For me 2011 was the year of LEDs. I started writing a book about how photographers and videographers use LEDs as main light sources in late 2010 but the bulk of the writing and shooting for the book was done in 2011. And I learned a great deal not just about LEDs but about how our choices of tools tend to shape our vision as artists. For example, it's easy to shoot without blur if you use flash, and it's easy to shoot at smaller apertures when you use bigger studio flashes but there's always a trade off. Every stop smaller means more and more is in focus and that might not be the effect you want if you really stop to think about it.
I learned that it's fun to work at the edge. A lot of lenses fall apart when you get close to wide open and a lot of us aren't as great at focusing as we think we are. Neither are our cameras. DSLR's are fast but the trade off, at least at the widest apertures, is accuracy. Shooting with continuous lights that aren't as powerful as tungsten lights means having to pay more attention to technique. Depth of field is a fickle ally at f2...
I learned that writing a book about a subject that is just becoming popular is harder than writing a book about something you've been practicing for 20+ years. (Go figure...). To the best of my knowledge my LED book will be the first book dedicated to showing photographers what's out there and how (and why) to use it. This means that you can't really research much on the web besides product availability and manufacturer hyperbole. You have to actually buy the stuff and play with it and use it until you get the hang of it. And then you have to translate what you learned. I'm sure, in a year, there will be dozens and dozens of books that deal with the same subject and I'm equally certain that most of them will use the entrails of mine to make a new product. Happens all the time in the book business. One only has to look at all the "Small flash on location" books that have hit the market in the last three years to see that.
Writing a book like this is harder than it looks. You have to pioneer some stuff. You have to go out exploring in other fields like the video industry and interior design but, toughest of all, you have to sit down and write. And every time you get the thoughts marshalled just right someone comes out with something new or you realize that you need to create a series of images to show what you're talking about. And for me that generally means finding a model, setting up both the shot and the behind the scenes shot and then creating captions for the photos that are short enough to fit and long enough to get the ideas across.
Once you've written and re-written the manuscript and selected and corrected the 150 or so images you send the whole package off to your editor and wait for their input. Invariably I talk about something that really requires an illustration and the editor is quick to point out the gap. Which means I have to go back to the project and shoot again. The LED book weighed in at about 45,000 words and has been edited down by at least 20% (thank goodness). You make your final corrections, have Belinda proofread it again, send it back and cross your fingers. But it doesn't stop there because every book is really your baby and if you want it to do well you have to play a major part in the marketing. That means getting it in front of people, cajoling good reviews for the all important Amazon.com page and also getting your local camera store to push the book. I'll do book signings anywhere in Texas. Really.
But there's a downside to all this. In fact, there are two. The first is that authors don't get a paycheck, they get royalties. But the royalties don't come in the mailbox until the book is written, photographed and sells. The royalties follow the initial sales by about six months. No sales mean no royalties which means you basically spent half a year of your life working hard on something with very little return. When I believe in what I'm writing that's a risk I'm willing to take because, to a certain extent (a large extent) whether or not the book does well is in my control. I can try to concept better, write better and make better illustrations. I can decide to work harder on marketing the book(s).
The year in which you actually do all the writing and shooting is grueling because, since there's no income from the project yet, you have to keep working at your "day job" and for me that means being available to clients at the drop of a hat to do photographs. And it must be Pressfield's law that the more in the groove and motivated you are to finish your book project the more the clients want and need you. When you hit the last lap of book production is when you get the high production, out of town job that has the world's tightest deadline. And that deadline is usually the day before the book is due.
I remember when I wrote my first book. I'd never done a book project before and I was afraid that the publisher would take a look at my stuff and declare it crap and cancel my contract. I worked and worked on the book and ten days before my deadline I got booked on an out of town assignment for eight days. Lots of details and lots of travel. I would shoot all day, travel in the evenings and try to polish my book late into the night. When I got back home I was trying to do the final lighting diagrams on my computer and I started seeing dark spots in my peripheral vision. Then I couldn't focus on the screen correctly and my heart was racing. I stumbled into the house and asked Belinda to drive me to the hospital. I was certain I was having a stroke (I'm an ace hypochondriac...) and we rushed to the emergency room.
The diagnosis? Acute panic attack. The short term cure? Half a milligram of Xanax. The book got done and went out on time via Fed Ex. And I waited for feedback. On the edge of my seat. And.....nothing. I was certain the publisher was shaking his head and moaning. Finally, a week or two later I called. They loved it. And the book was successful. But the birthing process, for me, was incredibly painful. And it's nearly as bad each time.
But here's the thing that sucks about writing a book, or putting photos on the web, or basically doing any sort of time intensive project like a movie or a book: the minute is hits the book stores, or Amazon or, in the case of movies, a DVD being offered for sale it's stolen and copied and pirated everywhere. I can go to a dozen bit torrent sites right now and download stolen or pirated copies of all four of my current books in English, Polish, Italian and Chinese. Someone will recommend one of my books on a forum and actually post a link to a bit torrent site where they can get it "for free." Pisses me off. But how many days of your life can you commit to doing "take down" orders/requests/submissions?
I hope the LED book hits its audience. But even if it doesn't I enjoyed the process and I enjoyed the "time in the water." And I know it's part of the process of becoming a better writer.
What will 2012 bring? I'm going to go out on a limb and say that this will be the year we re-invent the whole idea of portraiture. From the ground up. New rules. No rules. I'm out to figure out how to make portraits that people look at, gasp, and demand to have at any cost. That's the business goal for me. And I think there might even be a book hiding in there. Sure would give me an excuse to re-invent my whole genre. Yes?
Below. A random LED sampler.
I did want to say that through good times and bad, here on the Visual Science Lab I've had a wonderful time getting to know really smart and engaging people; readers, from all corners of the earth. I've had heart warming e-mails, notes in the real mail and been the recipient of stories that brought tears of happiness to my eyes and a catch to my throat. I know I have a tendency to change course and change my mind but in spite of that I try to write honestly and from the heart.
Some of you think I should be relentlessly positive but that's not a holistic portrait of my humanity. We get pissed off, we see things that shouldn't be, we resist change just for change's sake, and it's folly not to speak out when you feel it. But I do try to layer in as much of a sense of satisfaction and wonder as I feel. And I feel it most days.
Happy New Year. May your pictures make you happy. Screw the critics. See the world through your own lens. That's genuine. Take your photographs instead of copying what everyone else has already done. Be there for your family and friends but make time for yourself. Thank you for being here.
Trading Camera Systems. Why do we cheat on whatever system we own?
I know why we kept our Hasselblads for decades, they always worked and no matter what year you` purchased yours it was capable of generating the same quality images as the latest or oldest one. It was the lenses that we stayed around for. But in this day and age the digital bodies are more akin to buying a few bricks of film and they go out of style and are superseded almost yearly. When I first came to photography we had to be "jacks of all trades" which meant keeping an arsenal of glass on hand. If you shot with Nikon you probably had everything from an 18mm wide angle to a 400mm telephoto and everything in between. And then even lenses started to change. Zooms superseded primes (but maybe not....) and then new revs of the zooms overtook the ones we bought just a few years earlier. Now we're slinging around glass and bodies like we're in a flea market. And I find that as my style stabilizes I use fewer and few extra long or short optics.
The logic is to buy the latest digital body and use it up quick. Sell it before the new models are announced so that you get the maximum value in the next trade. This year you'll be able to shoot everything at 3200 ISO but next year it will be 6400 ISO. I can't wait. Or can I?
In the old days the only even marginally available information about lenses was the anecdotal test stuff we'd read in the mainstream photo magazines. And they only came out once a month. Now every website has a precision testing rig based on DXO or IBF and we can see, right there in the four dimensional graphics, just how poorly last year's lens performance in the outer 12th % of the frame is versus this year's glass. If you are a Nikon shooter you are suspect if you aren't sporting a D3x and at least a 14 to 24mm and a 24 to 70mm. How can you possibly produce professional results without it all?
Not to generalize but the women photographers I know only seem to replace their cameras and lenses after someone drops them several times and an assistant accidentally spills Coca Cola on the main body while changing lenses. Could it be that many new camera purchases are nothing but sublimated male sexual desire? Have we transferred our biological imperative to go out and seek mates endlessly into a less (socially) destructive desire to chase camera systems instead?
I just finished writing a book and shooting a big ad campaign for an agency. I have the strongest desire to change systems today. No, my current system did not screw up on the big shoot. No, there was no lack of optical integrity among the lenses. In fact, I think they gave me their best effort. But there is much truth to the saying that familiarity breeds contempt.
I was talking about this to a friend in New York who just happens to be a psycho therapist. He laughed at my Freudian interpretation. He suggested that the desire is much the same in any area of art wherein the practitioner is finished with one cycle and ready to embark on a new cycle. He refers to this "sweeping the clutter off the desk" as a way of starting with a fresh canvas. A blank page. A new perspective.
The idea being that the hand/mind relationship (haptics and all that) predisposes one to work in the same fashion over and over again and only by making a conscious attempt to change the tools will you change the construct and the paradigm that keeps you slavishly locked into the same subconscious fabrications. The psycho therapist had to get off the phone at that point. You see, we'd been talking about the really cool f2 zoom lenses for the Olympus E system and he wanted to go play with them right away.
I'm between books and projects. I'm pondering cheating on my Nikons and getting some more Olympus gear. I like the color and the size but I know those are just facile justifications. I think I'll start with the 50 Macro. That's supposed to be a good one.
How do I reconcile all this? Well, a good shrink will cost me $250 a visit and it may take years to come to grips with my compulsive need to try new cameras. How many new cameras would that buy? How much painful introspection will I be able to avoid?
(For those who take everything literally please understand that approximately 15 to 20 % of this blog was meant to be "tongue in cheek" I'll still buy the gear but I'll laugh at myself while I'm doing it..........)
Belinda standing in front of a painting she did in school.
Making art has never been easy. Well, that's not strictly true. The process of making the art is as easy or as hard as the artist makes it, but figuring out how to make a living doing the art you want to do is the incredibly hard part. I had it all figured out in the 1980's and 1990's but then the path to profits for photographers changed. We went through the same transition art directors and designers did when they became typesetters and color separators. We learned how to become our own color labs and printers. But the print part didn't last very long and most of what we learned through long, dark hours in front of glowing screens and of massaging ink jet printers to get them to spew out color correct prints has already fallen by the wayside. Nobody wants or needs prints anymore, they want digital files they can use now. On an iPad or in a website.
There's cheese out there and it's still in the same spots. It resides in client checkbooks and client direct money transfers. It resides in P.O.'s and credit cards. But our evolving culture, intertwined with fun and disruptive technologies changed the path to getting to the cheese. And we need to learn a whole new process of navigation. We, as professional photographers, need to figure out a new way to get to the cheese.
Here's how not to get there:
1. Depend on gear. Why? Because clients no longer care, the market no longer cares and the images no longer care. If the image is shot on (God Forbid) an iPhone or an 8x10 view camera nobody really cares as long as it's technically usable and the image looks great.
2. Depend on print sales. I don't know where to start on this one other than to say that we had a good recovery year in 2011, as far as billings go, but this is also the first year when we really had nearly zero request for prints. At all. Zero. Clients want images for mobile devices and high res images for commercial process printing but the era of display prints is as dead as a 8 bit computing. Ask your friendly neighborhood wedding photographer how those print sales are coming along...
3. Depend on traditional imaging. And by this I mean learning the rules for "three point" portrait lighting, the rules of "correct" architectural photography or the rules that pertain to how all of this has always been done in the past. Nobody cares if the colors match up exactly (except big companies with products) and no one cares if the lines are straight (except for architects...and maybe not even them). If you are still doing headshots with two umbrella lights and a cute little spot on the background you may already be done with the profitable part of your career. In this regard change is good.
4. Depend on selling stock photography. The world market now contains billions and billions of stock images. And unlike the billions and billions of burgers McDonalds has sold they have not been digested and returned to the earth to fertilize the land. All billions and billions of them will live like zombies, seemingly forever, and the prices will continue to spiral down and down like a dying seagull. Heading for the zero zone of the horizon. Have you played the lottery lately? Are you one of the handful that have won millions of dollars? No? Have you broken even on your lottery "investment"? No? And chances are you never will. Nor will you make any real money ( or even fake money ) in the stock photography business. There's always a person or two who can point to some income but if you strip out the camera costs, the time and the learning you'll find them radically upside down and not the least bit dependent on stock sales for survival.
5. Depend on print sales of "fine art" prints. Here's the funny deal: In a way, photography is a mechanical process and people in our culture have an enormous belief in the power of the creative machine. They respect the camera more than the artist. Now cameras have become incredibly easy to use. When poeple want art, more and more, people are buying their own cameras and shooting their own art. Which is fun. Which leaves them less disposable income (and inclination) with which to buy your art. Sorry. I know it's probably better art, but the great unwashed have a different metric for just how good the art on the walls needs to be than we special artists.... And remember, people don't really want prints, they want stuff for their screens.
6. Depend on the corporations. They're busy tapping into their own employees for "free" art. You know Bob in marketing? He's a wiz with a camera and he's volunteered to do all of the XXX art work for the XXX project. And the best thing is that since he's doing it on company time not only do we get it for free but the company also owns the copyright or IP. And if Bob's stuff doesn't turn out quite as well as the stuff they're used to paying for they have a graphic designer who's a wiz with PhotoShop and she can fix it in a heartbeat.
7. Depend on magazines. Right. I'll just let that one lay there while we all think about it.
If the traditional paths are nearly gone we have to find new ways to make money with our art. People are quick to tell you about new career paths you might want to consider. You could make "apps" for other people's cellphones. But that's not what you bought your first camera to pursue, is it? And you could teach but it would have to be in workshops because the number of faculty positions is static and the professors already teaching are so frightened by what's happened to the market in the last ten years that they'll never venture out away from academia. But maybe you're a loner, an introvert, a working artist, and you don't relish the idea of spending weekends with groups of people toting overstuffed camera bags around and trying to figure out how to use their cameras. And maybe you're tired of the question they ask over and over again in your landscape workshop: "How can I make money shooting landscapes?"
The real answer, going forward is that you'll have to invent new paths to profitability and that's going to take some hard work, some experimenting and a lot of new marketing. The cheese is still out there and it's going to go to the people who identify the new "needs" of the market and deliver.
I'm not sure where everything is going but I know it's not going to go on the same way it has been. I'm pretty sure that my business would be a lot less profitable if I didn't write books and articles. I've made some in roads into the video business. I'd love to figure out how to make "old school" art portraits deliverable to a new market. And I'd love to find a way to package and sell the stuff I want to shoot. I am convinced that an iPad app that shows just images isn't going to be nearly as profitable as an iPad app that shows an experience. And I'm equally sure that people are becoming more and more interested in the experience of experiences than in the souvenirs. But there might be a way to explore all these options and still stay true to the art you want to do in the first place.
As Seth Godin would kinda say, "Choose yourself." If you have a book project in your head, and you know you can do it, don't wait to be invited by a publisher. Put together a package and sell it to your own investors. Don't wait for the market to find you. Find the market. Don't wait for the money to decide to head in your direction, put together your product and go find the money.
But I guess the biggest thing is to decide what you really want to do. Are you an artist or are you a business person? If you are just in this field to make money you've chosen poorly. If you would pursue your art regardless of all the hurdles and blocked avenues then you might want to separate the idea of what you do for love and what you do to live. Find easier ways to make money and live so you can do the hard work of doing the art as a separate part of your life.
The pathways to profit have changed and now we need to act like pioneers instead of map readers. It will take re-invention and exploration to find new ways to keep doing what you love. Ask any working professional in the arts if he or she is still doing it the way they did it ten or even five years ago and I'm sure you'll quickly find that the successful ones have learned to tack into the headwind and keep moving forward. They might be adding stuff they never thought they'd do before but that's part of the deal.
And the ones who are still doing their art exactly the way they did it ten or twenty years ago fall into two camps: 1. People who support themselves outside the construct of the working artist. Or, 2. Those whose work is so individual and so beautiful that it falls outside the run of the mill and is coveted by clients. Regardless of how anachronistic the delivery or approach. What a great spot to be in!
Most of us have chased the business so hard we've lost part of what the art meant or means to us. Maybe the re-alignment of the economy is a way for us to get the meaning back. Compass ready? Move forward.
One last point. There's still work out there. It's going to the people who market best. The analogy is one we all should understand. If we want the sharpest photograph we should use the best technique. In most cases that means putting your camera on a tripod. But most of us forego the tripod far too often. Getting work means cold calling and meeting with potential clients but it's far easier to just put up a website, throw some stuff up on Tumblr and wait. The marketing is the tripod. It is the technique. While we're looking for the new roadmaps it's a good idea to make sure you're marketing well to the people/clients you can identify right now.
note: This was written from the perspective of someone whose sole income is derived as a freelance artist and writer and it was intended to speak to other people in the same boat. If you are in a different business and the market hasn't shifted yet for you then count yourself lucky. But don't think all other trades and professions are immune. The digital shift happens in a heartbeat. And the cure is nearly always a mystery. Anyone can give advice but the best advice generally comes from those who've been there and survived.
final note: This is not angry, cranky or pessimistic. It wasn't written with that intention. It's meant to encourage people to think of new ways to do what they already love and continue to make a living.
Another interesting Sunday that makes me think we haven't come as far as we think...
Drying dishes in the kitchen the night after the party.
I've owned a Kodak DCS 760 since they were introduced back in 2001. Or was it 2002? No matter, it's a camera I've always enjoyed using if for no other reason that it was built on the chasis of the Nikon F5 and had, at the time, the best viewfinder, shutter and overall mechanical operation of any camera in the early part of the century. I also shot a bunch of memorable ad campaigns with it. It got a lot of use because one of the things Kodak did very well was the implementation of tethered shooting with Photo Desk software.
The camera is quite beefy at almost five pounds with a 50mm lens on the front. Over time the inconveniences of using the camera became apparent in light of new competition. The Nikon D100 was smaller and lighter. The D1x shot faster. The screens on the backs of newer cameras got bigger and better. But I think the thing that finally got my pair of DCS 760's consigned to the "C" drawer of the equipment toolkit was the batteries. The camera originally launched with NiCad batteries that had all the usual NiCad bugaboos. The batteries, when new, were good for about 125 actuations. Additionally, as long as the battery was inserted into the slot on the camera body the camera suck down power. Even with the power switch firmly set to "off". As the batteries aged they were good for fewer and fewer shots per charge. Finally, when we got down to 20 or so shots per charge the camera was relegated to shooting only in the studio and only when cabled to the AC adapter. Why bother to keep them for so long? Well, there were sharper and the color bit depth was nicer than any of the six megapixel cameras Nikon had on the market over the years. Finally Nikon introduced the D2x and I put the Kodak's away.
Every once in a while, in a fit of nostalgia, I'd do a big internet search for new batteries. But the few times I found suppliers the batteries were in the $149 price range and when I inquired they were invariably out of stock. Eventually I dumped most of my Nikon stuff and started up an "on again/off again" relationship with Olympus. Then, realizing that I could be married to more than one camera system I also added the Canon stuff. Now were shooting with 21 megapixels or shooting with cameras that fit in my palm and take older Pen lenses. But I never got over my infatuation with the Kodaks. And every once in a while I'd come across a photo from those cameras that was......perfect. Technically as good as the stuff I produce today (within the resolution limits) and with a color palette that's enchanting.
I guess I'll open myself up to a little ridicule and say that they were the first digital cameras I used that really had "soul". A feeling of ergonomic complicity. Files that went beyond my one dimensional intentionality and worked on many levels.
So a week ago I came across another one of those (wow) photos and I did another web search. But it started and ended at Amazon, my online vendor of choice. A vendor offered brand new metal nickel hydride batteries for $49 each. I ordered two. They came quickly and I charged them up. Today was my first opportunity to put them to the test.
Flowers from Leslie.
So I clicked the 50mm Nikkor 1.1.2 AIS lens on the front and, after a few shots around the house I headed downtown to get in a nice walk and a wine tasting at Whole Foods. I brought both batteries, fully charged, anticipating the same kind of performance I'd gotten from 760 type batteries in the past. I shot over 225 images with the first battery and it's still reading a full charge!!! I feel liberated.
In case you're thinking about running out and buying a DCS 760 for yourself let me arm you with a few caveats. Mind you, these are things I'm willing to work around because I've worked with much tougher cameras and I don't presume they'll make French toast for you and also clean up the kitchen for you......
The screen on the back is as close to non-functional as you can imagine. I use it only to set menu items and make sure that the whole system is still working. There's no way you could use that screen to judge exposure. And you'd be foolish to even think about judging color on it. It's dark, it's horribly contrasty and three or four colors have over the top saturation problems.
I do what photographers have done for over a century. I look at the light and guesstimate and exposure. I'm usually pretty close but even if I'm up to one full stop over this camera's raw files make short work of it. They have latitude that makes some current cameras seem like three stop toys. I drag the slider back in Lightroom (which does a superb job on conversions from the DCR files) and I'm right back into the sweet spot. Just don't under expose!!!! That's a problem. The blue channel gets very noisy if you have to push the pixels......
My biggest caveat for you is this: Be careful shooting this camera. When you see the "Kodak" color and the sharpness of a camera with NO anti-aliasing filter you'll never want to go back. Seriously. The color is just so good. It was the first series of cameras to supply color into 16 bit channels. Not the 14 or 12 bit color of today's cameras. We're talking "Holy Grail" color. And, within the six megapixel resolution, the sharpest camera ever created. It spanks the Nikons and the Fujis and especially any of the six megapixel Canons out there. If you use one you'll start trying to convince clients to work with smaller files and smaller final image sizes just because it's so nice.
But not everyone is into just sharp if they can have sharp and resolution. And I see the point every time I go big. But if you go by the older standards of viewing distance the DCS 760 acquits itself well at enormous sizes. There's something about sharp edges that transcends a lot of foibles in the quest for big prints.
Most clients are looking for web stuff. If we only shot brightly lit scenes and in the studio we'd be able to please all but the most pretentious clients with this technology from nearly a decade ago. But here's where my argument all falls apart: Imagine a camera with only two ISO settings. Imagine you have ISO 80 and, in a pinch, you can also use ISO 100. There are ISO's all the way up to 400 but for the most part, unless you are going for a paean to Pointillists you'll want to stick to the bottom of the scale. And that won't be fun for everyone who's been spoiled by the high ISO performance of Canon and Nikon's better cameras. I'll face it, this camera makes my Olympus EPL-1 (at less than $500) look like a low light champ.
I also wanted to talk for a second about the reason I still have a few Nikon lenses even though I'm mostly shooting with a Canon 5D Mk2. For some reason Canon is really good at everything but fast normal focal length lenses. I'm sure they'll fix this deficiency at some point but I've shot with their 50mm 1.4 and their 1.8 (the "Nifty Fifty") and, to be frank, I'm wholly underwhelmed. So much so that I even went out and got my own Carl Zeiss ZE 50mm 1.4. But after looking at results from the Nikon AIS 50mm 1.1.2 lens I think I've wasted some more money. The Nikon is better wide open, better stopped down and better built than any of the Canon offerings. (Yes. That includes the 50mm 1.2 L which is overbuilt mechanically and under executed optically. If you gave me one I'd get my money back and buy the Nikon or the Zeiss 50mm macro.......)
All of the images I'm showing here were done with the Nikon lens. And the results please me as much as when I use the Nikon lens on my Canon 5D. What I like most about the Nikon 1.1.2 is the way it goes from wide open to 5.6 and the only thing that really changes is the depth of field. The Canons are almost unusable wide open. And really, that's a shame. There are reasons, sometimes, to cherry pick the best from multiple vendors.....
I'm not writing this to push you to buy an old, rugged Kodak camera. I guess my real intention is to make you think about the treasures you may have relegated to the equipment cabinet that may just need a new set of batteries. If you've got an old Canon 1DS or a Nikon D1x or a Fuji Sx you might want to pull it out and re-evaluate it. If you kept it around you probably know that there are some special attributes that attracted you to the camera in the first place. Now that raw converters have become much better you might want to re-audition the older cameras just to see if they have some attribute that really makes them stand out. In a good way. Example: I love the way the old Kodaks do sky. Lovely blue and the contrast comes from being able to hold vast amounts of detail in the shadows.
There's a touch of magenta in these late afternoon clouds. Do you know why? Because it's late afternoon and there's a touch of magenta in these clouds. I'm shooting a job later in the week with a famous computer CEO. For that one I'll use the Canon 5D2 and the latest flash equipment. For my own art? Right now it's a toss up between the two Kodaks (DCS 760 and SLR/n) and the Sony R1. Let me know which cameras from days gone by you think have a bit of magic in them. There's bound to be dozens I haven't played with yet and I'd hate to miss something good.
I originally posted this in 2010. It's an article I wrote for a printed-on-real-paper magazine. It's a review of Mexican food restaurants for Tribeza. Since then I've written two more books and I feel strongly that working photographers are going to have to become masters of multiple mastery. You need, at the minimum, to be a good writer as well as a good shooter. Here's the kind of editorial work that comes and goes in the magic flux that keeps me busy and paid:
12.13.2010
My story on Austin Mexican Food For Tribeza Magazine. Just for fun.
This story ran in Tribeza magazine a while back. I was driving with my kid yesterday. I told him that good writers were rare in our society and that he should practice his writing. I went on to say, "If I were in charge I'd make you write a new essay every day." He immediately countered with, "If you did that I would be a much more rebellious child..." Touche' This article may not appeal to everyone but it's a classic example in the editorial world of getting more work because you can put two disciplines together. It's cheaper to put a writer and photographer on a plane if they are the same person........ And you get paid for both parts....
A Taste of Mexico
Story by Kirk Tuck
There is a time and place for shiny, novel, ersatz, newcomer Mexican food, but the time is generally after an evening of drinking and the place is usually somewhere I really don’t want to be. Like most Austinites, I want my Mexican food to be authentic, tasty, and time tested. There has always been an uncomplimentary inflection involved in the discussion of Tex-Mex food that stems from the conceit that the clichéd gooey-cheese, orange grease, and tortilla-laden cuisine, cut with hot peppers, was invented only to insulate the human system from the onslaught of margaritas and beer and doesn’t really constitute nutrition or “cuisine.”
I couldn’t disagree more. Some of my all-time-favorite meals have come from a handful of Mexican restaurants sprinkled around Austin—meals that married incredible combinations of ingredients with masterful preparation. In fact, when “foodie” friends from either coast hit town in search of great meals, we usually default to one of three established favorites. These are restaurants that have three things in common: (1) They’ve stood the test of time and are just as relevant to diners today as they were the day they opened. (2) They’ve focused on providing engaging dining experiences that combine great food with just the right ambience. (3) The food is still the compelling reason for their existence.
The three restaurants I refer to are Fonda San Miguel, Manuel’s (on Congress Avenue), and El Azteca. They are totally different in style, presentation, and aesthetics, but each provides a rich experience in its own right.
In fairness, I should make this disclosure before going any further: We’ve been going to Fonda San Miguel for more than 25 years and El Azteca for at least that long, and we were around for the birthing of Manuel’s, which turns 25 this year.
These three restaurants offer totally different dining experiences; El Azteca is the prototypical family-run Tex-Mex-style restaurant serving traditional dishes that blend the tastes of South Texas and Old Mexico. Along with Matt’s El Rancho, El Azteca has set the standard for Mexican “comfort food” in Austin for decades. It’s the perfect place for cabrito and all our usual “combination plate” favorites. It’s very casual, with prices to match.
Manuel’s is the opposite of El Azteca’s homespun, East Side, laid-back feel. Located at the epicenter of downtown, Manuel’s is sleek and stylish. A study in black and white with touches of warm neon. The crowd on any given day is composed of young downtown professionals, a mix of advertising and magazine creatives with a blend of politicos and attorneys thrown in for flavor. The food is a perfect blend of interior Mexican traditionals with a generous nod to ongoing culinary evolution. And the presentation of the specialties is second to none.
Then there’s Fonda San Miguel: a world-class restaurant with a split personality. It can’t seem to decide between being a celebrated destination dining venue or a museum-quality art gallery, so it gracefully merges both inclinations to present a unique visual and gustatory experience beyond that of any other restaurant in Austin. Chef Miguel Ravago is doing wild and wonderful things that marry the finest traditions of haute cuisine with nuances of Old Mexico. When the food is combined with the incredible collection of art, the result is an evening that is very much a special occasion.
I’ll start with our Tex-Mex traditional, El Azteca. The building is modest and shows its age. The restaurant has been there for 46 years, after all. Walking in the front door, we were greeted by Daniel Guerra, the son of the restaurant’s founders. The walls are decorated with won- derfully kitschy Mexican calendars depicting “ripped” warriors atop Mayan pyramids and ample, half-naked women in ceremonial outfits from the ancient Aztecs, if the ceremonial outfits had been designed to be worn by Jessica Simpson at a car show. The calendars are a tradition started by Daniel’s father. He imported them from Mexico to be given away to regular customers. Now they are available for sale.
The highlight of our recent lunch was roasted cabrito (young goat) served in tasty, small chunks and accompanied by a traditional mild sauce, guacamole salad, and frijoles à la charra. The cabrito is a specialty of the house, and it was just right, almost crispy on the outside, tender and moist on the inside. We also ordered a vegetarian combination plate that took us right back to our early Austin Tex-Mex roots.
Refried beans, rice, a vegetarian taco, acres of wonderful queso, and an enchilada. Nothing heroic, just perfectly proportioned, and served promptly. From the fresh, hot chips to the easy-to-eat house-made salsa, everything about El Azteca says “rich, comforting food served up by family.” The one thing that will surprise you is just how affordable the food is.
Manuel’s Downtown is a great blend of streamlined, modern decor fused with authentic interior Mexican dishes that never disappoint. I love coming in for lunch with a fairly large party and sitting in one of the rounded, plushly upholstered corner booths with a view of the entire dining room. But the restaurant really comes alive during the dinner service, with the kind of bustling energy you normally experience in the most popular New York cafés. The waitpeople, dressed all in black, whip through the room. The patrons, also dressed mostly in black, meet and greet with alacrity, though the lucky ones who’ve already been served are oblivious to everything but the beautiful presentations and addictive smells and tastes of the great food.
On a recent visit we sampled an interesting trio of disparate dishes. The camarones veracruzanos, served on a bed of perfectly cooked rice, was a shrimp lover’s wish come true. Huge, plump sautéed shrimp, painted with a delicately spicy red veracruzano sauce, dominated the plate. The folks in this kitchen do seafood really well. Next we turned our attention to a crowd-pleaser, the enchiladas verdes. I order these chicken enchiladas covered with a piquant tomatillo sauce nearly every other visit to Manuel’s. The blend of cheese, chicken, and salsa is as close to perfection as you’ll find in Austin. On my last visit, I was pushed to try something new, so as a compromise I ordered the enchiladas banderas. The banderas are like an ultimate enchilada/ salsa pairing “taster” plate. Your choice of chicken, beef, tender pork, cheese, or mushroom enchiladas is sauced in all three of Manuel’s handcrafted signature salsas: verde, suiza, and adobada. Now I have a new favorite dish.
Most of the entrées are served with black beans and Mexican rice. Another dish that blew us away was the chile relleno en nogada. This is a roasted poblano pepper stuffed full of shredded pork, almonds, and raisin picadillo, topped with a walnut cream brandy sauce. A visual note that took the presentation to the next level was a sprinkling of brilliant vermilion pomegranate seeds. For lunch I can never resist the pork tacos, and I have another friend who is just addicted (really, in a very clinical way) to the ceviche.
I saved Fonda San Miguel for last because it’s so different from any other restaurant and even our own cultural expectations of what a restaurant can or should be. The luxe quality of the food is a given. But the food is just one part of an amazing blend of art, decor, cultural touchstones, attention to craft, and details, all of which come together perfectly. In most restaurants, waiting for your table is a bothersome experience that requires the more compulsive among us to keep one eye on our dinner companions and the other on the seating hostess to prevent “bureaucratic table loss.” At Fonda San Miguel your short stay in the atrium area will find you surrounded by exotic plants, graceful design nuances from the best of Old Mexico, and a collection of exceptional art. That would be real, museum-quality pieces that rotate through the restaurant from Tom Gilliland’s remarkable collection of eclectic and renowned international artists. Combine this with drinks from a well-versed bar staff and perhaps a plate of salmon tostadas to munch on, and you’ll find me hoping it takes at least half an hour for our table to be ready.
The two dining rooms are amazing. The larger room is delicately lit with strands of small spotlights that supplement the warm glow from a grand collection of majestic hanging bronze fixtures in the center of the room. The smaller room has some of my favorite paintings, and it also has a graceful sense of privacy about it. There is always one problem that afflicts Fonda San Miguel regulars, though. In a nutshell it’s this: If you order one dish you don’t get to order something else. Go for the Jaliscostyle steak caballero—a succulent 16-ounce bone-in ribeye served with chile de arbol chimichurri—and you won’t have any room left to even try the enchiladas suizas de jaiba (enchiladas stuffed with crab and covered with a white sauce). It’s a sad state of affairs for the indecisive.
On one of our recent visits we went with a dish that transcended the entire category of Mexican food. It was the cordero. Four plump, perfectly grilled lamb chops served with a chipotle cheese potato casserole and a mixed green salad. The lamb was easily as good as any cut of meat you’ll have at any premium steak house, while the subtle bite of the potato casserole provided a perfect counterpoint. Also sampled was a classic pescado Veracruzano. A broiled fish fillet in a traditional Veracruz tomato sauce sprinkled through with onions, Spanish olives, and capers. It was a definitive rendition of a popular dish. The range of the menu is breathtaking, and the kitchen rarely stumbles. Add in a few extras like the person in the corner show kitchen continually making hand-formed flour and corn tortillas that come hot to your table, and a well-stocked selection of fine wines, and you’ll understand why people come from all over Texas for the Sunday buffet or from as far away as Paris to sample the offerings.
So the next time one of your confederates suggests “grabbing some Mexican food” at some new place that used to be an auto shop or at some dive that puts grated cheddar cheese garnishes on the tacos, that will be the perfect time to step up everybody’s game with a visit to one of the genuine masterpieces of Mexican cuisine. From basics to blue sky, these are the restaurants that deliver what you really want. If you haven’t been to these three temples to the various genres of Mexican food, I truly envy you. Now you get to try each one for the first time!
Thinking really seems to get in the way of shooting. The cooler the gear I own the less I shoot. And the cooler the gear I own the less I like what I shoot. There's a lot to be said for the primitive approach to any art. The more direct and uninflected the connection the more visceral it is to your intended audience. Maybe that's the appeal of smaller, less complex systems. Fewer choices means more direct interaction with the art itself.
We've all seen images that seem forced. Lots of time and effort went into the preparation for the shooting and we're delivered a photo with pizzazz. But the general effect is one of instant hyperbole alert. Especially now when everything seems to have been done and tried. By pushing all the buttons and frantically trying to make everything just so perfect it's so easy to see the hand and the mind of the creator (that's "creator" with a lower case "c") in every frame and that severs the suspension of disbelief by which so much photography becomes embraceable. If we feel we're seeing a private moment, captured unprepared from the slip of time we believe more heartily in the image's verisimilitude. We feel invited to share a wholly objective slice of time, frozen.
The biggest obstacle to emotionally unconstructed shooting is the preparation itself. When we signal our intention the antennae on our subjects snaps to attention and creates a different energy. It is at once on guard and also preening in an attempt to earn the upcoming inspection. If you make a shot a big deal then babies cry, teenagers pose, middle aged women grimace and everyone else toys with taking on the persona of everyone they've ever seen photographed on TV or in a movie. The greater the preparation, generally, the less likely you'll ever achieve an image without artifice and posture. A microcosm of Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle. Oh, to trifle with position and momentum.... We love the random and unplanned shot of Henri Cartier-Bresson when he captures a man, in mid-air, jumping over a rain puddle. We feel betrayed when we find out that Robert Doisneau possibly staged his greatest hit, Le baiser de l'hôtel de ville (Kiss by the Hôtel de Ville).
But for generations great and not-so-great-but-okay photographers have had a salve that could salvage much of the emotion of the moment glancingly portrayed. They carried their cameras with them at all times and made images every so often, and for no obvious reason. Almost random documentation but always in the service of the process of obscuring the artist's intention of the moment in order to wear down the vigilence of his subjects. And in this way they captured and continue to capture images that give us a front row seat to the impression of reality unfolding.
There are current photographers who are good photographers but whose work is very much about the prepared and orchestrated image. Perhaps because it's possible technically now in a way that it wasn't before, many of these photographers create images of subjects like dancers leaping on urban rooftops at sunset. They are frozen in space and lit by electronic flashes. And the artist's hand is so obvious that most viewers take one look and start mapping out the banal mechanics of the technique rather than being charmed by the kinetic vivacity of the seeing. The fill flashes at sunset cue us that applied lighting technology was involved. And we (fellow photographers) , as a large part of the photographer's audience, understand that flashes were placed on stands, with modifiers, and the units were under the care of an army of assistants, and the dancer is most likely springing off a mini-trampoline that we can't see but understand to be just out of frame. Further, we understand that she's leaping over and over again to until the photographer is happy with a shot. And we are unable to believe that we've been privileged to see something that genuinely happened because it was going to happen rather than the event being entirely constructed for the attendant audience.
The same could be said for classical portrait work. The best of that genre works when the surroundings are minimal and subdued and works less well when we see more and more of the hand (and taste) of the photographer. An old gray wall means that the image could have been taken, in the moment, in any anonymous location while a brilliantly colored seamless background peppered with posing blocks and faux Greek columns disallows our ability to divorce technique from message. In essence, what Richard Avedon was doing by shooting against white backgrounds was to divorce reference from image. And in that way make the structure of creation recede and the collaborative interaction (which is part of the human condition) move into the foreground.
The more cues we see in a portrait that reference a manufactured reality the more we are effected by the trappings of the attempted art and the less resonance, intimacy and value we feel directly from the intended subject.
For the binary readers who've wandered in from the "how to" pages of the web let me quickly say that I'm not making a stand that all images have to be totally candid to be successful. Far from it. The work of David Chapelle is brilliant in its own fully manifested intentionality. A large part of his success is that his images are constructed as inside jokes about culture and society and we, as viewers, are invited into the "special" circle for whom the joke is shared. We feel the inclusion as well as the cultural messaging and that makes his images, obvious though they are, work on a level that others don't.
Annie Leibovitz's best work isn't necessarily the work that is most candid but she does a good job creating lighting and staging scenarios that amplify reality instead of re-inventing it or, with inflection, re-parsing it. In this way we look at the images she creates, even the big tableaus and we accept their believability because she's hidden her artifice so well. To a less well visually educated audience her work could be the result of a quick candid, albeit a nearly perfect one.
All of this is to say that doing approachable images of people can be tough. The fewer things you try to control the more believable the images are to the widest range of viewers. But, if you do need to alter the light, create a different background or otherwise enhance or change the reality you'll do best, over the long run, if you can make your controlled parts as close to a sense of reality as possible. And you'll work to catch the moments between the peak moments as well.
Just a thought about taking images that work for people.
In this episode, Kerry Garrison talks about making the most out of your new photography gear that you just got for the holidays. During this show, Kerry discusses what things you may want to look at next, how to go about planning future purchases, and how to make the most out of your photography budget. If you have additional tips, please add them to the comments.
When I first undertook photography my perception was that most serious artists and aspiring artists used black and white film in their cameras and, by extension, in their seeing. And, to my mind, there's a giant chasm between seeing in color and seeing in black and white. When we look with a black and white or monochrome sensibility we tend to looks for graphic shapes and forms that are recognizable and not too finally detailed. We look to recognizable forms that tell stories or describe objects.
But in color we tend to look for pleasing chromatic combinations or pretty pastels that can nestle next to one another in a pleasing and hue driven pattern. Or the antithesis, a garish pattern comprised and composed of striking opposite colors which usually sit, glaring at each other from the opposite side of the color wheel. Knowing what our final destination will generally be we select subjects and scenarios that aid our artifice. If we know we're diving into the pool of color then the juxtapositions of colors becomes (consciously or unconsciously) our target and goal. Conversely, when we know we'll be making images in monotone we look for content to carry the visual narrative and tickle the part of the brain that wants to know the story.
You can see this in image after image on the web. And I'm not making a value judgement either way other than to say that I think B&W is being marginalized into a photojournalistic ghetto of photographic art and I'm hoping that, like the phases of the moon, that images about things and forms and textures come back into our perception of the orbit of art and start to re-assume precedence over the titillations of candy color.
Back in 2005 I bought a Kodak SLR/n which, until the arrival of the Nikon V1, was the most villified DSLR camera ever introduced into the market (except for its predecessor...). This was a camera with issues. If you aren't familiar with it go back to DPReview and read the review of the Nikon version's Canon sibling here: http://www.dpreview.com/reviews/kodakslrc. What you'll find is a flawed but somewhat brilliant camera for the times. It was the direct descendant of the first full frame digital camera on the market, the Kodak 14N. In 2004 the SLR/n delivered 14 megapixels of big pixel, full frame files and it did so for about $3,000 cheaper than the Canon 1DS that followed it onto the market.
The issue is that photographers aren't engineers. In the film camera days you could press a camera into service to do just about anything. But the Kodak engineers were building a camera that worked very well in circumscribed situations. It was a great portrait camera with lots and lots of RAW file headroom. And that translated directly into big time dynamic range for the time. But the parameter that endeared it to me (and you'll notice it's one of the few cameras in my studio that hasn't been upgraded, traded away or resold over the years) is the fact that the sensor did NOT have an anti-aliasing filter over the top. That means a great impression of sharpness all the way around. In fact, at ISO 160, in a head to head comparison with the Canon 5D mk2 at 21 megapixels I think you'd give the nod to the Kodak as far as impressions of overall sharpness go.
So why didn't it sweep the market? Well, in the hands of studio portrait photographers who could control light and lenses, it was a hit. But Kodak marketed it as an "all arounder" and that's where the SLR/n hit the wall. It was pretty well controlled for noise up to about 320 ISO but over 400 ISO and it fell to pieces. It would take six to eight seconds to start up and, as the temperature changed, it would stop to recalibrate its electronics. Kinda of a "turn off" when you are building up to that shooting crescendo....
The whole machine was based on parts from a less expensive Nikon camera body and the finder wasn't great. But man, could it knock them out of the ballpark when it was working in the narrow constraints that described its strengths. I routinely used (and should still be using) its special, low ISO menus. Choose ISO 12, 25 and 50 and the camera turns into a detail machine. The longer exposures let the camera do iterative exposures which are then binned and sampled and in camera crafted into noise free, high quality files. I've done 40 by 60 prints of product for clients that brought tears to my eyes and those of the lab manager who printed them our for us on a Lightjet printer.
But as a low light, wedding/photojournalists/art camera in chancy available light.....it sucked.
The files it kicks out in RAW are true 14 bit. They are also 4,500 by 3,000 pixels. And none of the pixels sees the image thru a blurring filter. If you shoot at the lower speeds or at 160 ISO I think you'd find the camera keeps up with the 18 to 21 megapixel wonder cameras of the moment. And it does so with lots of dynamic range, its own very desirable color balance and palette and an edge acutance that most camera makers would kill for.
I hadn't used it in over a year but I felt like taking a long walk all by myself today and just doing something different. No small cameras with small sensors today. No film today. No agenda today. I plastered a Nikon 50mm 1.8D onto the front, set the camera the way I like it and hit the long route through downtown. Walking and looking and not feeling compelled to shoot too much. But little by little I came to remember what I liked about this camera. I did a quick shot of a leaf on a fence with the sun behind it. And when I got back to the studio and looked at it at 100 % I was happy. So I made a 100% crop to show off the structure of the leaf and the detail of the edges.
I have stack of batteries for the camera and I charged them all. I find that digital cameras really need to have a battery attached to them at least once a month and I'd been negligent by about 11 months. The attached battery allows the camera to suckle over time and keep small capacitors formed. I'm sure it helps maintain other electronic needs as well. For the first hour or so the camera was antsy. It would give me random "card corruption" messages and tell me that a file couldn't be written. But like a spirited horse it eventually took to the bit and calmed down. By the end of my walk it stopped giving me messages and was writing every file to memory. I've decided to pull out the A/C adapter and put the camera onto the adapter once a month (at least) over night. I'm hoping that keeps it happy.
I spent the late afternoon just soaking up the newly re-emergent sunlight and spinning an ancient Nikon circular polarizing filter in front of the lens. The files that emerged in ACR were wonderful right off the card. Very punchy with solid highlight structure and lots of sharpness snap. The colors need a bit of nursing but that seems to be endemic with all older digital cameras.
I'm convinced that the files (at ISO 160) are just a bit better and sharper than the files I get out of my recently (Canon) overhauled 1DS mk2. And nearly as detailed as those from the Canon 5D mk2. Not a bad performance out of a camera that basically died of marketing neglect and was sabotaged by reviews aimed at the great general marketplace. Like just about anything else some of the coolest performances necessitate the greatest practice and skill.
We all love the newest and greatest stuff to shoot with but I'm convinced that for studio portraits the Kodak is just about where most of us want to be. Long tonal scale, great bit depth and wonderfully rich colors. Just be sure you have some substantial lighting and tripod support standing by to take advantage of the strong points and to ameliorate the weak ones.
I came back home as the light faded in the west. The afterglow was beautiful today. I chauffeured the child somewhere and headed back to the studio to look at what I'd shot. Wish I had two of these cameras, in perfect condition, because I'd love to use them to make artful portraits. As it is I ordered yet another battery so I could be sure of at least having the camera functional for another year or so. If it finally gives up the ghost I do believe I'll have some sort of ceremony for it. It was, after all, my first full frame digital camera.
I woke up one hot and dusty morning in Athens, pulled on my running shoes, a comfortable pair of jeans and an tee shirt and headed out the door of my hotel to see the Acropolis. I owned two cameras at the time. One was a Canonet QL17 and the other was a Canon TX with a 50mm lens. I took the bigger SLR. And a couple rolls of 35mm Tri-X film.
As I walked through the city I took tentative photographs. The Greek temperament seemed at odds with the laid back ethos of my native Austin, Texas. I'd bring my camera up to my eye and in the finder I would find a scowling face and a challenge to the idea that photography was a universally welcome undertaking. I'm sure a lot has changed in the last thirty years. Except the Greek temperament.
On my first visit I found that most hotels were not air conditioned, no trains were air conditioned and no monument had yet been totally Disneyfied. By that I mean that people didn't necessarily line up for entry. The enjoyment of a monument or attraction wasn't constrained by velvet ropes, defined queues, or minders, or ticket takers. If you got to the Acropolis early chances were you got there before the officials and the security guards and you were free to walk into the unattended gates and enjoy posterity in all of its glory.
I walked up the steep hill and into the general area. In those days pieces and fragments of statutes and facia carvings dotted the general surroundings of the ancient building. Blocks and columns lay splayed and revealed for all who might want to climb on them or run their hands over the ancient marble faces in wonder....or for good luck.
The sun was climbing slowly above the horizon and it would eventually be another white hot day in early September. As I looked down the hill I could see a rising but still thin curtain of yellow tinged dust rise up from the streets. I was one of the first souls to climb the hill that morning.
As I walked around admiring the giant columns I turned a corner and encountered my first official of the day. A security guard for this national treasure. He was casually urinating on the foundation of the monument. He finished, zipped up his trousers and then turned around towards me and, while fishing a cigarette and a lighter out of the pockets of his jacket, asked me, "Ticket?"
The last week of the year is special, and one to be taken advantage of. I spend it balancing time between family/friends and looking back at the past year while preparing for the next one.
There are some cool things lined up for 2012 already, but today's post is about looking back. Herewith, the favorite posts of 2011 -- mine, and yours... Read more »
I did a trip to Paris solely to take photographs for myself back in 1992. That sounds selfish but I didn't have any children to take care of and my wife was enmeshed in a busy career as an art director for a prosperous advertising agency. I was approached by Agfa that year to be a tester for their line of APX films and I requested a case of their 100 speed film and another of their 400 speed film. They asked me where I wanted to photograph and I said, "Paris." A month later, in late October, I was there with a camera bag full of new Canon EOS lenses and a couple of camera bodies. Oh, and a big shopping bag full of black and white film.
I have a Friend who is French and lives in Paris. We've hosted his family and his kids here in Austin a number of times. When I travel to Paris I stay in a small "maid's apartment" above his home in one of the central arrondissmonts. The apartment is near the top of the building and is very spare. Just a shower, a sink and a bed. But what more do you need? My friend is like a lifeguard at a pool. When I visit he tells me what has changed and what's remained the same. Areas to avoid and areas to visit. While he is always busy with work and a family we make time for one really nice dinner when I visit.
On this trip I spent every day doing much the same thing: I would get up early and have coffee and a small breakfast at the cafe around the corner. I stood at the counter. My order was always the same: cafe au lait and a croissant. Then I would put a 50mm lens on one EOS-1 (the original Canon pro AF body) and an 85mm 1.2 on the other and I'd head out into the streets just to hunt for fun images. I'd stop for lunch at the Fauchon cafe or duck into McDonald's on the Champs Elysee when I'd get nostalgic for American haute cuisine. In the evenings I'd connect with American friends who were temporarily living in Paris and we'd go out to neighborhood restaurants. It was always an adventure.
On that trip I shot thru 100 rolls of ISO 100 and 100 rolls of ISO 400 APX. When I got back to Austin I sent all of the film to BWC photo lab in Dallas and they developed it and made contact sheets, courtesy of Agfa. I still look through the notebooks I put together, pull negatives and make scans of new favorites.
But until I did this trip on my own I had always traveled with, first my parents, then my college girl friend and finally, with my wife. And in all those scenarios photography takes a back seat to the social appeasement of travelling with people and spending time with them. You might want to wander aimlessly but the other person or people you are travelling with might have an agenda. A list of museums to visit and stores to shop in. They want to ride on the Bateaux Mouche and climb the Eiffel Tower. Try as they might they don't really understand your desire to walk around, stop, turnaround, click the shutter, walk ten feet and then do it all over again. Friction arises.
I must say that Belinda is the best traveling companion any photographer could ever want. She can be totally autonomous. I'll wake up and ask her what she wants to do when we visit a foreign city and she already has two itineraries devised. One if I am tagging along and one if I'm not. If it's the latter option we make plans to meet up for supper.
But in 1992 it was up to me, continuously. These were the days before the internet so there was no need to "check in." No compulsive e-mail checking. No silly/obnoxious tweets. And no cellphone either. I could go days without speaking to anyone I knew and that was cool because it concentrated my attention onto taking photographs or getting myself into position to take photographs. I came to know the feel of the EOS-1 in a way that I can barely fathom now. It was an amazing camera. (But this is certainly not a camera review!!!)
Here's what I learned: If you want to do photography at a level that really satisfies your soul and your ego you'll need to do it alone. Forget having the spouse or girlfriend or best friend or camera buddy tagging along. Forget the whole sorry concept of the "photo walk" which does nothing but engender homogenization and "group think." Leave all electronics in your hotel room. Cut off all communications, during the day, from or to the "real world" and immerse yourself in the hunt for images. Learn what makes your brain salivate and why. Learn to operate that camera by braille. And make your decisions based on what your inner curator wants you to say.
Everything else is just play time bullshit.
None of your non-photographer friends will understand, and that's okay. Your real photographer friends will either be jealous or nodding their heads in appreciative approval because they've been there. When you see the world unfold in front of you, unencumbered by the social construct of the group, you become freed to see differently and make different decisions about what you'll photograph and why. In the end you'll come home with intensely personal photographs. Quirky photographs. Powerful photographs.
Many of you will throw your hands up and complain that you have kids and obligations and can't possibly get away by yourself. Others will whine that "their spouse would never let me go to Paris without them." But you only get one life. If you have a spouse like that you might think about a quick divorce. If you have kids you might think about the example you are showing them. That life is the adventure and you either sit at home and watch or you get up and participate.
When my son was six months old I had the opportunity to go to Rome to shoot in the streets for ten days with free film provided by Kodak. I was out the door as soon as I could find my passport. My wife is a strong person who doesn't need my constant presence for validation. She was thrilled for my opportunity and again I came home with images I love. Make the time. Go out to shoot.
I know people who will only travel on tours or cruises. They are missing out on so much. It's like being guided through paradise with a blindfold on.
My favorite story from the Paris trip in 1992 was when my friend's wife took me to lunch. She met me somewhere near their home with her Vespa, handed me a helmet and stuck me on the back and then zoomed through the streets like something out of a movie chase scene. I was riding "bitch" on the back and terrified. We parked on a sidewalk and went through an ancient pedestrian corridor to a restaurant that I'd never be able to find again. The table tops were covered with white butcher paper and the waiters would come by and ask what we wanted and then mark it in pencil on the paper. If we ordered wine that would go on the paper. The meal was incredible but even more incredible was the people watching in the ancient dining room. Professional waiters addressing the kitchen. Lovers leaning over the table to share a kiss. Business men in dark suits sharing bottles of wine over boisterous lunches. And me, clicking away with the 85mm.
My lunch companion asked me what I'd like to see that afternoon. I said, "Paris." And she kissed me on the cheek and left in a puff of smoke. I headed out to see more. Always just a little bit more.
What do I do with all these images? I look at them. I remember my feelings of "thought" freedom from traveling unecumbered. And I incorporate the feelings of freedom, from time to time, in whatever work I am doing at the moment.
It's important to travel outside your usual visual space. Outside your cultural comfort zone. Outside your social network/safety net. It's important to learn to be comfortable my yourself. Many psychological studies point to the power that groups have to subtly and even unconsciously push you into conforming. Into synchronizing into the pattern of the group. If you want to express an individual vision you have to become individual. There's no other way to do it.
And if you want to take images just like everyone else, and tag along with everyone else, you might as well just stay at home and download some stock photography from the web.
Reject the idea of the "Photo Walk" unless it's a solo walk with your camera.
Leave the social anchors and straight jackets at home. There will always be another time for an inclusive family vacation.
Experience the joy of unique discovery. More powerful in many ways than the shared experience.
And do it NOW before your life has passed you by and you regret the choices you never made.
Cameras may change but the hunt goes on, unabated. Don't wait for all the stars to line up.
Don't wait for the lottery. We feel richer from our experiences than from any item we buy.
There's something different about Austin this Christmas season. As cold winds, laden with moisture and timid rain, wound and whispered their way through the alleys and across the sidewalks of downtown you could feel the change. Maybe it's resignation or maybe it's a pause to collectively take a deep breath and plunge into the next change.
In year's past the city celebrated the holidays openly and joyously, and, if there were little patches of concern or sadness scattered about they were faint blips on a radar whose each sweep reinforced the idea, the belief, that we were leading the "good life." Every street that crisscrossed downtown, from the bars and music halls to the state capitol building, were festooned and layered with strands of lights and cliched garlands that symbolized the merry indulgence of the season. But something happened. It started two years ago.
The city started to run out of money and we had to start making choices. Did we want the lights and decorations or should we keep funding the libraries and the medical clinics for the poor? To the city's collective credit we chose the libraries and the medical clinics. But now the downtown area is meagerly ministered to, holiday-wise, with whatever thin decoration the banks and retailers have mounted. And their lack of enthusiasm is a sad nod to the fact that even the small businesses would rather depend on government for their holiday decoration than manifest their own cheer.
In years past the city had a tradition of hijacking our central city park, home of world class running trails and the Barton Springs Pool, and subsidizing what they called, "The Trail of Lights." The city would spend nearly half a million dollars to subsidize a quarter mile long group of displays, proudly sponsored by local companies. The displays might depict a "Dr. Suess Christmas" with lights (and a big logo), or "A Smurf Christmas" with lights, or a "Santa's Workshop" with lights. It was always a little Potemkin Village of an affair. But it drew people from all over Austin. In some years you could sit in a line of cars for several hours waiting your turn to join a slow moving line of cars, with their headlights doused, that would stutter by the displays. We called that "The Trail of Headlights." The event was famous/infamous for bringing mid-city traffic to a crushing crawl, evening after evening. But people who grew up here were loath to change a thing. Till tax revenues plunged. Now the park remains open for its usual functions: Good runs, convivial walks, frisbee tossing with your dog, cold water swimming and disk golf. But it's removed another public display of confidence and celebration.
I finished and delivered my last job of the year mid-week last week and I've spent the time off buying gifts for Ben and Belinda and the dog. I've had coffee and caught up with good friends. We've had dinners with long time family friends. We're going out for dinner this evening. But in the "in between" moments I've been roaming around the streets trying to get a feel for what's in the air. Trying to decipher the shared spirit of the city. And, as is typical, I've been walking with a camera in my hand.
There's a tradition in Buddhism of meditation. And one of the subsets of meditation, as practiced by the monks and the mindful, is the idea of "walking meditation." I'm too hyper-vigilent and frenetic to be able to do a good walking practice (and I guess, given that statement, a bit too self-judgmental...) but I do think that walking, with or without a camera helps me to keep more than a tenuous contact with people in general. Not people who I know or even want to know, but people who make up my city in a different way.
It's so easy and comfortable to exist in your own social milieu. We are drawn to people who are, economically, politically and culturally, just like us. It can isolate us and give us a skewed idea of who "we" are as a city or a society. This will seem strange to readers in Europe but in Texas members of the middle class and upper middle class can go all of their lives without using public ground transportation. And most of us exist that way. The only people who ride the bus in a dominant "car culture" are those that are driven to by economic necessity or a tiny handful who ride because "it's the right thing to do."
That makes bus riders feel and seem separate from the rest of us. When I go downtown I am coming from a prosperous suburb/city in which there is NO public transportation. When I go downtown I park on the periphery and I walk. Uninsulated by my car I see people counting their change and waiting for the bus. I watch people dragging their packages and waiting at the bus stops. It's a different existence.
And most of us, locked away in offices and nice homes whisk ourselves from work to home to restaurant in nice cars with the air conditioning humming, and the radio talk shows, like a Kitchenaid dough mixer, homogenizing our thoughts and corralling us into a tribe of unified thinkers and shoppers. It makes people with different lives seem more or less invisible.
On the news I hear that donations for the needy have fallen again this year. That more families depend on the Food Banks than ever before. That, while jobs for the technocrati are on the rise, jobs for the working class are still on the decline. That more families are moving from a former middle class existence into poverty. And yet, the subset of people I interact with here on the web don't seem to have the same stresses. Here we are engaged in parsing the best (latest) camera for our use. The best lens for clear seeing. The best memory card for uninterrupted video. And so, when I walk with thousands of dollars of cameras in my hands I am not fearful that someone will steal it from me I am fearful that I've let myself be seduced by my desire to possess cool stuff control me. To my own detriment. And I've allowed that focus to push out thinking about or seeing what's going on around me.
So I walk with my camera and take images that I think will remind me of other lives and other people's stories. But I know that my interaction is so circumscribed and ritualistically buffered as to make my compassion laughable. Like most people I make the random donations to good causes. I volunteer my time and talents for worthy projects aimed at helping kids at risk or the disabled. But it seems overwhelming and hopeless. Especially when the subsidized Christmas lights go out and we're pushed to manifest the holidays for ourselves.
I guess each of us has to find their own way to turn the lights back on. For us. For our families. And for everyone else. We have to find the spirit that makes the cold, bleak days of winter relevant and joyous. And I know whatever secret there is it's far beyond the shopping malls and the frantic gift giving. I suspect it's all tied up in sharing a bit of ourselves and our blessings with someone else. All year long.
This was Little City Coffee House. On Congress Ave.
Now it's bare and stripped to the walls.
I didn't mean to be preachy or glum in the words I wrote above. While the world is a tough place it's filled with hope and potential. The sun comes up and people go about their businesses. And I see that when I walk as well. I love the idea of buildings springing up. Especially when they are downtown. It builds a healthy density and pushes people to be part of a public dance that brings nice energy and ownership to the downtown streets. I love wispy clouds framing the buildings and moving by with dispatch.
And I love the mix of old and new. All tied together with sidewalks and little shops. Life is like the weather. Days of blue skies and bright energy shuffled between days of oppressive gray and stillness. But it's that rhythm that makes it exciting and, sometimes fun. It's the variety that makes each part stand out on it's own.
Alternate Transportation on 2nd St.
Re-adapting. Re-using. Re-seeing.
It's all change all the time.
Roll with it.....
....or get rolled by it.
Hope your holidays are going well. Go out and explore.
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