“Curiosities” Collection

On the outskirts of Amish Country during my trip to New Philadelphia in 2011, the sun was finally beginning to go down. It was time to head home. On our way out of the area, we came across this graveyard, just on the very edge where one could begin to see power lines again, but where the view was no less stunning. It was cold and bitter outside, the weather giving the sunset a bit of a steely and arctic feel, but none of that diminished the beauty of the landscape. Graveyards can be amazing places to take photos, even if they have that air of eternal silence about them!

These monolithic structures are almost all that remains of one of America's most important steel mills; the Homestead Steel Works, constructed by Andrew Carnegie in 1881. Here we see these giant smokestacks wreathed in snow, the rest of the world blotted out...This is Pittsburgh's memory of steel.

This is the Kaufmann's Clock, a beautiful old 2500 lb solid bronze clock that has been hanging from the Kaufmann's Department Store building, at the intersection of Smithfield and Fifth Ave since 1913. It has long stood as a get-together landmark, on several occasions even serving as a place for a couple to get married. Its strongest memory in the hearts of Pittsburghers though, is its innate attachment to the Kaufmann's Department Store that had rooted it as a prominent piece in the Christmas experience of generations of Pittsburghers; the clock would loom large overhead as people young and old came to shop in the center of the city, or even to just gawk at the elaborate window displays lining the city streets nearby, flush with mechanical trains toys of all varieties. These days, the Kaufmann Building sits empty...but the clock, and all it represents, stays firmly in place, a historic landmark celebrating a bygone era.

This photo was taken beside Cloud Gate, at Millennium Park in Chicago, IL. I love the way the mirrored curve of Cloud Gate reflected off of the city around it, curving it and distorting it. I then took that idea that the mirror curved the world around it, and wondered what it'd be like if all the color existed only inside of that mirror, leaving the rest of the world colorless. This photograph was featured (In full black and white) in the 2010 issue of Penn State Greater Allegheny's "Absence" art magazine.

Friday, September 27th, 2013; the day the duck arrived. Marking the beginning of the Pittsburgh Cultural Trust's "Pittsburgh International Festival of Firsts", Pittsburgh had been chosen as the first place in the United States to play host to one of these massive, 40x30 foot rubber ducks, designed by Dutch artist Florentijn Hofman. These ducks had previously been seen floating in such far off places as Sao Paulo in Brazil, in Hong Kong, China and even in Sydney, Australia, among many other places. People came out in droves to see this duck, and I was among them! The bridge you can see spanning the Allegheny river is the Roberto Clemente Bridge, the very same bridge featured in my other photo, Black and Yellow. However, instead of being vacated as it was in that photo, the bridge was utterly packed full of crowds eager to celebrate a gigantic rubber duck. Sure it's ridiculous, but it's fun! The point of this whole thing, according to the artist, is to evoke happiness and fond memories of childhood, for any and all who look at it, over the whole planet. Sadly however, when pulling my camera out to snap this photograph...my lens cap detached from my camera, and rolled off into the river. It will be missed.

Pareidolia - noun par·ei·do·lia - per-ˌī-ˈdō-lē-ə Definition: The tendency to perceive a specific, often meaningful image in a random or ambiguous visual pattern. Example: What do you see here, floating in the sky? It could be any number of things conjured from the remarkable pattern engines locked deep within your mind...but I cannot tell you what your pareidolia wants you to see; only you can. The world is only what we interpret it to be, after all.

It was a foggy morning deep in the heart of West Virginia; we were on our way down to Myrtle Beach again, ready to make more family memories...but along the way, we stopped as we usually do for the lookout point at the New River Gorge Bridge; a sight we simply can never miss! Sadly, the path down to the view point was closed. Along the way though, I noticed this elegantly-crafted spider web caught in the misty morning breeze, covered in tiny droplets of dew. It looked like a billowing sail, hoisted between the tree branches. I could see no trace of the spider itself, but maybe that was for the best!

Six thousand feet above sea level, and another six thousand feet from the summit of the majestic Mt. Hood, at the altitude that trees can no longer grow, there is Timberline Lodge; a stunning, old beauty of a ski resort and lodge. Within this wooden mountain palace, there is a restaurant...and in that restaurant is served the most incredible hot chocolate you will ever drink in your life, bar NONE. This here is that hot chocolate, served piping hot with a stick of cinnamon, garnished with chocolate shavings, whipped cream, and chopped nuts with caramel and spices. This is the definitive hot chocolate! And doesn't it just make you cozy as the colder months of the year approach?

Just in time for Halloween, we have this! All alone, strung up between a set of branches along the Zig Zag trail, along the slopes of Mt. Hood, was this spider's web. Taken literally steps away from my other photo, "Wooden Warmth", this spider web, while vacant, was still beautifully constructed. I may be squeamish of spiders, but I cannot help but respect them for what they do, and how meticulously they do it. How long did it take for the spider to create this web? Furthermore, I wonder what the spider was off doing while I was taking photos of its silken home. Probably off doing spider-stuff. Ah well! Hats off to you, Mr. Spider; you built yourself a fine web!

This photograph was taken of a statue of George Washington near the National Aviary, in a park along the north shore of Pittsburgh, PA. I was walking through the park outside of the Aviary, with my girl hand in hand, and we came across this statue, large and imposing. I pulled out my camera, as I so often do when I've got it with me, and snapped this shot. I can clearly remember I hoping it would turn out...and for the longest time, I'm not sure if it did. The photo needed a certain something, and it puzzled me for years. I liked the photo, but wanted to make it striking in some way. Drawing upon all I've learned in the past several years, I put forth my best effort, and wound up with this.