If you watch his videos, you’d be forgiven for being a little puzzled at first. In them, there’s a man doing goofy, child-like stunts while skating on ice, swimming in freezing lakes, drinking vodka from the bottle, and eating things most people wouldn’t. Like many, I was bemused at first, but over time, I began to understand the mission of the channel. Here was Tor Eckhoff, a genuinely nice person and paint factory worker, using his spare time to film light-hearted videos while outside in Norway’s beautiful landscapes. In his YouTube videos and Instagram posts, you can see his dedication to his viewers by way of constantly replying to comments and acknowledging fans in subsequent videos. There’s no YouTuber vanity, no clickbait nonsense, and no pretense.

While I won’t be sitting in a bathtub full of frozen water anytime soon, Tor’s teachings were clear: have a good time, screw what anyone else thinks, and love the outdoors.

He died doing exactly that, while filming a recent video on a frozen lake in Kongsberg, Norway.

I, and over a million others, will miss him profoundly. In keeping with Tor’s teachings, though, I’m going to do what he would want: keep enjoying the outdoors. I’m going to remember that life is a cosmically lucky blip on the universal radar, and it’s best to enjoy it while you have it.

Farvel, Tor.

• I got featured on The Jersey Collective and took some of my best long exposures ever

• I took some neat band photos just before being indoors with others was…not cool

• I had photos published in an online Mustang enthusiast magazine

• I made a fun little follow-up film with my friend Mike and his Porsche

• I made a non-narrative exploration film inside the abandoned Dixie Cup Factory in Easton, PA

• I learned to fly drones

• I learned how to use Adobe After Effects at the beginner level

• I explored Philadelphia as a place to live

• I read all of the Harry Potter books for the first time

• I finally organized a ‘Pro Services’ section on this site (see the navigation!)

Not bad for a year in which nearly everything got turned on its head, and a lot of people struggled in many ways (or worse). In fact, it’s almost uncomfortable to write about myself right now; I’ve kept my job and was fortunate enough to still indulge in my creative side. Not everyone has been so lucky. Above all, the big takeaway for me last year is that we need to look out for our fellow human beings — we all share this planet equally and deserve the same opportunities for health and success. Some people out there do not share this view and if you’re one of them, feel free to close my website now, because I don’t want your traffic.

Feel free to peruse a sampling of images from this year below, or some videos via the links above; I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed making them. Last year was going to be a year in which I finally stepped up my professional media services game. While that didn’t exactly come to pass thanks to shifting global events, I still studied, practiced, and built out a framework for good things to come. I’m offering a lot via my ‘Pro Services’ area, but I wouldn’t offer it all if I didn’t believe I could do it. Stay tuned; 2021 will be more active.

That said, I’m still working on my Wingardium Leviosa spell. I can never remember how Hermoine taught us to pronounce it.

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Like most urban explorers, I have a few locations in my pocket that I can rely on for a consistent, if not always exciting, experience to show my friends. One such location was the abandoned water pump station in South Orange, NJ, just a few miles from where I grew up. This nondescript, two-room structure became a right of passage for many bored kids growing up in the surrounding area — look what I did, I’m edgy, I explored an abandoned building!

Getting to the place was, quite literally, a walk in the park. Nestled in the southern edge of South Mountain Reservation, any hiker wandering by could spot the chimney, wander up and explore with impunity thanks to gaps in the structure. Fans of ‘The Sopranos’ likely visited: it was the location of A.J. Soprano’s car bursting into flames in the finale. The bargain-basement fencing that eventually went up around the building was a joke, as anyone could nudge past it.

All of that accessibility came at a price; it was a constant smashing-and-burning target. Even on my first visit in 2011, it was clear that the place was ready to come down. The roof was almost nonexistent, and the floor was crumbling away into several deep pits of tangled, dormant machinery below. It’ll forever be a mystery as to how it didn’t collapse onto itself; recently, the harbingers of building death began lurking around. The forest around the place was cleared, and construction vehicles were parked outside. I haven’t yet been past the area, but it’s likely gone.

It’s a shame to see one of my first urban exploration locations go; throughout the visits over the years, my photography got better and better. In a way, it was a photographic yardstick as I photographed other abandoned places, always coming back for a visit to a structure that started it all. It wasn’t all great: a careless moment resulted in my camera bag — which contained a brand-new Nikon D810 — plummet off the walkway and into the catacombs below. A few kind filmmakers in the adjacent room used a mic stand to fish it out for me.

On the other hand, the pump building is long past its sell-by date for good exploring. On my last two trips there, the floor was in such decrepit shape that I didn’t take more than two steps inside. Better it get removed now than before someone gets seriously injured (or worse).

For a lot of folks, it’s good riddance to an eyesore in a picturesque slice of parkland. For me, it’s a wistful farewell to a basic, but reliable, bit of exploring fun that helped to spark a lifetime of fascination with all things abandoned.

“Okay, GO! GO!”, came the cry from my usually-soft spoken corner captain. Alex Lynn’s Formula E car had lost electrics and came to a halt right outside my post at turn 11.1, dashing my hopes of having a quiet first weekend of track marshaling. The safety car had gathered the field at the opposite end of the track, and it was up to me and three other marshals to push this awesome, if broken, piece of engineering off the circuit before they came around.

I jumped heroically out of the portal in the catch fencing and immediately banged my head on a metal bar above me. There was an almighty bong that reverberated through my cranium and the fencing all around my station, followed by a few sounds of concern from the marshals behind me. I remained conscious and unhurt, thankful not to be the first marshal in history to collapse into a drooling, unconscious heap on a live circuit in the first two seconds of a car recovery.

Record scratch, freeze frame. Yep, that’s me, and it was my first time marshaling.

A few months prior, I was quietly stewing to myself over how popular the Formula E race in Brooklyn had become. So popular, in fact, that the grandstand seats were sold out long before the event, and I was out of luck. I’d be relegated to watching the race in the Allianz E-Village, which is a fancy way of saying, “large area with big screens and overpriced food kiosks, but no track view”. I could just as easily skip the slog to Red Hook, Brooklyn and watch the race on my own big screen while eating overpriced food in my apartment.

A glimmer of hope appeared when a friend of mine advised me to volunteer as a flag marshal. So I did. A day later, I was accepted!

As the race weekend approached, I began to feel very underprepared. Most track marshals cut their teeth at local racing circuits and events. Here I was, completely green, getting thrown into one of the highest-tier racing series in the world. I had a basic knowledge of the flag types to wave and when to wave them, but the theory was being put to the ultimate test immediately. Just how much of a risk was I taking? Well, there was no point in stewing on those nerves; there was a job to be done.

I can confidently say that the views from marshal posts kick the entire ass. If you’re willing to sign a waiver acknowledging that you might die (or at the very least, smash your head into a metal beam), you’ll be treated to all of the action as it takes place almost within arm’s reach. The sensation of speed that TV provides is a scant photocopy of the real thing from the grandstands; watch at track level, and that gap grows ever larger. Every bit of understeer and oversteer through turn 11 looked positively catastrophic, and a graze of the barriers sounded like an epic accident. To the drivers, it’s a day in the office. To me, it looked like a violent relationship between man and physics, neither budging an inch and giving no quarter. The same could be said of driver versus driver; for the majority of the weekend, the entire field did enough car-to-car contact to make a James Bond car chase look like a tranquil Sunday drive. The canyons of Red Hook’s shipping yard echoed with the grating sound of loose, scraping carbon fiber body panels. Jean-Éric Vergne emerged as World Champion for the 2nd time running, cementing my belief that he still deserves a seat in a Formula 1 car.

It was exhausting just watching this all take place a few meters away, let alone keeping my attention at knife’s edge, waiting for a call to throw a flag for an on-track event -- or to respond to one. The 4:45 AM wake-up calls weren’t of any help either. Would I do it again? Yeah, tomorrow. Today. Is there a race I can marshal right now? Cool, sign me up.

One of the drivers in the field was Felipe Massa, who is arguably one of the most noteworthy Formula 1 drivers of all time. Not only was he the 2008 World Champion for about 30 seconds before being beaten by Lewis Hamilton, he also recovered from a devastating head injury the following year that almost killed him. I spotted his unmistakable bright-yellow helmet during a practice session and suddenly realized that I wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for him. When I returned from studying abroad ten years ago, my father told me about what happened, and how the venerable Michael Schumacher was almost called back to replace him. Not only did I begin following Formula 1, but I checked in on Massa’s recovery closely and happily watched him return to racing for Ferrari in 2010.

So thanks, Dad! And thanks, Felipe, for helping me fall into a hopeless obsession with cars going fast around a circuit. It was an honor to keep an eye on you and your peers.

Thanks, also, to that metal beam on the catch fencing, for reminding me that risks come with perils. They’re worth it, though.

There was joy in my heart when I saw the location for this past weekend’s Cars and Coffee meet: Hacklebarney State Park! This is the place that I made a (very) short film in just a few months ago in the dead of winter. It’s just as gorgeous in the summertime. Unlike in the winter, though, I didn’t need to crab-walk down a quarter-mile of sheet ice on the trails.

I arrived at 6:30 AM, caught a few frames of the park’s water features under my favorite light, got a decent workout, and finally, arrived on the scene of a great car meet. Saturday mornings don’t get much better for me, folks.

If you received my business card and want to see some shots of your car, please contact me with the button at the bottom of this post.

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Then I bought a DJI Osmo Mobile 2 gimbal for my iPhone. I should know better than to think I can’t go somewhere and not be a little creative.

I liked it! I’ll keep it. After a little learning curve (which, admittedly, I’m still on), it becomes fairly natural to use. The footage above isn’t anything revelatory, but I hope it’s a skill I hope to bring to the Zhiyun Crane — the bigger pro gimbal I bought for my main camera. Time will tell.

As everyone else on the Internet (and in real life) can agree, mobile phones just get better. The video out of the iPhone XR is rather flexible for color correction and grading. In five years time, they’ll probably be as good as my Fujifilm. Seeing how rarely I get down to Florida, that’ll be a great time to test that statement!

“Hey, Tim”, I can hear you saying, “I found a great used 2010 Audi A4 for sale. This is a fantastic coincidence. Should I get it?”

Probably not.

Let me elaborate, before the fanboys come at me with Auto Union-shaped brass knuckles.

Audis have always had a special place in my automotive heart. In the years before I received my first driver’s license, the Audi S4 (specifically, the B4 generation) wooed me with its turbo-V6 charm and near-affordability. Failing that, it’s hard to ignore the APR tunes that, for one, give standard A4s a ton more power, and for another, are backed by the factory warranty. Maybe I dig the brand because of its rally-rich bloodline, or perhaps it was the blue Audi Quattro toy car my father bought me as a child that started the fire.

They’re cool, they’re quick, and we have a history.

It stands to reason, then, that I’d love them even more after my mother bought a 2010 A4 Premium Plus ten years ago, thus handing me a bevy of opportunities to drive one. I will gladly, and freely, admit that it’s a giggle in the corners and is adept at practicality (I wonder where I learned to appreciate all of that?). It has more than enough power and poise to quietly chomp away at the left lane like a 140 mph upper-class Hungry Hungry Hippo.

I do, however, find a few things vexing.

The Outside

You know Julian Höenig, right? Probably not, but Apple does. He’s been with them for almost ten years now as an industrial designer, and before that, he designed this generation of A4. “The challenge was to create a design that fits into the current Audi line”, his resume reads. “The car should be not too far out, but it must be attractive at the same time”.

Yeah, that’s accurate. Succinct, Mr. Höenig!

Practically speaking, it’s a little high-waisted, and the area around the wheels always looked off to me. Maybe it’s the wheel and tire size, the large wheel wells, the wheels themselves, or some combination thereof. I like the stern front end, the LED running lights like glowing eyebrows on a glowering Kristin Scott Thomas.

I’m genuinely struggling in this part of the review, partially because the car’s designer puts it perfectly: it’s an update from the A4 before it. It’s exactly as it should be, with no extravagance. Fresh, but corporate fresh. It keeps up with the other major German manufacturers, in that everyone makes clean refreshes but almost never makes a giant leap. We all know what happened last time that happened; legend has it that BMW still has Chris Bangle’s face on the local pub’s dart board.

The Inside

Julian Höenig didn’t design the interior. Perhaps he had a hand in it, but it’s getting late, and I’m not alert enough to venture into the muddy waters beyond Wikipedia. That’s okay, though, because I have a few more practical observations.

Sight-lines are good, and there’s nothing egregiously wrong with any of the control interfaces. Audi’s Multimedia Interface simply kicks the crap out of BMW’s iDrive from the same era. In a testament to that, I’ve never seen either of my parents get outwardly hostile towards it, but then again, iPhones can be thrown across the room in rage. Your car’s infotainment system cannot, so perhaps it’s just a lot of quiet compromise, like any long-term relationship.

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The oversized steering wheel has a few hieroglyphs that aren’t immediately obvious until they’re tested (preferably while the car is stopped), but by-and-large, this generation of A4 has managed to pack a dizzying amount of features into a package that is mostly navigable. When you’re stopped, the car will gladly play your standard-definition DVDs, so pack your copy of Employee of the Month for when the traffic gets heavy.

The seats don’t have nearly enough side bolstering for any sort of sustained performance driving, but that’s why you need an S4 if that’s your bag.

The Drive

I’ve written and deleted about ten introductions to this section, because I don’t want to rely on the easy jokes about this car being German. So I’ll put it this way: the A4 sees your inputs on the gas, brakes, and steering, and in the most efficient way, it simply does what you ask it to. If that just so happens to be a trait of the Germans, then it’s pure coincidence.

It’s both clinical and fun, and I’m truly befuddled as to which one of those it’s more of. The 2.0 liter turbocharged inline-4 will widen your passengers’ eyes upon its quick spool-up, but that’s about it. A sharp plateau of solid, but restrained, power will slot you through the gears beyond that. As with some other cars, I’m sure a cheap-and-cheerful aftermarket tune may induce a little lunacy.

The steering, while over-boosted and artificial, loads up into a corner predictably and is very adept at conveying where the car’s momentum is going. This came in handy for me about ten years ago when driving on Route 9 in upstate New York, when I powered through the middle of a long right-hander a little too greedily. The wheel telegraphed a subtle lightness as the rear of the car began to step out under throttle lift-off. That delicate but noticeable hint had me pulling everything back in order and puttering back home before I wrecked my mother’s nice new car.

Once I did reel the car - and myself - back in, the A4’s titanic brakes helped to lower my speed with the immediacy of a cartoon character getting roped around the neck by a walking cane. The stopping power of this car is hilariously strong, and quite frankly, feels like it was yanked out of an R8. It has the intoxicating effect of luring you to brake later and later into corners, something which you’ll hopefully forgive me for not indulging in.

The real letdown - and my chief gripe with the 2010 Audi A4 - is its transmission. At speed, it does an admirable job at picking the right ratio for the moment, but at low speeds and around town, it’s an idiot. The gearbox suffers from hapless indecision when you’re looking to make a quick getaway, completely halting your progress before finally picking the damn gear and moving on. It’s enough to make me think, at times, that it’s long overdue for a transmission fluid change. Except it isn’t -- many people on Audi online forums agree that it’s a bit of a dope.

The Conclusion

Have you put down the pitchforks yet, Audi drivers? I hope so, because I like this car. I like it in proportion to what it is. I’d love any of the S, R, or RS models that Audi makes. But I like the A4 because it’s a perfectly capable, sporty sedan. It does nothing to shed the stereotypes of the dispassionate German car, but the stereotypical German car is damn good. It doesn’t care about your need to stand out or be an influencer. It’s very capable and it does what you ask. Like a butler. Like if a perfectly average professional athlete was your butler.

So, should you buy a 2010 Audi A4? If it’s an automatic, pass. Also, this car has seen its fair share of maintenance concerns: right before the warranty expired, a good bit of the head and the turbo were replaced after the car began producing white clouds from the exhaust under acceleration. If you’re still game, look for a 2011 or newer, because they’ll have the much better 8-speed transmission. If it’s manual, though, go for it. And get a tune.

As for me, I’ll be saving up for an RS3.

One of these days.

Growing up can come to you in whispers. Sometimes it’s a dull ache after workouts. Sometimes it’s a hangover that seeps into a second day. Sometimes it’s going to bed before midnight on New Year’s Eve.

Sometimes, though, growing up socks you in the face.

I’ve known my friend Dan since high school. We grew out our hair, drove around until 2 AM, compared our skills playing Sweet Child o’ Mine on guitar, and generally wreaked the brand of havoc that young kids will do.

And just like that, he’s married to a wonderful, strong, and gracious woman named Emily. I was privileged to act as their wedding photographer, and more than that, I got to experience the beginning of the next chapter of both their lives.

I packed my trusty Fujifilm kit and headed to Philadelphia (a town that’s high on my “next move” list). What followed was a full day of prep, ceremony, and reception — in all honesty, it was a blur. And it was great.

While working my way through the photos on my schedule, I was lucky enough to photograph some of my old friends and meet new ones at the same time. Opportunities like that are rare, so naturally, when Dan and Emily asked me to photograph their big day, I jumped at the opportunity.

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We’re growing up fast, but as with everything else in my photographic journey, I was thrilled to preserve such a joyous moment in time. I’d do it a million times over, again and again.

Dan: we’re kinda corporate and adult now, but we’re never too old to do a late-night 7 Eleven run or explore a supposedly haunted place.

Emily: You’re an incredible person that I’m sincerely happy to have met, and even happier to know that you’ll be spending your life with a friend like Dan. You have a friend in me!

Growing up is quick, folks. You know what Ferris Bueller said: stop and look around, or you might miss it.

WANT TO SEE THE REST OF THE PHOTOS?

During my holiday visit to Connecticut, I spent a good deal of time looking for - and photographing - waterfalls. In that time, I slipped twice, almost dropped my lens filters into a raging river, scraped the bottom of my car on a dirt road, and parked quite illegally for a brief period. Still, I was happy to tick a few more cascades off of my list and was thoroughly satisfied with the images I captured.

It wasn’t until my second day back at work, slogging into New York City that I wondered, “why do I look for waterfalls wherever I go?”. I mulled on that most of the day, and here I am on the evening of that very same day, still mostly empty-handed. I have a vague feeling of their importance to me, but the lump of clay just isn’t turning into a pot. The words do not come easily.

Perhaps a history lesson will coax this along. It all began in the dawn of the 1990s, when I would ask my parents to drive me home from daycare on a windy bit of road between Plainfield and Short Hills, New Jersey. On the route was a large cement mixer (for which I had a strange obsession), a McDonald’s, and most importantly, a series of waterfalls just off the road, all varied in shape and size. They were the main attraction of this detour, and my parents would slow down every time so I could gaze at them.

I was hoping that I would discover something profound in this. I hoped that my childhood fascination with these natural phenomena could figuratively trickle down into the essence of why I’m willing to sacrifice my camera gear, oil pan, and parking-ticket-free lifestyle of the past few years.

In keeping with the blatant waterfall puns, maybe a little stream of consciousness might help me.

Water flowing down.

Falling water.

Rocks.

This is good.

I’m making a written waterfall.

I think we’ve cracked it.

Water always finds a path through walls, clutter, and deadfall. In my case, the walls, clutter and deadfall are long commutes, idle hours watching Netflix, and anything else that keeps me inside for long periods of time. The water is the crucial creative fuel that gets me outside to find meaning by photographing and writing about my favorite things in life. The water conforms and even breaks the blockages in front of it. A cascade forms. When I began this post, I hadn’t a single idea where it would end, but the act of writing created a trickle, then a stream.

The medium, I suppose, is indeed the message.

I’m not convinced this made a modicum of sense, but that’s probably the closest I’ll get for some time.

Waterfalls are a source of creativity, and in so doing, they can be used as a way to illustrate creativity itself. Water is an essential part of life, and creativity is an essential part of mine, even if I don’t get to experience it as often as I’d like to. Yet, given enough time and motivation, it’ll carve through most anything in its path.

Neat. What an odd little journey we just went on.

There was great joy when my switch from full-frame Nikon DSLRs to the Fujifilm X-T2 was complete. Here I was, hauling lighter gear, saving money, and getting equally good images as I was before thanks to an excellent sensor and lens selection.


Then I tried a few long exposures.

Now, I realized going in that nothing would touch Nikon full-frame for clean long exposures and dynamic range. I was quite right, and then some: the long exposure images out of the X-T2 were pocked with hot pixels and an ugly, snowy “speckling” in the shadows of my images.

I questioned everything. I added $4,000 of Nikon full frame gear to my cart on the B&H website, and wondered how I’d pack my free time with weddings and event photography to pay it all off. I developed a homesickness for the brand and camera type I left behind — long exposures, after all, are my bread and butter!

Fujifilm announced the X-T3, and after much back-and-forth, I decided to roll the dice and give them another shot. After all, this is a company that very clearly listens to their users, and I’d seen many reports of similar long exposure issues online. They couldn’t have ignored something like this, surely. Plus, I rented a Nikon D750 and 24-70mm lens, and quickly realized I didn’t miss the bulk and weight a single bit.

So. I ordered the X-T3 and promptly started testing to see if it had the same Achilles heel as the X-T2.

After a month of shooting waterfalls and Acadia National Park, I’m confident in saying that these issues are completely eradicated, and I finally have a Fujifilm camera that I basically love unconditionally and I’ll fight you if you try to take it from me.

As a ton of other reviewers have noted, the controls and interface are all ported over from the X-T2, so I won’t go too in-depth here. Calling it a refined X-T2 is a vast oversimplification, though. It looks and handles in a similar way, but everything is faster and smoother — on the surface, the whole experience is more efficient. I had nothing to complain about with the X-T2’s controls, and I’m glad Fuji didn’t futz with what already works so well. If you’re coming over from another camera brand, or have the older X-T1, rent one of these to ensure you like it.

The landscape images are what separate this from the X-T2.

Simply, they’re spectacular. The X-T2’s were already great, but in the context of landscape and long exposure photography, the improvements via the new sensor are immense. Images can be pushed by 2-3 stops comfortably, and up to 4 stops with a little contrast and noise adjustment. Perhaps most importantly, hot pixels and snowy shadows are gone. I’ve come across a single hot pixel in my entire time of testing this camera, which included several 2 and 4 minute exposures with noise reduction disabled.

I don’t get involved in researching color science and DxO scores, because I have a desire to make images, not stare at all the math about my new camera and how its math isn’t as good as the math from that other camera. When paired with a good lens, the RAW files out of the camera are crazy flexible. The JPEGs look beautiful, as well — several times now, I’ve gone with the JPEG over the RAW and saved a ton of workflow time.

When pushed to higher ISOs, however, there’s a tad more noise. That said, there’s more detail within the noise than there was with the X-T2. As one popular YouTuber says, “you can dial out noise, but you can’t dial in detail”. So, yes, there’s a little more noise, but it’s got more information, so I don’t worry about it.

The bottom line here? I’m thrilled. It’s a crop sensor, and a vain part of me still wants a full-frame camera because that’s just what you buy. Rationally, however, the Fujifilm X-T3 punches well above its weight. I wouldn’t ever sweat using it in a professional environment; in fact, I’ve done so a couple of times and I will in the near future. It even does a great job when things get faster: the 9fps frame buffer is a dream for motorsport photography. This camera does everything I need it to do, and I haven’t even begun filmmaking in 4K yet. It’ll be ready for me when I do.

If you’re in a similar predicament to what I was in, allow me to act as the soothing cup of chamomile tea (or whiskey, whatever calms your tempestuous head). The X-T3 will not let you down, period.

I'll be the first to admit that "the Great Swamp" doesn't sound confidence-inspiring for an engagement photoshoot. However, look past its name and you'll see a gem of a location, tucked away just a few miles from my home in New Jersey. 

I decided, at the last minute, to change the venue for this photoshoot, and I'm glad I did; the raised boardwalk and thick overhead canopy made for some neat shots! My subjects for this engagement shoot were Dan, a good friend of over ten years (can you believe it, Dan?), and his fianceé Emily, who both made the drive up from Philadelphia. 

Luckily, the dense vegetation made for even light in both the sun and the clouds. While there were a fair bit of bugs to swat away -- it is a swamp, after all -- I can see myself returning to this location for many portrait sessions to come. To think that this place was nearly turned into an airport back in the 1960s! I can't wait to see what kind of colors this place will turn in autumn.

Gear nerd talk: It's safe to say that I'm a massive fan of the Fujifilm 56mm f1.2 lens, the only glass I needed for this shoot. Recently, I've been getting a little nostalgic for my full-frame Nikon gear, and the ultra-shallow depth of field those lenses produce. However, lenses like the 56mm are what keep me firmly planted in the Fuji ecosystem. They may give us a crop sensor, but they supplement it with super-fast lenses; they know that sometimes, there's no replacement for a creamy out-of-focus background.

I hope the images speak for themselves. Dan and Emily were great, the location was great, and the equipment was great. Thoroughly not bad for a day in a swamp.

Medical science tells us that blue is the most calming color. I couldn't help but think that as I stood in a former solitary confinement cell, its door nearly latched to closely replicate what life was like for hundreds of inmates who have since passed to other facilities. 

I paced to the window and back a few times. The blue wasn't really helping.

The walls may have been painted over upon this prison's closing, but what couldn't be erased were the manic etchings in the doorway area. Stare at them long enough, and the energy of those held here seeps into the margins of your consciousness; boredom, anger, and insanity were contained inside these placid blue walls. It's cliché for a reason. 

I won't reveal the location of this prison, because there's no lazy attempts at graffiti, smashed furniture, or snuffed fires -- the telltale signs of a particular breed of trespassing asshole. This place is just beginning its journey back into the Earth; other locations I've visited are in their twilight and nearing collapse. If I can play a part, however minor, in preserving the stillness here, I will.

The energy in this place is still intimidating, as cell doors still slide on their hinges with rumbling assurance and switchboard buttons carry an authoritative click. The basements of the buildings whistle with a cool breeze from the labyrinth of dark tunnels that connect them (I didn't explore them at the behest of the property owner and event organizer). Still-intact windows are reinforced with steel mesh, and the barbed wire that's splayed throughout the property still looks as fresh as the day it was hung. 

Mop up the gelatinous mold, repaint the walls, remove the scurrying wildlife from the ceilings, and do some vacuuming, and this place will be ready to accept inmates again. Other abandoned places are fascinating in how they've aged; this one is just as interesting in how it hasn't.

Scratched on a window of a solitary cell door is the word "HOPE", written to read correctly from the outside. We can never know the intended recipient and what the writer intended. Perhaps it was to show administration that they weren't broken despite abuse. Maybe they wanted to show passing inmates that even in the bleakest of circumstances, life is still to be treated as a gift. 

Earlier on in the decade, state officials closed the prison and everyone was moved on to other facilities (for a litany of reasons). Many are still incarcerated and could probably spin tales about this facility. Whether deserved or not, their time spent here still lingers in tiny stories, be it a journal discarded in a dusty corner or messages scratched into paint. 

I hope that this place remains relatively untouched, because I have much more documenting to do. If you happen to locate it online, please don't spread the word; this is a gem of a spot. Eventually, entryways will be created and it'll be ransacked. As of now, though, this prison sits like a polaroid that's just beginning to fade.

There's too many platitudes about the open road. Most of them are sappy, and most of the rest are lazy. There's a few good ones (sure, Kerouac and all). Practically, one of my favorite moments is stepping out of the car.

These days, my back is about twenty years ahead of the rest of me, so thank God when I finally get there (highway rest stops are for the weak). As I stand next to the car doing road-yoga, I love to listen to the thick silence of the country; it's a welcome change from tire roar, wind, road expansion joints and the Joe Rogan podcast. 

I arrived in upstate New York prepared for a photo workshop at an abandoned zoo, which was called off on account of a deluge. No matter; with rain comes prettier waterfalls. Perhaps as importantly, this was a trip outside of the NYC metro area. Cancelled workshop be damned; if it involves a trip outside of the biggest population cluster in the Northeast, I'm in. 

The Kaaterskill Falls, located just a short (but intense) hike into the Catskills of Greene County, is a sight to behold. The last time I witnessed this kind of thunderous rush of water was clear across the country in the Columbia River gorge. It's been a while, but the wait was worth it. 

If you've been reading my posts for a while, you'll know that I recently dumped my Nikon full-frame camera system for the compact Fujifilm X-T2 mirrorless camera (and lenses). No regrets yet, folks. The entire kit is feather-light and the camera makes remarkable images. 

Cascade images in the bag, I took a four-hour interstate hop over to Maine for the next few nights, with two intents: getting another image of the crab boats at Cape Porpoise, and exploring Portland as a place to live.

Without wishing to get too ahead of myself, it's looking good. 

As much as it's given me for the last thirty years, I can feel my time in the NYC area coming to a close. I can't speak to an exact timeline, but I suppose "soon" is the overused word that fits best. Plans can always change, but the effects that Maine and the Catskills have on me are starting to far outweigh the benefits of living near (or in) the glass-and-brick canyons of the Big Apple. 

Visits to the regions almost aren't enough -- they're pulling at me. 

But that could just be the lingering back pain from the drive. Time will tell. 

There's an adage that we photographers bludgeon each other, and hapless beginners, with: "Your camera gear won't make you better".

Sorry. That's horseshit. You need to buy the right gear.

That said, there is no universal "right" gear. There's camera equipment that's plenty capable and can be used to shoot Netflix shows, but unless it lights that cliché little fire inside your chest, it'll just collect dust and you won't get any better. 

I beg friends who are on the cusp of this hobby to go to a camera store and try out their selections. Then, they should pick the one that feels right; my own recommendations only go so far. If all goes well, one of the cameras or lenses will have a friendly chat with their subconscious. It's sometimes hard to articulate and even harder to rationalize the price tag, but if that nebulous bit of kismet happens, they'll keep picking that piece of kit up, they'll keep shooting with it, and they'll get better.

I practice what I preach, and picking up a used copy of the Fujifilm 56mm f1.2 did just that. It's making me pick up my camera and shoot photos, and it's extremely enjoyable.

If you're new around here, I don't go into exact weight/size, sharpness tests, or any of that soulless minutiae that you can read elsewhere from a dozen sources. So, first impressions, then? It's built like any of the finest glass I've ever spent money on from other camera manufacturers (read: Nikon). The focus ring is dampened with what feels like cognac, milk, and honey, making it a breeze to manually focus with. The aperture ring, while tactile, could use some of the focus ring's magic; it's a little too easy to bump it, which could crucially affect your images at the wide end. The plastic hood does its job well enough, but it's also hell bent on making you wrestle it on and off, to the amusement of your friends or passerby. Finally, the lens isn't weather-sealed, but I'm not convinced that weather-sealing is necessary just yet. If I fry my camera while shooting with this in the rain, I'll bake up a nice humble pie for myself. – BUILD: 8/10

Okay, we're off to a good start, but here's where things get a little quirky. Well, one thing: the autofocus. It's no secret that some of Fujifilm's older lenses are starting to get a little indecisive on newer, faster camera bodies like the X-T2. As an example, the full-sensor autofocus option (which can draw from the most autofocus points) will induce some significant hunting. Accuracy, though, is rather good, as the lens typically lands on your intended focus point. I unintentionally found a workaround for this: not realizing I was on single-point autofocus for about three weeks. It's really for the best, too; pick the center point, focus, and recompose. In low light, doing so will probably take a fraction more time than having the lens hunt for you, but you'll almost always land on your target. When the going gets really rough, the X-T2's brilliant manual focus peaking is more than willing to take up the task. Even wide-open at f1.2, nailing shots is a breeze. Thus, that's something to be mindful of if you're looking to get this glass for an older Fujifilm body. – PERFORMANCE: 7/10

"Here's where he says that the image quality more than makes up for its shortcomings", I can hear you saying. Sorry to be trite, folks, but that's exactly what I'm saying. I'm not the most traveled photographer when it comes to gear, but I've handled my fair share of wide-aperture lenses -- this thing is completely tack-sharp when shooting at f1.2. I think I laughed when I first reviewed the images, as if I couldn't quite believe what I was seeing. Not many other pieces of kit can do that, especially at this price point. Granted, there's some vignetting while shooting wide-open, but this is pretty par for the course and it works for my style. Color rendition is perfect, which isn't a measurement; it's fine, so don't worry about it. As with any lens, stopping down to about f2.8 and smaller will produce slightly sharper images, but given how good this thing is wide-open, I can't imagine many scenarios for doing so aside from bright light or for video purposes. – IMAGES: 10/10

It's not perfect, but neither are interpersonal relationships, your favorite sports team, or 99.9% of Alfa Romeos. You may need to tinker with it, and even compromise a bit; meet its infidelities in the middle, and you'll have a lens that'll produce addictively-good results.

But hey, that's just me. Try it for yourself. 

For me, it's the right gear.

2017 was plenty alright.

There was some track driving, track photos, and traveling around the world. For someone who hates the idea of staying out past 9 PM, it was an altogether good year for photography! So, you may begin to ask, what does Tim have in store for 2018? Well, I'm still figuring that out myself.

Perhaps most crucially, I've decided to take a big photographic leap: I've sold all of my Nikon gear and joined the ever-growing legion of Fujifilm shooters. I was infatuated (and still am) with the X100s from a few years back, and now I've added the XT-2 to my kit. It's strange to step back from the full-frame camera system, which I placed on a very high pedestal for almost ten years. It's not yet clear how much I'll miss it, but I don't so far.

What I can tell you, however, is that this little Fujifilm camera is divine.

It has that nebulous but wonderful Fujifilm style, which every Fuji shooter can't totally articulate. It's an absolute joy to use, it's simple, and most importantly: the images are phenomenal. It's early days, but I'm convinced that the hype around this camera system is real.  Now it's time to head out for some proper photoshoots.

That leads me into yet another photographic leap: I'm going semi-pro again.

I'm not entirely sure where to start, as I've only done a few weddings, portrait sessions and events in the past. What's clear to me, though, is that I can do it, and if I'm good at something I love, I should do it as much as possible.

If you're looking for an event covered, a portrait/headshot session, or if you're getting hitched, send me a message. I'd love to take some photographs for you. Maybe I can brighten your 2018 as much as I hope to brighten mine!

What better way to start than with a new video series on YouTube about, you guessed it -- the car.

Perhaps the most obvious modification (so far...) is the exhaust, so why not start there? I decided to create a simple audio exploration of the system, ranging from every day, low speed driving to...not that. 

For those interested, this is the Nameless Performance axleback exhaust with 5" mufflers -- the quietest available option from the Washington-based fabricator. In hindsight, I probably could've gotten by with the 4" mufflers, but the muffler delete option would've been far too indiscreet for me. 

Plus, who knows what other exhaust mods will come, so either way, this thing is bound to get a little louder.

There will be more where this came from, and soon.

Urban exploration is bittersweet, for its assets are always depreciating. Those of us with the urbex bug will wax poetic about abandoned places frozen in time, but they're not. Our universe is constantly keen to prove that nothing is static. If anything, change is the one constant. Even the most stoic of derelict structures will decay, and that decay is often exponential. 

See, there I go. We're a loquacious bunch. 

I've been to the Scranton Lace Company three times now. I've explored it from many angles, made a short film about it, and locked my keys in my car there. It's seen a lot, and my time there has been anything but boring. 

This time, however, I spent just as much time watching my steps as I was watching for photo opportunities. Water damage has launched an assault on the crumbling structure, and floors have been pockmarked with holes as gaping as manhole covers. Towards the end of my visit, I absentmindedly looked down at a wooden pallet to discover that I could see the concrete of the floor below mine. An old, wet piece of stacking equipment was all that protected the clumsy visitor from a fifteen foot fall. 

Landmarks and furniture from previous visits have been upended and smashed, either by the asbestos abatement teams or by drunk teenagers looking to vent anger. Nature has a tag-team partner to help it erode these places, and it's us, the people who build them. 

Matthew Christopher/Abandoned America, the organizer of these explorations, announced that this would be the final event at the Scranton Lace Company. As dismayed as I was to lose it as a location, I can't see myself returning anyway. After a certain point, the hazards begin to outweigh the lure of more photographs.

The Scranton Lace Company will continue to cave in under water damage, vandalism, and gravity. At this point, I don't see any hope for salvaging the place; bureaucracy at its finest has led to countless delays in the restoration and repurposing process. Shame -- it could've been something great.

I suppose that's why we document places like this. Nothing can remain static, but photographs and video come close to preserving that intangible allure of abandoned structures before, like everything else, they change. 

Every year, hundreds of classic race cars make a trek to Lime Rock Park to do what they do best: get raced.

This year's roster was robust -- the cars ranged from 1950's Porsches to ear-splitting Formula 2 machines. I walked away with sunburn and abused eardrums, but more importantly, I had my memory cards filled with some neat images.

In true classic racing fashion, a few of the cars decided to pack it up before their owners did. Frankly, I'd have been shocked to see a fully fault-free day -- problems are what help to build character.

I'm finding ways to make the low burst rate on the Nikon D810 work -- mainly, it's just a lot of careful panning and timing. As ever, I got one keeper from about every 15-30 photos; the march to fill up every hard drive continues.