Shutterfinger

The Pentax K-7: Post-review Reflections

This is the Masonic Temple in Center City Philadelphia, shot with a Pentax K-7 and 35mm f/2.8 Macro DA at ISO 100. If you think this JPEG looks good you should see the print!

As most of you know, I finished a 3-part review of the Pentax K-7 for Mike Johnston’s TOP blog a few weeks ago. Although I pointed out a few weakness, such as the sometimes bewildering number of menu options, distracting noise at high ISOs when shooting JPEGs, and slow AF speed in low light, the review was positive.

And why not? I judge a camera by how much I enjoy using it to take pictures, not by how it looks on paper or how “inferior” it is to a camera I can’t afford or would never buy because it’s too big and heavy. My experience has been (and still is) that there are few practical situations for which the K-7 is not be up to the task. The trick is knowing how to get the best out of it. Now that I’d had the chance to get even more familiar with it, here are a few tips and observations I’d like to pass along to anyone else interested in how to do so.

A Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Waste

It took me only a second or two to manually focus on this woman looking at lithographs on a table. If I had used an autofocus camera there is a good chance it would have focused on the window in the foreground. In the time it would have taken to refocus I would have lost the gesture in shadow on the far right. The color balance is also intentional. It looks exactly how sunlight this late in the day should look: warm.

As wonderful as today's automated cameras may be, I find they often cause their users to disengage one of the most powerful photographic tools they have at their disposal: their brains. If photographers don't have to think about exposure, focus, white balance and cropping, they often don't. After all, the penalty is small. Minor errors in exposure, white balance and cropping can be corrected in Photoshop. Focusing errors are still a pain, but the camera makers are working hard to incorporate the "intelligence" it takes to recognize a face, a smile, or an object worth focusing on.

The irony of all this is that these cameras and focusing systems don't design themselves. They are designed by human brains--so you would think that brains clever enough to design an automatic focusing system would be clever enough to focus a camera manually, with at least as much speed and precision.

The truth is that there are photographers who do this every day. They focus their lenses manually, set the aperture and shutter speed manually, and even know what color-correcting filter to place over the lens to get a neutral color balance, if they so choose. It takes time to learn how to do this, but there's a certain satisfaction to knowing that you are in complete, direct control of your camera instead of the other way around. You might even discover that you're capable of doing a much better job than the multi-matrix/phase-shift/contrast detect/face-recognition system built into your $2000 DSLR--that is, if you put your mind to it.

It Doesn't Have to Be in Color

This is the original photograph. Although it's not riotously colorful, I found my eye tended to get too fixated on the umbrella rather than roaming the rest of the image.

I guess you don't need me to tell you that this is the black and white version. Compare it to the color version above. Does your eye roam more and fixate less on the umbrella? I hope so.

I've been shooting and printing in black and white for most of my photographic career. Even so, now that I do the bulk of my work with digital cameras I sometimes forget that black and white is still an option. Depending on the subject, it may even be the best option. The trick is knowing when to convert to black and white and when to leave well enough alone.

I think I made the right decision with the photo above. Color would seem the natural choice for a carnival, but in this particular case I thought it made the image look too busy. There were too many different colors and shapes competiting for attention. By removing the color and balancing out the tones I thought I might simplify the composition and strengthen the impact of the shapes. I'll let you be the judge of how well I succeeded, but if nothing else this is a reminder that black and white is always an option, even when it's derived from the most colorful of scenes.

What's the Most Valuable Thing to Learn?

It's that time of year. Even though I'm a street photographer at heart, even I can't help but be moved by the crispness in the air and the colors of fall. That's what I wanted to express in this photograph. In this case, capturing it was more a matter of composition than technique.

I recently had a friend mention that she had bought a digital camera and wanted to learn how to use it. It was a point-and-shoot, so I asked what she meant by "how to use it." Its operation didn't seem particularly complicated. She replied that she wanted to learn how to use it to take pictures that were better than just snapshots. It was her impression that this required a more intimate knowledge of how to use a camera than she possessed. She wondered what suggestions I had to help her.

I have to admit I was stumped. It's not as if I know nothing about photography. The problem was where to begin. Should I explain apertures, shutter speeds and ISOs? Do I explain focal length, angle of view and depth-of-field? Would understanding all of this really improve her abilities? As important as technical knowledge may be, it's only a means to an end, and not necessarily the only means either.

On a whim, I tried a metaphor: "It's sort of like learning to play an instrument," I said. "The learning gets a lot easier when you know what style of music you're trying to play. If you're familiar with the style then you can concentrate one learning the technique it takes to play it."

This idea seemed to make sense to her, but whether it will help her improve her photography neither of can say for now. Knowledge, even if useful, still has to be applied. Still, it seems to me that the most important way to improve your skill as a photographer is to have some sense of what you're trying to achieve or say; a sense, even if vague, of how you'd like a picture to look and how to get your camera to produce what you want. Without this you're basically just snapping the shutter and hoping for the best.

So that's what I consider the most valuable thing to learn. What about you? What, other than this incredibly thought-provoking blog*, has been the most important factor in your own growth as a photographer? What's the most valuable tip you would pass on to a friend of yours who wants to get better?

*I'm being ironic and self-deprecating here.

Pentax K-7 Print Sale—The Postscript

This is what I used to pack and ship my prints. Each 11x14 print was sandwiched between two 11x14 sheets of acid-free sketch paper, which was in turn sandwiched between two 11x14 sheets of corrugated cardboard. I taped the cardboard sheets together, then added a packing slip, folded the sides of the container over the contents, and taped the whole thing together. The result was a sturdy flat box that weighed less than 16 ounces.

As you regular readers know, I reviewed the Pentax K-7 DSLR a few weeks ago for Mike Johnston’s “The Online Photographer” blog. One of the example photos I posted generated so many positive comments that Mike and I decided to offer it for sale on TOP. The U.S. prices were $75.00 for an 8x10 and $150.00 for an 11x14-inch print, plus $5.00 for shipping. International prices were $15.00 more to account for the higher cost of shipping outside the U.S.

These prices seemed quite reasonable to me, as well as to the 73 people who ordered prints. Fifty-one people ordered 8x10s. The rest ordered 11x14s. A third of all orders were from outside the United States; some from countries as far away as Australia and Singapore. Not bad for a one-week-only print sale, eh?

But before you think that a print sale is an easy way to rake in the bucks, think again. It’s one thing to sell a lot of prints at one time. It’s quite another to have print and ship them. From the start, I was extremely careful to pick a printer I knew I could trust to print 73 identical, high-quality prints, on time and at a price that would ensure a reasonable profit for my efforts.

And trust me, there was effort involved. I had to approve the proofs, then return a few days later to pick up the prints. In the meantime I had to order the shipping materials: cardboard cartons large enough for either print, corrugated inserts for stiffening, acid-free paper to protect the prints from the cardboard, masking tape to hold everything in place, adhesive labels for the addresses, and packing tape to seal it all up. It’s better to over-pack a print and know it will arrive intact than cut corners and run the risk that it will arrive damaged. Check out Ctein’s excellent article, “How to Ship Photographs Faster, Cheaper and Better,” in the May/June 2009 issue of Photo Techniques magazine for a detailed guide to how to do it.

Once I had everything set up properly it took me an average of 10 minutes to pack and label each print. That may not sound like much; that is, until you multiply it by the number of prints—then it equals 12 hours of work. Because I’m self-employed I could stretch the packing, labeling and mailing out over three days. Even so, I had so delay some of my other projects. Someone working a regular 9-5 job would either have to call in sick, take a vacation day or two, burn the midnight oil, or devote an entire weekend to ship everything in a reasonable amount of time.

The orders were all through Paypal, which provides a handy label and online postage printing feature. This helps mitigate the fact that Paypal deducts a small percentage for each sale. Unfortunately, you have to print the labels one-by-one, filling in certain fields as you go. International shipments require a different form with more fields, printed in triplicate, and each form has to be signed. While packing each print I also had to make sure I was sending the right size to the right person.

Once everything was packed I had to deliver it to the post office. I used USPS Priority Mail and had each package scanned into their tracking system. This provides proof that I delivered the package to the post office as well as confirmation of when the package was delivered. Fulfilling print orders is hassle enough without running the risk of lost or damaged prints.

And yet, for all my caution, I screwed up on my pricing. It turns out that the actual cost for international shipping was $25.00 per print, not $15.00, so I lost $10.00 for each international sale. Imagine if I had charged only $50.00 per print. Ouch! It just goes to show that if you aren't careful it can cost you more time and effort to sell a photograph than it's worth. Other expenses include taxes (it’s income, you know) and a small commission to Mike for facilitating the sale.

So would I do it again? Absolutely. I finished sending the last batch of prints out today. Although I should have charged more for international shipping I still made a reasonable profit and though time-consuming, it was fun. Thanks again to Mike for offering me the opportunity.

For those of you missed out on the offer, I regret to say that this was a one-time only event. I will, however, offer other images for sale on my Zenfolio gallery. Check out the link for more details or feel free to send me an e-mail inquiry. For those of you who would like to sell prints of your own, I say “Go for it.” As long you're as good at the business of selling and delivering prints as you are at producing marketable images, you should do just fine. Good luck!

What Telecasters and Slide Film Have in Common

One of the most popular models among electric guitar players is the Fender Telecaster. Introduced back in the early 1950s, it consists of little more than a neck bolted onto a guitar-shaped slab of wood. The tone of the Telecaster is typically clear and cutting, which makes it popular among country musicians as well as blues, rock and R&B players.

Unfortunately for those learning to play one, the Telecaster’s clear and cutting tone is unforgiving of sloppy technique. Every mistake you make in tuning, fretting and picking will be painfully obvious to even the casual listener. The result is that you either learn to perfect your technique or you move on to a more forgiving guitar. Those who stick with the Telecaster, however, become known for their ability to create amazing music with the most basic of instruments.

If you’re wondering what any of this has to do with photography, here’s your answer: Color transparency film is a lot like the Telecaster. It was introduced decades ago, back in the mid-1930s. It developed (pardon the pun) into the gold standard of color reproduction, favored by professional photographers and amateurs alike. And, like the Telecaster, it was a demanding medium, intolerant of over- and under-exposure, poorly matched white balance and poor processing technique. As a result, if you could get consistently excellent results with color slide film, every other film you used was a breeze.

The difference is that today, the Telecaster is just as popular as it ever was, while sales of slide film have drastically declined. The original slide film, Kodachrome, is no longer in production. I can understand why. It’s a lot easier to work with digital cameras that provide immediate feedback on exposure and white balance. It’s easier yet to shoot raw, which provides the amazing ability to adjust image brightness and white balance even after the initial exposure.

But just as mastering the Telecaster makes playing other guitars that much easier, mastering color slide film makes mastering digital photography that much easier. Those who have a clear vision and the ability to execute flawless technique will always have an advantage over those who have to rely on luck, an undiscriminating audience, and the ability to muddle through.

So whenever I feel myself getting sloppy, I either load a camera with slide film or set my DSLR to JPEG-mode (the closest digital equivalent) to make sure I’ve still got the skills to get it right the first time if I need to. It may take a few days of practice, but the practice always pays off in better technique.

And by the way, in case you’re wondering why I know so much about Telecasters, yes, I do play one—and quite well, thank you.

What Type of Photographer Are You?

You can tell a lot about a photographer from the lenses he or she uses. Here are a few of my own personal observations based on the types of non-pro photographers I'm most familiar with. Yes, I'm stereotyping, but that's the whole point. That said, please don't interpret these observations as moral judgements. There are no “right” or “wrong” choices in this list, at least not in the absolute sense; just indicators of a certain frame of mind. So with this brief prelude, here’s the list:

The Purist—The Purist’s motto is “Less is more.” He therefore carries only one lens and it’s almost always a fixed focal length. The advantage of this approach, as he sees it, is that he becomes intimately familiar with the way a particular lens “draws” a scene, its angle of view, its strengths and its weaknesses. Purists can see a scene and know exactly how it will photograph with their lens of choice. Anything they should happen to see that can’t be shot with The One Lens simply isn’t worth shooting.

The Prime Fetishist—The Prime Fetishist’s motto is “It’s all about the lens.” A Fetishist is easy to mistake for a Purist because they both shoot only with primes. The difference is that the Prime Fetishist owns many primes; the more obscure, exotic, and hard to find the better. Unpronounceable names (such as Goerz Dagor or Apo-Apocalypse) earn bonus points. Any given scene can best be interpreted by only one particular lens, which must then be mounted to a camera with an equally obscure adapter. The Fetishist’s main challenge is finding a subject worthy of his lenses.

The Lugger—The Lugger’s motto is “Be prepared.” With that in mind, he (and it’s always a he) carries enough glass during his photo excursions to cover every focal length from super-wide angle to telephoto, with macro capability thrown in for good measure. Zooms are his optics of choice because they are so “practical and versatile.” A standard accessory includes a bottle of Motrin to dull the pain radiating from their back and shoulders. Luggers favor cameras with good low-light performance because by the time they have everything sorted out and are ready to shoot, the sun has begun to set.

The Artist—The Artist’s motto is “It’s just a lens.” They therefore take pride in using what other photographers would politely refer to as “junk.” Equipment that’s twenty years old, dented, scratched and worn offers evidence of continuous use for Artist Purposes, even if it was bought at a yard sale the week before. As for the results, where you see flaws the Artist sees “style and character.”

The Kit-Zoomer—Kit-Zoomers don’t really have a motto. They just use the lens that came with the camera and make the best of it. They zoom until the image in the viewfinder looks pretty good and then they click the shutter. If zooming doesn’t do the trick they move closer or further away, if they can. Kit-Zoomers take an equally casual attitude toward lens aperture, which is probably just as well: Kit-zooms are so slow there are only four full stops to choose from anyway. This freedom from the boring details of photographic technique frees Kit-Zoomers to produce photographs that, much to their surprise and delight, are acceptably sharp and well-exposed.

So the question for today is, did I leave anyone out? More importantly, which one of these types are you?

Print for Sale on TOP

For those of you so dedicated to Shutterfinger that you visit no other photo blogs (God bless all three of you!), I feel it is my duty to inform you that Mike Johnston of "The Online Photographer" is offering one of my prints for sale. You can find all the information here. This is the first time I've done something like this, so I'm pretty excited about it. If you do decide to order, just keep in mind that the actual white border is smaller than what you see in the web image. Also keep in mind that the cutoff for orders is this Wednesday, October 7, at noon Eastern U.S. time. Thank you for your attention. We will now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

Camera Reviewing Ain’t Easy

I’ve just finished a three-part review of the Pentax K-7 for Mike Johnston’s “The Online Photographer” blog. Feel free to click the link I’ve provided if you’re interested. I always welcome constructive feedback—but before you comment, here’s a little background information that might better inform your opinions: It ain’t easy reviewing today’s cameras.

Back in the days of film cameras, there were only a few modes and methods of operation you had to deal with. Many of them were fully manual, so if the exposure or  focus was off it was than likely your fault, not the camera’s. It was also understood that if someone liked processing their film a certain way, it had nothing to do with the camera itself. Now the “film” is built into the camera and so is the processing; but the image can also be processed by a multitude of raw developers. As a result, processes and results vary. Who’s “right” and who’s “wrong”? Hell if I know, and I suspect I’m not the only one confused by the flood of contradicting data.

Now add in the fact that today’s cameras are like little computers and each brand has its own distinct operating system. The operating systems are similar enough that if you’re used to Nikon’s system you can still figure out Canon’s or Pentax’s or vice versa, yet they are different enough that you have to invest a serious amount of time to learn each one well. You wonder why it takes the technical review sites so long to complete a review of a new DSLR? Here’s your answer. Learning everything you need to know about a new camera is a lot more work than you might think and it’s not necessarily fun.

Frankly, a guy like me, who has other obligations and interests, just doesn’t have that kind of time. In this respect I think I’m more typical of the average amateur photographer than not. I learn what I need to produce a representative range of photos (i.e. action, macro, portrait, wide angle, telephoto, available light, flash, etc.) and save the rest for later.

The one thing I do have in my favor is years of experience with a wide variety of cameras, from 35mm rangefinders to 4x5 view cameras; from one of the original digital cameras (the 8-bit, black and white-only “Fotoman”) to today’s top-of-the-line DSLRs; from processing and running densitometry tests on film to processing raw images with every popular raw processor on the market.

I wouldn’t necessarily claim that this makes me an expert—there’s always someone who knows more than I do about any particular subject (or thinks they do)—but I know enough to get consistently high-quality results from practically any camera I lay my hands on. True, it’s a lot easier to do this with some cameras than others, and some are designed for specialized use. When this is the case I do my best to state my opinions on a camera’s strengths and weaknesses; what it’s good for and what it isn’t.

A final word about weaknesses: All cameras have them. The catch is that what one photographer sees as a weakness another sees as a strength, or at least a non-issue. What’s too big and heavy for one is just right for another. What someone considers a huge file size is adequate resolution for another. Difficulty focusing under a specific set of circumstances means nothing to someone who never shoots under those circumstances.

If your biases are anything like mine then it simply boils down to this: If a camera consistently delivers great photos with minimal effort on my part, it’s a good camera. If I can still get great photos but it’s more trouble than it’s worth, then it’s not the camera for me. No matter what camera I use, I’m constantly reminded of the fact that good pictures don’t take themselves. In the end, if your pictures aren’t good enough, the chances are you don’t need a better camera; you need to become a better photographer.

A Reminder to Pay Attention to What Matters Most

These blank-faced gentlemen were offering cocktails to guests at the exhibition. Even at this size and this low resolution, I believe the Avedon prints on the wall are still the most interesting thing about this photo.

I recently had the pleasure of attending an exhibition of Richard Avedon fashion photographs at the International Center of Photography in New York City. The bulk of them were black and white prints, the smallest of which were approximately 16x20-inches in size. Some were twice that size and one, showcased in an exterior window, was at least eight feet high.

Needless to say, when you're looking at prints that large, especially images shot back in 1947, using older emulsions, the film grain was obvious. Pixel peepers would be horrified. How could anyone calling himself a professional use such inferior equipment? How could he produce prints with so much obvious "noise?" Who in their right mind would want to display them, much less buy them?

Anyone who can recognize a beautiful photograph produced by a master, that's who. Who gives a damn about grain (or noise) when you're looking at classic photographs of beautiful women, beautifully posed and lit, wearing beautiful clothes in beautifully atmospheric locations? Anyone who does is the same sort of person who would go to a fine restaurant and pay more attention to the plates than the meal.

Don't get me wrong: I strive for technical excellence as much as the next guy and I have little tolerance for photographers who try to pass off laziness and poor technique as "art." What I'm saying is that unless you've got an image worth looking at, all the technical excellence in the world can't save it--but when you do have a strong image, minor issues such as film grain become moot. Viewers either won't notice or won't care. And why should they?

So if you ever find yourself getting too obsessed over what camera has the lowest noise at ridiculously high ISOs or which lens has the flattest field or the best MTF, I offer a humble suggestion: Turn off the computer, get out of the house, visit a museum or gallery at look at some real photographs produced by real photographers. You may find it an eye- and mind-opening experience.