I invite you to journey with me. But first you much breathe. Close your eyes and breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Slow your mind and follow your breath. In. Out. Deep breaths at first. Three or four long inhalations followed by slow and steady exhalation. Focusing on the breath. In. Out. Forget about the world. Repeat. Now let your breath find its way back to its natural rhythm. Let the calm wash over you. In. Out. All in its own time. Ah yes, now you are ready to go.
Now open your mind and drift. Drift as the dancing leaf carried on an inspired breeze, unencumbered—free. Slow and calm you descend. In. Out. With your mind settled to a natural focus you transport to a sense of place. A place of warmth—of hope and possibility. A place of sprawling green, flowing water, and the sweet kiss of waning summer sun. A scene to soothe the soul. Stay in that place, bathed in golden tones, ever safe and bright. Stop the time and breath. Uplifted and free. In. Out.
Brittle fingers frozen from too much time holding a metal camera body in stiff winter winds did their worst to keep me from making this final photograph during the snow squalls last Friday. Two fistfuls of immovable digits was begging me to quit, but after making this shot I turned around toward the east only to spy a bank of pastel cumulus squall clouds and I knew my day wasn’t done—even if my hands were. With movement that would have made a rusted Tin Man seem spry I opened my trunk and painstakingly swapped my 14mm lens with my 35mm. For a moment I was worried I’d drop my equipment on account of lack of feeling. Carefully I made due.
It was only when I got into position to make my frame that I took note of the full moon rising over sunset clouds. Bonus, I thought. Chilled to the bone, I made two final shots. Oh, perhaps of some interest to my cold hand complaints: it turns out I was in position of gloves the whole time. Another thing, this is another check in the box of pros when it comes to using a tripod for landscape photography; less time holding the camera.
Moments after a snow squall moved through that wrought dramatic clouds cast in a pink orange glow, the color palette transformed almost instantaneously as a soothing sunset appeared wedged between storm cells. A five minute respite in an otherwise turbulent Friday afternoon. It was all a weather/photo geek could take. Now I’m not one to normally use parking lots as a primary feature of my landscape compositions, yet for a while now the sandy lot of what was once Rand’s Marina has caught my eye. Its pockmarked puddles with their dark pools and alluring reflections performing sublime feats with the light that dance upon their sheen have long begged for my attention. As it was I laid out a foreground and as the sun broke free just atop the horizon I was ready, camera in hand.
Cracked and Cruel — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/160
Poring over Lightroom this morning with a fresh set of eyes it seems a solid chance I will publish upward of four photographs from yesterday’s Great Bay Boulevardgolden hour shoot. While the initial shot I posted happened right in the thick of ever changing weather, I thought it best to post the remainder of the set in sequential order. This shot shares the added benefit of having similar light to yesterday’s; the others will not share such hues. Without further ado let’s talk about chronological photo number one.
Here I present a serendipitous exposure—a bank error in my favor, if you will. I forgot I had autofocus selected on my 14mm lens, a remnant from a photograph made on my last shoot. Considering it had been a couple weeks I was ripe for oversight. Remember kids, always check your gear! What could have been a costly error wound up producing an unexpectedly suitable outcome. While the focus ring had an automated mind of its own, it brought sharp focus to the center of the frame—keying on the skeletal remains of what I can only assume were once vivacious mussels—vivacious as far as bivalve mollusks go, anyway. From this unintended area of focus the sharpness decreases as it moves out throughout the rest of the frame, becoming increasingly soft at the edges adding to the sense of ruin.
Now, if you’re asking yourself how would have I made the shot had I been paying attention and took back control of my focus? Well, I would have gone with my standard play of hyperfocal distance, leaving the focus ring set a hair left of the infinite line. This would have rendered an even sharpness throughout the whole frame. In this case I think the accident is better. Camera’s computing power: 1, Greg Molyneux: 0.
Finally, a design choice I consciously made with this image came in post-processing. I’m talking about the crop. The long spanning boardwalk in the foreground had me thinking go aggressive from the get-go. With that I cropped into a very wide 3:1 ratio—my second such photo using said ratio. This brings the poor mussels situation front and center, greeting the viewer with the immediacy of the scene. This exposure was made only about an inch above the boards and this drives home the intimacy.
Strange weather has brought itself to New Jersey. In typical Mid-Atlantic March fashion we’ve seen all four seasons this month and we’ve yet to cross the Ides of March. Yesterday we saw temps approach 70 while today much of the state was greeted with slippery roads and heavy wet snowfall. Once this morning’s system moved through some snow squalls began to fire across the region—even with reports of thunders snow in Pennsylvania! You may be looking at the photograph above thinking huh, that sure looks like a thunderstorm and you wouldn’t be far off base. Snow squalls, unlike most other types of winter events, are caused from instability in the atmosphere—the same kind of dynamics that drive thunderstorms in spring and summer—unstable air with plenty of room for atmospheric lifting and you’ve got the same kind of setup, only here you’re greeted with a brief period of heavy snow.
In between about four rounds of intense snowfall over a 60 minute span, I was able to hop out of the car and make some photographs of what was a full stop dynamic sky. It’s no exaggeration to say every five minutes rendered an entirely different palette of clouds, color, and light. It was something to behold, albeit intense and cold. Considering the speed with which I needed to move around the old marina, I ditched the tripod and went exclusively handheld today. You’ll note the ISO 400 with this photograph as I needed to speed up my shutter to get to an exposure of 1/60 so as not to risk blurring the photograph with unsteady hands. I switched between my phone when the snow was heaviest, and my main camera when the precipitation stopped and the light came out to play. I’ll be posting a few more shots from this evening over the next few days, but I figured it best to get things started with the heavy hitter from a dramatic light perspective.
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.
Blue Window to the Soul — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
There’s little doubt Rand’s Marina has rocketed up my list of favorite spots to photograph. The cedar pole and bay water combination provides plentiful foreground opportunities, and it’s compositionally strengthened with derelict dock remnants in the middle ground backlit by marsh, clouds, and sky background. It’s just a great space for making landscapes. While this shot was made Monday, December 5, 2016, I didn’t have enough time to get it posted until today. Preparations for a long, exciting week with the day job took precedence; laundry must be done, and bags must be packed, ya know? But now that I’m back home I’ve got time to properly blog it up.
Looking forward a bit, it’s getting to that time of year where I’ve got to start thinking about selecting 12 shots for my annual best of—due out December, 24, 2016. The past two years its proven to be a fun retrospective of a year’s week. It’s proven a great way to benchmark where I’ve come from so I can calibrate where I’d like to get to. Beyond that, I’ve gotten my hands on a Pulse Camera Remote from Alpine Labs—it’s charging now!—and I am eager to broaden my horizons through the world of time lapse. For years I’ve been wanting to explore this road but I never pulled the trigger on an intervalometer. Finally that time has come. Now I just need to figure out what I’m doing. . .
Dead Calm — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
There’s just something about marsh grass in early summer. A most perfect union of growth and green infused with all the promise and potency of life. Even in the face of a sterling sunset it was the marsh grass that captured my wonder. Conditions were wonderful this past Saturday, and I’m grateful I was perfectly situated along Great Bay Boulevard to take it all in. Sure the no-see-ums dined a great feast upon my bare shins—still sporting dozens of bites some five days later—but my gaze was undeterred. Content to be in the moment, it was going to take more than a frenzy of pint sized buggers making a meal of my blood to break my attention.
Scanning back and forth across an endless array of bright green grasses the fluidity of life rose to the fore. As the seasons change so too does the marsh. It is at this moment, however, in the hopes and dreams of early summer that we sit at its peak. The moment when new life teems at the pinnacle of its cycle. Despite our best efforts this moment won’t last forever, and admittedly it’s hard to not fret over the inevitable aging and loss to come. Of course change is inevitable, and as the wheel rolls on life too will return anew.
