Greg Molyneux Photography

Tag: hdr

Headlong to the Horizon
Headlong to the Horizon — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
A few thoughts as we get cracking on this here post: Hot damn it was cold today. Snow may still be a twinkle in my eye but the first real shot of Canadian air is hardly a figment of my imagination. As my body struggles to adjust to colder climes I warm myself if only mentally by anticipating the great winter sunsets to come; can’t beat winter color, you guys.
Also on the list of brain happenings while shooting—I’m pretty pleased with this vertically oriented photograph. I’ve talked about it many times before, and while it still rings true, these essential landscape photographer compositions do not come as easy to me. But I like today’s results.
Next item up dealt with some pondering on whether or not I should open up comments on this here website again. I disabled them at least a year or so ago on account that there really weren’t any. Not unless you’re counting spam, of course. Perhaps it’s worth giving it another go? Of course it’s not like I’m in a position to solicit feedback from anyone regarding this decision considering comments are disabled, so, uh, yeah… Send a carrier pigeon or something.
Lastly my thoughts are turning toward a coffee table book. Over the years several people have independently encouraged me to go down this route—especially over the past 12 months. The first dozen or so times I disregarded the idea in its entirety for a host of reasons. 1) Who would want it? 2) It’s a lot of work. 3) What if it sucks? 4) Who can I find to edit and reign in my babbling? 5) Who’s going to print it? 6) Related: what does the supply chain look like? 7) Seriously, who would want this? But after two years of full stop dismissal I am beginning to think it may be worth legitimate consideration. So now I am going to start chipping away at this seven points to see if this is a project worth pursuing. I’ve got all these photographs and all these words about them maybe it’s worth brining them to people’s homes. I’d say leave a comment and let me know how you feel, but yeah…
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December 10, 2016
Blue Window to the Soul
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. . .
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December 9, 2016
Placebo
Placebo — 35mm | f/5.6 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Gazing east from Cedar Run Dock Road during last night’s sunset while simultaneously treated to a 96% waxing gibbous moonrise was exactly what the doctor ordered. To far away Tranquility Base, detached from the present day reality of this earthly world, I salute you. Prior to yesterday’s sexy sky business, landscape photography wasn’t even on my radar. Conditions were crisp and cool all day with nary a cloud in the sky. Besides that I was tasked with making some afternoon family photographs—gasp!—of my friend and her parents. (Two super cute doggies in tow.) Despite my total lack of experience the shoot went well enough—I hope. Being out there, exposed outside of my comfort zone yet surviving, had an added benefit: the development of high level cirrus clouds building toward the east. The rusted gears of my mind began to turn and clank.
Leaving the shoot and driving over the LBI causeway bridge back toward the mainland I was hemming and hawing on whether to shoot and where to go. To the west the sky was mostly clear so a traditional sunset seemed out. To the east the clouds kept calling. Further down Route 72 West the exit to Route 9 South approached—reflexively right blinker went click, click, click—I suppose Dock Road it is. Driving down the isthmus and out onto the marsh an unexpected wrinkle was thrown into the fold; a big fat mostly full moon was a few inches over the eastern horizon and the plot began to thicken. Even though prime pastel cloud color was good 20 minutes away, it was a lock that the moon would sit large and in charge amid a cotton candy sky. As an added bonus the wind had died and the water was calm and reflective. For a chilly evening in November everything came up Greg with a sugar pill dose of much needed calm and pleasure.
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November 13, 2016
Real Feel
Real Feel — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
I’m not above cliché and could easily drop the ubiquitous Winter is Coming—but I won’t. Instead, and as you might have guessed, I will talk about the cold’s arrival Sunday evening out on Cedar Run Dock Road. A sharp north wind bore down over the open marsh carrying with it a bitter message, howling of our frozen fate to come. Everything about the hour long photo session fast-forwarded the fall to winter progression in the collapsed space of a fading afternoon. From the vision enhancing crystal clear air, to the stoked northerlies painting the unmistakeable blue color that only shows when the temperatures fall. Yes, the cold is coming, but so too is the prospect of the magnificent skies only a winter can bring. Here’s to freezing our butts off in anticipation of the next great season of sunset photography. My memory card is ready, my hands are not.
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October 11, 2016
Indecision
Indecision — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Before making my way to LBIF and the soda kiln firing this past Friday I stopped off at the aptly named Harvey Cedars Sunset Park fishing for a sunset. Shocking, right? Pre-sunset conditions looked great—ample high level cirrus clouds stretched the sky and a subsequent light show seemed inevitable. Mother Nature, of course, is never completely predictable despite our best deductions. As the sun faded so too the the clouds fell away leaving a large blue palette behind the lone stretch of remnant clouds you can see above.
This all worked out for the best as I was struggling to find a composition. I spent 20 minutes hopping from one position to another. Modest leading lines and ho-hum foreground was leaving me vexed. The pressure was off as the sky was hardly popping off, but this was still a brow-furrowing endeavor as I prefer to not overthink my photo making process. More often than not I settle into a sufficient frame with little effort and even less conscious thought. I shoot by feel—this keeps photography a liberating enterprise in my life. I struggle with decision making in most other things so it’s a mental break to not go through the machinations of second guessing when I am out shooting.
Is there a lesson to be learned in all this? I don’t know, probably. I will say this, however, the final photograph—while no threat to my personal list of favorites—is not quite the throwaway I expected.
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October 9, 2016
Eye Up
Eye Up — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
I made this sunset photograph Monday, October, 3 out at my usual Cedar Run Dock Road stomping grounds. Conditions were solid and after several weeks of little to no shooting it was worthwhile just to be out there. I could nitpick the low-level clouds over the horizon that kept things from really exploding after the sun slipped below, but coming out a week of endless clouds and rain I was, and am still, in no position to complain.
Let’s get wonky
While I took time on Tuesday to run through my usual Lightroom to Photomatix and back to Lightroom workflow, I was too lazy to blog it up and fire it off for modest internet consumption. Taking a second look today, Wednesday, I started having second thoughts: I hemmed and hawed between two similar compositions with the lone difference being their perspective by way a horizon placement at the middle of the frame vs. placement of the horizon at the lower third—which is the photo shown above. It took a long hot shower and some dinner to move me to a decision.
As a general rule—and remember rules are made to be broken—I prefer a center mass horizon; this is especially true when working at wide angles. This minimizes the distortion caused by sharp angles diving toward the image’s vanishing point, which is exacerbated when you position the horizon in either the top or bottom third. In this case I deviated from standard operating procedure on account of ample cloud action to fill the upper two-thirds coupled with a less than stellar foreground of repetitive marsh grass. Were the horizon to be placed center frame the tide pool slides back to the middle ground and loses a touch of prominence. By taking a composition that favors sky real estate the tide pool is brought forward in the lower third—this has an added benefit insofar as the clouds are better reflected than its center horizon counterpart.
Did I make the right decision? Who knows? This line of thinking may be pedantic but there’s benefits in challenging your own workflows and assumptions. The right balance of purposeful critique measured against the pitfalls of perfectionism will help drive you forward in any of your life’s endeavors. Or it’ll just drive you nuts.
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October 5, 2016
Stacked
Stacked — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
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.
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September 7, 2016
Still the Sirens Call
Still the Sirens Call — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Listen with care to this, now, and a god will arm your mind. Square in your ship’s path are Seirênês, crying beauty to bewitch men coasting by; woe to the innocent who hears that sound!
Lady Kirkê, in spite of her transformative machinations that rendered men into swine, offered warning to Odysseus when discussing possible routes for a treacherous return to Ithaca. For after passing the Sirens Odysseus would have to make a choice.
It is easy to bow at the feet of the enchanted. To fall prey to the allure of false confidence when faced with sights so beautiful and sounds so serene. A transcendent manifestation of the senses that can bring even the most wary among us to feed at the palm of a menacing stranger’s hand.
As I stood along the banks of Cedar Run—that’s the creek you see before you—mind, body, and soul spirited to sanctuary where the pressing needs of the worlds demands were nary a whisper in the dark. A 360 degree Shambhala sparked to light in a ring of fire as the sky ignited around me in a chorus of pink, yellow, purple, and orange. Entranced in the wake of a sunset the likes of which I’d seldom seen a subtle symphony of sounds joined in to call me to the sea. Seduced, thoughts no more tangible than the moment of creation melded as one, fused in the blank canvas of a mind that for a brief unhurried moment knew no bounds. At complete peace, exposed to the reality around me.
As the blaze burned down to ember I stepped back from my malaise, freed from an enchantment of which I was so wholly subsumed to remember fell deeds awake. The extratropical remnants of Hermine will be impacting the immediate Mid-Atlantic coast in the coming days, and we’d do well to heed Kirkê’s warning and steer clear of the Sirens’ call. We must remain vigilant and whole for someplace far away Penelope is always waiting.
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September 3, 2016
Transition
Transition — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
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 Road marsh 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.
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September 2, 2016