Greg Molyneux Photography

Tag: lyrically inspired

  • I’ve Been Searching for a Marsh of Gold

    I’ve Been Searching for a Marsh of Gold

    Golden hour photo from LBIF marsh featuring crepuscular rays.
    I’ve Been Searching for a Marsh of Gold — 35mm | f/5.6 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/800

    Vantage points matter. Not just in photography but in life as well. If we keep looking out at the Candy Land game board of human existence from the same height, the same level, we’re bound to miss out on new perspective and ostensibly new ideas. Our dice roles repeatedly coming up snake eyes and into the Molasses Swamp we sink. Ofttimes the same old thing may may breed new life when seen from a different visual plane. So get out there—look up, look down, get on your hands and knees and climb high to peer out over a sugar-fused world.

    Of course being a south Jersey flatlander the climb high bit is at times wee problematic. Especially if you’re not toting a 30 foot ladder in your back pocket. Enter Long Beach Island and its litany of rooftop decks. But please, no trespassing. More specific to this example is the top deck at the Long Beach Island Foundation of the Arts and Sciences. Flanking the main building to the north is a wing of classrooms, and above said classrooms sits one of many rooftop deck devices. Here one is afforded a primetime view out over the bayside marsh to the west. Romance optional. From this vantage point viewers are treated to an unimpeded view of about 300 yards of pristine salt marsh. From there the marsh bleeds out to the bay—deep breath… ah! Better still is the view off to the distance of both an osprey platform and its subsequent osprey blind—perfect for up close and personal bird watching. (Alas they’re quite small in this photograph, but if you squint hard enough and tap your toes three times you’ll see them. Or you could just click the last two links to see the YouTube videos.)

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  • Parklife

    Parklife

    Wide angle photograph amid the bushes, plants, and shrubs of Ship Bottom Sunset Point.
    Parklife — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures

    Monday night after doing the 9–5 thing I made my way to Ship Bottom Sunset Point. It had been a while since I did some photo things from this Long Beach Island location. It’s a cool little spot nestled bayside, and it holds a tender place in the Greg Molyneux memory bank. For three seasons (2003-2005) I spent my summer days working for Ship Bottom Public Works. Great times with great friends, and a cool full time staff of dudes to boot. I learned a lot those three summers, and I miss it from time-to-time.

    Walking through the park my mind was oscillating back and forth between the then and now; first considering how well manicured and pruned up the park is, then panning to past memories and an unavoidable lament of where the hell the time has gone? Life is full of these moments I suppose. Past. Present. Future. Events and people long gone. This wasn’t a sad experience, however. Instead there was an upwelling, an appreciation for the opportunity and for the good times had by all. May the joys of youth forever shine.

    This lyrically inspired song title comes from Blur’s “Parklife.” Excellent tunage.

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  • Say Goodbye Don’t Follow

    Say Goodbye Don’t Follow

    Sunset photo of layered pastel clouds, wood pilings, and a smooth water reflection
    Say Goodbye Don’t Follow — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures

    Easily the best scene/lighting/sunset/awesomesauce combo since this and this happened back in early December 2015. Six months, folks. The good stuff doesn’t come around all too often; and that is precisely what makes this hobby worthwhile. The hunt. The chase. The busted failures en route to most welcomed and ofttimes unexpected successes. Landscape photography is a great, albeit fickle beast, you guys.

    Ocean County, New Jersey was socked in rain for most of the day on Friday, but Mr. Weather NJ was on top of things. A look at the frontal passage on the water vapor loop let him know the break in the weather would more than likely time up well with sunset. Little did we know it’d be perfect. Serendipity, folks, it’s necessary when you’re photographing nature. We’ve gotta be there, sure; Mother Nature, however, has to bring the goods. That’s how it played out last night amidst the dank air of Cedar Run Dock Road. A multilayered cloud deck began to pull apart, and light poured through as we watched said clouds ignite into an array of pastel beauty. Combine that with the dying wind that brought a glass sheen to the surface of the waterway and you’re cooking with all the right ingredients for a real deal fist-pumper.

    Chilling on scene with Jeff and Jon we spent a good 45 minutes in relative silence and maximum awe. The only thing that cut through the silence was a loan boater that came creeping through—no wake zones are important, thanks for going slow—leaving perfect wrinkles upon what was moments before pristinely flat water. The look of the subtle waves left in his wake was mesmerizing. Pink and purple prisms moving eastward as though a table cloth was most gently removed from a grand table with the steady hand of years of precision. Better yet was the jam the young dude on the center console had blasting over the marsh. Whatever that slow jam was, I dig it. In fact, we spent the better part of the night fireside at Ben’s trying to puzzle out the tune. Alas.

    Within the quieted moments of sunset fulfillment I’m want to reflect on the ephemeral nature and never ending quest for the perfect sky. These moments come and go. Hold onto them as they arise, drop them as the leave. From there, with a smile on your face move on and work toward the next great moment. There’s a zen in all this infinitely worth seeking even when you’re kicking yourself during the next 10 busts.

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  • With Tumbled Locks and Broken Codes

    With Tumbled Locks and Broken Codes

    Photograph of broken seashells on a pier at the Crab Island Fish Factory
    With Tumbled Locks and Broken Codes — 40mm | f/5.6 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/250

    Let’s shimmy back to summertime, shall we? It’s late December here in the mid-Atlantic and we’re staring a week’s worth of temps in the 60s and 70s. Exactly how Bing Crosby drew it up. With this kind of unseasonable warmth funneling through the region it’s hard not to think back to warmer climes. Of course this is a convenient excuse to post a photograph I’ve been sitting on since the 9th of August. Cripes. Not wanting to carry over any lingering photographs into 2016 you’re getting it now.

    Hopping back to August I remember this day well enough. It started out early—pre-dawn in fact—as Ben Wurst and I made way in the infamous “Otter Boat.” Complete with gunnels so low a two inch rogue wave could sink this ship. Sure I’m exaggerating but it’s a pretty small vessel. Perfect for quick hit exploration of our intracoastal salt marsh. Our original intent, other than infringing on my innate desire to sleep forever, was one of sunrise. The plan was to make for a bit of sandbar in the middle of Great Bay. A place only exposed during periods of low tide. While tides were good, the clouds were not. It was such a serene morning it was hard to think of our efforts as a bust in spite of the cloudless sky. Here we were two dudes cruising around a glassy Great Bay in a low rider. Not too shabby.

    Before heading in we made for the great ruin of our area—the Crab Island Fish Factory. For decades this once profitable fish processing plant has remained a derelict. Nevertheless dominating the Great Bay Boulevard skyline (such as it is). It’s dereliction accelerated during the post-Sandy years, but it does have a pretty neat Ebbets Field connection. I’ve wanted to get out there to explore long before my photographer days, but I never had the means. Of course flip-flops aren’t exactly recommended footwear for exploration of an abandoned island. Particularly one covered in poisonous plants and littered in glass, rusted metal, unknown wildlife, and who else knows what. We did not explore far, but I did manage to make this photograph of what must have been thousands of broken seashells strewn about an asphalt pier. Most likely the result of sea birds dropping clamshells to expose their fleshy, protein rich prey.

    I definitely hope to exploit more photo opportunities at the fish factory in the future. For now you can take a pretty sweet arial tour thanks to some drone footage made a few short weeks after our impromptu visit. The title is a lyrical inspired shout-out to Lera Lynn’s most excellent song, “The Only Thing Worth Fighting For.” At the time of this photograph I was knee deep in True Detective season 2, so that’s the connection.

  • We Face the Path of Time

    We Face the Path of Time

    HDR photograph of an abandoned dock set afire by intense sunset color
    We Face the Path of Time — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures

    I’m still basking in the glow of last night’s awesomesauce. And as much as I like the photograph posted last night, this one beats it out ever so slightly as far as I’m concerned. I realize we’re splitting hairs here and traipsing into the realm of subjectivity. But that’s all part of the fun—it doesn’t matter what I like, all that matters is what you like. While we’re all in this together we get to bring our own experience and thought into each and every photograph. And that’s p kool as far as I’m concerned.

    In my previous post I talked about how I was all over the place trying to lockdown an ideal composition worthy of a killer sunset. The spot above is where the lion share of hemming and hawing went down. I just couldn’t get locked in. Do I get low? Do I go high? How many poles should I incorporate from the dock in my foreground? How much marsh should I capture along the right side of the frame? Is it balanced with the water to the left? On it went. Ultimately I settled in at a spot straddling a missing piece of board along the gangway. It wasn’t quite as precarious as it sounds, but when you’ve got camera equipment you care about riding the edge of no tomorrow there’s always pause for concern. But remember the mantra: you do what it takes to make the shot. That’s especially true when you’ve got light on a level that only happens a handful of times a year. Of course the fact that I bailed on this position to make last night’s shot, which at the moment I thought of as a last ditch effort to make a better image, speaks to trusting your instincts. The upshot to this indecision? I’ve got two damn fine photographs to add to my stockpile.

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  • Yum Yum Bumblebee

    Macro photograph of a bumblebee collecting pollen atop a purple coneflower
    Yum Yum Bumblebee — 100mm | f/3.5 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/320

    Slacker Greg is is running a bit of a backlog so I beggin’ your pardon if my words are short—though let’s face it you’re here for the photos and not these silly word things, right? Right!?

    Bloggers . . .

    Anyways, this photo dates back to 25th July, and you’ll see something of a theme in the next few posts—flower and insect macro hybrids. My run of buggy good luck began last Sunday, and over the course of the week netted me bumblebees, a skipper butterfly, and some kind of cool ass fly. In each instance our bug friends were using purple coneflowers or black-eyed susans as their stage. It’s a p kool feeling when your able look down the barrel of your macro lens to dial in an insect with tack sharp focus. It’s a whole new world down there. From there it really makes you wonder what things look life down in the world of the planck length.

    As for the title? This comes from a song I’ve only recently been exposed to, though I’ve been told it represents an anthem of sorts from my friends’ hooligan heyday.

    Teenagers . . .

  • Live alone in a paradise

    Vertical orientated shallow depth of field purple coneflower macro
    Live alone in a paradise — 100mm | f/3.5 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/1600

    . . . that makes me think of two.

    Here’s a flower for your Friday. I hope you enjoy it.

    This is one of my purple coneflowers that I have potted (sloppily) in my backyard. With strong light overhead, a little to my back, I fixed bayonets macro lens and popped off a few shutters. It was five minutes of awesomesauce. You should have been there. OK. Maybe not.

    Regardless, and I’ve said it before, purple coneflower are some of the best floral muses out there. A real go-to for this guy.

    Have a great weekend, everyone. Happy shutters.

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  • See to the real you

    High key black and white macro photograph of a clematis flower
    See to the real you — 100mm | f/2.8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/250

    It wasn’t until showering this morning—OK. OK. This afternoon. So what if I like to sleep a little late?—that I realized I totally forgot about this photo. Taken in my backyard all the way back on May 24th I processed this baby up and apparently moved on to other things. Cripes. Memorial Day parties to host, work to pay the bills and exercise the mind, and naps. But mostly naps.

    So here it is, mid-June and my clematis is finally getting its due. It’s certainly not my typical macro, but every now and then a high key black and white treatment on a flower photograph is just what the doctor ordered. And while this exposure doesn’t reach the heights of I’d love to see you in that dress, it does slot in nicely among my past work.

  • The Great Gig in the Sky

    The Great Gig in the Sky

    World class sunset over the sandy beaches and jetty rock of Long Beach Island
    The Great Gig in the Sky — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/5

    One minute your sitting in the back of a four-door Jeep groovin’ on some tunes en route to the Chicken of the Egg to chow down on some wings, and the next minute your banging an emergency left somewhere in Spray Beach to make a mad dash to the beach for world class cloud ignition happening directly overhead. We had but minutes.

    I started by haphazardly kicking my flip-flops mid-sprint in the general direction of where street meets beach; camera in right hand, tripod in left. Awestruck and drunk on light, I reflexively and moronically tossed my tripod aside right into the sand and began checking camera settings. Heart thumping, adrenal glands were quick to inform me this color—quite possibly the best I’ve ever seen—wasn’t long for this world. After a few deep breaths and focus regained, I collected myself and my tripod and dusted out the sand as best I could understanding I was effectively out of time.

    Once the tripod joints where workable I made a few pretty great shots from my first spot—right along the berm where dune fence marks the walkway. You can see an Instagram of that here. After about 5 minutes making shots I made for the beach itself. Jon Carr was already down there, busy making his own shots with his lovely wife taking in the wonder and the hijinks. By this point the ocean was reflecting the most potent yellow-orange light I’ve been fortunate enough to see. It was in a word otherwordly.

    After scurrying down to join them, and as I was catching my breath, a quick glance northward along the beach revealed the secret; exposed jetty rock, perfectly arranged just waiting to be photographed. Unable to leave my muse in wait, I was off on a 300 yard sprint up the beach with Jon yelling encouragingly in the backround, “you can make it!” Here’s where the problems could have undermined it all: first a happy couple were appropriately noting the humor in a guy sprinting up the beach with a camera mounted tripod being wielded more like Gandalf’s staff in battle. The first dozen or so yards were great until my calf muscle strain decided to rear its ugly head; knotted up I bit the pain and kept jogging to these jetty rock. Throwing caution and my camera’s welfare to the wind, there was no way I was missing this chance.

    My excitement subsumed the pain, and with a few more deep hand stabilizing breaths, I dug my heels and the tripod in the wet sand, composed my frame, and made what is now my favorite landscape photograph to date. And where I almost always post bracketed photographs for my landscapes—consisting of usually 7 exposures—I only needed one here. The light was so beautifully balanced there was no need to go further and merge it with the six other photographs, each exposed one stop apart from the other.

    What an amazing 15 minutes.

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