Moonlapses

I've finally gotten around to assembling 'real' timelapses out of individual images that I've photographed. Naturally, I started with my favorite subject, the Moon. 

The individual photographs for the full-Moon video looked like this:

And the final product—like this:

Vine's square format is bothersome, but it seems to retain a slightly higher resolution than the Instagram version.

I photographed the second timelapse tonight and assembled it so as to resemble vintage sci-fi films (including the soundtrack). The individual images I shot look like this:

The final video turned out like this:

Yet again, the Instagram widescreen version is worth referencing in terms of the way this mini-film is meant to be seen, excluding the resolution reduction.

Here Comes / There Goes the Sun

These two fun little timelapses were shot a half hour or so apart from each other, but what a difference did that make!

First, brilliant rays of the descending Sun nearly blinded me as I filmed this.

Next, the blood-orange of the sky rapidly transformed into an even blue, as the Sun set behind the mountain peak.

Silent Night

The night of Western Christmas Eve was so fittingly still that when I attempted to film a timelapse of the wintry landscape at dusk without the decorations below, I could not see any movement at all, save for some barely detectable snowflakes coming down.

Silver

Sometimes, early winter mornings are overwhelmed by silver and blue. It is those moments that you realize that even commercial Christmas-season decorations and color palettes are inspired by nature.

In motion, this surreal silver world looks like this:


And this macro image—as above, so below—is a testament to when you're inspired by Japanese sakura or plum trees in early spring, but all you have is snow!

Blending In

Here is another image for my growing white-tailed deer collection—a common, but graceful animal.

This particular deer wasn't even spooked by my dog—so much so that I could film this fun little timelapse of her, after getting the above capture, without a smartphone telephoto lens!

Moonrise at Sunset

Sometimes, the Moon is so good to me, and I'm not sure what I've done to deserve it! 

Having read that, you're smirking, I know. In fact, you're likely thinking, "Crazy Moon lady!"

But it's true.

I have considerably less time to run around with my Pentax nowadays, and much of what you see on this blog and my social networks was shot with a smartphone. Indeed, many wonderful things can be done with newer smartphones photographically, not to mention the fact that the limitations they provide may help in finding creative solutions.

Yet, when it comes to certain subjects, those limitations are just that. One of the most obvious ones is the Moon. Using a telephoto or at least a macro lens provides the necessary detail. Then there is the obvious number of other light-related functions: from shooting on bulb exposure at the darkest hour to playing around with the depth of field and the ISO. 

But, most important, the subject has to be there and look right, too. A little bit of science, a little bit of art.

That is what occurred tonight at sunset, when I happened to be outside and happened to have brought my camera with multiple lenses along. And that is why I thanked the Moon for being such an agreeable subject. Easier to work with than some humans, I tell you!

Finally, as is now customary, here is the looping six-second Vine of tonight's Moonrise.  Normally, I shoot these with a smartphone, as opposed to assembling them from photos (I'll do this, too!), hence the difference in appearance. Now, imagine me with multiple cameras, lenses, and tripods getting weird looks from the passers-by. 

"Crazy Moon lady!" - they thought, just like you.

Endless November Rain

If this month were to be described musically, it would be a mashup between Guns'n'Roses and X-Japan: Endless November Rain.

It is about relearning, once again, to discern the subtleties of the grayscale, where most of the time the world around fluctuates between 40% and 60% black. 

It is also about appreciating the remaining—and rapidly vanishing—bits and pieces of color that won't reappear until Nature wakes up again in the spring. 

It is the time when reflections are everywhere. 

In the puddles, extending the world into a hall of mirrors. 

And in your mind, grasping the meaning of the year gone by.

By now, some of that year is a fleeting memory, like those drying puddles beneath your feet covered with shed leaves.