Greg Molyneux’s latest photographs and words presented in reverse chronological order.
I took fifteen shots tonight. This was the first. Taken blind from an outstretched arm dangling inches from the ground. Sometimes it works out that way.
Other than purposefully taking this shot wide open it was a crap shoot; a hopeful aim in a general direction—in this case at marsh grass backed-up by the setting sun. I’d say this was a nice change of piece to my usual sunset routine.
Just about everything was different with tonight’s shoot. For whatever reason I hopped out of the car, scanned the scene, and decided today would be a good day for shooting with my 40mm. It’s not too often I shoot landscape with my 40mm pancake, and considering today’s results I’d do best to work it into the landscape/sunset rotation on the regular. Seriously, this is the work of three bracketed shots—handheld no less—on a prime lens that costs a little over $100! I can’t recommend it enough, especially for the full frame shooters out there.
The other departure from the norm, aside from ditching the tripod and bailing on my usual manual focusing with my 14mm, came from Mother Nature herself. More often than not—it unscientifically feels greater than 90% in my experience—the optimal color range occurs after the sun goes down. By the time I grabbed my tripod, switched to my 14mm, and waited for the sun to sink below horizontal, the best light had come and gone. It was my 40 and my bare hands that made it work tonight. Photography is never without surprises.
Wherever possible I try to get my photos on the computer and processed with little time wasted. Doing so closes out my mental workflow. In a relatively short period of time I’m able to produce something tangible (digitally speaking) to share with you. I, in turn, get to let go and immediately transition my brain to the next shot. Photography is liberating in this way: I build an online archive to record my evolution, quite literally storing the past, to do my remembering for me. Perhaps it’s not without irony that this virtual memory bank releases me to quickly and naturally forget. My past work goes out with the old—paving the way for the new. To chasing the better shot. To knowing I have to be there, at all times, ready to shoot, over and over again; committed to waiting out that perfect light I’ve been chasing for years. Anticipating that future pay-off is what drives this passion of mine. Pushing me ever forward with my craft.
How does this relate to this shot? This is a holdover from last week. Taken on the Eleventh of September. It’s hung with me for a while. I attended my cousin’s wedding (a lovely affair) this weekend, and with the travel schedule this post went by the wayside. Thinking back to that day last week, 9/11, I did my best to reconcile this day. Its meaning. The mighty weight that comes with it. It’s an open wound for us all, and a thousand fold for all our brothers and sisters directly affected.
It’s impossible to find words, at least for me, that do any justice with respect to that day. The best I can do is continue to hope the world manages to find its way and work toward a more perfect future. One where future generations can look back with incredulity at how petty our differences once were. In the meantime, all the best forever and always to the victims, first responders, and family and friends to all who were dealt such senseless wrath.
With Summer winding down last night offered what may turn out to be a last chance storm chasing session for the season—not that I’ve had any storm chasing sessions this season, but I digress…
As the clock passed 10 with a line of thunderstorms approaching, I had the opportunity to head out to Dock Road to take some photographs. I went out with a buddy (storm chasing is much better with a friend) and set up ye olde trusty tripod facing toward the south. With lightning firing 360 degrees around us it didn’t take long for the spookiness to set in. Maybe it’s just me, but it’s a bit scary holding a metal object in the middle of a marsh plain surrounded by storms.
As we were out of the car shooting from the road’s shoulder, nervous about all the electricity, we began negotiating how minutes we had before we absolutely had to bail and get back in the car. As we were down to about two minutes left, with cloud to cloud lightning crackling all around, we heard the loud drone of what sounded like a boat. Get the hell out of here, we thought. But sure enough, there it was, a small outboard motoring down the marsh, racing to get back to dock. As bugged out as we were, I can’t imagine what those steaming in on the water were thinking. Oh, and the boat had no light’s either, so there’s that.
… and leaves us in awe.
I’m certainly glad I made it over to Sunset Point in Ship Bottom, New Jersey for what turned out to be some top shelf sunsetting action. There were plenty other revelers to take in the visual mastery, too. Related: I was most pleased to see those in attendance hang out with their cellphone cameras for the pastel explosion that came about 10 minutes after sunset. They were rewarded for their patience. All too often I see other photographers get in there car and leave moments before the color takes it up a notch.
Tonight was a perfect example. What started out as 50/50 with a chance of being clouded out turned into one of the better sunsets I’ve seen. I’ve lucked out twice this week. I am not complaining.
Just a guy getting in the very last his purple coneflowers have to offer. My potted echinacea are last men standing (barely), and I wanted to get in some eleventh hour shots before final decay.
As afternoon light was pouring in over the rooftop I grabbed the camera and went for a slightly upward perspective shooting from a crouched position. With one good flower left I wanted to really go for a sharp cut-off with respect to depth of field, drawing attention to the ends of the front four petals. From there I’d let a low key workflow and buttery bokeh tell the rest of the story.
Thank you, Mother Nature. I am one shimmying fool.
It’s been a long time, man (and women and boys and girls). Sunsets have been alluding me for the better part of Summer. That certainly changed with a flourish today. As I was down on Dock Road shooting I honestly didn’t know what direction to fix my tripod. With three hundred and sixty degrees of awesomesauce happening it was damn hard to choose.
In the end I went a few I my favorite things: I was able to get the octagon house in the shot and the Moon. Excellent. Seriously though, this one is all on happenstance. The sky produced with unreal cloud patterns and color this day. All I had to do was show up.
I’m not sure why but when I see pine cones I automatically make the association to Fall. A quick googling tells me this is the time of year said cones are approaching their max size and thereby most noticeable (even though the subject here is a little guy—no more than an inch in length), so I reckon it’s as simple as that. Not much mystery to this passing observation.
I’ve had my battles with the Fall but this year I’m going to focus on its upside. Most notably: the pictures I’m going to take. Heading into Fall and Winter I know that fog, foliage, amped up sunsets, and snowfall are in store for my camera and I. And moving out of Summer, which for me is the least interesting time photographically, I am excited at what the future holds. I’ve been jonesing to get out there and shoot more. Here comes my chance.
I arrived home from the foothills of eastern Pennsylvania stretched and worn. Bettered but battered after a long weekend celebrating my cousin’s pending nuptials. A good yet exhaustive time was had by all.
Leaving the cousin’s shiny new F-150 my mind clung to the imminent hopes of a hot shower and a nap—here it is, victory. Or so I thought. Immediately out the truck I noticed 1) my sedum have finally blossomed, and 2) a butterfly had finally come to rest on one my flowers. I’d seriously been waiting all season for this.
With the shower and nap plan on hiatus I grabbed my gear and tried to get a capture. I only got off two shots before this common butterfly was scared away for good—my approach wasn’t exactly one of stealth—and neither of which were from a frontal perspective. Even still I connect with the story this image tells. One of time. The never ending story of the inescapable passage of all things. And somewhere out there is the future we can’t quite see.