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While set design is often the obvious choice for establishing geographic space in film, using shallow depth of field and careful blocking can also show the viewer where one space ends and the other begins.

In this scene from his 2012 film The Master, Paul Thomas Anderson uses meticulously placed characters and a shallow depth of field to separate the in-group of the Cause’s meeting from an inquisitive intruder. The scene begins after the woman in blue regains consciousness after going through “processing”–a hypnosis-like interview–with Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman). As Dodd debriefs her on her experience, the camera has an extremely shallow depth-of-field and focuses primarily on the two characters. Furthermore, every other character is either out-of-focus or partially obscured by out-of-focus objects. At 0:18, for instance, even though there are two other people on the couch with the woman, one is partially covered up by red clothing, and the other is behind the arm of a couch and a bouquet of flowers. At this stage in the conversation, Dodd and the woman are the two main points of focus. Anderson blocks his characters and places his cameras to force us to focus on them while being aware of the space they are establishing.

Anderson reveals the intruder at 0:27. He is obscured by Dodd’s shoulder. Even though he is in focus, we do not feel that he is in the group to which we should be paying attention. He says, “excuse me,” and the scene immediately cuts to the perfectly in-focus shot of Dodd thereby closing the intruder out. At 0:37, we see the intruder again–this time over Dodd’s right shoulder. Anderson is establishing that Dodd’s shoulders mark the edge of the group and the edge of the space. Anderson almost lets the intruder in at 0:57 when he says “excuse me” again. Dodd moves his blurry left shoulder and, just as the intruder is about to be completely unobscured, the scene cuts back to the in-focus shot of Dodd.

At 1:23, Dodd finally acknowledges the intruder and nearly moves out of frame to include him into the in-group’s discussion, but an out-of-focus lamp and Dodd’s wife’s shoulder still stand in his way. The camera almost assumes the intruder’s point-of-view and shows that, in fact, Dodd’s shoulder is the edge of the space. The out-of-focus couch and Dodd’s awkward posture show that the Cause’s conversation begins and ends with him.

After a few minutes of arguing, Dodd stands up to fully engage the intruder. At 3:11, Dodd’s wife’s blurry head moves out of frame and leaves nothing standing the intruder’s way. When the scene cuts back to Dodd, his wife’s out-of-focus head obscures part of his body thereby protecting him from outsiders.

At 4:57, Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) throws food at the intruder from behind the out-of-focus couch. He is the first and only character to physically move from the in-group to the out-group. This proves to be a central theme in this film.

If someone assigned me a story about a ninety year old man making bread and mailing it to his kids, my day would be ruined. My next question is “how do I get out of this story?” When it comes to news sense, I have what is colloquially referred to as a lizard brain. I like stories that are immediately emotive or conflict driven. That being said, it’s good for me to watch a video essay like The Boston Globe’s “The Staff of Life and Love” so I can be reminded that even simple stories still have impact.

Writer Yvonne Abraham and videographer Scott LaPierre, through expert storytelling, reveal what the piece is really about. The story is about family, tradition, a man in the twilight of his life maintaining a personal connection in spite of geographic separation. This is an interview driven piece that profiles Sheldon Kriegel, a man who makes Challah, a traditional Jewish bread, then mails it to his children and grandchildren every week.

The video uses close-ups extensively. LaPierre starts with an close-up on Kriegel’s eyes as he is making the bread. Then it cuts to a photograph of Kriegel as a younger man. It’s a visual metaphor that, in the first few seconds, already ties the present to the past.

The sequence is repeated by showing Kriegel’s son as a child and and then as an adult at 00:26.

The next few shots show detail that adds interest to the story.

LaPierre uses close-up shots of Kriegel’s expressions as he makes the bread. I feel that the short focal distance to the subject augments the emotional closeness the viewer experiences. I appreciate the shallow depth present in several compositions. On the one hand it keeps the focus on the subject – literally. It also lends a cinematic quality to the piece.

Having Kriegel be silent as he makes the bread was a good choice. If I shot this piece, I would have been tempted to do an interactive interview with Kriegel, perhaps prompting him explain his feelings as he made the bread. However, I think it works better with the interview dubbed in later. Also, it allows the editor to move forward in the baking process without sequencing interactive soundbytes. In relation to the story, I think Kriegel’s silence relates that he is isolated from his family. Furthermore, it makes it appear as if Kriegel is making the food for his relatives rather than the photographer who is filming, or the viewer who is watching. Kriegel doesn’t actually look at the camera until 2:35.

I appreciate that this video is in black-and-white. Novice photographers sometimes overuse black-and-white as a shortcut to elevate the their projects. I say that just because someone desaturates a clip, doesn’t mean it belongs in a museum. In my opinion, black-and-white works best when it abstracts a subject, especially when that subject is mundane. It allows the viewer to re-engage with a setting by simplifying subjects to light, shadow, and texture. Large format art photographer Joel Sternfeld is quoted as saying, “Looking at a black and white photograph, you are already looking at a strange world.” Kriegel’s kitchen is a great opportunity for abstraction. Furthermore, Kriegel’s world is bathed in soft light, with highlight, midtones, and darks balanced delicately.

I appreciate that there is no music in the video. I think it would have distracted viewers from Kiegel’s aged voice. The, for the most part the sound cuts with the video. Natural sound elements sometimes punctuate Kiegel’s soundbytes such at the egg cracking at 00:45.

The close-ups and detail shots allow the editor to compress time. The visuals cut easily between action while avoiding jump-cuts by utilizing close-ups extensively.

Watching this video reminds me that journalists can assemble words and pictures from the most domestic setting into a meaningful narrative. It just requires a little more thought and a few deliberate choices to communicate the heart of the story to the viewer.

Earlier this term, I found and fell in love with the Holocaust Survivor Band video on NYT’s Op-Doc and blogged about it.  The casting, poetic cinematography, and humor won me over.  This video inspired me to explore more work by filmmaker Joshua Z Weinstein.

Josh is known for a style that combines gritty realism with a sense of humor and emotion.  For a preview of his aesthetic, check out his reel.

Weinstein lives in New York, and has a long list of credits and accolades to his name as an award-winning cinematographer and director.  He has worked across the fields of advertising and journalism; and has created branded content, shorts, feature length documentaries, and is currently working on his all Yiddish directorial fiction debut.

After viewing a number of his films, it’s clear to me that Josh is successful in building trust and relationships with his characters in order to bring out deeply intimate and honest moments.

Spider Drove a Taxi, another NYT’s Op-Doc, blends a charismatic narrator, vintage stills, and beautiful cinematography.  My favorite sequence is a montage of video portraits from 1:22 – 1:54, which includes the use of side and rearview mirrors for different perspectives.

I Beat Mike Tyson is a 13 minute documentary about an Irish boxer who beat Mike Tyson in 2005 and then disappeared.  Weinstein searched him out to tell his story, and created a stripped down, raw, realistic, and relatable multimedia story.  You don’t need to know a thing about boxing to be touched by this piece.

I reached out to Josh and he generously responded with some insights and advice.  I particularly appreciate his thoughts on world music and travel as being an integral part of the research and discovery process.

“I think the idea is to imitate what you love and through imitating you create your own voice.  Make simple goals and follow through with them.  Making mistakes happens all the time, learn from them and move on.  I have started multiple films and thrown them away, its ok.  Not every story should be a film, remember a film is a film for a reason.  Take photos, listen to world music, and travel, this is the best research you have as a filmmaker.”

Weinstein is an Alumni of Boston University College of Communication Film department and the CPB/PBS Producers Academy at WGBH.  He has lectured on film at many universities.  Maybe we could persuade him to visit us on the West Coast one day.

From a 2012 Interview with Filmmaker magazine, where Weinstein answered questions about his film Drivers Wanted, I leave you with this sage advice:

“One of the golden rules of documentary is nothing good happens during the daytime.”

You can see more of Josh’s work at weinsteinfilm.com.

Things I Carry Into The World is a visual story based on a poem written by Cynthia Manick. Started as a Kickstarter project earlier this year, it was brought to life by New York based directors Pat Heywood and Jamil McGinnis together with the producer Claire Mc Girr and DOP Frances Chen. Creators describe the video as “a motion poem exploring the personalities, burdens and dreams of four teenagers in New York City through their own artistic expression.”

The opening scene (0:00-0:28) of nature features poems by four other poets (Esther Aloba, Nkosi Nkululeko, Makayla Posley, and Trace Depass). As their voices overlap, images crossfade as well.

From 0:39 to 0:42 we can see 5 different shots being cut together very fast. This together with audio effects creates tension and gives the viewer glimpse of a setting – New York city.

0:44 – positive motion within the frame: we are introduced to the first character. 0:46 – as we hear light switch sound, colored shot becomes black and white: flashbacks of the first two characters.

0:59 – fast jump cut sequence made with creative purpose. It works perfectly together with audio effects – old camera sounds. 1:18, 2:26 – other jump cut sequences.

1:00-1:06 – interesting shot: camera moves from portrait shot to the sky, tracking the sun. 

2:18-2:50 – beautiful sequence edited to music.

The filmmakers use close portraits and details to make the story more personal.

The video creators also use fast cuts of detail shots (1:25-1:27, 1:44-1:47) as a cinematic effect to show locations and contribute to the look and feel of the neighborhoods.

I think, “Things I carry into the world” is an important piece of art we should pay attention to. First of all, it is a nice example of artistic collaboration. And secondly, it carries a great message: “Today, it is more important than ever to walk in the shoes of individuals that come from different backgrounds. Those are the avenues that help knock down racial barriers, social injustices, and aim for more unified world,” stated it’s authors.

Overall, the idea of adapting poetry to film and using poems as scripts sounds alluring to me: skillful and thoughtful visual storytelling along with poetry can offer the audience layers of meaning.

I reached out to video’s DOP, Frances Chen, LA-based cinematographer and filmmaker, and asked her some questions via email:

Initially, “Things I Carry Into The World” started as a Kickstarter project, and your team consisted of 4 people. I assume, your team began working on the video this year sometime in mid June?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EHAuGA7gqFU 

“2+2=5” is an Iranian fictional short film set in a classroom where a teacher insists that 2+2=5. The first shot of the video starts with the title on a blackboard and dollies to behind the students.

I really like this project for two main reasons: It’s shot completely in one small room, and the angles used in the close-ups really help juxtapose the power imbalance between the teacher and student.

The first thing you notice when the teacher enters the room is that he’s presented from the student’s perspectives, and that seems to carry throughout the piece. It makes him seem superior, and lends the character power by being looked up at.

After the teacher enters, he stands quietly and the broadcast system squeals on and the Head Master informs the students that there have been changes in the school. When the radio turned on the camera dolly’ed forward and refocused on the speaker, but still from the student’s perspective.

In contrast, whenever the student’s faces were shown, they were being looked down on, simulating the teachers perspective. Aside from the first establishing shot, the rest of the video goes back and fourth between the teachers and students. Even when a student stood up to the teacher’s lesson in defiance, he was never shown looking up.

It could also be argued that the angles are due to the age and size of the subjects, but this piece makes a fairly poignant statement about monolithic power.

 

 

“Grandpa’s magic trick” is an award-winning commercial for Norwegian airlines Widerøe. The ad celebrates the sense of wonder about flying and will make your heart melt.

The very first shot – a portrait of a cute little boy with puzzled expression on his face – leaves the viewer guessing: so what is grandpa’s trick?

In the interview for Adweek ad’s copywriter Stein Simonsen and art director Torstein Greni said: “every magic trick has an element of surprise, but maybe this story has two. There’s the trick itself, and then there’s the trick of making the magic relevant to an airline’s frequent flights to remote places.”

The structure of the commercial is simple: 14 close-up action/reaction shots and a wide closing shot.

0:28 – tense moment: music mutes, both grandson and the viewer hold their breath – the magic is about to happen, the question will be answered now (watch it!).

Heartwarming script, fascinating setting, charismatic actors, smart editing, light warm colors and beautiful music – all these elements combined make the video unforgettable.

“Fencing is always on my mind,” says Brooklyn-native Nzingha Prescod. “It can be hard to find motivation to do this every day.” In Nzingha, a short documentary film about the 24-year-old American female foil fencer, director Anderson Wright captures the passionate Prescod as she trains for the August 2016 Rio Olympic games. A cinematic sequence narrated by Prescod’s inner dialogue walk us through the fast-paced, high-stake competitions that made her fall in love with the sport. Viewers navigate through her mind with the use of jump cuts and high-tension audio tracks. Sound design, jump cuts, and POV shots from inside a Brooklyn subway station enhance the strategic and high-stakes nature of the sport.

NZINGHA from Anderson Wright on Vimeo.

 

After filming a series of indoor and outdoor training sessions, a POV shot cuts to Prescod’s window-view from a moving subway––where she is riding alone (2:01). “When I fence the best, I visualize it,” she says. A series of intentional jump cuts begin at this close-up profile shot (2:08) and continues for 10 seconds. Implementing these cuts in post-production speeds up the rhythm of the story while the layering of audio bites makes the viewer feel Prescod’s mind racing. This leaves the audience feeling anxious and intrigued, awaiting the next scene in Nzingha.

The sounds that accompany this stylistic back-and-forth editing set the emotional tone of the story. At approximately (2:11), a blurry wide shot of outside the Subway car cuts back to a medium shot of Prescod “thinking out loud.” Dialogue, sound effects, and music comprise the audio in this scene. The sounds from inside the train to outside in the tunnel are particularly fascinating, for they complement the context of Prescod’s inner dialogue.In a distant echoing voice, she shares her inner thoughts when fencing in real-time (2:13): “Don’t hesitate. Push. Pull. Close the distance. Take the blade. Pressure. Release.” Different elements of audio complement this fast-paced rhythm. We hear the sound of the Subway train whizzing by soon-to-be passengers from inside the tunnel and when we return to Prescod on the train, the clanking of train-tracks reverberate off the underground walls. At (2:15), the sound of screeching breaks on the tracks sets the ambience; the restriction of train movement alludes to the scene coming to a halt or coming to a head. A wide shot of two fencers in the tunnel fills the frame as the train whizzes past. This is the first and only time we see them in this scene.Twenty-three total shots from the subway scene have a duration of less than half of a second. The stylistic decision to edit these close–to–wide shots as jump cuts on an isolated train-ride with three high-tension audio tracks creates a heightened experience for viewers in a matter of seconds. We begin to feel the subject’s dedication to attention and precision as a fencer because in competition, you too have less than half of a second to think.

On February 29, 2016, the innovative production studio Media Storm published a short documentary showing drought devastation in a farming community in rural California. Andrew Michael Ellis, director of the short film Life After Water, and his team dedicated their last day of filming to capture drone footage of the central valley. Their use of long tracking shots and aerial drone footage filmed through a narrow frame heightens the cinematic feel of how climate change can make or break an entire farm and the families that inhabit them.

The most notable stylistic choice that increases the impact of Life After Water is the constant moving camera work. At (0:27), a high frame rate camera pushes-in to introduce the workers of Jesus Ramos’ farm in Terra Bella, California. These slow push-in shots fly forward––giving viewers a chance to look straight into the eyes of those affected by the drought. “Water disappears, the labor disappears,” Ramos says. “Water disappears, my farming disappears.” His voice––in a way––narrates the story, walking viewers through acres of farmland.

The film then cuts to a series of shots––from all different angles––pushing-in toward the same direction (0:41). There is a consistency that ties the shots together. An eye-level POV shot shows viewers devastation caused by the drought and at (0:47), an aerial shot depicts the acres of dried-up orchards.

As Bramos talks about his journey to “el norte” (the north) from Mexico, a fly-over shot of desert land creates a sense of reveal depicting acres and acres of lush square patches of American farmland (1:23). This long horizontal shot encompasses the vast California valley and exudes sentiments of hope and a new beginning for Bramos and his family.

At (2:04), the camera continues to be in motion; however, in this wide cinematic shot, the camera moves backwards even though the subject is coming toward us. For a few seconds, the camera tracks with Bramos riding his tractor and then the story returns to a series of aerial fly-over shots to emphasize the 140 acres of farmland Bramos maintains (2:13).

A dolly shot of the orchard at (2:52) cross-fades into another shot moving in the same direction. The producers and editors have implemented several rising shots and drone work to help viewers comprehend the capacity of land that is at stake. At (3:11), one of these wide rising shots depicts a bulldozer taking out the farm’s trees. This scene conveys economic devastation as a result of lack of water.

The editors stylistically shift gears at (5:14): instead of swooping drone shots, they provide a series of close-ups that fill the frame––showing detail in the drought devastation. Cobwebs flicker in the sun and curled up yellow leaves dangle from their branches.

A long shot slowly tilts up to reveal what’s left of the land after the bulldozing (5:46). After interviewing experts on the lack of water allocation, an overhead drone shot begins close-up and quickly pulls-out to uncover the acres of ruined land (6:03).

One of the last scenes in Life After Water amplifies the cinematic value of the non-linear documentary. Impressive handheld camera work captures an action/reaction shot that follows our subject in real time as he witnesses his actual trees being destroyed (7:27).

 

Johanna Under The Ice – NOWNESS from NOWNESS on Vimeo.

Dry suits, electric suits, and 45 minutes filming underwater at a time. It’s negative 14 degrees Fahrenheit above the frozen lake. Director Ian Derry lands in Finland to meet the world champion free diver under ice: Johanna Nordblad. Hesitant, Derry slips into the dry suit and jumps into the freezing water. “I looked around under the ice, and it was then I was hooked,” said Derry. I knew the only way to show this was from a drone.” The dynamic shots seen in Johanna Under the Ice create dramatic depth between the subject and her environment––evoking a sense of isolation and danger.

Within the first scene, the videographer uses compositional techniques to create depth between the camera and the subject, Johanna. At (0:17), a wide establishing shot of the frozen lake introduces viewers to the environment. The lines and patterns naturally existing in the trees have been framed to create depth.

A hip-level tracking shot follows Johanna trudging through the snow (0:19), which then cuts to a POV shot representing the subject’s vantage point (0:21). The third shot in this sequence provides viewers an interesting perspective (0:24). The overhead drone serves two purposes: 1) Shooting from above makes the subject seem much smaller and 2) It gives viewers a sense of the size of the location. The subject comprises a small part of the frame; surrounding trees tower over her with no one else in sight.

We see a classic cinematic shot as Johanna continues her trek through the forest. In narrative filmmaking, we refer to this shot framing Johanna as eye candy by the placement of vertical objects in the foreground (0:31). This shot shows the verticality of the trees versus the horizontal frame, which also depicts the detailed patterns of snow on each tree. The combination of positioning the camera with a slight left-to-right motion and the vertical trees in the background dramatically heighten the sense of depth in this scene.

At (0:38), a medium shot provides viewers with a wide field-of-view while also exaggerating the foreground, which depicts Johanna looking out onto the snow-covered frozen lake. This perspective illustrates the massive length and width of the lake.

After facing the subject and slowly pulling away, the camera begins tracking with her as she walks over the lake (0:50). A medium shot––using a high frame-rate camera––slightly pushes in as she treads along.

A cutaway close-up of the subject’s shoes and ice pick fills the screen briefly before cutting back to Johanna walking. A series of dynamic shots achieved by the drone break up this standard chronology and allow viewers to get into Johanna’s headspace before her dive under ice. Instead of making the journey process-driven, Derry reworks temporal space using an intercutting technique that we first see at (0:58). We begin seeing parallel editing with the future in Johanna Under the Ice. 

A high-angle composition (1:01) takes us back to the journey––just seconds before cutting to Johanna shaving a hole in the ice (1:04). While she imagines the future in her mind, the composition depicts it by jumping forward in time to her cutting a safety hole. Viewers don’t necessarily need to see Johanna cutting through ice. However, by sprinkling flashes of the process-heavy shots throughout her walk on the lake, viewers can focus on the formality of the compositions and enjoy the cinematic metaphors of Johanna under the ice.

“There is no place for fear,” Johanna says. “No place for panic.” An underwater tracking shot follows the subject swimming on her back (1:43). She faces the ice directly above her––hands gliding along the glass surface. This shot elicits the real danger in that very moment. Viewers feel anxious from witnessing a subject with no dive team or oxygen tank swim in freezing waters under ice. The camera placement and compositional techniques of Johanna Under Ice help serve the story effectively. Parallel editing with aerial drone footage and slow-moving tracking shots put viewers between real time and the future. After getting in the ice queen’s headspace, we pose the obvious unanswered question, will our subject come to the surface when the time comes?

Marcus Yam is a staff photographer at Los Angeles Times. I followed him on Twitter during the San Bernardino shooting in 2015. I was gathering photographs online for my religious study class’s daily news presentation. Hyperlinks and mouse clicks got me on Marcus’s Twitter page. Ever since that day, Marcus Yam as a visual journalist inspires me to continue pursuing my dream in photojournalism¹.

Marcus was born and raised in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. He left his science career in Aerospace Engineering to start a new life as a visual journalist. Before he moved to Los Angeles, Marcus was part of The Seattle Times team covered the deadly landslide in Oso Washington and earned a Pulitzer Prize for Breaking News Reporting in 2014. From 2012 to 2013, Marcus worked as a contributor to The New York Times and a short film included his feature in,  “The Home Front” earned him an Emmy Award, a World Press Photo multimedia grand prize, an Alfred I. duPont-Columbia University Award, a Pictures of the Year International Multimedia Award and a DART Award for TraumaCoverage².

I conducted an email interview with Marcus during his preparation as one of the keynote speakers for Atlanta Photojournalism Seminar on November 08, 2016.

• I remember your Twitter Bio used to say, “former rocket scientist,” what makes you want to be a visual journalist? 

It’s a long story. I stumbled into photography by accident. Being a foreign student in the US meant that I needed English credits to graduate with my engineering degree. Yes, I was in school for aerospace engineering. Long story short – the college newspaper back then provided the English credits I required if you wrote or took pictures for them. So out of sheer laziness, I opted for the latter. I bought the first my first camera and started taking pictures. It was mostly very amateurish stuff: Concerts, friends, and athletic events. The work that I did for the college newspaper ended up on a photo editor’s desk at the Buffalo News who was the advisor for it. I guess he liked what he saw. He tracked me down, and we had a conversation about what I wanted to do with my life. I told him I didn’t even think photography was a career and I was adamant about fulfilling my dream. He then offered me an internship, told me that I ought to at least try it out. He said, if I didn’t like it, I could return to doing engineering and forget this ever happened.

So I took his offer and fell in love with it. Three or four weeks into the internship, I decided that this was what I was going to do for the rest of my life.

• What is the hardest part about your job as the visual journalist?

The hardest part of my job is coming up with fresh and relevant ideas that contextualize what’s happening in the news cycle. And making necessary personal sacrifices that come with this profession. (I don’t have much of a personal life)

• What steps did you take to get the job as the visual journalist for Los Angeles Times or your pervious job at NYT, Seattle Times?

There aren’t any steps to how I came to be where I am. Everything I’ve done – are mostly steps taken with the philosophy of doing what others are not doing. When they zig, you zag. That’s something someone told me early on when I was first starting out.

When I was first starting out, I knew I needed additional foundation as I didn’t know anything about photojournalism. So I applied and was accepted into the Ohio University Visual Communications School. It was an immersive documentary photojournalism program meant for mid-career photographers to get retooled and retrained – so that they can re-enter the industry. Me and my roommate Peter Hoffman were the youngest graduate students in the program as everyone else was about 30 then. It was a fantastic boot camp. Before I could complete graduate school, I got an internship offer to the New York Times. I had the time of my life there.

After my internship, I then transitioned into a full-time freelancer. From there, I decided that I needed to work on my vision and execution more because I wasn’t growing fast enough as a freelancer working to make a living, paycheck-to-paycheck. So I decided that I needed to be in an immersive environment where I could spread my creative wings more. I applied to the Seattle Times and got accepted there. From there, the Los Angeles Times recruited me down to work for them a year and a half later.

• How long did it take for you to get where you are?

Long. Longer than I had wanted it to be. I would count it since 2010.

• Was it hard finding a job as visual journalist/ photographer in the field?

No, I wasn’t really looking hard enough. I think opportunities will open up when you least expect it but only if you are ready for it.

• What advice can you give me to share with my classmates?

Yes, don’t just think about making a nice box to fit in the world full of boxes. Think about what-other-shaped-container you’d like to enter the world with. In a round about silly way of describing things: hone your vision and execution. That matters more than affirmations or validations. At the end of the day, it’s about what you are adding to the conversation and doing something to create change.

Article about him:

Who Does The New York Times Follow on Instagram?

His recent works:

A huge Trump head is burned an effigy in front of city hall #dtla (courtesy of Marcus Yam’ Twitter).

Tonight feels surreal. Protesters, megaphones, cops, helicopters, jammed freeways and a ton of people LIVE STREAMING every second. #dtla (courtesy of Marcus Yam’ Twitter).

Ashley and Carol embrace each other as the election results continue to stream in – in favor of Donald Trump. #Elections2016 (courtesy of Marcus Yam’ Twitter).

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles: Libertarian candidate for President, Gary Johnson, makes a campaign appearance on Sunset Blvd (courtesy of Marcus Yam’ Twitter).

Eerie: Burned cars on Hwy 138 sit in the glow of the full moon as #BlueCutFire rages on (courtesy of Marcus Yam’ Twitter).

“WALL OFF TRUMP” protest outside the #RNCinCLE (courtesy of Marcus Yam’ Twitter).

Single (courtesy of Marcus Yam’ website)

San Bernardino shooting (courtesy of Marcus Yam’ website)

1. Photo by Damon Winter. Courtesy of Marcus Yam’s website.
2. Yam, M (2016) http://www.marcusyam.com