Shutterfinger

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.