whose exactly? I am not sure. This guy likes to flop at the end of my driveway, butted up against the house close to where the chipmunks nest, only to leave as soon as I pull in to the drive and pop out the car. I’ll get a skeptical glance at the business end of about two seconds of serious eye contact as the cat scoots off on its way. A few weeks back while photographing some sedum, I found the cat brooding underneath a bush on the edge of my property. Mr. Cat unexpectedly decided to stay put allowing me to lay on the ground to make a few photographs featuring its nonplussed feline visage. This photograph reveals nicely the seriousness in its eyes—a driving uncertainty of mistrust dominating an urge to open up. The paw reaching forward further explains the narrative of this dichotomy. So Mr. Cat, while you are not mine you are more than welcome to my yard any time. (Not that you cared for my permission to begin with.)
In taking a top-down approach we can process the world around us differently. This may be one of the most basic photographs I have posted to this site, and yet I find it endlessly captivating. It has a real watchability if you’ll allow me to use words that read like they don’t belong in a dictionary. Seriously, I fully anticipated the red-dotted line to appear under watchability—I would have lost any and all bets on that being a word. Anyway. I find myself mesmerized as I look down and into this image, losing myself for minutes at a time. Its tight reticulated pattern reminds of an autostereogram—those mind-melding 2-D images that are supposed to reveal a 3-D scene within its otherwise non-specific pattern. These drove me nuts as a kid. I can remember numerous class trips to several museums where we’d inevitably find ourselves in the obligatory gift shop where we’d one-by-one try our hand at discerning the image. My friends would undoubtedly make it work within a few minutes, and there’d I sit, dejected and unable to make out any kind of scene. My brain couldn’t get past the replicant TV snow presented in technicolor splatter. It always bummed me out as I feared my eyes and brain were somehow broken—somehow a failure of intelligent design. While I still can’t find any kind of image waiting to burst forth from this photograph, nor do I think there’s anything specific hiding in there, it sure is fun to look upon. Far less stressful than classmates bleating out, “there’s the horse! Can you see it, Greg? It’s right there!”
Time Draws Near — 100mm | f/3.5 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/320
Still under the influence of a post Makers Fest malaise I missed two great sunsets earlier this week. I must be slipping because it somehow didn’t bother me in the slightest. I was happily caught up in day job things and basking in last weekend’s festival success. However, a week sans camera has left me photo-less this weekend. As I sit inside on a drizzly Saturday morning waiting for a front to come, my ears listen to The Legend of Zeldaremixes as my eyes fix their gaze on Lightroom—to a dozen or so macro shots I made on September 8. Nothing crazy, just some pictures of my front yard sedum bloomed and in its prime. Serendipitously a sliver-spotted skipper butterfly happened to drop on by for an afternoon snack. While not long for the flower tops I did manage to steal one suitable photograph of this fleeting creature; fall is coming and so too its time will end.
Reclaimed LLC 2016 Makers Festival Display — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/160
Your day breaks
It’s a Saturday morning in September and it’s early. Somewhere in a second floor bedroom a card carrying night owl wakes before his alarm. Bare feet meet carpet and nearsighted eyes blur a darkened window—the sun’s not even a thing yet. Replacing the usual reflexive denial of the it’s time to wake up reality, a slow burn of anxious excitement stokes in the pit of an unfed stomach that’s a touch too nervous to fill. To the showers! Fast forward a soapy cleansing and a final car load and an area man cruises eastbound on a quiet Route 72. As Route 9 approaches and the third person narrative begins to wane, my gaze moves left to eye a sea of tents just ashore of Manahawkin Lake Park. A sobering whoa.
Quickly off the Route 9 spur that feeds onto 9 North reality unmistakably sets in. It’s about 15 minutes to 8:00 a.m. and the park is jumping. There’s no turning back. Traffic is already slow and a morass of Makers are fabricating their shoppes in advance of what already seemed a day of great import. Almost immediately I spotted Jeff Ruemeli pulling along pottery equipment in a Radio Flyer wagon. Somehow the kids are gonna be all right.
From there it was a whirlwind. A 90 minute set up. A 15 minute pep talk. A group photo and bang, 10:00 a.m. and time for the show. What came next was eight incredible hours of kind folk, beautiful creations, and an amazing tapestry for creatives to show off their wares. The weather—a warm 80 degrees with partly cloudy skies—could not have been better, and the crowd could not have been more engaged. My only regret was not having a spare moment to slip away from my tent to spend some proper time taking in the totality of the event. The attention to detail, the thought, the effort; the end result of all the blood, sweat, and tears was a sight to behold—even if I only caught glimpses through a bustling periphery. I would have loved nothing more than to visit all the Makers to see their fine works firsthand. Everything—and I mean everything—was first rate. The MakeShift Union crushed it.
Greg Molyneux Photography 2016 Makers Festival Display — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/160
I have people to thank
I have been fortunate to participate in several events since picking up the camera back in 2012. First breaking the ice with the Summer Art Opener in June of 2014; next displaying my work at the Little Egg Harbor public library in October 2015; and for most of 2016 showing my work in some capacity or another on the walls of Long Beach Island Foundation of the Arts and Sciences. Humble and grateful for the opportunities afforded to me, my cup overflowed when I was welcomed into the Makers’ fold and granted juried access to the second annual Makers Festival at Manahawkin Lake Park. It all went down Saturday, September 17, and everything about the day was perfect.
I imagine I’m not alone in the mad dash of preparation in the weeks leading up to Saturday’s big day. Without a doubt my fellow Makers were torching all kinds of midnight flammable goods striving toward the attention to detail that only a perfectionist’s compulsive mind can mandate. While the hours were long and the eyes were weary, I would have absolutely been nowhere without the outstanding work of Ben Wurst of Reclaimed LLC and my good friend and fellow booth designer, Jennifer Carr. Ben worked dutifully on my behalf. Sacrificing his own Makers Fest prep time to not only craft a killer bifold display fashioned with reclaimed mahogany laid in a chevron pattern and repurposed from a Princeton home, but also to fashion a sign for greg molyneux photography. Dude actually took the time to superimpose the font of my website header by way of a projector onto a piece of wood so as to get the typography just right. Ben was also kind enough to build a crate for my 12″ x 18″ matted prints, while donating an old drawer for my 8″ x 12″ matted prints. Oh, and some old green crates to support them on. He also made one hell of an event neighbor. Thanks Ben!
As Ben was toiling away tending to my many woodworking needs—which were massive considering going into this I had no display whatsoever—Jennifer Carr was tireless in helping me mat and wrap 67 prints. 67 prints! From 17 different source photographs I ordered 34 smaller 8″ x 12″ prints to be set in a 2″ mat to go along with 34 other 12″ x 18″ prints which we set in a 3″ mat. One print was sacrificed in our quest to settle on a workflow, but after that progress was good albeit slow. Powered by 90s playlists two long nights were spent toiling deep into the small hours of the morning measuring gluing, matting, signing, bagging, and tagging. However, Jen’s work didn’t stop there: Through it all she offered one great idea after another, helped lay out my booth, painted a box for my 4″ x 6″ postcards, later hung them with care, wrote up some chalkboard signage, and expertly peddled my wares to event-goers all day long at the Festival. Oh, and she was pretty great at wrapping items, too. If you saw those improvised hemp bag handles you know what I’m talking about. I cannot say it enough: without Ben and Jen none of this would have happened.
Next I want to thank each and every one of you who came by my tent. Whether to look from afar, to chat, to peruse, and of course, those who were generous enough to buy. You are all appreciated, and your feedback and kind words are invaluable. Anecdotally I definitely need some more metal prints as Ruinous Splendor printed on mounted aluminum was the real talk of the day. This kind of real life market research is invaluable, you guys. Thank you.
My fellow Makers—you’re next. Even though I nary had a moment to network and give your work the proper attention it deserves, without the quality and passion for your craft our event would not have had the unbelievable public reception it received. Your talent and dedication to the arts, our community, and the betterment of our society is an inspiration. I am blessed to be among your ranks. Thank you.
Lastly—The MakeShift Union—the unbelievably dedicated and tireless women behind it all. Our masters behind the curtain pulling all the right strings to execute such a specific, well articulated vision, and to bring it to life while working through well over a hundred disparate Makers. Think of the logistics required for this, folks. This is organizational mastery and I am beyond impressed by your leadership and purpose. You’ve given us all an unbelievable platform that needs adjectives my vocabulary certainly lacks. Dani, Erin, and Jeannine—you are incredible. Thank you.
I cannot wait for next year, and you can’t either!
Post number 300 is here and on this website, and I am pleased it’s a good one. I’m not versed in the psychology of it all but there’s something about round numbers that satisfies the human brain. In the grand scheme of things it’s no different than picking some other arbitrary endpoint as a numerical goalpost for random celebration, but sticking with base 10 numbering has a certain mathematical ease to it—see also why we should use the metric system. Ahem.
With the 2016 Labor Day sky showing much promise I made for my usual Dock Road stomping ground hunting for a sunset. Instead of hitting the dock pilings or my go-to marsh spot, I made for the far east end. I made for Antoinetta’s. I’m no stranger to this composition though it’s one I tend to avail myself of more readily in the winter months. Not only is the sun angle more workable, setting more to the southwest, the parking lot is bustling with cars and eager patrons during the summer months. It’s just an easier time to stay out of people’s way. As an added advantage to shooting Antoinetta’s during fall and winter is a lesser need to worry about our beloved terrapins nesting in the cold winter months—the wildlife offseason, if you will.
Initially I had a slightly different angle of my composition dialed in. I was swung a bit more to the east (left in this photograph) with a more westward orientation of the frame itself. Not to mention I was at full standing height with the tripod so as to get a better angle on the water. While I liked what I saw I quickly remembered a photo I had seen on Facebook recently that brought the stacked stones—would be cairns—into the foreground. Said photo was from a longtime resident of Dock Road and all around good guy. Inspired I collapsed my tripod to its lowest height, swung back toward the north, tucked in close to the stacked stones, and made my photograph with a more southwestward orientation—bringing the stones firmly into the foreground. From there the sun handled the rest. Myself and a few other revelers were treated to a warm, orange sunset on a gorgeous late summer night. I even did a live stream from my Facebook if you’re interested.
So cheers to round numbers and here’s to the next 100.
