256 Shades of Grey. ~

According to my little fantasies (and I have many), I strive to devote this humble blog to all things photographic, or at least many things photographic. Or some. Though from time to time I've wandered (both literally and metaphorically) off topic a bit, my intent has always been, like a finger aiming at the sun, to at least point in a generally recognized direction.  So today, we talk technical. But stay with me, it may start to make sense, because I'm going to try to answer a puzzling question posed to me this week. It seemed innocent and even a little naive at first, but there were intricacies embedded within it that gave me pause: what can you express with a jpeg?

This was not directly a question of RAW vs jpeg. This strikes right at the heart of what we do: can we find a way to meaningfully express our thoughts, our feelings, our world, in a mere 256 shades of gray? It seems like such a limited scale, 256 discreet steps ranging from deep black to pure white, but all digital cameras, of all makes, models, and manufacture speak this language.

And what a language it is. The entire universe -- the one outside, the one within -- exists within those 256 shades. From them, the camera's sensor (and a subsequent dip in the Dektol of photographic software) interpolate all that into a rich rainbow of colors or a powerful range of black & white values. Therein lies all those mountains and streams, the portraits, the nudes, the skylines, the beautiful art and the shocking images; they can all be found there. Heck, Christian Grey limited himself to just 50 shades, and look what he ended up with -- sequels and Jerry Garcia ties, presumably, and an interesting girlfriend.

English has but 26 letters, and it gave us Shakespeare; Spanish, with only one more, gave us Cervantes. You have a camera and an equally expressive language on a shelf right behind you.

Go jpeg the hell out of something.

Confessions of a Collaborative Wanderer ~

The three things most photographers, and certainly this one, celebrate are a good camera, good light, and good company. I'm blessed with all three. A good camera, of course, is whatever you make of it, and these days we have an embarrassing abundance of choice. Entire books of exquisite art have been published by photographers using nothing more than a smartphone, so honestly, there are no excuses. As for good light, well, I'm fortunate to live in Oregon, which hardly needs further explanation.  But good company, ah... that's something indispensable to me. I've become an inveterate wanderer, and it's good to be poked and prodded into action sometimes. Growing up I was always impressed with the collegiality I saw among the artists my dad hung with, and was often disappointed by the lack of that among the photographers I began my career with. Maybe the environment we worked in as photographers was inherently competitive; there were only just so many commercial clients to go around. But these days I relish the opportunity to hang with other like-minded souls. 

That was the case this week when I got the chance to go out shooting with two of my favorite co-conspirators, Chaz and Keri. Keri had recently returned from shooting in Hawaii, and Chaz, who works for Squarespace, has taken on the unenviable task of helping re-design my website (and took this great group-selfie.) Wandering the roads above Washington Park with them inspired some really fine photography. The old stairway you see here was one such hidden gem. So good company, clearly, and also a good camera and some of that delicious Oregon light (and some lovely rain) means I had hit the trifecta.

There's nothing wrong with going it alone, and we need to be able to find solace in lonely places; great inspiration comes from this, if we listen hard enough. I get that when I write, and in the wee hours in front of my computer with my unworked images; solitary endeavors, both. But other times when the clouds are just right and the planets align, it's time to seek out your friends and fellow crazies and light out for the territories.

You go on ahead. I'll catch up.

Getting High: Reality and Screen Resolution ~

There's something really cool about seeing the world in high-res, and something a little unsettling about it, too. Wonderful because I'm able to see nuance and detail in my images that come as a pleasant surprise; it opens up new avenues to interpretation that don't necessarily express themselves when I trip the shutter. And unsettling because, well, now I think my perception of reality depends on that clarity. Call it on account of old age and/or near-sightedness, I guess, but in any case I always thought reality was a bit over-rated to begin with. Isn't that why we became photographers in the first place? Be honest.

The primary portal to my fantasy world is my 15" 2012 MacBook Pro, but alas its 1440 x 900 screen resolution is as hopelessly outdated and inadequate as a car without cup holders. I mean, really. So until I upgrade it later this year, I'll usually send and open my files on one of the iMacs down at the studio (2560 x 1440, that's what I'm talking about) or even, yes, my little mini iPad (2048 x 1536; not bad, not bad at all). I've been a photographer for an embarrassingly long time now; I honed my technical skills to where I could consistently look upon a freshly-minted negative and say, yes, that's what I was going for. But not anymore. I want to open up a freshly-minted file and say holy shit!  I bet you do, too.

And now that there's a 5K iMac out (a truly wicked 5120 x 2880) I'm sure the race is on for ever higher resolution on all our devices, and I can hardly even imagine where it all ends, or more importantly, what it ultimately means. If it means anything. Technology shapes us every bit as much as we shape it, and our perception of the world around us is all the more fluid and plastic for the effort.

As for me, I like Adam Savage's sage observation on Mythbusters: "I reject your reality and replace it with my own"

Best description of photography I've ever heard.

On Competitive Camera-Spotting ~

Let's subtitle this one "Mine's Bigger Than Yours."  It's an interesting phenomenon, and one that goes way, way back: checking out someone's camera gear, and making a mental note of the relative superiority/inferiority of your own. We're all guilty of it. Admit it.
Personally, I think it's kind of fun, particularly back in the day when I was using something like the Mamiya RB 67: ha! your puny little Pentax does not stack up! And when I broke out the Burke & James 8x10 field camera? blissfully, blissfully divine. But it related only to a smug pride, and nothing more. It's just as meaningless today, perhaps even more so. I was put in mind of this during my travels last week when I realized that we're actually engaged in something of a reversal of this: incredible photographs are being made on ever smaller, less intrusive cameras. Lightweight mirrorless cameras are anything but lightweight when it comes to image quality. And the iPhone? Don't get me started. The image you see above was made on one. Now when I see someone lugging around a Canon 1D and a big gray L-series lens, I'm more disposed toward sympathizing with their sore shoulders than wondering about their pictures. Because, obviously, it was never about the cameras, ever, and to believe that bigger equipment made you a better photographer was to miss the point entirely.

I'm no pedant, honestly. If you ask, I'll simply suggest you try out lots of different cameras, try out the smartphone, experiment with whatever tickles your fancy. Buy a camera you can afford. Buy one that fits in your hand, is easy to master and comfortable to carry around. Spend your life developing your eye and mastering your craft. That'll beat 36 megapixels any day.
As for me, well, I've consigned my beloved Canon gear to the studio. My 7D syncs so nicely with my lights, and when I'm making portraits it just feels like a part of me, seamless, and effortless.
For my frequent travels and wanderings, though, I've come to really love my little mirrorless Fuji, so light, so easy to use, and so sweet. And of course, of course: I'm never, ever, anywhere without my iPhone.

There's an old saying: f 8 and be there.

There's another old saying: size doesn't matter.

I'll just leave it at that.

The Travelogues of Plato ~

Well ok, Plato wrote Dialogues, not travelogues, but if he'd had a credit card with some frequent-flyer miles, he probably would have had a lot more to say about that cave with the flickering shadows. But I guess you had to be there. As for me, my flickering shadows were cast by a great road trip this week with my brother Jim, a man as restlessly a wanderer as I. The northern California coast, the beautiful wine valleys, and two middle-aged men loaded down with camera gear and only the vaguest idea of direction, and you get the idea. Good times.

The real journey starts now. After all the miles a-foot and on the road, I'm sitting here at the studio, staring a wall of RAW files square in the face, and that's why this adventure is usually the harder one for me to start. It's the photographer's version of writer's block, I reckon: finding the voice that ties them all together, making it possible to dig in and figure out why I took all those photos in the first place.
Little by little though, I feel it starting to happen. The cool morning light, the intense fragrance of the cork, even the persistent wind: it's coming back and I'll get to enjoy it all over again as I process my images. I'll even be thinking of our old friend Plato, credit card and boarding pass in hand:

Look at the shadows, look at the shadows....

Photography in a Parallel Universe ~

I approach photography with habits I developed (no pun intended) many years ago in the paleozoic era. The great process -- film, paper, chemistry -- involved an enormous amount of time, and it is that very flow of time that engrosses me to this day. Ah, you say, but digital photography is instant; it is a revelation of the immediate, a celebration of this very moment. Yes, but... no.
I will often make an iPhone image, for example, and work in what is essentially real-time, using some favorite apps to make quick interpretations. I love doing that, exploring what's going on in my mind before the image has grown cold. But just as often, with the passage of only a day or two, I will find that very same treatment artificial and boring. It lacks the element of time.
Back in digital's early days, when each year brought forth quantum leaps in the technology of image quality, a photographer I knew told me why he thought it important to always buy the latest camera. It was all about capturing as much information as possible, not necessarily for the right-now, but because in the future there will always be new software to enable an interpretation of an image that may not be possible, even imaginable, today. Best be able to meet the future fully clothed.

So much of that new software is right here, right now. I personally find myself using onOne Perfect Suite nearly all the time; it progresses and evolves right along with me. I go back over files months, sometimes years, after I made them, and see them brand new all over again. When you wonder "why the heck didn't I see that before?" it's because, if you're being honest with yourself, it's not enough just to be clever with Photoshop. All art is communion, mainly with yourself, and that great joy of discovery happens when that image you made excites one last photon of memory from the birth of the universe. No shit, you and I were there.

I took pictures.

Pictures, Pixels, and Poetry ~

I think I have a theory about photography, or at least why I do photography, and it involves rhythm, harmony, and the happy perfection of birthday cake. Oh yes.
It's damn near impossible to find expression in words for how you see the world, and whatever vision you can muster up comes from someplace deep inside a sometimes unreachable place. I find myself tapping into it through my camera, but those who really know how to dream can convey those same thoughts and feelings through poetry.  I'm forever in awe of that talent.
Lest you think I'm getting all smarmy and new-agey here, let me put that to rest. I'm no mystic, but as I advance in years I'm having more fun and feeling more creative with my photography than I ever have. That's not to say I was ever just going through the motions all those years working commercially, because I certainly wasn't. Photography has been an infinite source of joy since day one. So why now? Why is it that I can hardly take ten steps without seeing something that moves me to photograph it?

My friend Monterey has the right take on this. We were sharing cake and cabernet at Lily's birthday party this past weekend, which was an amazingly joyful (and eagerly photographed) event -- what four year-old's party isn't? Being both a photographer (we collaborated on many a project over the years) and an insightful and talented poet (a solitary pursuit that invites no collaboration), we talked at length about the equivalency of a photograph and a poem, and how both share the same remarkable vibrations. Art is autobiography, and I guess I'm looking to say as much as I'm looking to see; the camera is the perfect tool for those of us who are otherwise mute. The older I get, the more energized I am by the process.

"Who looks outside, dreams" says Carl Jung; "who looks inside, awakens." Don't know if he ever wrote poetry, and pretty sure he never took a photo, but what the hey, I'm right there with you, brother.

So let's do this. Get your camera -- or pen and paper -- and let's go wake up.

I'll make prints.

On The Value of Art and The Price Of Good Tea ~

And what, you may ask, is the value of art? Well in my case, $43.60. A surprisingly precise sum for such an ambiguous thing as "art", but stay with me and I'll try to explain.
My eyes wander about with the same casual aimfullness as do my feet, and they often land upon sights that are hidden gems. In fact, they almost always do, because gems, hidden and otherwise, are all around, all the time. Even in -- maybe especially in -- unfamiliar and unexpected places. Like a tea shop. And such was the case that resulted in the image you see here.
I just happened to glance into the tea shop at the mall and noticed this gentle arrangement of teapot, cups, and blossoms that begged to be photographed. And, of course, I'm never without at least my iPhone, so there was no excuse to not go in and explore. The young lady who worked there was the very picture of friendliness and so I poured forth my honest intentions -- that I desperately needed some tea. And not just any tea, but the kind that would do a Buddhist monk proud, the kind that would have been swiftly transported to English ports aboard the Cutty Sark, the kind that even the most ardent patriot would blanche at dumping into a harbor. Expensive tea, necessary tea, and oh by the way, mind if I take a quick snapshot of that lovely arrangement I see on that shelf?
For the record, the tea was called Golden Monkey, and was roughly the same price, ounce-per-ounce, as your average Toyota, but oh my god it was probably the most delicious tea I've ever had. And it allowed me to find this lovely, quiet little image, and an evening of joy exploring and interpreting it.

Just for grins, here's what I saw when I initially peeked in. You can see why I was drawn to it, and I trust you would have been, too. Yes? No? Maybe?

I have no doubt that if I had asked nicely the sweet young lady would have let me take pictures without buying anything, but I would have felt somewhat diminished, I think. I'm no ordinary thief. I pay for the things I steal.

In this case, it was worth all the tea in China.

On Teachable Moments and Lifetimes ~

Last Sunday I taught a studio lighting and portrait workshop, and as I hope this image shows, we met with a certain degree of success.  I love doing workshops. I love to see these photographers discovering anew some of the alchemy I've been practicing for a long time. And as things often do at my age, it put me a frame of mind to reflect back on the many teachers who goaded, prodded, yelled at, suffered through, and inspired me to get to this most satisfactory point in my life.

Inspire. The word comes to us (of course) from Latin, by way of Middle English, and means, simply, to breath; it creates in us that spark of creativity. This is appropriate. The best photographers who were my teachers gave me this life, and at this point I know of no other way to live or, for that matter, to actually even see. (Plus, in a roundabout way through the Gaelic word for breath, we also end up with the word whiskey, and I'm not about to go judging the wisdom of the ancients.)

I have been mentored and inspired by some pretty incredible people over the years, photographers both well-known and quietly anonymous; artists and philosophers, poets and painters, free thinkers of all stripes, and more than the occasional crank. I love them all, and hope I reflect at least a little glow from each of them. And I hope I do them proud by challenging myself to go even further into new territories that were beyond their horizons. It's supposed to be that way, you know. Michelangelo himself said that the student who fails to surpass his master, fails his master.

Well then, I better get busy. I still have a lifetime of learning ahead of me before I can achieve that lofty goal.

Maybe I'll start with a little sip of some single-malt inspiration.

Re-Thinking the Familiar ~

I've never considered myself much of a landscape photographer. Even back in the day, with large format cameras and 4x5 black & white film, the outdoors excursion was largely an exercise in perfecting exposure techniques. And largely, too, just plain old exercise: these were big heavy cameras, after all.  But the past couple years or so I've been having a remarkably fun time wandering around out there, looking -- and photographing -- the immensity of beauty that's all around. It's funny how I'd never really noticed, never even really seen it all before, and I imagine it's because I wasn't really looking. Now I can't not look. It's driving me crazy. I love it.

And that's how it was this week, when my sister and my niece visited from land-locked Colorado. A fine photographer in her own right, we worked a bit in the studio, but we also spent a beautiful day at the Oregon coast. Delicious rain, delicious light, and countless familiar and often-photographed scenes -- which gets to the point I want to make: it hardly matters if the landscape before you is iconic, recognizable, familiar. Ansel Adams once said that in any landscape, there are only two people: the photographer, and the viewer. So take out your camera and use it; you will put yourself into that image and make it a personal statement. Every photo you take is an intimate moment. I may have seen dozens of photographs of Hay Stack Rock in Cannon Beach...but I haven't seen yours.

"What moves those of genius," according to Eugene Delacroix (who you'd think would know), "what inspires their work, is not new ideas, but their obsession with the idea that what has already been said is still not enough."

No, I'm not sure what he's talking about, either.  But I am going to keep looking at things with fresh eyes, and keep taking photos over and over again for the first time.

I hope you don't mind.

Old and In The Way, Part 3 ~

Boy, talk about some old skills. Most old photo dogs like me spent a great deal of time honing our printing skills in the darkrooms of yore, the Thomas safelight buzzing, hypo fumes wafting into our noses (and hearts and lungs, presumably), and water running, running, running, all day long. Good times. I miss 'em. And that was all state-of-the-art for the time: modern techniques, chemical processes, even the optics and electronics of enlargers and cold-light heads. But what I got really excited about were the ways of making photographs from the earlier, non-silver era of our medium.
I worked a lot in Gum Dichromate; the image above is a portrait I took of my daughter Sara in 1988. I made the negative in my 8 x 10 Burke & James camera, and the printing process involved laying down an emulsion of gum arabic mixed with watercolor pigment on good quality watercolor paper. The emulsion was made light-sensitive by the addition of potassium dichromate, and the negative was contact-printed directly upon it, being exposed to strong ultraviolet light, and then "processed" under gently running water. It was a long, meticulous process getting a good image, sometimes requiring building up many layers over and over. Beer drinking was often involved.

I was thinking a lot about that recently, and my musings lead me to pen a few notes about it here. I've always tried to explore the artistic limits of the craft of photography, every bit as much now as I did 20 or 30 years ago. Maybe even more so. Some say that now you can achieve these results with the pouch of a button, but that's far from the truth. We have infinitely more avenues to push ourselves, to seek and express that creative voice, then we've ever had before.

Someone once complimented the great cellist Pablo Casals on his exquisite music; he was then in his 80's, and responded that, yes, he felt he was starting to get the hang of it.

I'm having the time of my life as a photographer. I have quite a ways to go yet, but yes, I think I'll eventually get the hang of it, too.

On Sharp Lenses and Fuzzy Brains ~

One of my all-time favorite maxims, from that wonderful compendium of T. Orland, is this: when man creates a sharper lens, nature will create a fuzzier subject.  I'm reminded of this every time I find myself in a conversation about cameras and lenses, which is pretty much all the time. Whether we deny it or not, deep inside we're all more-or-less gearheads.
I love reading Ken Rockwell's (kenrockwell.com) photography posts, one of which directly addressed the issue of lens sharpness with the somewhat alarming opening statement that "sharpness is the most over-rated aspect of lens performance." But he goes on to detail all the ways we measure, quantify, fuss over and generally over-think whatever the hell "sharpness" is. His message, and mine, has always been to properly use whatever lenses you have and not worry about coughing up a couple grand for that new lens that will supposedly make you a better photographer.

As for me, seems I mostly shoot for the web these days anyway, so I'm not as concerned about print quality as I used to be. When I do make prints they're just as rich and colorful (and sharp) as I  expect them to be.  Down here at the studio, both Whitney and I use our Canon cameras and lenses. For my aimless wandering now I rely on my trusty little mirrorless Fuji. In the old days, when I was shooting mostly medium format, I preferred lenses that were referred to as "long normals" or considered portrait lenses: the 150mm on the Hasselblad, and the 127mm on the RB 67.  Amazing lenses indeed. And expensive as hell.

And here's a recollection that just floors me: I spent a whole lot of money on Softar filters for the Hasselblad. I had both the Softar 0 and 1. Know what they were for? You guessed it, they softened the image slightly because the Zeiss lenses were too bloody sharp.  Life is funny that way.

So I think I'll live by an entirely new maxim:  Sharp lens, sharp mind.

Take your pick.

On The Interpretation of Dreams (And Large Jpegs) ~

Once again I had set out to wander on a gloriously beautiful weekend -- which, in my humble opinion, is just about every weekend here in Oregon -- and found myself up in the foothills above the lovely town of Hood River (lovely for, among many other things, one of the best brewpubs along the Columbia River). It was in those hills that I got this terrific view of Mount Hood. It was a little early yet for the apple and pear orchards to be in bloom, maybe by two or three weeks, so a return visit will be in order.
I hike along in something of a dream-like state of mind, absorbing the scenery as much as photographing it. If you recall my post from last week, you'll understand how I'm really just looking for all the secrets. My little mirrorless Fuji (which sounds too formal; does it need a more appropriate pet name?) makes all these big, mysterious RAW files for me. Through the enabling processes of Photoshop CS6, onOne Perfect Photo Suite 9, the occasional Autopainter, and a decent IPA (and I hear that recreational herbage does wonders, too; just saying) the surprises of images that speak to me start emerging on my screen. I can't produce a "straight" print any more than I can dream a "straight" dream. Not even sure what that means.

Parked in a field was an old, abandoned sheepherder's wagon which I shot from every angle and viewpoint, but the image above is the one that struck a chord. It's looking through the window at the back, into an interior dissolving and deteriorating with each passing winter. I love imagining what sights that sheepherder may have seen on those lonely days, and what dreams may have occupied them.

In Eleonara, Poe says those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who only dream by night.  So, point your camera and dream, mis amigos.

You may find a good brewpub along the way.

Zen And The Art Of Being Surprised ~

Expose for the secrets, develop for the surprises.  I've lived by this proposal, and have passed it along as (hopefully) sage advice all my life as a photographer. It's not original with me -- I certainly can lay no claim to that level of wit and wisdom -- as I've heard it variously attributed to Ansel Adams, or to one of his assistants, Ted Orland. And even they may have picked it up in a bar somewhere for all I know.
In Adam's case, it would have been a way to describe how he used his zone-system of calculating exposure to accurately pre-visualize a scene; in a nutshell: expose for the shadow value and process for the highlights. Great advice with Tri-X film. Not so great with a digital sensor.

And yet I think it's the greatest piece of advice to enhance creativity I've ever heard. Learn your camera, understand your processing, figure out technique in such a manner as to completely forget about all that when you're out there chasing the light. If you get hung up on how you're shooting, you'll have a hard time understanding what you're shooting, or even why. Point the camera and let it flow, and then take delight in discovering the impact of those images when you open them up and give them meaning.

The image directly above is the secret I shot a couple weeks back on my walkabout with Bill. Wasn't much to look at, but I could tell there were some wonderful textures and colors hiding in there. What I discovered was the image at the top of this post, and it was pure joy to peel back the layers and reveal the image I felt was there, somewhere.

We're surrounded by secrets, and that's a wonderful thing, because it means we're surrounded by surprises. Deep breaths, clear your mind.

And go find them.

Photos From The Front ~

There are pictures, and then there are Pictures; and while they may be worth a thousand words, some of them speak with a force and immediacy that cannot easily be ignored.  These photographs, taken by a twenty-something kid on the rolling deck of an aircraft carrier in the South China Sea in 1971, are just such images.

That kid, of course, is my brother Jim, and the camera he used was the Nikon Photomic F that I profiled a couple months ago in a post here. He recently rediscovered the treasure trove of his Ektachrome slides and black & white negatives and prints and set upon the task of scanning and restoring them. It's the project of a lifetime, and eminently worthwhile, that allows us to catch a first-hand glimpse into a life shared by few, and a history fading from view.

I love these photographs. They're just straight prints, minimally processed, no photoshop other than to size them for the web. The eye is unschooled but the vision is clear and straightforward, leading from this point onward to a man who would become an artist, a humanist, a healer. And a damn good photographer.

We're captivated by photographs from the war front, from the Civil War, the World Wars, Vietnam (such as these) all the way to Iraq and Afghanistan. Ones taken by the famous war photographers are forever seared into our consciousness, but just as powerful are the ones taken by the young soldiers and sailors just trying to make it through the day.

Just like that kid on the rolling deck of an aircraft carrier in the South China Sea in 1971.

A Short Discourse on Photography, the iPhone, and Urban Fishing ~

I had set out this past weekend to to engage in what has become a favored pastime: to wander about, observe interesting things, take some pictures, and go fishing. All at the same time. I have the first part of that covered pretty well. My Fuji mirrorless camera is pretty darn easy to carry around with me, even with a couple lenses, and if I'm aimlessly wandering with no direction in mind other than to see if I can stay out of trouble, then there's no excuse not to pack the iPhone in my pocket either.

And that's exactly how I go fishing.

So I set out at the crack of dawn (ok, probably a little closer to the crack of noon) with my fishing gear that consists of an insulated cooler, some ice, and a credit card. There are a couple of wonderful Asian markets in our fair city that you can rely on to have the freshest fish and exotic produce, all of which can provide amazing culinary -- and photographic -- experiences. Both of these images were made with my iPhone; I went to two different markets and could have wandered about them for hours. There was no shortage of things to see and images to form in my mind and in my camera: so many colors and textures that were just dazzling.
It's not always necessary to drive for miles looking for the perfect photograph; more often than not, it's right in front of you just before you hit the check-out line.

Oh, and the halibut I caught was delicious. And did I mention the sakè?

A Little Windowlight Love ~

I'm not full of wisdom. Not sure I even have that many good ideas. But one thing I am sure of is simply this: If you're not finding something new and different and challenging and fun in your creative life -- whatever that may be -- you die a little each day from terminal boredom. And I hate when that happens.
Years back, a fellow portrait photographer and I would take great pleasure in looking at how light was falling on people we would casually see in restaurants and bars; die-hard studio guys, we nonetheless thought many times that we were looking at what would have been lovely portraits. But our cameras -- big ol' medium formats -- were always back at the studio, so we had only our eyes and a few beers to appreciate what we saw. This is the great liberation of the digital camera, and even more, the smartphone camera. I'm never, ever, without my iPhone, and I've become almost fanatical in my desire to chase down that great light and make those portraits I saw in my mind all those years ago.

This is what's so neat about the iPhone: it's spontaneous, unplanned, creativity-on-the-fly when you find yourself in that perfect place with perfect light. So I have a call-out to all of you to help me find those wonderful places with big windows and the kind of light that makes your knees go weak. Restaurants and bars; living rooms and hotel lobbies; the places that are all around us. If you know of such places, I want to go there with you and make a portrait.

Terminal boredom? No, never.

But maybe a few beers.

There's Always Something There ~

Your mission, should you decide to accept it.....   is to go where you haven't been before, where it looks decidedly unphotographic, where the weather is rainy/cloudy/windy/wet (insert your own dreaded condition) and find that one image that will knock your socks off. It can be done. You can do it.
And so once again, stepping off into the (sort of) unknown, the intrepid Bill and Chaz and your's truly went wandering about parts of the industrial NW of Portland (our fair city) that were unfamiliar to me. This time there were no great bridges over great rivers, and no natural or man-made monuments to capture the heart. Just buildings, reflections, textures, puddles, and inspiration. And decent coffee.

There are two axioms I try to live by when it comes to my photography. One is that you really can find the extraordinary image just when (and where) you think you can't. It may be something beautiful or powerfully raw, something dark or downright whimsical, but it's definitely there. The other is that your camera really doesn't matter, and shouldn't be used as an excuse holding you back.

In fact, I have a notion to go wandering with someone who is not at all interested in photography; a poet perhaps, a philosopher, a wanderer with  a fine eye and a way with words. I wonder, would we look at the same things? I'd be interested in how that might change what I focus on and shoot.

 I have a hunch I may see things differently.

Somewhere Along the Edge ~

After a certain age, pretty much all our discussions turn into philosophical discussions. And so it was the other day in conversation with my fellow philosopher and wanderer Richard, as we idly speculated on where --  and what -- was beauty. As no alcohol was involved in this particular discussion, we couldn't come up with any particular Great Truth. Darn. But I was able to provide to myself, at least, some clarity to a philosophy about photography I have held for many, many years.

When you see a beautiful sunset, look behind you to see what it means. It's where day meets night, where light meet shadow. It's where the sea meets the shore, where a smile turns inward; where there is sadness and joy, harmony and discord, yin and yang.

All the really interesting things happen here, at the edges. That's where I go looking, and that's where you can find me.

That's where I'll set up my tripod.

A Walkabout In The Fog ~

Just to be clear, there's a mighty big distinction between a walkabout in the fog and wandering around in a fog. The former is the subject, more or less, of today's blog, and the latter is my usual morning affliction sans café. This past Sunday turned out to be a perfect day to grab a camera and go, which is exactly what Bill and I did. We were supposed to meet up and review the on-line projects we're working on, but that sparkling interplay of sunlight and fog along the Willamette proved irresistible. The photo above was taken from the Broadway Bridge with the 55-200 f/3.5-4.8 on my trusty little Fuji.

First up, however, was a loading dose of coffee and some lunch at Goose Hollow Inn, one of my favorite haunts in the city.  Yes, we accomplished some actual business without being too greatly distracted. We're working on a book about the how's and why's of studio lighting that we'll publish as an e-book, we have a series of workshops, and of course, endlessly itchy feet (figuratively only, I assure you) that look for those opportunities to go a-wandering with good shoes, good eyes, and good glass. And it appears that we're not the only ones.

Over the past year or so, whenever I've gone out to wander with my camera or iPhone either by myself or with Bill or Whitney, I've heard from so many friends and readers to invite them along next time. Usually these short walkabouts are completely unplanned and spontaneous, making it hard to plan ahead to call for fellow travelers. So we're going to try to put together an unofficial travel schedule on a basis that I hope might be fairly regular to make planing a little easier. Maybe one Sunday a month? Maybe one evening a month? Who's up for that? Our hope would be to make something like this a bit more formal to include some follow-up time where we could share images and ideas, and maybe even incorporate it into our workshop schedule. Who knows. I'm just thinking out loud here.

Shoot me some feedback, I'd love to hear your ideas and if it's something you'd like to do with us.

I promise, we'll start out with some coffee.