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.

The Exotic Places, So Close To Home ~

Being semi-retired (which means I really don't want to work very hard anymore, but kinda need the money) I try to get out and wander with my camera whenever and wherever I can. And just this week I visited one of my favorite Portland landmarks, the Lan Su Chinese Gardens. My good friend and co-conspirator Richard joined me there with his new iPhone, and after a weekend of fairly intensive rain we were happily surprised by the fair weather.

The Lan Su Gardens are considered among the most authentic outside of China, and while I can only assume that to be the case, I can certainly attest to its beauty and charm. I've been there many times all throughout the year, and each visit shows something new, something previously unseen, something so etherial it takes my breath away.

And of course, no visit there is complete without going to the Tea House. I don't know how many varieties of tea are offered there: white, green, smoked, herbal; the list is long and utterly confusing but we settled on a ginger-infused black tea that was pretty amazing.
But yes, we went there to do some photography, and you probably are expecting a little photospeak here. I brought my Fuji mirrorless and three lenses. I could have left two of them at home, the very wide and the very long. I had just picked up the 55-200 Fujinon and was so keen to use it too, but the close confines within the garden made that tough to do, so I used the little 18-55 throughout.  I took the image of the gate at the top with my iPhone 5s, and worked it Snapseed to get the result you see here. These other two were with the Fuji; both were imaged using onOne Photosuite 9, and the tea-pourer was blended with an Autopainter layer in CS6.

I'm anxious to see what Richard got; he has an artist's eye, a poet's heart, and an iPhone 6. It's impossible to wander around here and not see something breathtakingly beautiful at every turn.
It's what I love about Portland, too. So much variety, so much to see, to do, to photograph. Just park downtown and see the world.

Bring your camera.

Don't forget the tea.

Old and in the Way, Part 2 ~

So the only reason it's "vintage" day down here is because Whitney is prepping the studio for a handcrafts-product shoot, and what better background could there be to take some shots of this truly vintage Nikon Photomic F? It's the perfect backdrop for this blog about one of the all-time perfect cameras, and this one has a great story to tell.

This Nikon -- this very one -- is one of two that my brother Jim brought home from the war. Yes, that one. A Navy man at the time, he picked these up duty-free on the carrier he served on, the USS Hancock, for a couple hundred bucks apiece. Pretty sweet deal. This is the only one that survives in our family; the other, alas, having been stolen some years ago. It served with Jim on three Viet Nam deployments in '71, '72. and '73. It has been in action in Hong Kong, Japan, Thailand, the Phillipines, Taipei, and Australia. Jim says he's going to start going through that amazing collection of negatives and get them digitized so he can begin sharing them. I am definitely keen to see them.

Pictured above is the ubiquitous 50mm f/1.4, which I think every photographer of my generation ran a million frames through. On the left is one of the first great Nikon zooms, the 80-200 f/4.5. I used one of these during my apprenticeship in '73 and '74 when we shot rodeo events in Wyoming and Colorado, and I gotta tell you they were damn near indestructible. Oh, and that leather half-case: why aren't those made anymore?

So just for grins and giggles I thought I'd throw the collection of cameras we have down here today together for a quick shot. It's interesting, yes, but barely tells the story of the lives of our cameras from 1971 to today. I ended up with so many different cameras from 35mm to 8x10. In fact, the last Nikon I personally owned was the F2A and a nice handful of lenses, my favorite being the 105mm f/2.5. So sweet, so sharp.
But enough tech talk, and enough teary-eyed reminiscences. Duty calls. We have lights to set up, and a session to shoot in around an hour.

Let me tell ya, nostalgia ain't what it used to be.

Just A Quick Trip To Paradise ~

I tried to stick to my new year's resolution to attend to this blog every week, and immediately fell behind by two of them. But in my defense, the last two weeks included Christmas and New Year's, which should automatically trigger a vacation response in every North American. Me, especially, since I obviously work so darn hard...

So what's a guy to do, other than gather up an assortment of cameras and lenses and catch an early flight to Kona? It certainly sounded reasonable to me. I'd been to Hawaii many times: regular workshops and trade shows in Honolulu, and a photo trip to Kaua'i in 2013. But this was my first trip to the Big Island, and it was a joy and a revelation.
As far as gear goes, I really just travelled there with my Fuji Xe2 and the two lenses I own with it: the 18-55 f2.8-4, and the 10-24 f4. This is such an easy and lightweight system to carry around, and I'm getting more and more impressed with the precision and clarity of the optics. The images above and to the left were taken in the Tropical Botanic Gardens north of Hilo. The sun was bright and shiny, but the foliage so dense that I was shooting at an ISO of 800 and, at times, 1600. Truth be told, there's a bit of noise at 1600, but the new NR filter in Perfect Photo Suite 9 from onOne nails it down perfectly.

We stayed a couple of days down at the Kilauea volcano, and did a couple of hikes around there. (My wife calls them hikes; I likened them more to "death marches", but whatever). I never go anywhere without my iPhone 5s and took this shot of the crater, visible from the Jagger Museum, in HDR mode. Some editing in Snapseed, and finished up with some onOne filters, too.

There was plenty of snorkeling, swimming, and hanging out on the beaches around Kona, to be sure.  I saw this gorgeous tortoise swimming in the shallows at Pu'uhonoa, near Kona, and posted it to Facebook directly from my iPhone, but I've done a little extra work on it since then to bring out the incredible color and iridescence of the water.
We have a couple more trips planned this year; a trans-Canada adventure with a few days in Montreal, and hopefully the Albuquerque Balloon festival in the fall. Oh the things I'll do and the places I'll go just to make an interesting blog post. Honestly.
But Hawaii draws me back every year. There's a lot of pictures there I haven't taken yet.
And I ain't getting any younger.

Trying To Catch A Storm ~

Well, there we were again, out on the Oregon coast, seeing if we could catch a little storm action to photograph. You'd think we'd get plenty of opportunities for that up here. But as luck would have it and fate would be, the "Pineapple Express" actually rolled into northern California (thus drenching my poor brother Jim down there) leaving us with just the usual drizzle and occasional sun breaks up here in the wild north. But who's to complain? We had a wonderful time. That's an iPhone shot on the beach at Cape Kiwanda. Photo tip of the day: always go with a companion who owns a red jacket (in this case, my lovely wife Nancy, a real trooper), and have them stay a few steps ahead of you. It's better than buying a new lens!

I'm a native son of the left coast, and have tramped its shores from Coronado Bay to the Puget Sound. My wife and I take particular delight in the winter and early spring out here; the light is moody and unpredictable (like me, before I've had my coffee) and every scene invites a quiet moment of contemplation. And I certainly don't mind the rain. This old tree standing guard over an unnamed creek is at Cape Lookout, taken with my Fuji mirrorless.

It's almost Christmas, the crowds are gone, the weather is perfect, and that camera in your hand is the best damn camera in the world. You've run out of excuses.

And so have I. It's time to storm the beach.