Left or Right

I really like this photo, and it's one of the few that I thought would work even as I was taking it. Perhaps that's why I don't have any variations on it. I wasn't planning on spending much time taking photos that day, so I was only carrying my point-and-shoot, and didn't linger.

It feels like there could be the beginning of a series here: the geometric experience of vast and deserted suburban streets. In my downtown neighbourhood it's rare to see a street this wide, and it would never be completely empty. Yet the evidence of people is irrefutable: someone built this road, and quite recently at that, and it has already seen enough traffic to wear away the markings. I find that contradiction fascinating, and at least as compelling as the opposing arrows.

I've done three different edits of this photo, starting from a clean copy of the image file each time. It's a way to take a fresh start but with the benefit of experience. This version was put through DxO Optics as well as Lightroom, with noticeably better results than working with Lightroom alone. Unfortunately for this photo, it's still not improved enough for me to be happy with it as a print. I like my little Canon S100, but it just doesn't hold up under close examination.


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Staso / Gray Print

It started out as an extra image for my Lakefill 2011 series, a photo to add context to the project and capture the essence of a complex place. It's part of the Artist's Statement that's included in the complete portfolio, but isn't one of the 8x10" prints that are available singly.

Long after Lakefill 2011 was complete "Staso/Gray" continued to be a favourite, so it was time to put it on paper and let it stand on its own.

The finished print has an image area of 14 x 7" on 19 x 13" 'ultra premium luster' paper. It's signed with the print edition information on the bottom of the page. This first run consists of six prints, and they are priced at $150.

Due to its unusual size, I have no plans to make "Staso/Gray" available through any print-on-demand services.


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

Software Upgrades II

Back in February I wrote a little lament about having to upgrade my software. Well, four months later, it's time for an update.

I have indeed moved my main computer to Lightroom Four so that it can handle images from my Nikon D800. It's an awesome program, but even version 4.1 is so slow that the thought of importing more than a dozen photos into it makes we want to cry. I've left my laptop running Lightroom three-point-something, which is fine for my little Canon S100.

I'm also working my way through a trial of "DxO Optics", which is an incredibly sophisticated program that does most of its work automatically. It looks like this will become my new intake program, letting me see a better-than-original redering of each photo, use some of its tools and tricks, and then export only the best candidates to Lightroom Four. That Adobe software can then add its own controls to the mix, and remains my foundation for organizing and printing photos.

Driving all of this right now is my upcoming jaunt to New York City. On my last trip, to the same place and on the same weekend, I took about four hundred photos using my manual-focus and manual-advance film rangefinder. With my D800 I'm going to carry enough power and memory for about two thousand images – I don't need to use it all, but I don't plan on missing many opportunities. So my workflow needs to be up to the task, to say the least.

Coming up next will be my first experience with scanning film into Lightroom Four. People talk about how big the 50MB files from the D800 are, but my film scans are typically double that. Even Lightroom Three was a little hesitant with those files, so this is going to be interesting.


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

"Coney Island, 18 June 2011"

I would say that things usually work out well for me. After a successful trip to Coney Island in March, and ten days in Manhattan the previous October, I had planned a return trip for the end of June. There are a lot of different things that come into play when I pick a time to travel, and this particular day just happened to be the Saturday of the annual parade in Coney Island to mark the start of summer.

It was a good day, with lots of interesting things to see. I spent the morning in Manhattan, using black and white film in my rangefinder, and then switched to colour and a telephoto lens for most of the afternoon. Despite being a smaller format than what I had used for my March trip to Coney Island, the film is the same and I like the way they work together.

I'm still not done with Coney Island yet, and may have another trip or two there this year. Eventually I'll be able to put together a series that covers different seasons across a few years. Until then, this photo will stand on its own.


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"Fifth and Forty-Fourth"

One thing that I've noticed is that my photographic interests have narrowed over the years. I used to go out and just explore, never knowing what I would find, but these days I tend to visualize a specific image and then work to make it happen. At least, that's what I do when I'm at home – when I travel I'm much more likely to be spontaneous.

Midtown Manhattan is only a ten-hour bus ride from downtown Toronto, making it a relatively easy overnight trip. That's also why I'm more likely to be on Fifth Avenue at six-thirty on the morning than to see Toronto's own Yonge Street: I need a very good reason to be awake that early. All I could think about here was making sure that I had my Zeiss 35/2 lens set to infinity and f/5.6 as I brought the camera up for this shot – that and making sure there were no oncoming taxis as I crossed the street a block south from this gentleman.

This photo was taken on my third trip to New York, and it was the second time I brought my Zeiss Ikon rangefinder. This is my perfect camera for cities and streets, especially with the Zeiss 35mm f/2 Biogon, which is possibly the best wide-angle lens ever made. This is the setup I most associate with New York, and it's one of the cameras I'll be carrying when I return this fall.


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

"Coney Island Furniture"

New York City is a very big place. While it doesn't suffer from a lack of photographers, the idea of creating any single body of work that can capture the breadth of it would be a daunting task even if I lived there, which I don't. Instead I need to focus on just a few themes and restrict myself to very specific parts of the city.

"Coney Island Furniture" is, naturally, from an ongoing series of photos from Coney Island. This is an iconic area of amusement parks with a boardwalk on the Atlantic ocean that always faces the sun, and it's the terminus for four different subway lines that run through midtown Manhattan.

My first trip to it was in March of 2011, before the rides opened for the season, making it a quiet and rather cold and windy place. I carried a tripod and my hasselblad, which made for an interesting day.

This store is on Surf Avenue, not far from the beach and attractions, but seems to have enjoyed better times. I like to linger on the storefront with its signs and unusual lettering, and typically for my cityscape photos, it's built out of rectangles with no people to be seen anywhere.


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"Swimming Pool Vicinity"

There are four traits that I recognize in many, if not most, of my favourite photos. Flat picture space. Strong geometry, typically square angles and no curves. An active frame: the photograph is created by its boundaries, rather than existing independently within them. And words.

"Swimming Pool Vicinity" combines all of these elements in one image, making it the most 'typically me' photo of any of my recent work. When I look at it I see the larger sign first, followed by the second sign; then I examine the detail in the wall. The sweeping clouds are what I look at last, and their implied movement brings me back to the wall and the idea that there's something beyond it.

I suppose there is a fifth element that is typically me: detachment. I may exult in geometric expression, but the photo is an act of precision, not passion. The viewer is invited to examine the scene in detail: to count the bolts, to notice the shifts in the concrete wall, to appreciate the humour of the warnings inherent in the deep end of a shallow pool. But we're a very long way from dancing about architecture.


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

Little Jumps Forward

It's been a busy week.

A couple of things have happened. One is a small breakthrough on my Time and Motion project: I've finally found an aspect ratio that I like and can use for all of the prints. Since I've been working in three different formats – and counting – each with a different aspect ratio, this is a way to unify all of the photographs. It will require custom matting, but commercially produced frames should remain an option. I'm very excited about this.

I always enjoy being able to do a first pass with my photographs, to solidify my ideas on how I want them to look, and then let them sit for a while. In every case it provides better results, and sometimes those results aren't what I expect. I idly flipped one of the photos from colour to monochrome on my computer screen, and really liked the results. Encouraged by that, I then tried it on one that came out too rough for me to like in colour. Black and white suits it, and while I'm not sure if it will be part of the "finished" series, it's fun to have in the collection.

The other new thing this week is some camera-industry news. Nikon astonished me by proving the rumour websites correct, and announced the replacement for my D700 with three times the resolution. I pay minimal attention to rumour sites, partly because I have enough trouble keeping track of the cameras that actually exist, but the idea that Nikon would definitively restart the megapixel race was just too outlandish to believe. Never let it be said that I have a perfect track record.

I'm not one of those people who expects art-viewers to maintain a respectful distance from large prints and not notice blur and pixellation: if a print is big I want to be rewarded by additional detail. Clearly, my Time and Motion project depends on mood instead of minutia, but I did go to considerable effort to increase the starting resolution for my Lakefill series. A high resolution digital camera certainly isn't something that I would say no to.

But I'm not ready to say yes to the Nikon D800, either. It's not quite right for my needs, and my D700 and I still have a few years left together, but I'm certainly interested to see what else Nikon can come up with.


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

Camera Thoughts

There are a lot of recurring themes in photographic discussion, but the classic may be "the camera doesn't matter." The essential argument is that talent/skill/ability is what's important, and once that requirement is met 'all you need is a disposable, toy camera or a camera phone to create great work.'

Poppycock.

Of course technical proficiency doesn't mean that there's anything of value being created. But the assertion that great artwork can be done with inferior tools skirts the reality that artists typically use the best tools that they can. Yes, of course it can be done, but the point is to use the correct tool.

I've been learning a lot about the importance of cameras from my 'time and motion' project. The images themselves have very little detail and a limited tonal range, and certainly don't stress the equipment at all. So far I've taken these images with three different cameras, ranging from small format film and digital to medium format film, and I suppose a disposable toy camera would work as well.

But these simple photos are created from long exposures with impromptu setup, and it's the camera that's moving, not the subject. It's an unusual situation with unexpected requirements, and choosing the right camera has become an integral part of the creative process. The exposure controls, format, and even the weight of the camera change the results in subtle ways that can't always be predicted, and they certainly can't be synthesized.

But neither can meaning.


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Creative Accidents

Perfection isn't something I actually expect to achieve. I'm not that good, and I'm also aware that the drive for perfection is the antithesis of completion. But I'm someone who will take the largest SLR ever produced, which has tremendous technical controls and creates a negative larger than the screen on my phone, for a miles-long bike ride so that I can photograph bricks.

I really like perfection, but I also really like this photo.

Everything in this photo worked the way it should. It's not destined for greatness, but the process went just fine. There's plenty of detail to see in the spider webs, and while the composition isn't revolutionary, it's not bad either.

But months later – I don't use a lot of black and white film in the summer – when I was unloading the camera, there was a slight mishap. Rolls of 120 film are vulnerable to light leaks, and that's what happened to this one. It's actually the first time I've had that happen with any of my film.

In this case, I'm glad it did.
But I don't plan on doing it again.


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Taking Control

I've been thinking a lot about control recently. If there's one thing that I've never been accused of, it's being too whimsical – I usually hear words like "precise" or "clinical", and they're not always meant as a compliment. This is, perhaps, why I'm more inclined to photograph products than portraits: fine detail and small adjustments in pursuit of my vision comes more naturally than spontaneity and improvisation.

Digital cameras suit me perfectly. The "Lakefill" images that I photographed over the summer, and are nearing completion as a folio and prints now, were taken with some moderately high-end digital gear and is almost certainly the best of my personal work. It's clean, crisp, and detailed.

But over the past couple of years I've been building up a collection of film cameras. My relationship with film is very different from digital; while I'm one of those photographers who doesn't look to fundamentally change an image in post-prcessing, with film I'm willing to accept "character" and imperfections that I would never tolerate from a digital camera. Not that I don't seek perfection in the equipment that I use to begin with – my winter and spring trips to Coney Island were done with a Hasselblad and a Zeiss rangefinder and lenses – but seeing the negative as a physical thing gives a certain authority to their initial state that all-digital capture lacks.

The series that I've been working with most recently is taking that even farther. Instead of trying to exercise control over every part of the image, my approach has been to set up certain conditions and then guide the process. Taken with a film camera, these are long exposures that are zone focused and taken without being able to look through the viewfinder. Instead of overlaying a texture in Photoshop, I scratch the negatives themselves before scanning. It's only after that final physical step that I can see what the results look like.

Once these negatives have been scanned it becomes a cycle of curating and editing. To date I've gone through almost ninety different derivations from thirty original images, and have sifted out three photos that please me. The series is still young, so I may find more in the photos that I already have, and I'll certainly be creating more raw material over the coming months. But the key component of creating the situation, guiding the process, and then letting success happen – or not – of its own accord will remain unchanged.

I can't say that I'm willing to completely remove control. My version of spontaneous photography is still well-planned and far from impulsive. The basis for my abstract photography remains consistent and repeatable even as the images themselves are the product of serendipity. What can I say? I'm a product photographer at heart.


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