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.
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 Roadmarsh 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.
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.
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 formatblack and white picture. Gasp!)
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.
