Shutterfinger

Photoact 2012 Reminder

UPDATE: The previous pricing in this post was incorrect and based on old information. I have updated it to be consistent with the pricing on the photoact 2012 web site. It's still true, however, that you should register before June 1 for the best price.

This is a reminder to one and all that I will be one of the featured speakers at photoact 2012, a photo conference and workshop series that will take place August 24th and 25th in sunny Santa Barbara, California. The sponsor is photo book publisher Rocky Nook, which is headquartered in Santa Barbara, hence the excellent location.

I'll be doing a presentation on how to improve and get more artistic satisfaction from your street photography. Other presenters include fine art photographer and author Bruce Barnbaum, digital photography innovator Ban Burkholder, fine art photographer Uwe Steinmueller of Digital Outback fame, and photographer/environmentalist/portraitist J. Henry Fair. There are six others as well, so be sure to check out the full list.

For what it's worth, the panel discussion on the last day will feature some guy named Ken Rockwell. I've never heard of him but hear he's quite popular among a certain set. (Warning: The previous statement was not meant to be taken seriously.)

Aside from Santa Barbara being a wonderful place to hang out for a couple of days in August, the prices are quite reasonable. A single workshop is $125. The speaker series is $395. The speaker series plus one workshop is $495.00. 

Keep in mind that these prices apply only if you register before June 1, 2012. If you register after June 1, workshops increase to $145, and the speaker series increases to $435.00. If you have any questions, want more information, or  want to register, you can e-mail devon@rockynook.com, phone 905-687-2208, or visit www.rockynook.com/photoact2012. I hope to see you there. Better yet, bring a friend.

Non-Habitual Photography

 
Photographs don't always have to be perfectly sharp to be "good," do they?

It's all well and good for me advise you Shutterfinger readers to be "free" in your approach to photography; it's quite another for me to show evidence that I'm willing to follow my own advice. I know as well as anyone that there's a certain comfort and familiarity with doing things the way you've always done them, using the same camera and lens you always use, revisting the places and subjects you like to phograph most, and so on.

The benefit of comfort and familiarity is that it can make you a better photographer--one who knows what he wants and how to get it. The drawback is that if you aren't careful your tastes can become too narrow, your style too predictable. You play it safe. You seldom screw up, yet you seldom surprise yourself either. And trust me, when I say "you," I mean me too.

I don't normally shoot images like this one either. In this case I'm glad I made an exception.

So this morning I decided to shake things up a bit. Instead of waiting for a brilliant sunlight morning to venture into the city for a couple of hours of street photography, I chose an overcast day. Instead of having my camera set up to focus when I pressed the rear AF/AE lock button, I linked AF to the shutter button, the way most people do. Instead of using single-shot AF I used continuous AF. Instead of waiting for human subjects to enter my precisely framed compositions, I shot from the hip or raised the camera to my eye the instant I sensed an interesting gesture.

As minor as these changes might sound, they definitely took me out of my comfort zone. I had to re-think my approach, re-tune my reflexes, look at scenes in a different way. Not only couldn't I get the shots I would normally get, it was hard to capture new ones I liked. The delete button became my friend.

You can't plan how things line up in a shot like this. You simply have to press the shutter when the little voice inside your head says "Now!"

After an hour or so I began to notice that the new (for me) AF setup was actually a lot faster than the old one. I could focus on a moving subject in an instant and still have the image be reasonably sharp. I discovered that there was a certain spontaneity and energy to my off-the-hip compositions. I discovered that my images didn't have to be perfectly sharp or perfectly exposed to be interesting or successful.

(By the way, I also discovered that a large percentage of the people walking around these days are either holding a cellphone to their ear or are holding one in front of their face. These folks are so distracted that even a nervous novice street shooter could photograph them without being noticed--not that being noticed is the end of the world.)

Here's an example of what I mean about folks on cellphones. I was no more than an arm's length away from the gentleman in the foreground. He even glanced around and saw me with my camera, but just turned and kept on talking.

As for whether these changes were worth the effort or not, well, I'll let you be the judge of that. And if anything I've written should inspire you to alter a few of your photographic habits, then my job for this post is done.

 

 

Why Guitars Are Better Than Cameras

I have a confession to make. Even though I'm a much better photographer than I am a guitarist, I love guitars more than I do cameras. In my defense, I suspect I'm not alone in this, even among photographers. Here's a list of the reasons that come most quickly to mind:

1. Guitars--even electric ones--don't need batteries.
2. You don't need computers or software to play a guitar, just two hands and a heart.
3. You never have to worry about your guitar becoming obsolete. You can buy a guitar today that's built almost exactly like they were 50 years ago--and you would still play it the same way.
4. No one thinks you're odd if you play an 20 year-old guitar or if you give it a name like Lucille or Blackie or Pearly Gates. In fact, if you play well enough, you'll be widely admired.
5. Once you learn to play one type of guitar you know how to play them all.
6. Many of the best guitars in the world are completely designed and built in America. I mention this not to be chauvanistic, but because it's so rare to find high-quality, American-made consumer goods these days.

The one major drawback of guitars is that they aren't much good for photography--unless they're your subject, in which case they can be downright pretty. My question this week is how many of you reading this share my obsession. (I'll bet some of you can even identify the exact model of guitar in the photo above.) You can also earn a few points for loving other instruments, such as piano, viola, or trombone. No banjos, though. Banjos are unforgivable.

 

Humbled By An Homage

A few months ago I posted an homage to one of my favorite photographers, Gianni Galassi, whose style features strong, angular, architectural and geometric shapes contrasted against bold shadows. (Remind you of anyone you know?) Well, wouldn't you know it, Gianni returned the favor--and quite well, if I do say so myself. Feel free to click either of the links I've provided for the full story.

Lest you assume this is a simple matter of log-rolling and mutual back-slapping, my challenge to you is this: Is there someone whose style you admire? Have you tried to mimic their style? How easy or difficult do you think it would be? If you've actually tried, what did you learn from the experience? Was it more difficult or easier than you thought? You may discover that stretching outside of your comfort zone has the beneficial effect of making your comfort zone that much larger. 

The Drama of Backlighting

The backlighting in this photo was so severe that even though the highlight area is overexposed, the shadows are still practically pitch-black. I shot this with a film camera; a Leica if I recall. Imagine the result if I used a digital camera or a more flare-prone lens!

Regular readers of this blog know that I have a thing for dramatic shadows and that I don't much care whether they have any detail in them or not. In fact, depending on the composition, the less shadow detail, the better. Dark shadows force the eye toward the highlights, the shapes they form, and their texture. This means the highlights have to be worth looking at, of course, but assuming they are, it can make for a decent photograph.

One of the best ways to get the sort of deep, dramatic shadows I'm talking about is to shoot in the early morning or late afternoon, when the sun is low in the sky and the shadows are long. The challenge, as with the example above, is that the sun can reflect off of dark surfaces such as asphalt or, as in this case, dark gray tile, with a mirror-like intensity. I don't care how much dynamic range your camera has, it's still tricky to find the right exposure balance between washed out highlights and inky black shadows. The one tip I can offer is to remember that it's an esthetic judgement; a matter of taste. The "right" exposure is the one that looks right to you.

The light is softer in this example and my subject is indoors, but the same principles apply: The hightlights reveal form and texture against a background of deep shadow. Anyone whose feelings were hurt by the preceding film example will be relieved to know this one was shot with a DSLR.

Backlighting exists indoors as well. The most common situation is when a subject is positioned with a window immediately behind them. Depending on the size of the room and the brightness of the walls, the room may provide a natural form of shadow fill. The more acute the angle of the backlight, the brighter the fill will need to be to compensate. If you're looking for drama though, skip the shadow fill and just make sure the highlights are where they need to be.

Indoors or out, you may occasionally find that the angle of the light is such that it intrudes into the frame, causes lens flare, protective filter flare, or all three. This too can add drama and character to what might otherwise be an average photo. When you practice "bleeding edge" photography you risk getting cut, but if you're looking for dramatic lighting, the rewards are well worth the risks.

What Is "The Right Way?"

Is there a right way to photograph an abstract interplay of light, shadow, texture, and geometric shapes on a sidewalk? I hope not.

Read a few photography books, forums, or blogs--this one included--and you will quickly find yourself inundated with well-intentioned advice on how to conduct yourself if you ever hope to be considered a Serious Photographer. You will be told that you must use Canon, Nikon, or Leica equipment. You will be told that you must shoot raw and process the results with Adobe Lightroom and/or Photoshop. You must crop every image in-camera. You must use a tripod if you ever hope to achieve maximum image quality. You should never use a tripod if you ever hope to be spontaneous. You should expose to the right. You should never expose to the right.

I think you get the idea. Not only does such advice tend to be dogmatic, it's often contradictory. This explains another common phenomenon out there in the webosphere: frequent, prolonged, and pointless arguments about who is Right and who is Wrong. Each side trots out their Proofs and Straw Dogs, some of which involve actual photographs, most of which don't.

Do you care whether I shot this with my camera set to JPEG, what light balance I used, or whether this is an accurate representation of the scene before me? Even if you knew, would it make any real difference in how you approach your own photography? Should it?

In many ways these folks approach photography in the same way as training to be a classical musician. There is a certain curriculum you're expected to learn and practice until you become enough of a master to properly interpret the classical repertoire. The classical repertoire for photographers is landscapes, architecture, portraits, nudes, and so on. There is certainly room for self-expression, but the overriding emphasis is on interpreting, revisiting, and impeccable technique, not exploring uncharted territory.

I've been classically trained myself, so I understand and appreciate the value of this approach. That said, I didn't get into photography (or music, for that matter) to mindlessly follow a bunch of rules, no matter how good. I wanted to be able to express myself as I saw fit, as I felt, in the moment. I wanted to be able improvise, reinterpret, and occasionally surprise. So as far as I'm concerned, it's nobody's business whether I use a lens hood, shoot JPEGs, use flash, or believe in Jesus. I reserve the right to do as I please, as long as I'm not hurting anybody.

My friends, I extend the same right to you. Treat any of the information and recommendations I offer here on Shutterfinger no differently than you would the food at a buffet table: Take as much or as little of what appeals to you and leave the rest. If you don't particularly care for something, be polite enough not to disparage it. After all, someone else with different tastes and appetites might find it delightful. And remember that there's a big world out there. You're not obliged to explore it, but don't try to discourage those who do.

"Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.*"

Aside from being in the right place at the right time, I was lucky that the center-weighted meter in my camera exposed this high-contrast scene so well.

The Nikon D7000 I'm using these days is not the easiest camera to carry around. Though not huge, it's certainly not pocketable. Even if carried on my shoulder or wrist, it gets in the way. This is with a small fixed-focal length lens such as a 35mm f/2 or 50mm f/1.8, mind you. One of the larger and heavier Nikkor zooms would be out of the question.

And yet I carry it with me as often as I can, even though I live in the suburbs, where opportunities for dynamic images are rare. Here's an example of why: I was driving back home from a late afternoon trip to the market. As I drove through an underpass for a commuter train and turned right, I noticed a woman's figure silhouetted against the sky. There was a parking space just a few yards away, so I parked my car and hopped out, camera in hand. As soon as I framed the woman in silhouette I knew any photos I took of her would be  unexceptional. There was too much going on in the background and her silhoutte itself was too indistinct.

Seconds later, the train arrived and stopped at the station. Light from the setting sun reflected off the train's stainless steel exterior. Through the window of the passenger shelter in front of me I could see one of the train attendants leaning out of the entrance to watch for passengers entering and exiting. I framed the shot. A backlit passenger appeared in an area of intense highlight just below the attendant. I released the shutter. I got the shot you see here and it was the only shot I took.

Was I lucky to be in the right place at the right time? No doubt; yet I consistently find that the more prepared I am with camera on-hand, the more lucky I get. What about you? How many of your best shots have been the result of preparation meeting opportunity? Do you carry your camera with you any more or less as a result?

*Quote from Seneca, a Roman philosopher from the mid-1st century A.D.

Getting It Together

This gentleman is actually a very good guitarist. He enjoyed my taking a picture of him and I enjoyed listening to him play.

You might think that after 40-odd years of practicing photography I'd have it all down. I'd never screw up. My camera would bend to my will. All I'd have to do is spy the faintest glimmer of a photo opportunity and I would capture it in less time than it would take lessor mortals to blink.

The fact is that photography for me is often a struggle, the most constant of which is finding the time to practice it. I'm paid to write, you see, not to take pictures. During my "free" time I'm expected to be a good husband and father, not wandering the streets of Philadelphia taking pictures of perfect strangers for no reason other than my own personal gratification. The occasions when my wife and kids are doing something together that doesn't require my presence and participation don't necessarily coincide with good light and sufficient time.

Don't ask me why I like this composition; I just do.

This Saturday I simply set all that aside and made it happen. Despite a heavy overcast and consistent drizzel of rain, I met up with a fellow street photographer who was visiting for the weekend and went searching for a few photos that might justify the effort. I wasn't optimistic. It was a rainy Saturday morning and few people were outside walking around. The heavy overcast meant I wouldn't see of the dramatic shadow patterns I love so much. Worse, it meant I would have to use larger apertures, slower shutter speeds, and higher ISOs than I prefer. "Gordon," I thought to myself, "this morning is going to be a challenge."

To matters even more interesting, the camera I was using, a Nikon D7000 with a 35mm f/2.0 AF Nikkor, decided to be recalcitrant. It refused to reformat the SD card I was using. It took five times longer than normal to flush some shots through the buffer while others passed through in an instant. I took advantage of the fact that the D7000 has two SD card slots and switched cards. Problem solved. Only later, after I removed the original card and thoroughly cleaned the contacts, did it return to normal.

Although I wish this shot had been sharper I'm not sure more sharpness would make any real difference either way.

There were other annoyances as well. For example, the AF system would occasionally balk. I don't mean it would misfocus, it simply wouldn't focus at all. I still remember how to focus manually, but that's not much help when you've already missed the shot. My neckstrap was also pain-in-the-ass. It has a bulk black rubber strip that keeps it from slipping of my shoulder should I decide to use it as a shoulder strap (my preferred carry), but then it gets in the way and prevents me from raising the camera to my eye in a fraction of a second. More missed shots. Oh, and did I mention the less-than-perfect exposures? The shots with less-than-perfect focus? Or image blur caused by camera and/or subject motion?

Sometimes everything works out just right: subject, timing, exposure, composition... Times like this make it all worthwhile.

Fortunately, I've been at this long enough to know that this is just a normal day of street photography. Nothing ever goes exactly as you had hoped or planned. When you've literally got only a second or two to focus, frame, and release the shutter, you're going to miss shots. On the other hand, there will be times when the gods are smiling down on you, the fates align in your favor, and you capture a once-in-a-lifetime shot you would never have imagined and could never have planned. That's the fun of it all, you see. And that's why I keep at. Because one of these days I'll get it right.

 

Learn to Pay Attention

A photo like this may look like a quick grabshot at first glance, but if you take some time to give it a closer look you may notice that little was left to chance. I hope you enjoy it.

One of my mantras here on Shutterfinger has been the need for photographers to pay attention. In this post I'm going to expand a bit on what I mean by this and how you might go about, assuming you don't already know how.

What I mean by paying attention is not intense concentration. Intense concentration can often be like staring hard at a dusty mirror and trying to make the reflection you see look clear and sharp. You can try as hard and as long as you like and all you'll get for your effort is eye-strain. You'd be much better off if you simply cleaned the mirror, or better yet, turned around and looked directly at what it was reflecting. This takes not concentration but rather an alert awareness. That's what I mean by paying attention.

For anglers it means knowing what bait to use, where to drop the line, and when you've got a bite. For martial artists it's the ability to block and counterpunch by reflex alone. For musicians it's the ability to flow with the music; to know when to lay back and when to step forward.

There's more to it than just timing. It's also about having a sense for when you've got the shot and that shot is as good as it's ever going to be. Sculptors rely on much the same instinct to ensure that they don't remove too much, yet not so little that the piece looks unfinished and ill-formed.

The trick to all of this is that no one can really teach you how to do it. You have to teach yourself. The best I can do for you is to give good directions. It's up to you to look, and only you will know when you've found the right address. As for the directions, here's what worked for me:

1. Study the masters, especially those whose work interests you most. Let them open your eyes to the possibilities for location, lighting, color, tonality, framing, timing, and printing. If someone's work bothers you, don't dismiss it too quickly. As yourself why it bothers you. You may discover that the artist wanted you to be uncomfortable--and was successful.
2. Learn to meditate, to play a musical instrument, to play chess, or to play a sport. Any practice that requires you to focus your mind and use it differently than you do in everyday life triggers a new awareness and a sense of new possibilities. You become aware of how much your everyday awareness (or lack of it) is a distraction and illusion in and of itself.
3. Set a creative goal and standard of quality, then reach or exceed them. Unless you have some idea of where you're going and what you're trying to achieve then you're basically just wandering in the wilderness hoping to find a hot meal and a dry place to sleep.

This isn't meant to be an all-inclusive list; in fact, if you have anything of value to add, please feel free. Trust me, I'll be paying attention to whatever you have to say.

How Is This For Irony?

A few months ago a marketing rep from one of the large online photo retailers called to sell me on the idea of joining their affiliate program. This would involve me posting a banner ad for his company and providing links to their website whenever I wrote about equipment they sold. I would then get a percentage of any sales this generated. Apparently I've attracted a large enough following that companies like his were seeing an opportunity to profit from my readership.

As wonderful as this sounds in theory, I was reluctant. Other bloggers I know had advised me that any revenue from affiliate links would be minimal, especially because my posts are more about photography than photo equipment. Readers like you are more interested in using the equipment you already have than buying more. You're even less interested in arguing over whether some camera or lens you don't own is better than some other camera or lens you don't own. I also suspected that adding a banner ad to Shutterfinger would generate more brand attention for his store than dollars for me. Although I initially made a half-hearted effort to link a few equipment references to his store, no one bought anything through the links and I eventually stopped doing even that.

So imagine my amusement when I received an e-mail announcement from him two days ago that because the Pennsylvania state legislature had passed a law that would tax them for any affiliate sales in Pennsylvania (I live just outside of Philadelphia), this New York state retailer was cancelling all of its PA affiliate contracts. Gee, I'm sure glad I didn't waste hours of my time trying to scrape pennies out of that program.

Forgive me if this bores you. My main point is simply that you're in no imminent danger of seeing Shutterfinger flooded with affiliate ads and product links. I don't depend on blogging to make ends meet and God help me if I did. Instead, I write for the pleasure it brings and the comments you share. If you're occasionally moved to drop a few bucks in my tip jar to show your appreciation, well, that's just icing on the cake--delightful, but not essential.