Greg Molyneux Photography

Tag: 14mm

All photographs tagged here have been taken with a 14mm f/2.8 L II lens.

Imprinted
Imprinted — 14mm | f/2.8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/100
After making Friday’s sunset photograph I turned my attention to the waterfront and decided to do things a little different. While I kept with my 14mm lens, I did switch from manual focus to autofocus and stopped up from f/8 to f/2.8—the latter being wide open on my wide angle lens. From here I opted to mess with some selective focus on a footprint marked upon the sand. I thought it might make an interesting foreground prop were I to get close enough. From a distance of roughly three inches I engaged back button focus on my camera and let technology take over the focus ring. Once it found its mark giving a reassuring beep of approval, I depressed my shutter and exhaled. Instead of rendering a tack sharp image from edge to edge of the frame, as is my usual execution when shooting wide angle landscapes, here the background is able to fade away keeping the attention on the dollop of tread upon sand. It’s easy to get stuck in our routines, executing the same process over and over, so it’s liberating to cut loose and throw a changeup every now and then. It is spring training time, after all. Baseball is back, baby!
This shoot wasn’t all sunshine and roses, however. When doing my thing in Lightroom I waffled on whether or not to go with a 3:2 ratio—what you see here—versus a 2:1 crop. I liked them both for somewhat different reasons, ultimately settling upon the former because the sunset sky is a bit more balanced with the foreground. Granted the 2:1 brought more focus on the footprint and the individual grains of sand, but there was something about leaving the upper third of the frame as sky that made me a bit unsure. Best stay with the 3:2 in the sake of balance here. Or not. As I’ve written many times, while it’s good to have our rules it is also good to break them.
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February 27, 2017
False Spring
False Spring — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
It’s been warm, folks. Strangely warm for February. Temperatures have ranged in the low- to mid-70s the past two days and it has many wondering if spring is already be upon us. Its tempting to give into the notion with nascent buds and bulbs beginning to show themselves early around much of the Mid-Atlantic. And while it’s easy to party like short sleeve weather is here to stay I cannot help but think back on the past few backloaded winters that have crushed any and all dreams of an early spring. With March looming I worry if we’ll pay the price for what has been otherwise a spectacular February. Will a prolonged cold snap of freezing temperatures lay waste to the early plant and flower growth leaving us with a less than stellar bloom? Time will tell—but hope springs eternal. Pardon my pun.
On Long Beach Island this evening to make photos things were less warm. While temperatures still hung in the mid-50s cold bay and ocean water cast a reminder that we’ve still got a way to go. The micro climate is always something of a marvel. My house, which sits about five miles west of this photo as the crow flies, sat a good 15 degrees warmer than our barrier island. That’s just the way it goes; late to cool down in fall thanks to warm water, and late to heat up in spring thanks to cold water. That’s the ocean, folks—it’s big and it matters.
My choice of title is surely a tie in to the early warmth and its transient tease (probably), but it’s more surely a hat tip to Mr. Cool Hat, George R. R. Martin himself. The sage of Westeros and author of A Song of Ice and Fire. The year of the false spring occurred at the time of the tourney at Harrenhal—a tournament which proved a watershed moment in triggering Robert’s Rebellion and the ensuing events that have become well known to book readers and television watchers alike. Winters are long and cold in Westeros, you guys, and climate change be damned at least we’re not dealing with the Long Night in our realm as yet. For the night is dark and full of terrors.
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February 24, 2017
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
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
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
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
First Off
First Off — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
First off I hope everyone enjoyed a relaxing, joyful holiday season, and that you’re primed and pumped for a memorable 2017. Say it with me now two thousand seventeen! Seriously, where does the time go? My brain is still somewhere in April 2007. But such is the way of things. Before we kick things off in this new year please take a look at my 2016 year in review—featuring my 12 personal favorite photographs from 2016—it’s always my favorite post of the year.
Getting back to the present I realized it was the twelfth of January and I’d yet to make a photograph in the new year. In fact, I had yet to make a new photograph since December 21, 2016. A three week drought? Yikes. Anyway, I made it to Dock Road today just in time for sunset. Instead of going for the usual color approach, I opted for a sepia treatment similar to a photograph I produced back in November. I’m a fan of this monochrome hue and found it appropriate to leverage here. Nothing too crazy, nothing too fancy—just a means to get 2017’s photostream off to a sound start. Now onto number two. Cheers.
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January 12, 2017
Once More Unto the Breach
Once More Unto the Breach — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/400
People, can we take a moment to talk about this photograph? I try my best to avoid any and all self aggrandizement while beating my chest set atop a majestic horse who itself sets atop an ivory tower, but man, I am in love with this picture. Let’s start with the truthful reckoning: I in no way shape or form set out to make this photograph tonight. I went to what’s left of Rand’s Marina along Great Bay Boulevard in search of a sunset—the kind you’ve all seen here time and time again—yet I came home to find this diamond in the rough waiting for the figurative drill and polish. To be brutally honest I made this as something of a throwaway. I was doing my usual handheld single shot investigation of the premises trying to lock in my final composition where I’d then set my camera upon its tripod only to mill about, fiddle with my phone, and wait for the sun to set. And while I remember staring down the viewfinder when making this one-off I had a brief, well this has an interesting look to it thought fly in and out of my skull. It was the ramp descending into nothingness that was noteworthy at the time. From there I went to a different spot entirely to take my sunset position and wait.
However once I got home and imported into Lightroom its potential started to command my attention. With a few preset and slider manipulations I landed on this brooding, low key wonder. It was perfect. The intensity. The mood. The loneliness. The power. All of it speaks to me in ways I struggle to articulate. I can’t say I’ve ever been moved quite like this by my own work before—even falling back to my art class days of painting and drawing. Somehow something has clicked here. Perhaps it’s the far departure from my typical work? Maybe it’s the happy accident that led me here? Or maybe still it’s something I can’t yet figure out? All I can say is that I pleased by the emptiness and depth this image evokes.
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December 21, 2016