But such a tempting one. They stand still. You can take as long as you like to frame them up to get the shot you want. They’re generally not far from your front door, so you don’t have to travel far. They’ve got interesting and attractive shapes. And they’re so colourful. So it’s hard to overcome the drive.
It’s hard to be original with flower photography, of course. Namely because there’s such a plethora of photographers with macro lenses lining up at the nearest flower-bed. It’s all been done. Abstracts. Extreme close-ups. Shallow depth-of-field. Basically, if you’ve got the right kit and the patience, you too can take a technically excellent but artistically unremarkable flower photograph.
Forgive my little spin of sarcasm. There are some beautiful flower photos out there. Hunt around on flickr, for one, and you can find some exceptional examples. Or, of course, National Geographic. They’re just hard to find amidst all the other hack photographers (like me) happy-snapping their way around the botanical gardens.
My handful of offerings below are nothing special or unique. I’m guilty of all the above criticisms. Not an original image in the set. But, one way or another, they’re pictures of flowers I find somehow visually satisfying. Perhaps it’s the way in which early-morning contrast throws background into near-darkness, leaving the subject framed in sunlight. Maybe it’s the way repeating shapes and colours slowly fade out of sharpness with a wide aperture. It could be the delicate splash of intense colour against an otherwise plain background, or the satisfying hit of fractal biology writ large across the frame. I guess that somewhere in our make-up- whether it’s the legacy of an evolution that once saw us sharing a common ancestor with bees, or some gift of a Creator who wants us to enjoy the beauty of the universe- flowers just work for us.
Earlier in the year (yeah, it’s taken me this long to get around to posting these), A. and I went on a little trip down the Great Ocean Road. Just past Anglesea is an attractive rocky spine of a headland, at low tide surrounded by sandy flats. The rocks themselves have been weathered by salt, wind and water, and are riddled with holes and dimples, full of character.
While I was framing some beach shots, A. climbed up behind the outcrop and found herself a little window in the rock to peer down at me. The location appealed to me, so I let her pose while I fired off a bunch of frames. I was really pleased with the outcome.
There’s a number of things I really like about this shoot (aside from the fact that I happen to like photographs of my lovely wife ). First off, I find the interplay between organic and inorganic really appealing- hard, lifeless rock versus fluid, living being. And yet despite this contrast, A. fits really well into the hole, and the shape of it seems to compliment her form in it.
I was using my 16-35mm wide-angle lens, usually a no-no for portraiture, as it tends to distort features unnaturally (especially up-close, where it can make noses bloom and hairlines recede). However in this instance, I kept really close to the rock but not so close to my subject, A., who stayed in the middle distance (which for that lens is about 5-10 feet away). The effect was to keep A. fairly well proportioned, but blow the rock right out, filling the frame, stretching it and (at closest range) blurring it. Oddly, this actually gave the impression of movement through the image, and making the frozen twists and boils of the rock appear fluid, another nice contrast. With A.’s hair catching a sniff of sea breeze, it gave an overall impression of motion and dynamism to an otherwise static scene- almost like a breaking wave frozen in time.
This next shot I like for the sheer fun of it. Again the wide-angle lens has played its role here, overemphasising what’s close to the glass and throwing all else into the distance. A.’s hand and arm are large, almost claw-like as she crawls out of the rock, and she seems disproportionately large compared to the rest of the scene. At the end of the day it’s just a fun image, brought to life by the distorting effect of the wide glass.
This next one I enjoy for the way the rock hole seems to mold to A.’s shape, framing her in a sliver of burning white. The different elements- blue sky, hard rock, fierce backlight, and A. herself, all contrast and yet work together to hold the image in a way I find very satisfying. You can see some lens fall-off in the bottom left corner, further developed by the shallow depth of field, which is a bit of a shame, but doesn’t rob the overall effect in my view.
And this last one would have to be my favourite of the bunch. In part because it’s just a lovely shot of my favourite person. But I also like how natural it feels, very comfortable and unstaged. I’m also very chuffed with the lighting and how it all came together. Shooting portraits contre-jour (into the light) is usually a challenging proposition unless you’re good at using fill-flash (something I’m still learning). The camera tends to overcompensate for the light behind the subject, darkening the face/body of the person you’re shooting, often to oblivion. Because the backlight was only a small portion of the frame here (A. and the rock both served to block most of it out) there was enough light on A. to keep her well lit and visible, with only minor tweaking in post-processing. The result, she looks like she’s emerging out of the sunlight, while the way her hair blows out to white and the frame of the sky behind her has a halo-like effect [avoid angelic references here]. All up, one of my favourite photos in recent times. But then I confess the subject leaves me a little biased…
As always, thanks for swinging by, and hope you enjoyed.
Another collection of photos from a recent ballooning trip over Victoria’s gorgeous wine-growing Yarra Valley one early spring morning.
Perhaps the most gorgeous aspect of the trip was the mist at dawn, and how it interplayed with the landscape as the sun rose, transforming the landscape and changing the mood as it changed.
From the ground, the pattern of the mist is harder to discern, but from 3,000 feet, it’s beautiful to watch it steaming off waterways in the cool morning air, spreading like a threadbare cotton blanket over the ground, or catching long shadows from the sun low on the horizon.
As we first took off, we passed over a small flooded waterway. The sun was still below the horizon, and we were low enough that the mist still wrapped us. I took a first shot of the mist running off the water (below), and as we skimmed along its surface, snapped the image at the top of this post of reeds reflected in the still surface. Still low, I shot a third image of a tree at the water’s edge (beneath), again enjoying the utter stillness of the water’s surface as the balloon breezed over.
As we gained height, the waterways gleamed silver against a dark green backdrop, while mist clumped over low, damp areas.
As the sun first began to rise, it sent low shafts of light across the valley, catching treetops and lighting the topside of the mist while depressions remained in shadow. These next three images show the interplay of light and shadow, of mist, tree and water. You can see the mist boiling off the top of the rivers and ponds, much warmer than the cold air sitting atop them, like steam off a cauldron.
As the sun rose further, the mist began to burn off, swirling in those pockets of sheltered vale where the air was still and the sun’s reach weaker. The patterns left in the air look like currents in a slothfully meandering stream.
In this shot, you can see the local airfield as the mist slowly burns away.
Sometimes, as in the below image, the relationship between warm water and cool air was obvious, reminiscent of boiling lakes in Rotorua or Yellowstone, circles and puffs among the striations of ploughed fields.
Poplars slice upwards through the fug and sunlight streaks between the boughs, casting long shadows across the top of the mist.
As we come back down and the sunlight grows stronger, it seeps through to illuminate the ground, where strong colours struggle through the bleaching mist. Here, rows of vines and orchard trees greet our descending balloon, and a few minutes later we’re through the mist and back on terra firma, watching the last tendrils of fog burn off to a blue sky.
For those who don’t know what Time-Lapse photography is, time lapse involves taking repeated images over a regular time-interval, then stringing those images together to make a moving picture which runs at high speed. Pretty much anyone who’s ever watched a nature documentary will have seen time-lapse at work. Those really cool shots of sweeping landscapes with fluffy clouds building and sweeping across the horizon looking like waves on a sea-shore: That’s time-lapse.
And you can do that with your camera and some simple software, and it’s a lot of fun.
Some digital compact cameras have a time-lapse function built-in. My Canon Powershot G9, for example, does. It’s a bit restrictive, in that the camera only has two default time-settings (2-second interval and 10-second interval). And it’s on a Powershot G9. Which, while pretty decent for a compact, doesn’t produce the most high-quality images. In fact it exports at 640×480, which isn’t that exciting at all.
The real fun is in using a nifty piece of optics. Like a Canon EOS 5D and some top-range Canon glassware, so you can get some really nice images coming off the sensor. So, using a Canon TC80N3 remote control, I decided to give it a go.
There’s a few different things to think about setting up a shoot for time-lapse. The obvious one, is time. It can take a while, depending on what you want to shoot. You start by thinking about the output. If you’re wanting to create a movie, how long do you want it to be? Remember that if you’re looking at playing it back, you’re probably wanting to run it at about 20 frames per second to get a nice smooth playback. That means, for every second of playback, you’ll need at least 20 shots (more if you want to increase the fps rate). A movie less than 5 seconds long is a bit on the short side. So you’ll be needing somewhere in the vicinity of at least 100 frames, even for a little movie.
From there, and linked to that, you need to consider your interval rate. It can be whatever you want it to be, from 1 second to 23 hours, 59 minutes and 59 seconds. For this, you need to consider a) what you’re wanting to shoot, and b) practicality. For example, capturing motion on a busy street, you will probably want a fairly short interval. One or two seconds between images will let you capture lots of bustle and motion. You’re capturing objects that will move across your frame in a few seconds- probably no more than 10. So if you extend your interval rate to longer than ten seconds, the person or vehicle who appears in the first frame, will have vanished by the second. If you want to track their motion across the frame, you want a shorter interval. However if you like the idea of having people randomly pop up and disappear, you can also get some fun effects that way, though maybe a bit more chaotic.
Other objects you might want to consider a shorter interval for are things like waves, and other smaller subjects that move quickly.
By contrast, if shooting landscapes and clouds, longer intervals may work better. The incremental change in the shape of a cloud from one second to the next is fairly minimal, so if you shoot cloud formations on a one-second interval, you’ll end up with a LOT of footage to go through to see the changes happening- either needing a redundantly-high fps rate, or quite a slow, uninteresting movie. Shooting every 10 seconds, 30 seconds, or even minute (probably dependant on wind-speed or convection on the day) will capture incremental changes more clearly. Likewise, changes in light over a patch of scenery or landscape, as the clouds’ shadows move or shafts or sunlight come through, is equally dramatic and occurs on a similar timescale.
Remember that the shorter the interval, the ‘slower’ the image will appear to move on playback, while the longer the interval, the more there will appear to be a fast-forward effect going on.
And so, coming back to time, depending on what you want to shoot, how long you want your movie to be, and what interval you’re going to use, you’ll have to budget time accordingly. If you want to capture bustle on a street, five minutes’ worth of shooting at a 2-second interval will net you 150 frames, which you can play back at 20fps to give you 7 1/2 seconds of movie. Capturing clouds building over a city skyline on a sunny afternoon, you may want to use a 20-second interval, so to get the same 150 frames for a 7 1/2 second movie, you’ll need an hour and a quarter. Simple maths. But getting time-lapse is a pretty time-consuming business!
Another thing to consider is your shooting location. A couple of things to think about here. First off, and this is a challenge I’ve faced every time I’ve shot, make sure your camera and tripod (yes, you need a tripod unless you want your time-lapse to have that handycam shake) are in a sheltered location. Sheltered, primarily, from wind.
This is problematic, because time-lapse is generally (not exclusively) an outdoor process. And so is wind. But also, some of the most enjoyable time-lapse subjects include things that move, particularly, clouds. And for clouds to move, you usually need wind. So there’s often a bit of a clash of interests here. Because when wind hits your tripod and the camera shakes, so does your time-lapse video, ruining the effect. You’ll see if you look at a couple of mine.
Ways to deal with this:
a) Use a heavy tripod (if you have one)
b) Try and put yourself in a sheltered location
Neither one foolproof, so you’ll have to do the best you can, but be prepared to come back another day if the wind is stiff and your camera’s rocking around, because it’ll probably ruin your output.
Another piece to consider here is anything else that might make your camera shake over time. If you’re in a busy area, is someone likely to knock into your tripod? Can you protect it? And vibrations from passing vehicles can also be captured- particularly on bridges and overpasses- ideal shooting vantages otherwise.
Finally, when thinking about placement, think about the passage of the sun. If you’re doing a shoot that’s going to last 3 hours, how will the sun transit across the sky? What will this do to your image? Will the sun move into your lens, and do you want this? Will it create flare, and do you want this as well? How will it affect your settings, and do you want to have your camera set on an automatic exposure setting so that it adjusts to changes in light, or do you want it fixed so that as light changes, drama may increase?
Different sorts of things to think about compared to your normal run-of-the-mill photoshoot.
At any rate, I’m pretty new to the whole time-lapse thing, but I hope to put more movies up soon. These will have to do in the meantime- and you can see some of the lessons I’m learning through them. I might make some comments on some of them at some stage, from a learning perspective, and try and find more time to actually do some more shooting!
Finally, to see some of the gorgeous things that cleverer people than I have done with time-lapse photography, see these two links, one of the Southern Ocean sky at night from southern Australia, and the other of a stand of trees in Norway changing with the seasons over the course of a year.
Timelapse Movies:
1. View of Halls Gap from a nearby shoulder of the Grampians. VIC, Australia.
2. Windmills near Ararat, country VIC.
3. Bustling street in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.
4. Silverband Falls, Grampians National Park, VIC. This one is composed of long-exposure (2-second long) frames to give the water a silky appearance and blur out people, too.
5. View from our bedroom window over several hours one spring afternoon/evening. Melbourne.
A few weeks back, I spotted a railyard full of old freight trucks. They were old, many of them rusted, and looked pretty unused to me. They sat in a siding on the far side of an active rail line, dozens and dozens and dozens of them.
And the yard had clearly become a street-artists’ playground.
Pretty much every truck was covered in graffiti- everything from tags and scrawls through to some really beautiful pieces of scripting, cartoons and vibrant colours.
So I had to go and take a look.
Now, as a disclaimer, I have to say here:
a) I do not condone graffiti on objects without seeking permission
b) I do not condone trespassing, whether to paint trains or to take photographs of those said-same trains
c) I do not condone playing in railyards without permission, ESPECIALLY ones where trains are still in active service
That said, for some reason there was absolutely no fencing preventing you from crossing over to this particular railyard, and nor were there any “no trespassing” signs. So paying VERY careful attention to make sure I wasn’t about to kiss a passing diesel engine, I decided to take my lens for a little exploration.
And it was s great shoot. The light was a bit of a mixed bag. It was a sunny, blue-sky day, which meant high contrast in some directions, and heavy shadow on some of the surfaces. However the vibrant colours and the unique subject made for lots of fun angles and great visuals. I was pretty pleased with my time out there.
I do have to stress that I spent a LOT of time looking over my shoulder. When you’ve got a camera to your face, it’s easy to get lost in the framing and the lighting and the composition, and forget where you are. On an active rail-line, that’s not something you can afford to do. I’ve had similar experiences taking highway shots (an oddly popular theme on my blog, in terms of search-engine hits- one of my most viewed)- you have to be quite vigilant to make sure you don’t inadvertantly forget to step out of the way of an approaching car while kneeling for that perfect low-angle shot. So out in the railyard, I got pretty twitchy whenever a train roared past. But happily, photographer, camera and images all made a safe exit from the venue, with the photos below just a handful of the images I came away with.
Hope you enjoy something a little random.
Note: All photos available for purchase via my RedBubble site.
After an eighteen-month hiatus, I finally got back into the water in Fiji. Or not so much into it, but under it. And I got to take my camera (the Powershot G9, not, sadly, the 5D) swimming too.
The snorkelling along the beach was fantastic- probably the most beautiful beachside reef I’ve ever had the opportunity to explore (more on that presently). However I did also get the chance to do a little diving as well. A refresher dip, just so I could recall how to submerge myself without panicking/drowning/getting decompression illness. Then a shark dive (way to ease yourself back into the hobby), replete with Grey, White-Tip and Black-Tip Reefers, Grey Nurses, and a couple of pretty bulky Lemon Sharks as well. Awesome fun- but sadly, in my haste (and a tickle of nervousness as well) I accidentally left the camera on the boat.
I also did a dive with my fiancee. It was her first, an explorer dive, which she very bravely accomplished with the instructor with just 15 minutes’ worth of briefing- something I never would have done. But I managed to remember my camera this time, and took it along to document the fun, and explore the reef at the same time.
As I’ve mentioned before, anemonefish are great subjects, because unlike most fish, which scurry away the moment you home in on them like a cycloptic predator, anemonefish tend to stay put. You know where to find them (check out your nearest anemone), and not only do they not swim away, they often charge at you, all teeth and tiny bouts of indignance.
This little reel is a set of six colourful shots I managed to snatch of one pair of such little critters. The combination of bright colours, the exotic location, and the semi-translucent tentacles of the anemone itself, all make for fun viewing. I hope you enjoy.
For the record, I suspect that the little fishies showcased here are all Cinnamon or Fire Anemonefish (Amphiprion Melanopus)- a little different from the Anemone Clownfish of Nemo fame which most people are familiar with. I have no idea what the anemones are (there are at least two species shown here).
More Fiji shots- above and below water- to come.
Note: Photo at top taken snorkelling in Blue Lagoon; photos at bottom taken diving at depth ~10m on Blue Lagoon Reef.
A few months back my housemate got a kitten. He’s a ragdoll and he’s called Kirk. Some of you enjoyed the photos I posted of him back then, when he was thirteen weeks old. He’s now about seven months old, and I figured it was high time to share some more photos.
Also, some people (I’m looking at you, @ShoesfromthHood) have been gently implying they would like to see more photos of Kirk teh Kitteh. So you can consider this my contribution to the #1millionkittens campaign.
I am expecting cupcakes.
And in all seriousness, he’s such a darn cute little thing to look at that I just couldn’t resist. So I went out and had a little play with Kirk in the garden yesterday afternoon. As a ragdoll he’s supposed to be an indoor cat, but he’s okay to play in the fenced back yard (as long as he doesn’t realise he can climb the gate).
Comments on the somewhat wild nature of our back garden are not required. I like to think of it as our very own Carbon Sink.
It was a long way from the easiest shoot I’ve ever done. I used my Canon EF 85mm f/1.8, one of my favourite lenses and which I adore shooting with, as I’ve mentioned elsewhere. It rocks my world when it comes to portraiture, and that crisp, shallow depth of field and huge aperture make it a joy to shoot with.
(A reminder to the non-photo-literate readers among you, ‘depth-of-field’ relates to the amount of the image, front to back (depth) either side of the point you are actually focusing on that is in focus. Shallow depth of field means that only a small amount of the photo either side of that point of focus is sharp, which is the technique which gives those pleasing-looking portraits where the subject’s face is nicely in focus but the background is all smooth and blurry).
The downside to shooting at such a shallow depth of field is that if you get your point of focus even slightly off, the bit of your photo that you want in focus, is no longer in focus. This is a challenge even at the best of times taking portraits. When you are dealing with a seven-month-old kitten which has an attention span of a fruit-fly on speed, this is a task not entirely different from trying to hit a sheet of paper with a dart, side-on, while riding a mechanical bull.
Using a variety of tricks, cajoling, and abuse (it’s a good thing Kirk’s too young to understand cuss-words) I did manage to get his attention enough times to get a handful of shots I was pretty pleased with, and which I feel capture both his beauty (he is one gorgeous-looking cat) and his cheeky, resilient and adventurous spirit.
I’ll post the second tranche of these photos on Thursday to keep the variety up. After all, I’d hate to overwhelm you with kitten cuteness.
I went to Death Valley in 2007. I had a layover in LA on the way back from a work trip to Haiti and Central America, and decided to stretch it out. I rented a car, and I drove for 4 days solid, taking in the Mojave Desert, Death Valley, Yosemite National Park, Mono Lake and a bunch of other little detours along the way. It was fun, refreshing and an awesome photoshoot.
I came in from the south, rather than (is more common) from the east and Nevada. This took me through the sweeping southern part of the valley, with the salt-flats that mark the lowest point of the United States, and the rock formations along the eastern rim of the valley. It was late afternoon in May. The air was hot and dry. I had a plastic one-gallon jug of water in the passenger footwell, and I drove with the windows down and the air-con off, and drank the water profusely. By 7pm, when I reached Furnace Creek- one of the centres of habitation in that desolate landscape- I was overheated and dehydrated. One of the worst I’ve ever been, actually. I was quite shocked.
I hadn’t booked ahead, and the motel was full, so I checked myself into the campground down the road. I had no tent and the car was too cramped to sleep in, so, worried about snakes and scorpions, I lay myself out on a picnic bench near my allocated site and waited for my body temperature to drop.
I was hot, dry, and trembling. I had a cracking headache and felt light and dizzy. It was a ghastly feeling. I wet a sock and lay it over my forehead, periodically splashing water on myself through the night.
I woke, uncomfortable and with a headache, but feeling normal once again, some considerable time before dawn. The previous evening I had scouted further north and west, and found an overlook near the town of Stovepipe Wells which gave views of the Mesquite sand dunes. The light had been hazy and poor and I hadn’t been able to get any decent photographs. But I was awake, so I set off. It was about 4.30am.
I reached the dunes and began hiking. The sky was just growing light, so I wandered out among them until I found some vantages I was happy with. Then I waited for the inevitable dawn.
I was largely alone. A couple of miles away on a large dune I could see half a dozen people sitting doing the same as I, but they weren’t intrusive. I never saw them close up, never heard them. They didn’t get in the way of my shots.
As the sun began to come up, I was briefly disappointed. The air was hazy, not crisp as it had been in the Sahara, and this softened the light. I had been hoping to catch sharp contrast in the ripples of the dunes, in the first few minutes of the day.
But my disappointment was short-lived. When the sun came up, I got those low-angle shadows and contrasts within the folds and contours of the windforms. The cloud-streaked sky added far more interest than a blue palette would have done, contrasting nicely with the shapes in the sand and aligning themselves perfectly. And better still, the softer light cast an almost painterly mask over the landscape. All up, that morning shoot was one of my favourite and most productive sessions, and I got more than a dozen photos I was really proud of.
Not that I can really take the blame. I wasn’t the one that created that landscape. Just borrowed a bit of light from it.
All up, Death Valley was a spectacular locale. What it lacks in grandeur (compared to, say, Yosemite) it makes up for in harshness, wilderness, and sheer otherworldlyness. The diverse, rugged landscape is photogenic, exciting and hostile, and I’d love to go back and spend a week exploring its nooks and crannies. It remains a highlight of my trip and is high on my go-back-to list (together with Yosemite, the Annapurnas, Canada… it’s a list surpassed only by my ‘need-to-go-to-next’ list).
Ah… colour… that’s a nice change from all that black-and-white text!
The sleepy port town of St. Helens was our jumping-off point to explore the highly-regarded but relatively-little-known (until recently) Bay of Fires. St. Helens itself is a sweet, inoffensive little place, with a a few nice cafes along the main strip selling local produce (mmm… local produce…) but not much to hold your attention for more than an hour or two. The waterfront is a little plain, and to hit the good stuff, you branch north along the coast, towards Birralong Bay.
Birralong Bay is the southernmost point of the stretch of coastline known as the Bay of Fires. A series of headlands of harder rock seperated by wide sandy beaches, the coastline was named by early explorers who saw smoke rising from the many campfires of the Aboriginal inhabitants- an indicator of how densely populated the island once was. Perhaps the darkest tranche of Tasmania’s history is the effective annihilation of its Aboriginal population in the early years of its settlement- a source of deep shame for Australia’s past, and one that gets little talked about. It has left a scar on the collective memory of the people and, dare I say it, the island itself.
The landscape, however, gives away little of this sadness. Birralong Bay is a delightful cove of crystal-clear seawater and gentle waves lapping onto a sandy beach perfect for a swim and a play. Accomodation options in the little village are limited, but would be my first choice for any future visits. It’s a delightful location.
From there the simple road follows the coastline north, with the beaches off to the right (and periodically out of sight), skirting saline lagoons set back from the waterfront. There are multiple access tracks down to the beaches themselves, and many locations for camping as well- another awesome accomodation option.
The bays are simply wonderful. Sandy, pristine, and largely devoid of people, they are a beach-lovers dream. The water is cold and the only drawback is that many of the bays have rip-tides that inhibit swimming. None the less, for gorgeous seaside views and a quiet time on the coastline, you’d be hard pressed to beat the Bay of Fires. The aqua colour of the water there simply has to be seen to be believed- it is eye-popping.
The access road peters out at the sweet little hamlet of The Gardens. From there, it’s possible to scramble among the rocks and even explore further north on foot. The rocks, as in many parts of coastal Tasmania, are scored with a red algae that contrasts beautifully with the blue sky under a polarized lens, and could well be another source for the Bay’s name. This next photo is one of my all-time favourites from this trip.
It’s worth noting that the Lonely Planet mentions the Bay of Fires at the top of its list of top 10 travel destinations for 2009. While I’d hesitate to put it at the very top of my personal list of have-seens (and want-to-sees), it certainly ranks up there in the memories as a beautiful spot. It has clear water, clean unspoilt beaches, is easy and cheap to access, and is not overrun by visitors. Bay of Fires comes highly recommended from Yours Truly, and if you’re visiting Tasmania, do put it on your itinerary. As elsewhere in Tasmania, it’s natural beauty at its best.
). First off, I find the interplay between organic and inorganic really appealing- hard, lifeless rock versus fluid, living being. And yet despite this contrast, A. fits really well into the hole, and the shape of it seems to compliment her form in it.
