Greg Molyneux Photography

Tag: power lines

  • Relic

    Relic

    14mm wide angle photo of weathered wood set upon muddy salt marsh at sunset. An out of focus telephone pole appears as a cross in the background.
    Relic — 14mm | f/2.8 | ISO 800 | EXP 1/40

    Great Bay Boulevard has sat out of the rotation for far too long. This photograph, made in late September, was my first shot made at Seven Bridges Road (GBB’s other name) since February. Great Bay Boulevard is like Cedar Run Dock Road with a multiplier. It is southern New Jersey marsh life writ large. The marsh extends for miles in all directions, at times leaving the observer with a solemn feeling of stark isolation. The road doglegs to the southwest running out the miles over several small wooden bridges. Alternating one way traffic is the order of the day in spots, minded by lonesome traffic light sentinels, adding to the area’s sense of place. It is splendid.

    Specific to the photograph above I went about my business a bit different than usual. Using my 14mm wide angle lens I executed a shallow depth of field exposure, sitting wide open at f/2.8. This is a tactic I typically reserve for my 35mm and 100mm lenses. With wide angle work I lock into hyperfocal distance to capture sharpness throughout the entire depth of the image. This is born out in the hundreds of the wide angle sunset photographs I have published.

    The remnant piece of wood, worn and eroded, marking the foreground, caught my eye. Its coloration, weathering, and grain draws the eye, and with some decent sunset light I wanted to make it the focus of the photograph. So with an open aperture I got down low, keeping the camera no higher than three inches of the ground, and worked some frames. Originally I deployed a western exposure, straight out into the sunset. Then I spied the telephone pole off to the south set over my left shoulder. I split the difference with a south-western exposure brining the pole into the frame. The shallow depth of field and off focus casting the pole in diffuse symbolism.

    Photographs capture scenes to convey narrative in a visual medium. The story can be simple and straightforward, or it can mask in layers to tell multifaceted stories. It allows the viewer to imprint their own stories shaded by beliefs and experiences to connect in a personal way. This is the beauty of photographic storytelling.

    Here the telephone pole will appear to some as a cross looking down upon a weathered wooden relic. An aged grained wood with a prominent knotted eye looking deep into the viewer under the auspices of Golgotha. There will be an obvious religious connection for many while others will absorb this motif in a different way. Both are correct and neither wrong. Here is the magic of imagery.

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  • Hit the Pavement

    Hit the Pavement

    14mm wide angle sunset photo made at street level on an asphalt road surface between double yellow lines.
    Hit the Pavement — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures

    Get low. You will come across this command often in your development as a shooter. It is especially common for us plying our trade in the landscape photography niche. Get low. Get the shot. Get the viewer in. Throwing a quick and dirty best guess out into the universe, I would ballpark I make some 75% of my landscape photos at a camera height around two feet. So yeah, I follow conventional wisdom to get low.

    Shooting on Dock Road a little over a week ago, about a minute or so after I made this shot, I decided to get low, all right. Hella low. The sunset was in max fire mode at a northwest exposure, which is in perfect perpendicular alignment with the west bound direction of the road itself. And so I used what my environment gave me—the asphalt. With careful placement of my camera on the road surface, spaced even between the yellow lines and using the road as a de facto tripod, I made seven brackets facing right into sunset supreme.

    The low as you can go orientation brings us to the literal ground floor. Terrapin turtle crossing level. This shrinks the viewer down, in turn amplifying the magnitude and prominence of the road surface. We are so close to the action in this shot, we encounter farsighted focus leaving our immediate contact with the road blurred. This allows the viewer to climb into the frame and scan down the road, ultimately finding sharp focus on what was a potent sunset burn.

    Leading lines help to further guide our vision. First and most obvious we have the center weighted double yellow lines. This sends us right down the frame. Added to that we have the converging lines of the two sides of the roads. Flanked by guardrails and power lines on the right side. This line work coupled with the smattering of houses along the horizon pulls everything to the vanishing point of the photograph. Here it all meets in the middle. Underneath the high drama of a sparkling sunset.

    Remember to get low to get down with great photography.

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  • To the Point

    To the Point

    Blue hour photo of marsh, puddles, and power lines along the roadside.
    To the Point — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures

    I’m brining it back to last Friday evening on Great Bay Boulevard. To my final set of seven brackets on what was an excellent first fall night. It was only moments earlier I scored this sunset before turning my camera vertical for blue hour. It was in this moment I thought about the past.

    Vanishing points fascinate me. First introduced to the concept back in grade school art class I’ve been keen ever since. It unlocked the secrets of depth, proportion, scale and scope. Suddenly I could make my drawings fall back into the page, perspective now conquered. To an eager grade schooler it was akin to sorcery. The shroud pulled and in a single lesson my mind expanded.

    The precepts from all those years ago are on display in this photograph. Here to the right Great Bay Boulevard itself retreats back to a single point at the center of the scene. It’s met with the parallel power lines and telephone poles falling back to said point. Everything here drives back to the same point on a line, shrinking as it goes. The marsh and puddles serve as more lines—albeit natural. Even the clouds are working it. All over lines leading the eye to the one vanishing point, the singularity of this world. And yet it’s a farce. Pursue as you may, you will never make it to the singular spot. It will keep its distance with cunning allure. It will remain as unconquerable as the rainbow and as elusive as its pot of gold. Still it is a wonder to see the world collapse down to a spot so small.

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  • The Old Wood Span

    The Old Wood Span

    Golden hour photo of a wood bridge spanning a stretch of water.
    The Old Wood Span — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/30

    To the romance of wood. The fuel of the hearth. The bones of the home. The backdrop of the written word. Nailed to the story of man wood’s place in civilization’s ascent is both secure and unsung. Its importance overshadowed by the power of stone, bronze, and iron. Perhaps there being no Wood Age—nor great monuments to its own—lends to its secondary status. Regardless, the power of the trees have freed us from the land and we should not forget.

    While it has not the historical cachet of stone, bronze, or iron, it does invoke the warm feelings of a simpler time. This is where my mind runs when I look upon old, well-fashioned wooden structures. From an early age wood crafts, buildings, bridges, and even roller coasters fired my interest. The fine tuned skill and the care left behind from the souls who put all into their work. Underneath that work is history. Who built this? Where did they master their craft?And with whom? When was it built? How long did it take? And what of the material? Is it oak? Is it ash or pine? Where was it milled? From forest to work site to finished structure is where the grand narrative sits. For while this is the story of but one bridge, it’s the story of the bulwark of our civilization writ large. For ours is a story warmed by it, built upon it, and sheltered underneath it—the shaded age of wood has never ceased to be.

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  • Drop in a Scene

    Drop in a Scene

    Golden hour landscape photo over creek and wooden bridge.
    Drop in a Scene — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/25

    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.

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  • Turn Around

    Turn Around

    Full moon photo captured rising over pastel cumulus clouds at sunset
    Turn Around — 35mm | f/5.6 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/160

    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.

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  • Puddles of Sun

    Puddles of Sun

    Sunset photo over reflective puddles and sand
    Puddles of Sun — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/80

    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.

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  • Weather or Not

    Weather or Not

    Dramatic cloud photo as snow squall storm clouds streak across the marsh.
    Weather or Not — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 400 | EXP 1/60

    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.

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  • Streetlight Delight

    Streetlight Delight

    Low key black and white photo of heavy snow lit by streetlight.
    Streetlight Delight — 35mm | f/1.4 | ISO 1600 | EXP 1/125

    A boy’s fascination runs deep. For as long as I can remember streetlight worship of steady snowfall has been a most welcomed seasonal companion. Growing up obsessed with snow I would eagerly strike days from the calendar in anticipation of winter weather. Winter was magic, and snow the tangible proof. Countless hours I’ve spent whiling away watching snowfall from any window that would have me. The daylight hours afforded easy, unobstructed viewing of my favorite weather. Come night fall, however, the snow scaled back to a more demure display. Hidden by darkness only in streetlight could I once again lay reassured eyes upon the flakes.

    And so I would watch for hours on end, eyes focused sharply between finger wide gaps in the window blinds. No curtain was safe, no window dressing untouched as I bounced from window to window, streetlight to streetlight, maintaining an ever watchful eye on the falling snow. Mixed with the sense of wonder, small fits of worry would work in as I’d fret over the snow letting up. Inevitability taught me early what is good must always end, and so I took to my post with purpose in hopes to maximize as much snowfall watching as possible. Sensible adults would often chime in with raised brows noting I’d grow out of this first love with age and responsibility. Wait until you have to drive in it, they said. Wait until you have to shovel it, they said. First came the shoveling responsibilities, and I loved it—still do. Then came the driving responsibilities, and I loved it—still do. I suppose Miss Snowfall is a keeper, fickle as she may be.

    All these memories came flooding back last night as I walked under the streetlight amidst a snow globe style snow squall. For 20 minutes my hometown was transformed into a convective array of heavy snowfall. Precipitation moved in and out just as a warm summer storm, but for a few minutes at least I was kid again standing tall at all those windowsills.

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