Greg Molyneux Photography

Author: Greg Molyneux

Still the Sirens Call
Still the Sirens Call — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Listen with care to this, now, and a god will arm your mind. Square in your ship’s path are Seirênês, crying beauty to bewitch men coasting by; woe to the innocent who hears that sound!
Lady Kirkê, in spite of her transformative machinations that rendered men into swine, offered warning to Odysseus when discussing possible routes for a treacherous return to Ithaca. For after passing the Sirens Odysseus would have to make a choice.
It is easy to bow at the feet of the enchanted. To fall prey to the allure of false confidence when faced with sights so beautiful and sounds so serene. A transcendent manifestation of the senses that can bring even the most wary among us to feed at the palm of a menacing stranger’s hand.
As I stood along the banks of Cedar Run—that’s the creek you see before you—mind, body, and soul spirited to sanctuary where the pressing needs of the worlds demands were nary a whisper in the dark. A 360 degree Shambhala sparked to light in a ring of fire as the sky ignited around me in a chorus of pink, yellow, purple, and orange. Entranced in the wake of a sunset the likes of which I’d seldom seen a subtle symphony of sounds joined in to call me to the sea. Seduced, thoughts no more tangible than the moment of creation melded as one, fused in the blank canvas of a mind that for a brief unhurried moment knew no bounds. At complete peace, exposed to the reality around me.
As the blaze burned down to ember I stepped back from my malaise, freed from an enchantment of which I was so wholly subsumed to remember fell deeds awake. The extratropical remnants of Hermine will be impacting the immediate Mid-Atlantic coast in the coming days, and we’d do well to heed Kirkê’s warning and steer clear of the Sirens’ call. We must remain vigilant and whole for someplace far away Penelope is always waiting.
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September 3, 2016
Transition
Transition — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
The calendar has flipped. September is here and with it meteorological fall. You see for meteorologists—of which I am not—the seasons align a bit different from the astronomical seasons of which we’re all quite familiar. Among mets winter runs December 1–February 28; spring occurs March 1–May 30; summer spans June 1—August 31; with fall happening September 1–November 30 on the calendar. So in some circles we’ve come to the fall season—if only technically. Yesterday on the Cedar Run Dock Road marsh evidence of the fall transition was all over the place—seabirds in lesser numbers, our sun setting much earlier, and perhaps most obvious to me, an increase in yellows and browns festooned over marshland that grows more dormant by the day.
For the landscape photographer the palette of early fall colors integrated in the marsh grass creates opportunity for visually appealing images full of depth and contrast. Things are even better when you have an ideally positioned cumulus cloud in the sky illuminated in rich pastels of the setting sun. Better still is when it aligns just so as to reflect pink and purple hues in a well positioned tide pool. It may not be a seven letter Scrabble worthy triple word score that has a ‘z’ in it, but hey, it wracks up a few points on an intangible scorecard somewhere.
While we’re on the topic of transition our weather along the coastal Mid-Atlantic is about to take a serious turn. The remnants of Hurricane Hermine are now moving through eastern North Carolina (as of 3:00 p.m. EDT on 9/2/2016) where it will eventually eject out over the relatively warm water of the Atlantic Ocean. From there forecast models continue to look worse and worse for my area—southern coastal New Jersey. As this storm slides northeast over water plenty warm enough to reignite storm growth allowing a transition back to a warm core system, Hermine may again return to hurricane status as it eyes up our vulnerable shoreline. My concern is growing by the hour, and for folks living on the water please stay vigilant and heed any and all warnings and emergency response team recommendations. I’m sure I’ll have more on this in the coming days. Suffice to say the marsh you see above, and have seen so many times in my photographs, will be under feet of water as Hermine pounds the region with days of potentially dangerous storm surge.
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September 2, 2016
Circular Motion
Circular Motion — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/3200
Circular motion will be something of a recurring theme as we spiral toward the 2016 Labor Day Weekend along U.S. the eastern seaboard. Recently named Tropical Storm Hermine is spooling up in the Gulf of Mexico as she creeps slowly toward the Florida Panhandle. While it’s hardly locked down there’s growing consensus that after initial landfall the storm will look to spin its way up the east coast, potentially wreaking havoc on weekend plans, fresh hairstyles, and coastal communities up and down the seaboard. Prolonged rain, wind, and tidal surge will open the door to disruptive conditions for the foreseeable future. Such is the way of things, the way of the weather.
Subject to storm surge and flooding is LBI’s own Long Beach Island Foundation—also known as the place I made this photograph. Scattered about the grounds are a litany of visually appealing and thought provoking sculptures. I was particularly drawn to a vertical array of circular forms orderly arranged on a ladder type apparatus. If my memory serves me the whole piece was in the ballpark of three feet wide and nine feet high. I tucked in close with my 35mm lens set wide open at f/1.4 to create a shallow depth of field image that accentuated the form and contrast of the circular disks. This one is all about form fleshed out through light and shadow play.
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August 31, 2016
In The Abstract
In The Abstract — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/1600
Real talk—
This—black and white photography brought to life in shallow depth of field, presented in a brooding low key light on abstract terms—is my favorite type of photography. Yes, the sweeping landscapes are great, and I am far better technician than I am a creative right-braining on the more artistic side of the room; but there’s just something about the weirdness and soft forms, not to mention my lifelong love of black and white mediums, that draws me to this type of look. Now don’t get me wrong I wish I was better at it, and more purposeful in my execution of photographs like you see above. I have no process, I just wing it. There’s no real plan until I look at the viewfinder and have a very ground floor superficial thought of hey, this looks cool. This photo was no different. I was barreling up my hydrangea plant from ground level with my 35mm lens and simply liked what I saw. A happy accident you might say.
Admittedly while I like this kind of shot more than my typical landscape I become increasingly insecure about posting shots of its ilk. Not so much here on this website, more so on my Facebook page which frankly reaches more eyes. The People like my landscape work, anything else is more or less a crap shoot that runs the gamut from yawn to completely ignored. The burden of expectations. I get it, of course, this style is far more niche and lacks the widespread appeal of a stunning marsh sunset. As a result I’ve been sitting on this shot for over a month now, but I can wait no more. Be bold. Be removed from the comfort zone. Be. If nothing else it’s good to weigh the merits of popularity versus personal fulfillment. I don’t think it’s a binary choice, instead it’s more about finding the right spot on the great sliding scale of life. (Let’s see how all of this shakes out since I’ll be following this shot with another square format black and white picture. Gasp!)
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August 28, 2016
Solemn Shores
Solemn Shores — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
One more photograph from August 25, 2016. After making my first frame I periscoped my tripod head right to left from a west to southwest orientation. My reasons were twofold: 1) the high level cirrus clouds were a more impressive pastel color toward the south, and 2) I wanted to get a different angle on the jetty rock situated in the foreground. It was a simple adjustment while largely staying in place that breathed new life into the composition. Plus it brought more of the compacted wet sand into the frame. Churned up sand festooned with countless random footprints does something fierce to my OCD. As it is I’m always drawn to a palette of untainted sand.
A now for something slightly different: I made a video! A brief, 87 second job from the same position and setup as this photograph. Obviously I need some practice—not to mention a noise canceling microphone to dampen the wind—but it’s a start. Someday time lapse and film will become a thing for me. Hopefully.
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August 27, 2016
Ship Bottom Retreat
Ship Bottom Retreat — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
I made my way over to Long Beach Island last night. It was a beautiful evening and considering the calendar’s rude notion that summer is quickly winding down it seemed worthwhile to capitalize on a resource that will soon be in short supply—warmth. Initially I defaulted to my usual LBI summer spot, Surf City Sunset Park. As I pulled into a parking space, however, I was met with an innumerable populace milling about the bay beach performing all manners of bay beach acts. Selfies, swimmies, chair sitters, gazebo dwellers, swingers (the park swing kind, people—let’s keep it on the up and up), walkers, basketballers and the like were also making the most of this resource known by some as a warm summer’s eve. Daunted, I fell back to Plan B.
Instinctively I knew where to retreat. Like Washington stealing his army out of Brooklyn and into Manhattan by boat under the cover of darkness and right under General Howe’s nose, I sought refuge at a place that has long provided sanctuary to the man called Molyneux. OK so this wasn’t like Washington’s daring retreat that saw no loss of life at all, but considering that happened in late August—August 29, 1776 to be exact—I figured I’d drop a real non sequitur into this post. You may thank me for your new fun fact that will aid you in your barstool trivia quest later. You see, jumping back to things that are actually relevant I spent three summers working for Ship Bottom Public Works. From 2003–2005 I spent May–September toiling away with friends and coworkers alike, doing our best to keep the public facilities of Ship Bottom free and clean. In doing so I staked daily responsibility to Ship Bottom Bay Beach. From 7:00 a.m.–9:00 a.m. sweeping away parking spots full of sand, pitchforking a night’s load of seaweed from the bathing beach, and the obligatory Dumping of the Trash with the Slacker was the order of the day. Keeping things in tip-top shape, our pride.
To the northern end of the bay beach sits a park. Ship Bottom Sunset Point to be precise. A small park filled with all the things that a park make. Things like benches, placards, flowers and shrubberies, memorial bricks, a gazebo and a bird hotel that puts my own residence to shame. Somehow this is all crammed into a space of about 5,000 square feet of sandy land if I had to guess. Yet when it is grown in full at peak season it affords all the coverage and privacy one could wish for. To its western edge sits a sandy beach running the course of the bay. It was along the jetty rock of said beach I made this photograph last night.
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August 26, 2016
I’ve Been Searching for a Marsh of Gold
I’ve Been Searching for a Marsh of Gold — 35mm | f/5.6 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/800
Vantage points matter. Not just in photography but in life as well. If we keep looking out at the Candy Land game board of human existence from the same height, the same level, we’re bound to miss out on new perspective and ostensibly new ideas. Our dice roles repeatedly coming up snake eyes and into the Molasses Swamp we sink. Ofttimes the same old thing may may breed new life when seen from a different visual plane. So get out there—look up, look down, get on your hands and knees and climb high to peer out over a sugar-fused world.
Of course being a south Jersey flatlander the climb high bit is at times wee problematic. Especially if you’re not toting a 30 foot ladder in your back pocket. Enter Long Beach Island and its litany of rooftop decks. But please, no trespassing. More specific to this example is the top deck at the Long Beach Island Foundation of the Arts and Sciences. Flanking the main building to the north is a wing of classrooms, and above said classrooms sits one of many rooftop deck devices. Here one is afforded a primetime view out over the bayside marsh to the west. Romance optional. From this vantage point viewers are treated to an unimpeded view of about 300 yards of pristine salt marsh. From there the marsh bleeds out to the bay—deep breath… ah! Better still is the view off to the distance of both an osprey platform and its subsequent osprey blind—perfect for up close and personal bird watching. (Alas they’re quite small in this photograph, but if you squint hard enough and tap your toes three times you’ll see them. Or you could just click the last two links to see the YouTube videos.)
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August 24, 2016
Ray of Hope
Ray of Hope — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Much needed rain falls and here I sit content at my computer hammering out a post for a photograph I made last night. It was only yesterday happenstance and convenience brought me to Harvey Cedars Sunset Park after an art show at Long Beach Island Foundation of the Arts and Sciences. You see it was only two days ago I learned I had a photo in an art show, and it was only yesterday I learned said art show’s opening was set to take place only hours later. Considering my recovery attendance was hardly mandatory, but in my own head it would be welcome. Feeling well enough and eager to get out of the house I made my way.
The evening went on well enough. Finely dressed LBIF patrons donning pastel polos, flowing linens while strapped in sandals with casually done up hair and designer sunglasses milled about the main gallery. Seasoned veterans of art and culture made purposeful gazes and meaningful nods while doling out learned platitudes toward many of the pieces on display. Trapped in my own ignorance I was just there for the food—and was wearing a polo of my own. Before me a fine spread of items I can’t pronounce, ingredients I don’t understand, and elaborate skewers contorted into the most circuitous of shapes. I supposed that’s one way to cut down on the speed with which one eats? This offered quite a juxtaposition to the Coors Light bottles posted on the table’s right flank. Perhaps a purposeful dichotomy? Or is safer to assume one cannot get through an art show without a touch of irony?
After the show’s juror said some kind words toward a few of the real standout pieces, things really got serious as the evening made a welcomed pivot to a Pokémon GO gym takedown. My first such battle. With our Team Valor ranks full we made our stand and usurped power from the gym perviously held by Team Mystic. I didn’t know what the hell was going on as I fervently tapped the screen but we won, and maybe I’ve at least made it sound cool? OK, no? Moving on…
With the digital madness behind us I made my next pivot of the evening to the cloud structure and crepuscular rays fanning out across the marsh behind the Foundation. Clearly it was time to go for the camera. For the next 20 minutes or so I put the 35mm to work at LBIF. Golden hour was peaking but my muse turned toward sunset—my inescapable mistress. Knowing Harvey Cedars Sunset Park was but a few miles south I declared my intentions to my friends, my clan, my Team Valor, and made my egress and turned toward the park. Sunset was now the name of the game.
As I walked out to the jetty rock I set up shop with tripod and camera. The park was well attended—as it should be on a stellar summer evening—and many folks were set about the benches to take in the day’s last goodbye with friends and loved ones. Almost immediately I was joined by a mother-daughter combo making photos on their iPhones. They noted my gear and ostensible seriousness which always makes me a touch self-conscious as I feel it ups expectations of my photo output. Admittedly this is most likely self-conscious me overthinking an otherwise benign situation. Not long after I was joined by my Team Valor patriots and we went about our time spending the next half hour taking in a glorious Saturday evening in August. With my health in flux these past few months the calming scene and beaming sunset rays filled me with a wellspring of hope for the future.
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August 21, 2016
Tumultuous Sky
Tumultuous Sky — 35mm | f/5.6 | ISO 100 | EXP 25 sec
Saturday, August 6, 2016, the unexpected came to pass. Mrs. and Mr. Weather NJ came by to scoop me for a little weekend dinner action on Long Beach Island. We brought along the camera equipment just in case the sunset would pop. We were cutting it close on time and originally decided that Cedar Run Dock Road would be our best photo destination considering the time crunch. Instead—and in true Jon Carr fashion—the turn for Route 9 South was completely missed and with it so too was Dock Road. Insert audible. With what appeared to be a cloud out at our back we made for Surf City Sunset Park. Crossing the new Manahawkin Bay Bridge my expectations were low.
Upon arrival at the park the place was loaded with revelers and cellphone cameras. I always feel good when I see folks out taking in the sights and taking their shot at landscape photography. The more the merrier, I say. To the south a crescent moon could be seen, while to the west a mean shelf cloud was barreling eastward. We had known a line of storms was heading to the area, but honestly the radar was not all that impressive. Are you noticing a theme of underselling the evening yet? Eager to capture the shelfie, I took out the camera and swapped my 100mm lens for the ultra wide 14mm. It seemed like the prudent move except the humidity had a better idea. Instant fog problems—my lens was immediately coated in moisture. That quickly put the kibosh on my shooting—or so I thought.
As the clocked ticked away the initial line of thunderstorms moved through. Aside from a solid gust front and some dramatic clouds, it didn’t produce any lightning or rainfall at our location. Just a few bolts of lightning to the north. A few minutes later things started to get interesting. About 30 miles to our west, over Hammonton, New Jersey, a storm cell began to redevelop. Radar proof need not apply as its growth was betrayed by a towering cumulonimbus cloud growing before our eyes. Like something off the set of Ghostbusters this monolith of water vapor and energy grew larger and closer. Its cloud tops reaching high enough to begin sheering off into an anvil. It was awesome. The gust front, it seems, provided just enough of a trigger to ignite the latent storm growth. As a shooter this presented the perfect opportunity: an isolated cell from the perfect vantage point with no rain to mess up the shot. Also, by now enough time had passed to free my lenses from their foggy prison. I was back in the game.
From there on it was all about finding the optimal frame to capture the Manahawkin Bay Bridge; the impressive cumulonimbus tower; and the pastel glow that reignited at dusk thanks to the angle afford by the high cloud tops. It was the perfect storm—from no expectations came the best storm setup I have encountered to date. From there on out I put my 35mm lens to work, making long exposure after long exposure, hoping to time up a shot just right with a lightning strike. Fortunately I got some cloud to ground action mixed in with a truly dramatic sky. I couldn’t be happier with how things panned out. I now have in my possession my best storm photograph to date.
Oh, and as for food—an LBI dinner never happened. That, too, was an audible to Element on account of large crowds. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.
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August 9, 2016