Sugar Beach was absolutely alive with color that evening, but I didn't want another literal sunset.
I wanted to see what would happen if I let the camera move through it.
During the exposure, the horizon, water and reflected light stretched into horizontal bands. Hard edges disappeared. Orange, magenta and darker tones began overlapping in ways my eyes weren't actually seeing as one frozen moment.
Kahoʻolawe is still faintly there in the distance.
I like that.
It gives the photograph just enough connection to the real place before everything begins drifting toward abstraction.
This technique is almost the opposite of the way I build my giant panoramas. In those photographs, I keep adding information.
Here, I'm taking it away.
What's left feels less like a record of sunset and more like the way a sunset sometimes stays in your head after you've left.
Less description. More memory.
Look Closer
In Space
See what scale changes.
About Lance
Choose how this piece meets your wall.
