Vacation Photos from Seattle: Variations on a Theme

I recently returned home from a trip to Seattle. This was my first trip to the Emerald City, a place I’ve been wanting to visit for a really long time.

So, in grand tradition, I’m going to show you pictures from my vacation.

Now some of you may run for the home button on your browser. You’re probably the same ones that had to suffer through hours of your dad’s slideshow from the family trip to Lake Wobegon. The first three hours of episode one of the saga show him packing the family station wagon for the day-long tortuous affair of riding in a stuffy car with your annoying family, wishing you were in Myrtle Beach with your friends instead.

But I’m going to only show one thing from Seattle. It’s probably the city’s most recognizable landmark. It’s the Space Needle.

The Needle was built for the 1962 World’s Fair and reaches a height of 605 feet. At the time it was built, it garnered attention as the tallest structure west of the Mississippi. It’s height helps when you’re intentionally trying to find interesting objects to frame with it.

What follows is a collection of photos revolving around the Space Needle. The tower is either the focus of the photo or an element in the background.

You can tell when your mom truly loves you. She stands next to you, in the middle of the street, in the pouring rain, snapping pictures just like you. That's love. Or, perhaps she's just as odd as you. Maybe that's where you get those peculiar habits of standing in the rain, in the middle of the night, taking pictures.

But for me, I prefer to think it's love.

Now, on with the show.

If you’ve made it this far, then you’ve survived the first installment of my vacation photos from Seattle. Episode two will follow in a few days and be presented in Technicolor.

Paint Me A Picture

I don’t know why, but lately I’ve been on a light painting kick.

It started about a month ago with the aqueduct in Roanoke Rapids and now it’s moved on to the Pisgah Covered Bridge outside of Asheboro, NC.

The bridge was built in 1911 over the west fork of the Little River. In 2003, the bridge was washed away by a flood. It was rebuilt a year later using a majority of the original materials.

Traffic no longer crosses the bridge. A new two-lane bridge was built in the 1950’s and the Pisgah Covered Bridge soon became a tourist attraction. It joined other landmarks when it was added the National Register of Historic Places in 1972.

I got to the bridge a little before sunset. Another photographer showed up while I was getting ready. She was doing High Dynamic Range photos of the bridge and soon went on her way before the sun started to go down.

Meanwhile, I was setting up and getting all my gear in order.

I placed a couple of strobes with double CTO gels on them in the center of the bridge and used a snooted strobe and a spotlight to illuminate the outside.

I did an exposure test with just the strobes firing to get a ballpark idea of my f-stop. It ended up at 5.6 at ISO 200.

The exposure for the final picture I took that night was 424 seconds at 5.6 at ISO 100. That’s four seconds over seven minutes. Just enough time to run around blasting light and listening for traffic.

Each time a car would pass, I had to cover the lens with my hand or I’d have a light streak running through the frame. Sometimes I was 10 feet from the camera and heard the cars coming. And sometimes I was on the other side of the bridge and had to make a mad dash in the dark to get to the camera.

Sometimes I made it. And sometimes I didn’t. But nearly every time, I almost killed myself trying to make it to the camera in the dark.

Luckily, I was in the middle of nowhere and could hear a car coming from about half a mile away. I swear, by the end of the night, I could tell the difference between a Ford and Chevy.

The best part (or worst part, depending on how you see it) about light painting is that each picture you create with light painting is unique. There are never two pictures exactly the same.

The Parkway Blues

Fall is the time of the year when the days get shorter, colder and you long for the warm confines of your home instead of venturing outside.

It’s also that time of year when the leaves on the trees turn a robust color and really show off their true beauty before falling to the ground.

In North Carolina there is no better place to witness this transformation than the Blue Ridge Parkway.

The Parkway spans 469 miles from the Southwestern part of North Carolina, near Cherokee, into Virginia, where it becomes Skyline Drive.

Construction on the Parkway started in 1935 during Franklin D. Roosevelt’s presidency, receiving support from some of the New Deal agencies. It took fifty two years to complete, criss-crossing the Blue Ridge Mountains over 168 bridges and six viaducts and diving through the mountains by way of 26 tunnels.

All in all, it’s a beautiful drive that can be enjoyed just about any time of the year: fall - when the leaves are at their peak, spring - when the wildflowers begin to bloom after winter hibernation or summer - when other flowers like daisies and aster show their colors.

Aqueduct, Aqueduct, Goose

Ever since I visited Roanoke Rapids, NC, last year, I’ve wanted to make a picture of the old aqueduct used during the heyday of the canal that ran parallel to the Roanoke River.

The section of the Roanoke River at Roanoke Rapids was known as Moratuc or “river of death” to the Native Americans living in the area. The canal was constructed in 1823 as a way to bypass the treacherous rapids, including construction of a stone aqueduct over Chockoyotte Creek.

The canal was later sold and renovated for hydro-electric power, adding an additional four feet in depth.

I was really interested in using light-painting to photograph the aqueduct. So on one of my first days in Roanoke Rapids I scouted the location to see if I could actually pull it off.

(The aqueduct during the day)

To get to what I thought would be the best place to set up my camera and tripod involved navigating my way down a steep bank of what appeared to be leftover rocks used to build the aqueduct.

(No big deal I thought, except when it came time to climb back up in the dark.)

One of the coolest apps I have on my iPhone is a program called PhotoCalc. It gives a wealth of information about exposures, depth of field and even guide numbers for your flash. One of the features that I find handy is the Solar Calculator. This feature gives you times for sunrise and sunset, along with telling you when twilight begins and ends, all customized to your exact location.

With this info I was able to plan my shot.

I got to the aqueduct about an hour before sunset and climbed down to the creek below, getting ready for nightfall.

To light-paint the aqueduct, I had planned to use a mixture of flashes and a spot light I had bought at Walmart.

Rule number one for planning a shoot with a rechargeable spot light: make sure it is fully charged. Rule number two: bring a backup.

Not long into my light-painting, the battery died and I didn’t have a backup.

I was now stuck at the bottom of the aqueduct in the dark and quickly trying to come up with a Plan B.

My plans were rapidly falling apart.

The spot light had died and the flashes I had distributed around the aqueduct to give me accent lights were creating more problems than solutions.

I really didn’t want to call it a night though.

My really only other option was to do the light-painting with one of my flashes.

By now the sun had set and twilight was long since over. If I didn’t start making pictures soon, I was going to be out of luck.

To cheat a little bit, I set my camera to balance for tungsten light, put a double CTO gel on flash and went to work. This gave me a blue cast to the sky but pretty much negated the warming effects of the gel.

(The aqueduct light-painted with a flash and the camera balanced for tungsten)

At this point I wasn’t picky.

My results were decent but could be better.

After leaving the aqueduct, I drove straight to Walmart and bought another spot light. As soon as I got back to my bed and breakfast, I put both of them on a charger.

Not one to give up, or perhaps because I’m a glutton for punishment, the next night I made another trip to the aqueduct; this time with two spot lights and a clearer idea of how I was going to do this.

What a way to spend the night.

(The aqueduct light-painted with the spot light and the camera balanced for daylight)

(The aqueduct light-painted with the spot light and the camera balanced for tungsten)

Mother Hubbard, Your Cupboard is Bare!

There’s nothing more welcoming than coming home from a trip and sleeping in your own bed.

For the first time in a week, you finally get a decent night’s sleep. There’s nothing like sleeping nine or ten hours without being roused by a knock at the door, “Housekeeping.” You wake at your own leisure and slowly make your way to the refrigerator to start the most important meal of the day. And then it dongs on you. Mother Hubbard, your cupboard is bare!

Luckily, I had a product shoot from a recent trip that I needed to do.

Malt O Meal just opened a facility in Asheboro, NC. They make a plethora of hot and cold cereals and my task was to shoot a product shot of one of them. My choice.

I opted for the Honey Buzzers. They’re just like Honey Combs but come in this ginormous two pound bag that could feed an army. Or one hungry photographer.

Most of our product shots are just that; simple product shots on a white background in all its packaging glory.

Of course with food, we have to do a little more work.

I made a quick run to the store for a few props: OJ and some milk.

So I got the two pound bag and shot it.

Then, I poured some Honey Buzzers in a bowl with a spoon and set glasses of milk and orange juice behind. (Hey, it’s part of a complete breakfast.) All the while I’m munching on handfuls of cereal. Shot that from a few different angles. (Designers have to have choices you know. Of course they always choose the wrong one, but that’s a different story.)

I finished those off and now it’s time to eat.

Got down to the bottom of the bowl with just a little milk left. Instead of going for another bowl, just dropped a fresh buzzer in the bottom and shot an almost finished bowl of cereal. (Great for stock.)

Then I helped myself to another bowl.

Let the Spinning Wheel Spin

Just got home from a week in Asheboro, NC, shooting for the 2010 Images of Asheboro/Randolph County, North Carolina magazine.

After managing to criss-cross the county numerous times, I racked up over 700 miles on my Honda Element and shot over 1200 pictures. Which I now have to caption and ship before I leave for my next trip on Tuesday.

Randolph County is known for a lot of things: It is home to NASCAR Legend Richard Petty and the North Carolina Zoo. But probably is best know for its pottery.

The little town of Seagrove, about 15 minutes south of Asheboro, is the self-proclaimed “Pottery Capital of the World.” It has a history rich in pottery dating back over 200 years and about 100 potters now call Seagrove home.

One of those potters is Daniel Johnston.

Daniel works just outside of the Seagrove city limits, in a small log cabin that’s taken him about six years to build. He turns his large jugs on the dirt floor and moves them to his two kilns just outside. The larger kiln measures about 35 feet and can reach temperatures over 2000 degrees Fahrenheit, with firings lasting about four days.

My first shot was the cabin. I wasn’t sure if it was going to look best at sunrise or sunset. Since I am definitely not a morning person, I headed out to Daniel’s about 6pm to try a sunset shot. The cabin is loaded with light. But just as a precaution, I busted out four Canon 580’s with Pocket Wizard Flex’s and placed them throughout the cabin. I split the four lights between the two floors of the cabin: two upstairs and two downstairs, with one of the downstair lights pointing straight out the door.

I waited patiently as the sun slowly set and shot a few test frames just to make sure the remote lights were firing.

One thing I started to notice was the outside of the cabin just appeared flat. And as the sun set further, the outside of the cabin fell deeper and deeper into the darkness.

As twilight approached, my exposures were getting longer and longer. I ended up shooting a 30 second exposure for the picture.

You can do a lot in 30 seconds.

In the back of my car, I happened to have a spotlight. I pulled it out and decided to give light painting a try. As I tripped the camera, the flashes fired and I went to work on the outside of the cabin for 30 seconds.

In the end, the pictures I light painted turned out to be the best. The cabin just popped with the twilight sky.

One picture down and now I didn’t have to get up in the wee hours of the morning to shoot the sunrise.

My next picture was a portrait of Daniel, but that was going to have to wait until morning. Maybe mid-morning after some caffeine.

I knew right away where I wanted to shoot Daniel. It had to be in front of the mammoth kiln that he uses to fire his large jugs.

In my mind, I went through the lighting scheme for the portrait. I’d put one light in the kiln with a full CTO gel, two lights positioned opposite each other on the sides of the kiln and illuminating the tin roof and one snooted light hitting Daniel. All of the lights would be on Pocket Wizard Flex’s.

In a perfect world, all would go right.

Unfortunately, it isn’t a perfect world. Lucky for me Daniel was very patient.

Before shooting, I noticed I needed more light in the kiln, so I placed the light I had earmarked for Daniel into the kiln, shooting back toward me and rim lighting the doorway.

Luckily I had my Dyna-Lite Uni 400’s in the car. I pulled one out, along with a grid spot, and aimed it toward Daniel.

Now, we’re cooking with gas!

Not quite. And this is where patience comes into play.

Of the 44 pictures I took of Daniel, I only managed to get six frames where all five lights fired. Most of the time it was four, sometimes just three, all the way down to one. The Dyna-Lite fired every time. Of course it was about five feet from me. The rest were 10-15 feet away.

It was a frustrating week for me and my Pocket Wizards. Sometimes they all worked. But most of the time they were just sporadic. There was no rhyme or reason. If the wind changed, it seemed like it affected whether or not they would work. After one frustrating shoot this week, I drove straight to my hotel room, got on my computer and ordered a set of Radio Poppers. Even had them shipped overnight I was that desperate.

They get here Monday, just in time for my next trip.

If At First You Don’t Succeed, Try, Try Again

This month’s worth of posts are dedicated to my buddy Ian. He’s been nagging me, trying to get me to post more frequently. So for the entire month of October, I’m going to try and post as many times as I can. So here goes....

One thing I do when I’m in a city is try and find as much local art as I can and photograph it. Most of the time it makes an ok picture, nothing really to write home about.

When I came across this piece in Asheboro, NC, I was able to make a decent frame, using a low angle, looking up into a blue sky and cleaning up the background. Not bad, but it could be better.

I decided to make another attempt and stop back when the sun was behind the sculpture and try and work it into the picture.

Again I tried for a low angle, trying to get a clean background and work the sun into the picture. I wanted it just at the tip of the finger.

No dice.

The sun was too low in the sky and, when I tried to position it at the fingertip, I started to get trees and buildings in the background.

I decided to give it one more try.

I shot a little bit earlier than my previous attempt and, bingo, I was able to get the sun positioned just at the fingertip and not have a cluttered and distracting background.

Here’s a rundown of my shots:

For my first attempt, I shot the picture with the blue sky at 8:50am. The sun was over my left shoulder.

For my second attempt, I shot the picture with sun behind the sculpture at 5:40pm. The sun was already too low in the sky to give me the angle I wanted.

For my last attempt, I shot the picture earlier in the day than the previous photo, about 4:25pm. This time everything lined up perfectly and I was able to get that little starburst at the end of the fingertip. To give me a little more definitive starburst, I closed down my aperture to f11.

You can use a special filter to give your light sources that starburst effect or you can stop down your lens to about f11-f22. The number of points in the starburst will depend on the number of blades in your lens.

Totally Hands On

When I stepped through the door at the Bluebird Candy Company in Logan, UT, I thought I knew what I was getting myself into.

I was totally wrong.

I’ve photographed many candy companies that make their own chocolate candies. For most, it’s like an assembly line. First you melt, or temper, the chocolate, you pour it into molds and then you let it cool and harden. The artisan chocolate makers add a little flair but it’s almost the same process.

At the Bluebird Candy Company, I was not prepared for what I found.

As I walked into a back room, or the production area, there sat two women at a marble-topped table, with a trough of chocolate in front of each, a tray of centers to their left, a tray of dipped chocolates to their right and a paint scraper nearby.

What followed was definitely an art.

The Bluebird Candy Company makes hand-dipped chocolates, which they’ve been doing for over a hundred years. The company ships worldwide, usually to people who moved away from Logan and are looking for a piece of home or to those that have gotten their chocolates as gift from somebody living in Logan and are hooked.

For a company with worldwide demand, you’d expect them to be embracing technology and the digital age. Not quite.

A visit to their web site finds a page that looks and feels like one from the beginning of the internet. All in all, it tells you to call the store for a list of chocolates and to place an order.

As the women agree to let me take their pictures, they prefer that I shoot only their hands. They jokingly say taking their picture steals their soul. I manage to get a couple of frames of the two of them at the table but focus mainly on their hands.

As the sounds of country music flow from a 1980’s era boom box, they grab a center (today their making caramel creme), dip it into the chocolate, swirl it around, plop it down on a tray and delicately finish it off with a figure-8 or the “signature” for the caramel creme.

Each candy has it’s own signature. There are roughly 16 candies, each made in both milk and dark chocolate. A hand-printed sign on the wall shows all the signatures in case one of them has a momentary memory lapse.

Every so often they scoop out some more chocolate from the trough, swirl it around to let it cool and thicken, sometimes adding water if needed, and scraping to keep their pile of chocolate goodness in a neat little pile. Then they'd dip another chocolate.

They could easily modernize the process: bring in their chocolate on 18-wheeler tanker trucks, put in huge machines with mile long conveyor belts that churn out chocolate candies like a Henry Ford production line and maybe even open an amusement park. At that point, you would call them Hershey.

But hand-dipping makes Bluebird unique. And if you’ve been doing something right for over a hundred years, why change?

(New) Berning Down the House

I’ve lived in North Carolina over half my life. There are a lot of places that I’ve had the opportunity to visit in this wonderful state. But there is so much that I have yet to see.

New Bern is one of the places I’d never been to. Until now.

New Bern was first settled in 1710 by Swiss and German immigrants under the leadership of Baron Christopher De Graffenried. The city is named after the capital of Switzerland, Bern, and shares its flag, as well as its mascot; the bear.

But don’t call Bern, Switzerland, the Old Bern. They are Bern. Period.

The little town, where the Neuse and Trent Rivers meet, is the second oldest in North Carolina. It served as the capital of the North Carolina colonial government until the end of the Revolutionary War and then briefly as the state capital. In 2010, the town will celebrate is 300th anniversary.

New Bern is home to Tryon Palace. Built in 1770, it served as the home to British Governor William Tryon and remained the capital building until 1794, when Raleigh became the state capital. The palace was destroyed by fire in 1798.

In the 1930’s, a push was made to restore the old state capital, led by Mrs. James Edwin Latham. She died before construction began and her daughter, Mrs. Mae Gordon Kellenberger, took over the project.

In April 1959, Tryon Palace opened its gates and gardens to the public.

But Tryon Palace is not New Bern’s only claim to fame. It’s also the birthplace of Pepsi Cola.

In 1898 Calem Bradham, a pharmacist in New Bern, introduced the world to his new elixir. It became an instant hit.

On the 100th anniversary of Pepsi-Cola, Pepsi-Cola Bottling Company of New Bern, Inc., opened the doors to the Birthplace of Pepsi, located in the same location as Bradham’s pharmacy. The shop offers Pepsi products on tap and memorabilia for the Pepsi fanatic.

Last, but not least, if you happen to make the trek to New Bern, be sure and stop in Mitchell’s Hardware.

Mitchell’s Hardware is a “turn-of-the-century hardware store” that has been serving New Bern since 1898. If they don’t have it, you really didn’t need it in the first place.

If the Glove Fits.....

Gloversville, NY, is located in upstate New York, about an hours drive outside of Albany, at the base of the Adirondack mountains. The area provides much of the raw resources needed to make gloves; an abundance of furs and leather as well as bark for tanning. In the early 19th century, the little village became an epicenter for glove making, thus giving the town it’s name when the first post office opened in 1828.

One of my assignments here is to photograph recently retired glove maker Bob Perrella. I get him to pose in front of one of his old shops.

After our shoot, Perrella asks me to follow as he slowly makes his way down the basement steps of his house. His arthritic knees of 82 years make the trek even more difficult.

Downstairs, stacked against the wall, are the remnants of his glove making business.

Perrella is a second generation glove maker. His parents started the business years ago. And when Bob and his brother were old enough, they too joined the family business that he ran up until recently.

Bob Perrella pulls out one of the boxes stacked against the cold wall in his basement. He opens it up and pulls out a few gloves. “You can’t afford to make these any more,” he says as he goes through the box. Glove making today has mostly moved overseas to China and other countries where labor is cheap, reducing costs and undercutting American glove makers. Gone too is some of the quality as Bob shows off the inside of one of his fur lined gloves.

These are not simple work gloves. Some are the elegant, long gloves similar to the ones Audrey Hepburn wore in the movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

And there are stacks of them in Bob’s basement, along with cutting dies and old photographs.

The town that got its name from being a major hub for glove making has lost many of the companies that made it the center of the glove making world. And when Bob Perrella retired, the town lost one more.