Star Ratings

Star ratings are a funny thing. In some places a five-out-of-five rating seems to be the default – amazon, ebay – but that doesn't make sense when it's time to sort and rank my photos. On a scale of zero through five, here's how I make it work for me.

All photos start at zero, and after my initial sorting and ranking most of them stay there. To be promoted to a one-star rank a photo needs to have some potential; determining this will often involve a quick edit, but other times I'll assign it and move on. But only the most promising one or two of a particular sequence of similar photos will get a star – I'll backtrack and zero out a photo if I see one that's better.

A two-star rating is reserved for photos that are reasonably good. Sometimes I assign two stars to an unedited image so that I know to come back and pay attention to it, but usually these are former one-star images that have been more thoroughly edited and promoted. This is the lowest rank that I'll usually show to family and friends, and a two-star rating is as high as I'll go during my initial few edits.

I have a simple rule for a photo to get three stars: it has to be mine. I have to honestly assess whether another photographer, with the same equipment and skill, would have taken the same photo that I did. Not many photos of sunsets can meet this challenge, and even exquisite photos of lonely trees or red canoes – should I ever take them – would fail as well. Being promoted from a two-star to a three-star rank isn't a measure of quality, but a matter of personality.

A photo that has crossed the critical threshold of matthewness can be good enough to be elevated to four stars, but that's exceedingly rare. A five-star rating is even more uncommon – but that's just fine by me. My best work, as always, is still to come.


Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Protective Filters

The use of 'protective' filters – either UV-blocking or just clear glass – are one of those eternal internet arguments that people do instead of looking at photos. Naturally, I have a point of view about it: I don't see them having any actual use. I'm not about to say that anyone who disagrees with me is wrong – this is just my reasoning, and of course everyone else should ignore me and do whatever they're comfortable and happy with.

• Filters are the cheapest element in a lens. They're a high-margin item, so it's guaranteed that every step in the chain is making a healthy profit on it, and the materials and fabrication costs are going to be very low relative to the lens itself.

• By necessity, filters are the largest diameter glass in the lens, and are held in place only by narrow metal edges.

• In addition to their large span, filters are flat glass, rather than the domed shapes of the lens elements.

All of this adds up to a filter being the most fragile part of a lens. So to say "I dropped my lens, and the filter saved it" is a false syllogism. Just because the filter breaks on impact doesn't mean that the lens would have if it was absent. And just because all of the glass is intact, even if it's including the filter, doesn't mean that the impact didn't damage the internal mechanisms.

An analogy: Cars have a lot of safety systems built into them. Saying that a roll cage, airbag, or seatbelt saved a life could be a perfectly literal statement. Saying it about the bumper is not at all the same thing.

The other "protection" that a filter is supposed to provide is against scratches. I have talked to one person who had a small fleck of the surface coating flake off of a lens, but scratches and damage are exceptionally rare. Modern glass and coatings are very, very tough – including, incidentally, the ones on cheap filters. I once got my hands on a really cheap one – it was visibly off-colour and had a warped filter ring, brand new – and I tried to scratch it by hitting it with my keys. No luck. I eventually took my pocket knife to it, and still couldn't mark the front of it. If a no-name filter that couldn't have cost more than a dollar to produce can withstand that, then I don't see much reason to worry about the front element of a lens from a reputable manufacturer.

As a further example, I wear eyeglasses every moment that I'm awake, and have for twenty-four years. They've always been anti-reflective coated plastic, far softer than the glass in camera lenses. They're exposed to all kinds of abuse and neglect, worn in all weather, and I'll clean them more times in a day than I'll clean a camera lens in a month. Out of the half-dozen pairs of glasses that I've used in that time I can only think of one that I've scratched.

I do keep a hood on all of my lenses, which can provide both genuine impact protection and image quality benefits, but I rarely use lens caps. Two dozen lenses (or more) later, I've never seen a scratch or a fleck – and that includes on my used lenses, some of which have been older than I am.


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Never the Same Size

One of the most important rules I learned for photography is this: don't make two things the same size.

I don't mean compositionally – I'm a huge fan of symmetry, balance, and repetition. No, I mean this in the most literal and physical way possible.

If I need to cut down some foam-core to make a reflector, I won't just divide it in half, because then when I need a card that's larger or smaller I have no options. A sixty-forty split means that one of them is bound to be right for the job, including many of the jobs that I haven't even thought of yet.

Two tripods with the same height and weight capacity aren't nearly as useful as a light one and a heavy one. Having a camera that can fit in a pocket and another that needs its own backpack – and a half-dozen different ones in between – is an essential part of my creative toolkit that just can't be replaced by having a single allegiance to a brand or lens mount.

If things are different, one of them could be perfect, and with a creative endeavour there's really no way to know ahead of time which one it will be. If everything's the same size, there's an excellent chance that nothing will be the right fit.


Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Hard Work

Ultimately, taking a good photograph isn't the problem.

That's not saying that taking a good photograph is easy; if it was then I'd always do it, which I clearly do not. But success depends on failures, and if an artist fails often enough, and creatively enough, then success is inevitable.

The problem is recognizing a good photo when I see it.

I used to think that good photography was about the things that were photographed. Then I thought it was about light, or form, or tone, colour, line, pattern; I even briefly considered the idea that it was about intangibles like stories or emotion. But that's not right, or at least, it's not enough.

Good photography is about knowing what a good photograph looks like.

It's editing, selecting, and discarding. It's the visual sophistication and discernment to recognize what has value. It's the discipline to accept that, out of my last thousand photos, maybe none of them are worth showing.


Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Specific Bus Trip Tips

I enjoy taking bus trips. Well, perhaps 'enjoy' is too strong a word, but it can be good just the same. Long-haul intercity buses are an inexpensive way to go to sleep in one place and wake up in another. There are challenges and problems to overcome, and it imposes its own unique set of restrictions and opportunities, but can be an excellent experience.

In an earlier article I had some general thoughts on planning and executing a successful bus trip. Here are some of the more specific considerations for making it through the experience.


Use a friendly bag. The camera bag isn't going into the luggage compartment, so expect to sit with it for the round trip as well as carrying it all day. Avoid velcro and pointy bits.

Water is heavy. Bottled water is evil, but this is the time to use it. Small snacks are worth carrying; my favourite is Peanut M&M's because they're melt-proof.

Access to A/C power is uncertain and a time-consuming inconvenience. Carry ample batteries, and don't forget about a booster for your smartphone if it's important.

Charge all of your batteries and cover the terminals with tape. Fold a flap over for easy removal. Now it's obvious which batteries are depleted.

In emergencies, some things can be bought. SD cards are common; good film and CF cards are tougher. But those fancy modern camera batteries are never pre-charged.

iPhones and other touch-screen music players without physical controls are tough to use with closed eyes. Screens that light up are obnoxious on a darkened bus.

Noise-isolating earphones are worth their cost; ones that leak sound are offensive and unneighbourly. Turn off anything that beeps or buzzes during the trip.

GPS navigation isn't everything. Draw diagrams and note down the directions to key points; this is faster to use and doesn't depend on battery power or a data connection.

Buses are usually cold no matter what time of year it is, so travelling when the weather needs a light jacket is remarkably convenient.

Window seats are more popular, so on an older bus the aisle seat may be in better condition and provide a more pleasant trip. But resist the urge to recline, as its comfort is fleeting.

Carry at least three earplugs. They're small, light, and provide a welcome relief from just about everything, but are easy to lose.

A hat with a brim can block out light when sleeping, provide shelter against rain, and reduce sun exposure. Essential.

Sunblock is also vital for warm-weather trips, but find some that won't melt the rubber on your camera grip.

Hot-air hand dryers are popular, but it's easier to wash your face when there are paper towels around. Remember where to find them or collect some along the way.

Carry emergency cash and information somewhere other than your wallet and camera bag. The goal is to keep the ability to get home if the worst case happens.

Pacing is key. Taking twenty or thirty minutes to relax in a coffee shop can result in better photos and better decisions for the next several hours.

Remember that, no matter what other goals there may be, this is a voluntary activity and is presumably meant to be enjoyed. Stress is unnecessary.


And that's it for now – I'm working on my packing list, and may have a bit more to say about that later. My next departure is just one month away.


Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

General Bus Trip Tips

Road trips are a photographic staple, and mine have produced some of my favourite photos. The only catch is that instead of driving, I take the bus.

My routine is to find an interesting city that's one overnight bus ride away, spend the day, and then take another overnight bus back. It's cheaper than a hotel – and can really make for an interesting what-I-did-last-weekend story. With four trips behind me and another coming up, here are the bigger lessons that I've learned.


Pack light. If I'm not distraught over leaving something at home, then I'm carrying too much. Ten pounds for everything is my usual limit.

Minimize. Do you really need your lens caps? If they stay at home then they can't get lost and it's one less thing to fiddle with. Pare down your routine to the essentials.

Non-photographic items can take a significant amount of space and weight. Make efforts to minimize this as well, and get the most value from what you carry.

Know what you want. The most important thing to know when going to war is what "victory" will look like. Have both a specific photographic goal as well as an overall ambition.

Have a 'rain day' alternative. I'll use a bag that's small enough to bring into art galleries and museums, and will switch the second lens for my audio recorder if the weather looks bad.

Plan for being tired. Sleeping on the outbound leg is difficult, and then it's followed by a long day. Prefer simple over elaborate whenever possible, and have reasonable expectations.

Do a trial run. Pack everything except your passport, ride public transit until you're numb, and head to the same sort of environment to take the same kind of photos.

Be realistic. The way it is at home will be the way it is on the road. This isn't the time to finally use a tripod for every shot, or work on some new technique.

Finally: Don't bring home empty film containers, either physically or metaphorically.


Coming up next: more specific ideas to deal with the trip.


Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

An Analogy

I like to wander through the second-hand bookstore – I'll often find something that I didn't know to look for. It's a process of serendipity and discovery, a time for trying out ideas and themes, and it's okay that I put most of them back. I've spent almost two years choosing books by the author's last names, working my way through the alphabet twice, and found some gems that I never would have experienced otherwise.

Occasionally I'll finish a book and go right back to the beginning. When I read it all over again I can pay attention to the details and structure in a way that wasn't possible when I didn't know the story, and can make a good work even better. The tradeoff is that I only have so much time, and lose some of the potential for stories that I don't know yet.

This is a lot like photography.

My "Lakefill" series is nearly complete. I can wrap it up and move on to the process of discovering my next idea, which is intimidating because there's no way of knowing if it will be any good. Or I could take what I've learned from the process of doing the work, add in some improved equipment, and re-do the whole thing for a better result. I give up completing anything now, and miss the potential opportunity to apply those same improvements and experiences to the next big thing.

I haven't yet decided what I'm going to do. I may even be delaying taking the critical look at my existing photos, and doing the work to evaluate the series, specifically to avoid having to make that call.

But when I finish reading a book, I usually just go back to my own bookshelves. That's my reserve of favourites to revisit and some stories that had caught my eye when I didn't have the time to pursue them. It's familiar, comfortable, and unsurprising – a nice refuge to have, but not something that I want for my photography.


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Retraction

I have to admit that I've done something that I had said I wouldn't do. I've bought a Nikon D800.

Improvement is a funny thing.

The tools that I use are inseparable from the results that I attain: the process of creation starts when I select the implement, and that's true whether I'm picking a camera and lens or choosing between a brush and a palette knife. Each camera provides different abilities and opportunities, and the D800's potential to make high-quality prints larger and more easily proved too tempting to resist.

Yet while a better camera may take better photos, it doesn't follow that it will create better art.

There's a huge difference between the ambitions of being a better photographer versus being a better artist. The process might look the same, but the goals are different; I occasionally need to remind myself that I want to solve expressive problems, not just technical ones. It's far too easy to get caught up in the numbers and marketing and forget that my goals may not be the same as those of the people around me, and they certainly aren't the same as the camera companies.

But 36 megapixels means a high-resolution 16x20" print without needing to combine multiple images. That's exactly what I want. My Lakefill series may not be done after all.


Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

A Note on Prints

Limited edition photographs are a fiction.

I don't mean that in the sense that all photographs are an imposition of the photographer's will on reality, I mean that there is nothing inherently scarce about something that is mechanically reproduced, and any limits on supply – at least durning the artists lifetime – are contrived.

I do not, and will not, produce "Limited Edition" prints.

I create artist-signed photographs in small print runs. The quantity of each run will be stated at the beginning, and the price for those prints is fixed. When that run of prints has sold out, I may then offer an additional run, but the price will be approximately fifty percent higher with each edition. This way my photographs remain accessible, popular prints go up in value for those who collect them, and I'm able to incorporate improvements in the process in a way that's fair to both current and future owners.

I do also offer photographs through print-on-demand services. These prints are not produced under my control, and I neither inspect nor sign them, so they are offered on an ongoing basis at a lower price. Finally, from time to time there may even be "special editions" that I print and sell under different conditions, but as exceptions these will always be distinct from my print edition photographs in some way.


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