Shutterfinger

Eight Reasons Why I Like the Canon EOS 6D

A street shooter's dream: the Canon EOS 6D full-frame SLR with 40mm f/2.8 STM lens.

I recently had occasion to rent a Canon EOS 6D and 40mm f/2.8 EF lens for an event I was hired to photograph. I could have used my Nikon D7000, but based on past experience I didn't trust it to focus reliably. It turns out that having 39 autofocus points doesn't help much if they can't agree on the correct plane of focus. I had never had any AF problems with any of the Canons I had owned, including those with "only" five points. Since I was curious about the EOS 6D anyway, I figured I'd give it a try.

The event went smoothly. Although I found the 6D's metering to be a bit less predictable than the D7000's, the focusing was more consistently accurate. The few "soft" shots I got were either due to misplaced focus on my part or subject motion.

Since I had the 6D for the weekend, I decided to also take it out for some street shooting. This is where I thought it might fall short. It is, after all, a full-frame camera with a supposedly low-tech 9-point AF system and only one high-precision cross-point in the center. Oh, and aren't full-frame DSLRs supposed to be larger and heavier than their APS and DX-sized brethren? Conventional wisdom predicts that the EOS 6D would be large, heavy, and slow.

Well, it turns out that for all practical purposes the EOS 6D is the same size and weight as the Nikon D7000. Look up the specs for yourself. What's even more surprizing is that in practice the 6D can actually be a lighter and more compact rig for street shooting. That's because Canon and Nikon offer more small, lightweight, wide-angle primes available for full-frame DSLRs than for their APS/DX models. Canon's inch-long, 4.5 oz, $150, 40mm f/2.8 STM is an extreme example of this, but it still supports my basic point: It's hard to find wide-angle primes that offer the same angle of view at the same size and weight for APS/DX cameras as for full-frame.

Because Typepad's image resizingly algorithm is so funky, I suggest double-clicking on this and the rest of these image samples to see them at optimum sharpness.

The wider you want to go, the harder it gets to find wide primes. For another example, consider that Canon and Nikon both offer several 28mm full-frame lenses, but no 28mm-equivalent for APS/DX. There are plenty of zooms available, but these come at significantly greater size, weight, and cost. This is a big deal for street and travel photographers; for studio and home photographers, not so much.

Having a small lens on a relatively large camera offered another surprising benefit: The whole combo looked less intimidating. It's hard for observers to think you're a stealthy pro or a terrorist on a recon mission when your camera has a lens that's not much larger than a lens cap. Oh, and what a lens. It's sharp from center to edge, even at maximum aperture. It has excellent image contrast without appearing harsh. Flare, linear distortion, and chromatic aberations are all low. Its focusing speed can be a tad leisurely if you're moving from minimum focusing distance to maximum or vice-versa, but who does that on a regular basis? In short, I would much rather use this lens on a $2000 camera than use a $700 zoom on a $700 camera.

As for the camera itself, here's a quick list of what won me over:

1. Modest size and weight. I already mentioned this in the paragraphs above. This is for the benefit of those of you who skipped them. 
2. Uncluttered control layout. It was easy for me to locate key controls, either visually or by feel. There were also fewer buttons to accidentally push.
3. Neatly organized menus. Every list of menu options took up no more than a single screen. Some options expanded into a second screen, but the expansions were all logical and there was no need to scroll to find otherwise hidden options.
4. No pop-up flash. This eliminates the flash overhang that otherwise increases the overall depth of the camera. It also eliminates the tiny button on the prism for popping up the flash. I can't tell you how many times I've accidentally pushed this button by holding the camera in the vertical position with the short side of the camera resting in my left palm.
5. Locks on the mode and rear dials. If you've ever owned a camera where important controls move if so much as a feather brushes up against them, then you know the value of  dials with locks.
6. Quiet, low vibration shutter. Shutter noise isn't as big a deal in street photography as some people make it out to be. Regardless, I'll take a quiet shutter over a loud one any day.
7. Elegant tonality and microcontrast. I find this more valuable in black and white printing than color, but since I like to convert most of my work to black and white...
8. Excellent low light performance. With rare exceptions (Bruce Gilden), street photographers almost never use electronic flash. A camera that can focus quickly and accurately in low light and produce high-quality images even at ISO 1600 and 3200 is a camera I can't help but like.

So will there be a Canon EOS 6D in my future? It depends on whether I can afford one. I make a good living, but it's not like I've got $2000 just sitting in the bank waiting to be spent on a new camera. Still, where there's a will, there's a way. The Nikon D7000 is up for sale. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy these sample shots as much as I enjoyed shooting them.

This is the sort of portrait that merits a lingering look. There is more going on here than first meets the eye.

Here's one last reason: I can crop a square out of a full-frame image and still have resolution and tone to spare.

The Five Stages of the Camera Buying Process

 

As part of my regular job I design and write web-based training courses for corporate clients. One of my recent courses described the "five stages of the consumer buying process." I found them interesting, but not particularly relevant to the camera buying process. Here, for your edification (and amusement) are the five stages, slightly modified to reflect how one really buys photo equipment.

Stage 1 – Awareness of Need

This is the stage at which you become aware that whatever you own is unsatisfactory in some significant way—for example, it’s too large and heavy, or produces unacceptable photos in low light, or simply reflects poorly on your skills as a photographer. You therefore want a new camera or lens. Scratch that, you need a new camera or lens; maybe both. The question is what new camera or lens?

Stage 2 – Information Gathering

You start searching for and gathering as much information—and more importantly, justification—as you can. Information sources typically include:

• Other photo-enthusiasts you know –These are people you can depend on to give you completely objective reasons why you should buy exactly what they own and why you would be a fool to buy anything else.
• Manufacturer websites and print brochures –These sources obviously present their equipment in the best possible light, but that doesn't make them worthless. For example, there is often some truth to the specifications.
• Blogs – Blogs are your best possible source of impartial information. You should believe everything a blogger tells you.
• Online forums – This is a lot like going to the zoo to watch the monkeys scream and throw feces at each other. It’s noisy, smelly, and bizarrely amusing—that is, until they start throwing their feces at you.

These are by no means the only sources of information. Some consumers have been known to rely on their own knowledge and experience as the basis for comparison and judgment. Granted, this happens only in extreme cases, but it does happen.

Stage 3 – Evaluate The Alternatives

At this point you have narrowed down your choices to at least three, which typically consist of:

• The thing you really want but consider insanely priced. (In other words, you can’t afford it).
• The thing you consider an acceptable, if slightly flawed, product at a price that’s a stretch but reasonable.
• The piece of crap that, after consulting with your bank account and/or spouse, you will most likely end up buying.

Stage 4 – Purchase

This is the point at which you finally make up your mind and buy something, if only to get it over with. Depending on your mindset and personality, this stage either brings a release of tension and sense of calm or the onset of deep dread based on your anticipation of Stage 5.

 Stage 5 – Post-Purchase Evaluation

This is the stage at which you evaluate how well your purchase meets the original needs and expectations that set this whole process in motion. If all you wanted was a new camera or lens, you may be quite happy, at least until your purchase no longer qualifies as “new.” If, however, you lingered too long in Stages 2 and 3, this feeling of contentment might last no more than the 15 minutes it takes to discover that your purchase has just been replaced by an even newer model that costs 33% less.

You also have to be careful to avoid returning to Stage 3, otherwise you will discover that no sooner does the return period expire than the photo websites will release a torrent of information about newly discovered defects and shortcomings, and how the manufacturer continues to insist that there is no so-called "evidence" to support such claims. 

Keep in mind that a very small minority simply start using their new equipment to produce photographs. If they are happy with the photographs and the experience, they are happy with their equipment and lose interest in any further purchases or research, either for as long as they or happy or as long as their equipment keeps working. Some of these folk may not have bought anything new in years. Although they are small in number, they explain why it all the more important for the rest of us to do our part to "take up the slack," so to speak. If you don't buy and buy often, what the hell will I have to write about?

 

A Focus on Focus

This is an example of how the plane of focus can make or break a shot. The slightest back- or front-focus would have rendered the fencing in the foreground unsharp, thereby eliminating the contrast between what's sharp and what's not. On the other hand, I doubt this image would have worked as well if it was all in focus. What do you think?

I'm pretty relaxed about most technical aspects of photography. A bit of under- or overexposure or a white balance that's a bit too warm or cool is really not that big a deal if you're shooting Raw and converting many of your files from color to monochrome anyway. The one area where I tend to get fussy is focus. I use focus, composition, and the way tones are arranged in a scene to help direct the viewer's eye to what I want them to see. Of these three, a missed plane of focus is the one I am least able to correct in Photoshop. Blurring things is easy; focusing something that wasn't in focus to begin with, not so much.

That's why I--and I suspect I'm not alone here--still like shooting with manual focus cameras (my Nikon FM3A, for example). It's easy to tell from looking through the viewfinder where the plane of focus is and where it isn't. Because manual focus lenses have distance markings and lots of them, I can even prefocus a lens without looking through the viewfinder, stop down for depth-of-field, and use the depth-of-field markings (anyone remember those?) to get a pretty good idea of how much of the image will be in reasonable focus.

You can probably tell from the narrow angle of view here that I was using a telephoto lens. My focus shifted from achieving depth-of-focus to making it deep enough for key compositional elements to look sharp. This, by the way, was shot while walking up the stairs on the Eiffel Tower.

Lack of consistently accurate autofocus, especially indoors, is why I'm preparing to sell my Nikon D7000. It has many wonderful qualities; this just doesn't happen to be one of them. You can tell me I'm using it incorrectly and accuse me of being incompetent all you like. You can also assure me that this problem doesn't exist, every photo you've taken with your D7000 has been tack-sharp, and therefore I don't know what I'm talking about. I don't care. Life is too short and there are too many good cameras out there for me to have to use one I don't trust completely. I've got my eye on one or two replacements but won't tip my hand just yet. It probably won't be another Nikon though. Nothing personal; it's just time for a change.

If you or your camera can't get consistently sharp photos of this type of subject at this distance then something is seriously wrong--speaking of which, why would someone name a chic restaurant in the St. Germain area of Paris "Le Schmuck"? It doesn't sound particularly appetizing. On the other hand, I imagine the French find some of our restaurant names equally perplexing.

I have just the opposite attitude toward my Nikon V1 though. It focusses a lot faster than I can and with more consistency and accuracy too. Throw in its small size, nondescript appearance, sturdy construction, and quiet operation and it's a street and travel photographer's delight. Instead of feeling as if I have to be constantly on my guard to make sure it doesn't screw up, I feel as if I can relax and concentrate on capturing the right light and the right moment. And shouldn't that be everyone's focus?

 

 

 

 

 

My New Darkroom

I didn't actually intend for this pigeon to be flying over the head of this earthbound angel, it was just a random miracle.

Before the takeover of digital photography, I was almost never without a darkroom. There was one at my high school, in the basement of my college dorm, and even in the warehouse of one of my employers. I set up ad hoc black and white darkrooms in the bathrooms of the various apartments and houses I’ve lived in. If I needed to develop color film or make color prints there were literally hundreds of labs at my disposal, from drug store minilabs to high-end custom labs and everything in-between.

Today, even though I still have all of my original darkroom equipment, I’ve set it up no more than twice. It’s just too inconvenient and tiring to have to wait until after the kids are asleep, set everything up, then have only an hour or two to print before I have to take everything down again. Although there are still one or two custom labs here in Philadelphia, it would take almost two hours round-trip just to drop film off and return home; a journey I would have to repeat when the film was ready for pick-up. This is not my idea of convenience either. Yes, I can and sometimes do process the film at home and scan it. (I still own a Nikon Coolscan V ED; worth it’s weight it gold, at least to me.) The problem with this is that it’s too time-consuming to scan every frame, yet it’s often hard to tell just from looking at the negatives which images are winners and which aren’t.

For those of you who care, this was shot on Kodak Tri-X. This allowed me to keep the shutter speed high and the aperture small, so I could preset the focus for roughly 12 feet and shoot at will. Using a 28mm lens helped too.

There is a lot more detail in the original negative than you see in this scan, especially in the highlights, but I was aiming more for mystery than HDR in this shot anyway.

I mention all of this up-front so that the well-intentioned-advice-givers among you will understand my rationale for seeing if a mail-order lab might be the solution to my desire to find a low-hassle way to keep shooting film. My solution, at least for the time-being, is a lab that is literally called The Darkroom. Let me also state up-front that I have no affiliation or business interest with them. I’m just another customer to them and derive no benefit from telling you about them other than the pleasure of sharing my experience; that and having a decent topic to write about. I am also not advocating for a return to film photography. I just want to have it available as a reasonably convenient option.

So here’s how it works: When I’m ready to have film processed, I go onto The Darkroom’s website, tell them how many rolls I’m sending, what type, what processing options I want. My standard choice is film processing (B&W or color) with medium-resolution scans of each image onto a CD-ROM and also onto their web server. There are two benefits to having the scans available on their server: First, I can see them without having to wait for the CD-ROM to arrive; second, I can order prints from the files they already have rather than wait to upload them later. Film processing + scan + upload costs $10.00 per roll, which I pre-pay by credit card online. The Darkroom then links me to a postage-paid mailing label that I can tape onto a heavy duty envelope and use to mail the film to them.

So far I’m sent them seven rolls of film and all seven have been returned within a week, using regular U.S. mail. Better yet, they e-mail progress reports at each step of the process. You’ll know when they receive your film, when the scans are available online, and when the film, CD, and/or prints are on their way.

One of the charms of color negative film is subtle color like this. One of the unfortunate side-effects is a green color shift in the shadows, which is obvious in the example above. This was also partly caused by the overcast day.

Here's another example, this time with less obvious color shifts. The film was Kodak Portra 400.

A medium-res, 1024x1536 pixel scan is large enough to produce a 5x7-inch print at 300 dpi. For an extra $5.00 you can upgrade to an “enhanced scan,” which measures 2048x3072 pixels and is large enough for prints up to 12x18-inches. I haven’t opted for the enhanced scans yet because if I need something larger I have the original film and can simply scan it myself. From my perspective this gives me the best of both worlds: I get good utility scans of each shot to use for previews, blog posts, and small prints and I can easily tell which shots merit scanning at 4000 ppi on my Coolscan. By “utility scans” I mean that they are of better than average sharpness and quality, with no more than a few occasional dust spots per image. That said, you have to provide them with reasonably well-exposed images. You can’t expect heroic rescue measures for $10.00 per roll nor will you receive them.

One final thing you B&W shooters should keep in mind is that although The Darkroom states that they offer “true black and white” prints, they neglect to mention that these are available only when they are printing from negatives, not from scans. If you order B&W prints from scans they will be printed on color paper. The results on color paper are reasonably neutral; fine for proofs and snapshots, but probably not what you’d want to frame and exhibit. I haven't seen any of their true black and white prints yet.

Here's another example of the Kodak Portra 400 look, this time a bit more snappy. I did no color correction or filtering, yet note the neutral gray tone of the mannequins.

The photos that accompany this post are all resized JPEGs, direct from The Darkroom’s scans and with minimal tweaks on my part. If some look grainy or you think the color looks a bit unusual it’s because they were shot on ISO 400 film. That’s how it looks. Believe it or not, some folks like this look so much they even buy special software that allows their digital images to mimic it. Go figure.

By the way, if any of you reading this are still shooting film yourselves and have found your own ways to cope with the reducted processing options, I'd love to hear about them. We film addicts have got to stick together.

Observations on Street Photography in Paris

You won't have to look very hard to see me and my Cole reflected in the glass of this Parisian restaurant.

I recently returned from a week-long trip to Paris, referenced in my preceding post. Now I'm back in Philly, sorting through photos and recollections; reconciling what I thought the experience would be like with the actual experience. Here's what I've come up with so far.

Traveling light is a good idea.

Paris is a very accessible city from a street shooting perspective. Between the Metro, the RER trains, and rental bikes, it's remarkably easy to get to anywhere you want to go without a car. That said, you're still going to do a lot of walking and whatever equipment you plan to use will add weight and take up space. I carried only a Nikon FM3A with a 50mm f/1.8 Nikkor and 28mm f/2.8 Voightlander lens. My digital kit, which my son used more than I did, was a Nikon V1 with 18.5mm, 10-30mm, and 30-110mm lenses. He seldom carried all three at once. Although we were invariably tired by the end of each day, it wasn't because of lugging ridiculous amounts of equipment.

Most other tourists followed a similar ethic. As you might expect, smartphone and even iPad cameras were the most popular choice by far, followed by compact digicams and Canon Rebels and Nikon D3000 and D5000-series DSLRs with kit zooms. Only rarely did I see someone carrying a full-frame DSLR, tripod or large tele-zoom, and the people who did so were almost always guys in their twenties.

Aside from the weight issue, a smallish, touristy camera gives potential subjects the impression that you are a harmless tourist (which you may very well be) rather than a Pro Photographer with Suspicious Motives.

I literally had less than a second to frame and capture this before this busy waiter vanished back inside.

You've got to be fast.

Paris is a very populous, popular, and busy city. Tourist sites, of which there are many, draw huge crowds, create long lines, and cause congestion. Cars, buses, bikes, and motorcycles zip about in all directions. Parisians are often in a hurry and will dash past you or in front of you if they think you're slowing them down. (Keep in mind that I say this as someone who is a pretty brisk walker himself.) What this means for street photographers is that although there are plenty of people on the streets, a large percentage of them are in constant motion. Even when you try to photograph something or someone stationary, someone else will step into the scene. The only way to counteract this frenetic appearance and disappearance of perfect moments is to be quick and decisive. You need to be able to raise your camera to your eye and achieve a well-focused, well-exposed photo in no more than a second.

Just as I was framing this shot with the manequin in the foreground, I saw the woman in the background getting ready to take her seat. This lucky shot is the result of not just grabbing a shot and moving on.

It helps to slow down.

Does this contradict the paragraph above? Not necessarily. Even though you need to be ready to snap a photo in an instant, you also need to relax and open your awareness to what's going on around you. Is that group of teenagers about to explode in laughter as one pulls a prank on another? Is the woman hanging onto her lover's arm about to lean over and kiss him? Is that custom Harley-Davidson chopper about to be mounted by a petite young Frenchwoman in chic leathers? If so, draw your bow (frame the composition, either mentally or actually) and when the moment comes, shoot.

Automation can be too slow.

I mentioned in the second paragraph above that I was using a Nikon FM3A. This was not purely because of some sentimental attachment to film (although this was admittedly a factor); it was because this camera has so little automation. It will take pictures even if the battery is dead. If the shutter is cocked it will fire, period. I can set the aperture, shutter speed and focus and know that they won't change unless I manually do so myself. The camera will not hunt for focus or decide to change the ISO setting. Provided I've set everything correctly, I can press the shutter button without worrying that the camera itself will screw up the shot.

Contrast this with an automated camera such as the Nikon V1, where you have to remember not to keep it on too long for fear of draining the battery, turn it on before shooting, zoom or not zoom, check the shooting mode dial to make sure it didn't accidently move to some other mode, zero the exposure compensation, turn off the camera after shooting, and on and on. Can you still get great shots with a camera like this? Absolutely. Can you rely on it not to screw up when you least expect it? Not so much.

I was literally standing right next to the woman in the foreground, but because I was close and the camera was at chest level and silent, no one noticed me.

Go wide and get close.

Simply put, a moderately wide-angle lens lets you get close enough to your subject that you don't have to be as concerned with people stepping in front of you. It also makes it easier to pretend you're shooting something more interesting behind them, which in a city like Paris is more likely than not.

It's not all about photography.

As much as I enjoyed exploring Paris with camera in hand, I got even more enjoyment from doing so with my son, meeting people from other countries and backgrounds, practicing French, eating delicious meals and trying new foods. My goal was to have this sense of wonder and enjoyment reflected in my photographs rather than the other way around. I hope I achieved it.

 

Shooting (and Freezing) In Paris

I shot this right next to the Seine. If this scene looks like it was freezing cold it's because it was.

For the past week I've been in Paris with my 11-year old son, Cole. It's the first time for both of us. He's been on spring break and I've been taking a break from work. We've also both beeen trying our hand at street photography Paris-style. This is, after all, where street photography got its start, first with Eugene Aget and followed soon after by Brassai (a Hungarian shooting in Paris) and Henri Cartier-Bresson. By no means do I place myself in such great company; I'm simply inspired by it.

What has not inspired me is the unseasonably cold weather (a high of 4° C or 41°F), the crowds, and the rapid pace. Shivering plays hell with image sharpness, even if your camera or lens has image stabilization. The crowds offered plentiful subject matter; that is, if you like shots of people clothed for Arctic conditions. You've got to move fast though, because busy, distracted people think nothing of stepping between you and a prospective subject. And then there are the countless other tourists with their smartphones and tablets, attempting to frame and focus photos with the sun at their backs and shining directly onto their screens. Tourists or not, scenes of people staring dumbly at their smartphones while they play games or listen to music are so common that I refuse to photograph them any more.

This was shot just outside of the Eileen Gray exhibition at the Georges Pompidou Center. It's the sort of place I could shoot all day, especially because it's indoors and the crowds are less insane that at the Louvre.

I haven't regretted my decision to travel light though. My son doesn't mind carrying either one of my cameras as we walk for miles each day and neither do I. I'll publish a portfolio of my results when I get back. These two shots will have to hold you in the meantime.

 

 

 

The Sensuous Side of Photography

These old Brownies use 127 film, which Kodak stopped producing in 1995. The winders still wind and the shutters still click. Most important of all, my kids like to handle them and think they're cool.

I was listening to National Public Radio while driving in my car a few days ago when they aired a segment titled "Vintage Sounds: The Whirs and Clicks of Film Cameras." I invite you to give it a listen, especially if you've spent most of your years using film cameras. You'll definitely be able to relate to this piece. Not only that, you'll be able to describe in similar detail the sensory memories of each film camera you owned: how it felt in your hands, the sound of the film wind lever, the click of the shutter, the slap of the mirror, the whirr of the self-timer, the shimmer of the microprism. I'm sure you remember them vividly, even if you didn't like some of them. I suspect this is one of the reasons why a cohort of young photographers these days is so attracted to the cameras of old. There's a certain funky charm to gears, levers, cams and springs that digital circuits just don't have.

You post-digital folks need not feel left out. Even if today's cameras have fewer whirs and clicks, they still have sensuous pleasures of their own. Feel free to share your own versions of this story. As for me, I freely confess I own a couple of cameras I seldom use but can't bear to sell, simply because it's so damned pleasurable just to handle them. Can I hear an amen?

Stepping Out of My Comfort Zone (Literally)

One of the things I like about living in the Philadelphia suburbs is that I can take a commuter train into the city. Not only does it save the hassle of driving in traffic and paying for expensive parking, I get to photograph my fellow passengers.

I have a confession to make: Although one of my most consistent themes here on Shutterfinger is the need to break out of ruts and push boundaries, I don't like photographing outdoors in cold weather. Not at all. In fact, I like it so little that I seldom do it. Cold weather makes my eyes water. It makes my fingers stiffen and lose circulation. Gusts of wind punish me for having the temerity to step outside. When I wear gloves to keep my hands warm, the gloves make handling my camera slow and clumsy.

I don't know what this guy was listening to but it's obvious he was enjoying it--and the hot coffee too.

To make matters worse, the high cost comes with low reward. When I venture into the city, the few people out on the street on a freezing cold day are all bundled up, hustling on their way from one warm spot to the next. It's slim pickings all around. Sure, I could attempt some nature or landscape photography, but I enjoy that even less than being out in the cold. Scratch that idea. Pushing boundaries is one thing. Wandering around in a freezing cold forest or along a slippery creek bed is nothing more than masochism in my book.

This is the latest addition to an upcoming portfolio of abstracts based on paint and glue dripping from walls and columns. I have more of these than you might imagine.

Still, rather than be a hypocrite, I felt obliged (obliged, mind you!) to venture forth into Philadelphia's center city to see what I could find. It was mid-day on a Friday, a time when office dwellers would normally be out looking for lunch. This time it was snowing (lightly), so sidewalk traffic was light and it was scarves, hats, heavy coats, and umbrellas everywhere. I soldiered on nevertheless. You can decide for yourselves whether this sampling of the results was worth the effort. Just keep in mind that it was all for you.

The Virtues of Ambiguity

  It may be immediately apparent to some that this is a photograph of stairs, railings, and their corresponding shadows, but the framing, monochrome, and deep focus make this less apparent than it might otherwise be.

One of the hallmarks of some of the best photographs--one that I strive for but can't consistently achieve--is a sense of mystery and ambiguity. When we come across an image where it's not easy to tell at first glance what we're looking at or what's going on, it creates a visual puzzle. We get curious. We want answers. We want to solve it.

The difficulty in creating images like this is that things seldom look mysterious in real-time. We know--or think we know--what we're seeing and assume others will too. It's only later, when we have a chance to look at our photographs from a different perspective that they reveal aspects that weren't so apparent at first. They are now one-dimensional. Depth is indicated not just by perspective but the presence or absence of focus. Colors can be replaced by shades of black and white, where tones merge or separate in unexpected ways. Even you yourself begin to marvel at what you see on screen as opposed to what you thought you saw when you released the shutter.

In this case it's the open doorway, the odd angle of my son's egg-shaped head, and its relationship to the items above it that add ambiguity to this image.

I'll bet you can't look at this image and not wonder what he's doing, what sound he's making, and what role, if any, his sister in the foreground is playing.

There is no one guaranteed way to get images like this. A lot of it is luck. A lot of it is also in developing the ability  to recognize and appreciate ambiguity when you see it. If you're interested, try this exercise: Instead of releasing the shutter before something happens or after, trying aiming for the fleeting moments in-between, when things are still "up in the air," so to speak.

With stationary subjects look for lighting, arrangements, and cropping that suggest something rather than state it outright. For example, if you're composing a still life of loaves of bread, sprinkle a few crumbs on the table and add a 3/4-empty wine glass. Sometimes its the questions rather than the answers that make life and photography most interesting.

Get on the Ball

Since my last post was on travel tripods, I thought I might as well follow-up with a short post on ballheads. This is not for those of you who already know all this; it’s for those who wonder why anyone would want to buy a separate tripod head at all. Why not just buy a tripod-head combo and be done with it?

There’s one basic reason: choice. You might not want whatever head the manufacturer deems best. It might be too big, too small, too flimsy, or too limiting for your needs. If you buy a tripod with a removeable head you can attach the exact head you want and change later if you need something different. There's a lot to be said for adaptability.

The reason I prefer a ballhead for travel is that it’s a lot more compact than the comparable pan-tilt head. A pan-tilt has handles that extend outward and compromize portability. The controls on a ballhead are compact knobs or levers that are also less likely to snag on branches, brush, and other people.

Although you can get by with just one control—a locking screw or lever for the ball—this is less than optimal because the only way to pan is by unlocking the ball. If you then let go of your camera it will drop downward and perhaps even strike the tripod. You may also find that when you lock down the head the added tension on the ball will make your framing will shift a bit. Some heads compensate for this by adding a heavy-duty spring that places the ball under constant tension. In practice, the spring will be too heavy for some camera/lens combinations and too light for others.

That’s why it’s better to use a ballhead with an adjustable friction control. Better yet, make sure it has a separate pan base too; that way you can pan the camera without having to unlock the ball itself.

The final factor to consider is how to attach it to your camera. Some heads have a standard tripod screw, others use quick-mount plates that attach to your cameras and lenses. The benefit to a standard tripod head is that you can use it with practically any camera or lens that has a tripod socket. The drawback is that the heavier your lens, the more it acts as a lever that pulls your camera downward, thereby loosening it from the tripod. This can happen with some quick-mount plates as well. The better plates have a “lip” that fits along the base of your camera or lens to prevent it from twisting.

For speed and convenience you’ll need a separate plate for each item you want to attach, which can get pricey.  Make sure that if you do opt for a quick-mount head it uses standard Arca-Swiss style plates, otherwise you’ll be limited to a smaller, less flexible selection of proprietary plates.

The final factor to consider is size. The more weight you need the head to support, the bigger the ball should be. You don’t want to try to support a Canon 1DX with 400mm f/.28 telephoto lens on a ball the size of a marble. By the same token, a 2-inch diameter ball is overkill for an Olympus OM-D with a 20mm pancake lens.

That’s about it, folks. The rest becomes a matter of what design you feel most comfortable with. Choose a head with controls where you want and expect them to be and that feels built to last decades. Make the right choice and you’ll be enjoying your ballhead—and tripod—long after your current camera is a distant memory.