Lake Eyre might be the bleakest, most featureless place on Earth—a flat, arid salt sink in Australia with only the horizon to define its 3,700 square miles. Yet Murray Fredercks went there 16 times in eight years. Why? To create a series of photographs out of infinite space. Beautiful photos shot by Murray Fredericks.
At first light, predawn colors are reflected and distorted by a rare rain puddle in Australia's highly saline Lake Eyre.
Pilots who fly over Lake Eyre had told me about a red hue that sometimes appears when the bed dries. I later learned that it's caused by an organism that lives only in supersaline environments.
I took this shot as dawn was breaking, focusing my camera on the black line, which is the lake's edge. I had never seen this shade of yellow before—nor have I seen it since.
In this three-hour exposure during a full moon, the two brightest stars in the sky are described as arcing lines. The cracked bed of Lake Eyre, meantime, resembles nothing so much as a lunar landscape.
In the midst of a massive drought, two storms—thunder and dust—appeared and painted an apocalyptic portrait over Australia's Lake Eyre. I used a digital camera and stitched together multiple images to capture this panorama.
The black line is the edge of the lake, miles away from where I was standing. Working in such a space, I was keenly aware of variations in hue. In this shot, taken just after dusk, I was fixated on the subtle transition of orange to deep blue.
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