View allAll Photos Tagged Shift
Seems like you can walk on this dock right into the sunset. A beautiful sunset on Key Largo in the Florida Keys.
I wanted to use this dock as a foreground element, yet still focus on the beautiful sky in this photo. What's nice about being in the Florida Keys is the views sometimes include small islands in the distance, adding to the scenic variety of this beautiful location.
As the sky is so expansive, I combined 3 exposures from my 6D and TS-E 17 tilt-shift lens using the shift function, without moving the camera at all. I am happy with the result. I hope this image makes you feel like you can be there. Enjoy!
View Large This was a lucky shot, I just turned my camera on my hip and shot it , turned out very crooked but I straightened it out in Photoshop, coverted it to BW and went to Channel Mixer and added some blues.
Please view Large.
See my most interesting here.
interestingby.isaias.com.mx/pm.php?id=8539834@N06
See all of my photo`s here:
Seasonal Shift - At ~10-12 months of age, this young Bobcat will be left to fend for itself. I lay down and shot in vertical orientation to capture this scene with the redbud blooms in the background signaling the change of seasons to Spring and a big change in this young animal's life.
IG: @sswildlife
Species: Bobcat (Lynx rufus)
Location: California, USA
Equipment: Canon EOS R5 + RF 100-500mm IS
Settings: 1/50s, ISO: 1600, f/5.0 @223mm, Handheld, Electronic Shutter
Bridgette Guerzon Mills | Shift, encaustic mixed media, 12x9 inches
blogged: guerzonmills.com/blog/shift-2/
This gathering of ruddy turnstones began dispersing as the sun rose, as if their shift was starting (or perhaps ending?).
I captured this at the Chichester Sloe Fair in October 2025 as the rides spun through the damp night air. The neon lights merged into continuous bands of colour as the drizzle and mist softened their movement during the long exposure. I positioned myself so the sweeping circle of the main ride sat beside the tall Booster tower as both traced their paths across the frame.
Le temps de s'amuser et de faire des "expériences"... ici Lightroom + Nik-collection (Perspective Efex + Analog Efex Pro 2 + Color Efex Pro 4 + Viveza 2) pour ce rendu "effet Maquette"
I don't have tilt-shift lens, but I have hands and old helios! :)
livejournal | 500px | VK | mywed | Vimeo
In the dawn half-light, JS 8167 receives a quick check during the crew change at Dongbolizhan on the Sandaoling opencast coal mine railway system.
Sandaoling, Xinjiang Province, Chine.
December 2016. © David Hill
The constant battle of the photographer and the waves. Trying to catch just the right motions, without getting wet, is really just foolish. I think if I had any advice for a new seascape photographer, it would be, expect to get wet, use a ten stop filter, and just play with different shutter speeds until you're consistently getting something that you like, and don't get your $5,000 camera wet with sea water. Because salt water and electronics ... well they just don't mix. I was shooting an XT1 next to a rock once in San Diego and took the equivalent of a bucket of sea water on the camera. It still worked fine, weather sealed, but over time things began sticking. Doesn't matter the camera, sea water is eventual death. It will also probably kill your tripod. The price we pay I suppose.
I like this shot because I was alone this night. No one else there. Such a beautiful place, and wonderful soft light to be alone. I fully expected the usual hordes. No one. Not sure why, don't care, it was relaxing to not have to worry about being in anyone's way and not have to stake out my spot. I think I love freedom in general, so when expecting to be bogged down, it's nice to have wings and be able to flutter a bit.
creative commons by marfis75
Twitter: @marfis75
License: cc-by-sa
you are free to share, adapt - attribution: Credits to "marfis75 on flickr"
1° tilt-shift.
(ou 1° tentativa né, pq não tá parecendo muito)
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Como disse nessa foto aqui: Be Free, perto de casa existe esse pasto onde já brinquei muito quando mais novo.
Meus amigos e eu andávamos muito longe além dessas torres para se aventurar em fazendas particulares, (algumas vezes os donos corriam atrás de nós haha) buscar frutas, nadar em açudes e tals.
e pipas então? era o lugar perferito.
chegava as Férias escolares e o céu forrava de pipas de todas as cores e tamanhos,
no fim da tarde só restavam os melhores.
eu não era muito bom em soltar pipas, mas bom em correr atrás dos que eram cortados,
subia em árvores, sumia nesse mato mas voltava com o tal do pipa. haha
as vezes bate tanta saudade desse tempo. =/
hj é difícil ver um pipa no alto :/
o que aconteceu com essa garotada?
Enfim, essa é a visão que tenho da rua de casa.
ah, esse arco-íris? a hora que vi, corri em casa pegar a câmera. o/
[mais nos coments]
of course another evening catboy stroll — and while yesterday the kría (arctic terns) were still their usual nesting-season aggressive, this evening they checked us out but then flew off hunting over the water — the season is already waning…
There is a moment—quiet, almost secret—when the boundary between your inner landscape and the outer world dissolves. Not dramatically. Not with revelation. More like a soft unfastening. A loosening of edges. The kind of shift you only notice because something inside you suddenly feels less alone.
In that hush, the world doesn’t feel separate from you.
It feels like an extension of your own interior weather.
And the presences that shaped you rise—not as memories, not as stories, but as sensations woven into that weather.
The gentle ones become the warmth in your chest,
the part of you that softens even when you don’t mean to.
Their imprint is the quiet reassurance that tenderness once found you,
and that it still lives somewhere inside your breath.
The steady ones become the grounding beneath your thoughts,
the inner gravity that keeps you from drifting too far from yourself.
Their presence is the calm you feel without knowing why.
The storm‑bearers become the deeper currents—
the places where your inner world has ridges, shadows, depth.
They shaped the parts of you that can hold intensity,
that can feel without collapsing,
that can stand in truth even when it shakes.
And the luminous ones—
the rare souls who revealed you to yourself—
become the thin, impossible light that moves through your inner horizon.
Not bright. Not overwhelming.
Just enough to show you the shape of your own being.
When the world and the self blur, all of these textures gather.
Not as separate influences,
but as one continuous presence inside you.
You feel the warmth and the weight,
the calm and the storm,
the scattered and the whole—
each one a trace of someone who once touched your life
and now lives as part of your inner atmosphere.
And in that merging, a quiet understanding rises:
You are not yourself alone.
You are a single grain on the endless shore.
Shaped by every presence that ever reached you,
held by tides far larger than your own.
Lost
It always happens. I peak round the door as I get the dogs ready for their morning walk, it’s flat dull and tossing down, so I decided to leave the camera. The walk is as damp as I expected but on the home leg I come across this little scene in the field. The horses have all congregated underneath a willow tree to keep dry, it looks lovely, but no camera. As I get home I leave the wet dogs in the porch and quickly pick up a camera and a tripod, jump in the car and nip back up to the field. When I get there the scene is even better, rather than the huddle I left 10 minutes ago I now have another horse trying to negotiate room underneath the willow. “Go on, shift along mate. I’m not moving.” You’ll be glad to know within a few frames, room is found and horsey get comfortably under the tree. I do like a happy ending.