When using film, we always joked that Fuji’s films leaned towards intense greens, while Kodak favored strong reds. I wouldn’t call it a tint. I even heard the theory that Americans had a special gene that suppressed a sensitivity towards red colors.
In any case, this is about Kodachrome State Park (again), and its glorious reddishness.
This is of course a joke, I could have tinted all the images green and called moved everything to Fujichrome State Park. What is important, though, is the overwhelmingly monochrome landscape. While painters always have complete freedom over their color palette, the (nature) photographer can exert control only within limits. What do you do when a nice rocky landscape is ruined with green weeds? This does not happen on Kodachrome Planet, so almost any view allows undistracted contemplation. Be it the sun scorched earth above, or the enormous canyons below:
Clay sculptures grow on the cliffs, unsure about wha shape they want to take,
and rocks in intimate embrace wait for us to leave. Was this once just one rock that split, or are these two rocks that time has shaped like this?
Oh yes, there is some greenery. It reminds us that we are only tolerated, too.