Greg Molyneux Photography

Tag: 14mm

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

  • The Pink Purple Blues

    Wide angle photograph of ocean jetty rock captured at blue hour
    The Pink Purple Blues — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/4

    For the first time in weeks, if not months, I made it to the beach today. Conditions were so good I made it to the beach twice today. Continuing with the trend of spectacular light and air quality experienced yesterday, the Atlantic Ocean threw in a cool environmental wrinkle of its own: dead calm seas. I’m talking bathtub waves of no more than six inches calm. Not since my public works days when I was working on the beach daily have I seen the water tame; and even then it only happened less than one hand is needed to count.

    Happy just to be out there I was content simply to hang out and enjoy the vibe in its totality. But with the sun comfortably set and a standout blue hour taking hold, I made my way for a bit of jetty rock that I had scoped out earlier in the day—during the aforementioned first trip to the beach—Harvey Cedars if you’re scoring at home. With an impressive pastel gradient stretched across the sky I waited for it to get dark enough such that my shutter could get sluggish enough. Lazy shutters for the win. Once you’re inside one tenth of a second, motion from ocean wave action usually takes hold. Of course things had to be a bit more sluggish than normal due to the unusually calm water. Tonight I needed to get down to a quarter of a second. And opposite to last night’s photograph where I went with my first shot, this evening it was the last.

  • A Toast to Autumn

    Wide angle HDR photograph of a vibrant golden hour over marsh
    A Toast to Autumn — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures

    This evening’s session along the marshes of Dock Road was a real treat. Cool yet comfortable temperatures made for ideal viewing of what was a perfect combination of rich golden light and piercingly clear autumn air. My vision seemed ten times better than usual the air was so pure. Everything was glowing. With the rich light pouring in and the sun setting fast, I popped the tripod into position and began making brackets. Fast forward another 40 minutes of shooting and a trip home to the computer only to realize that my first batch of bracketed exposures would wind up being the one. It’s always something when that winds up being the case.

    Compositionally I wanted to play off the main tidal pool and the cloud reflection therein. Tucking the near end of the pool off the edge to the bottom left allows the eye to enter the photo to then move up the clouds and over to the setting sun, finishing with the popcorn clouds in the sky. It’s good to have movement.

    Shooting tonight was tons of fun; would do it again. A strong reminder of why it’s worth getting out there and doing this. If nothing else it brings you closer to nature.

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  • The Scene Takes Shape

    Wide angle astrophotography from Stafford Forge Wildlife Management Area
    The Scene Takes Shape — 14mm | f/2.8 | ISO 320 | EXP 30 sec

    It’d be fair to say I stepped out of both my comfort and interest zones last night. Astrophotography is a far cry from my forte, and while I do love the stars and the night sky, it’s a technique I’d rather observe through the lens work of folks far more skilled in its execution than me. And while photography is about picking and choosing your battles, like anything else there’s little harm in hopping out of that creative box to experience some new applications of the craft. Learning should never stop, right?

    With clear, crisp skies overhead and a New Moon fast approaching, last night was sure to be as good a time as ever to head out for a little night work. At a loss for what to do, Joe and Jackie piped up that astrophotography should make up at least some of the night’s fun—Mario Maker aside the fireplace would come later. Taking their idea and moving it forward I offered up the Forge as our target destination. It’s close to home and gets pretty dark—by New Jersey light pollution standards anyway. And yet, while the Forge may had been my suggestion kudos to Joe and Jackie for bringing me out to a peninsula that had been never before tread by the likes of Greg Molyneux.

    It was only 9:00 p.m. by the time we hiked out there. I use hiked loosely as it was more like a 5 minute walk through the woods. But let me tell you it sure was dark. With no moonlight overhead it was only a matter of feet before all was consumed by the inky blackness. It was a creepy way to start the fall season. Creepy in the best way, of course. Out on the peninsula and flanked by water on all sides, framing up a serviceable composition became something of an exercise in trial and error. With my limited experience my “approach” consisted of some high ISO shooting into the black. Sure it blows out the shot but it’s a quick and dirty way to see what’s in your frame. Once all that important busy work was out of the way, and I had the shot I wanted such as it is, I simply dialed back the ISO all the way down to 320. From there I made my final shots.

    Walking back out to the car proved more creepy than the journey in. It got worse when we happened upon the cryptic writing scrawled on the trunk of a recently felled tree. Words that seemed to suggest leaving the area with much haste was the recommended course of action. Or else! From there paces quickened and flashlights brightened. As the caboose in this procession of three I made the poor choice to turn and look behind me. Total black out. Again it was the good kind of scared.

    Night photography aside I can’t wait to revisit this location for sunset!

  • The Demons of Our Dreams

    Wide angle long exposure photograph of a demonic shelf cloud over Barnegat Bay
    The Demons of Our Dreams — 14mm | f/2.8 | ISO 100 | EXP 30 sec

    When I’m titling my photographs I most always go with the first word, phrase, song lyric, or bit of text that comes to mind. It’s a quick and easy approach that keeps me from overthinking my named works. I broke that rule today. I wanted to go with Death Comes for us All, but an apprehensive voice inside me chided that might come across too strong. Death’s a touchy subject, and I’m not here consciously looking to set off any triggers. Ergo I downgraded to demons.

    What led to the death/demon connection in the first place? Well as I look at the 30 second long exposure rendering of this photograph, with its low hanging shelf cloud accentuated by motion blur marching across Barnegat Bay; a Titan’s visage, gaunt and brooding, manifests pressing downward through the clouds ready to escape its confines to breach the bay and do its worst. It is both spooky and spectacular—natures reminder of the omnipotence of the universe and our fleeting moments hurtling about our own speck of space.

    This photo session started out as an attempt to capture a less abstract look at storm clouds, and even more specifically some lightning. Instead something wholly unexpected manifested on the sensor. That’s the way photography goes sometimes, and it’s important for us to always keep an open mind to the unintended outcomes it may render.

  • Flood Plain

    Wide angle HDR photograph of sunset over remnants of Joaquin tidal flooding on the Dock Road salt marsh
    Flood Plain — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures

    Having returned from vacation just yesterday I was left on the outside looking in as days of rain, wind, and tidal surge battered New Jersey beaches and intracoastal ways. Even though our area was spared the brunt of Joaquin thanks to just missing a capture from an upper level low spinning over the southeastern United States, my home town and neighboring beaches and waterways had front row seating to extended onshore flow that wrought moderate tidal flooding and a deluge of rain.

    Sitting in Florida, a mere few hundred miles from the center of Joaquin’s cyclogenesis, I was crossing my fingers model run to model run as spaghetti plots meandered all over the eastern seaboard; many sending landfall to areas directly affected by Superstorm Sandy. Ultimately, after laying a beating on the Bahamas this turned into a fish storm and began its northeast march toward Bermuda and out to sea. But with a powerful blocking high pressure locked in around Maine and the low pressure of the storm off the coast of Florida, Mother Nature set up the physical mechanics of a pitching machine enabling a 72-96 hour period of onshore flow to fire streams of moisture and wind at much of the east coast; bringing devastating rain to South Carolina and beach erosion to many coastal areas. With the abrupt left hook of Sandy still fresh in all our minds, this was a little too close for comfort.

    Pictured above is my photograph of tonight’s sunset still showing off the tidal remains of all that water that was pushed up toward the coast thanks to that pitching machine effect. Despite being days after peak flooding you can get a sense of just how long it takes water to recede safely back whence it came.

  • Back Home in the Comfort Zone

    Back Home in the Comfort Zone

    Golden hour wide angle HDR landscape photograph of clouds and marsh
    Back Home in the Comfort Zone — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures

    First off I hope at least one intrepid New Jersey photographer was out making time lapse and/or long exposure photographs considering the most excellent cloudage we had on deck today. All day. Short on intervalometers and neutral density filters I did neither. But I did get out there to at least make this one photo—my first in a while.

    Having just returned from a 9-day left coast swing today marks my lone day in Manahawkin before I pivot to a weeklong jaunt at Walt Disney World. I spent the past week plus in California sans camera (not counting the cellphone, of course) so I wanted to get in one session of shooting in my old stomping grounds before I takeoff once again. Feeling good among the creature comforts of home it seemed only fitting that I make for Dock Road to fire off my first frames in weeks. For a creature of habit like myself I can’t express enough how much familiarity is important to me. There’s only so much external stimuli I can take before I must retreat to the physical and mental comfort zones that ease and normalize my body and mind.

    I look forward to more photo sessions upon my return. Be well.

  • What Once Was

    Wide angle HDR photograph of an abandoned marina and a reflective sunset on Great Bay
    What Once Was — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures

    Yesterday was the kind of day that drives home the Fall is the best season! mantra that gets bandied about heavily as the back to school season returns. Ever the contrarian, I’m not exactly Fall’s biggest advocate, but even I will concede to some of its merits; specifically those that involve the room temperatures and stunning visuals—bonfires are cool too.

    Last night was glorious: the temperature and the sights. The crowds and bugs were scarce and conditions were ripe for restorative inhales. Jackie—the better half of the Jackie and Joe show, collectively known as The Joackie, gets all the credit for calling the spot. With late afternoon cirrus spanning the sky sunset plans were set into motion early. Great Bay Boulevard was the target, and at that moment I assumed we’d be setting up shop at my usual spot. Instead, as we were passing it by, Jackie piped up in favor of heading down to the old marina. This decision would prove most wise.

    Upon arrival I was immediately convinced Jackie’s audible was without doubt the right call. Disused slips where boats once moored. The crooked remains of a seafaring past. Mirroring where we may tie up tomorrow. Whatever you want to call it? However poetic you want to get? A good foreground it sure does make.

  • Here on the Mullica

    Wide angle HDR photograph of sunset over the Mullica River
    Here on the Mullica — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures

    Reclaimer of wood and photographer of things, Ben Wurst hosted friends for textbook late summer chilling and grilling this weekend. Naturally, festivities were preceded by an hour long sunset shoot at a location that was for the rest of us in attendance, a brand new spot! We found ourselves tucked away under the Garden State Parkway in Port Republic, NJ, set alongside the southern shore of the Mullica River. Offering both east and west exposures this is a versatile spot that will no doubt take its place in the rotation.

    We were originally onsite so Ben could catch the full moonrise with his 400mm. Too bad it was obvious immediately that wasn’t going to happen; marine layer clouds were draped over the eastern horizon throwing a dripping wet blanket on those plans. The western side wasn’t much better with low level clouds riding the southerly flow. At this point I was milling about chatting with friends while Jackie remained steadfast to the photo plans, dutifully making shots. It was a good time, weather was perfect.

    A few minutes before sundown, what you could see of a mostly cloud obscured sun disk was swallowed by the marine layer haze. With that it was looking more and more likely that a cloud out was inevitable. Driving the impatience further were some feisty appetites and a nice spread waiting back at the reclaimed home base. The natives were restless. Stalling twice for just three more minutes, I began to question whether my efforts were in vain. About 60 seconds from bailing I noticed an oh-so-subtle back build of pastel color brewing toward the east, over the Parkway span. Jackie! I said, we’re golden. And by golden I meant pink.

    The best sunsets always straddle the fine line of oh yeah or oh no. It’s a razor’s edge of hope that there’s just enough gap underneath the clouds along the horizon to give the last photons of the day a chance to get an angle and deflect off the clouds. That’s just what happened Saturday: a near colorless sunset that ignited a good 5-10 minutes after actual sundown, only to smolder for another 15-20 minutes after that. On this day, our position in space and the physical laws of nature were on our side. Oh, and some luck too.

    Update: unbeknownst to me, Ben captured me in the wild setting up for this shot with his 135mm. Good stuff, Ben. I didn’t even see it coming.

  • Where the Wonderment Goes

    Square format HDR photograph of marsh grass and lake at blue hour
    Where the Wonderment Goes — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures

    Sometimes you need your friends to stop by just to get yourself out the door. Despite promising late day sunset conditions, yesterday evening I found myself home from work and passed out on the couch. It was 7 p.m. With the startle of a doorbell I was up and weary, rubbing the sand out of my eyes to open the door. It wasn’t a long visit—maybe ten minutes—but it afforded me the opportunity to get my butt in gear to hop down to the Forge. In retrospect photo making was greater than nap taking—at least for one day.

    Still reeling from my post nap haze at my location some 10 minutes later than what would have been ideal, I didn’t have much time to scan the scene and properly scout my spot. Short on seconds I went to the closest open spot to my position. As you can see the grasses have grown quite unwieldily, but with that came an opportunity. A chance to set my camera right in the scene a, amidst the grasses, to bring a bit of mystery and whim to the photo. Perhaps cliché, but my mind went to right to Thoreau and Walden. A little hidden spot of paradise where the mind can unfurl and set out on a path of wonder.

    Thanks for stopping by, Jackie and Joe!

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