A great article by Ken Rockwell. Really.

http://www.kenrockwell.com/tech/simplicity.htm

I get that a lot of photographers consider Ken Rockwell to be irrelevant at best and a source of wild and unsubstantiated craziness at his worst, but I've come to find the core of many of his arguments to be quite valid.  If you read the article I linked above you'll find some great reasoning for becoming conversant with one lens and one camera body.  Hopefully the least complicated body you can find.

I've written similar essays and I've come to the same conclusion:  More gear = less good photos.

The image above is of Sarah L.  I wanted to use her on the cover of my third book but my publisher and I didn't see eye to eye on that one.  When I shoot portraits I generally shoot them with the same lens and the same settings.  Even the light is largely the same.  That's because the portrait is about the subject and not about the technique.  If the technique is the first thing you notice in one of my portraits that means I've failed.  Miserably.  The camera is out of focus and Sarah is in focus.  And that's the way I meant it to be.

Give Ken his due.  He gets it right more often than a lot of would like to admit.

"The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek." Joseph Campbell

"The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek."  Joseph Campbell

Nearly every photographer I've ever met is afraid to approach strangers in public and ask permission to photograph them.  The few that were not afraid were most probably sociopathic.  So, how is it that some people are able to overcome this fear and take photographs of strangers in public?


They begin by confronting their fears.  You work up your courage.  You approach the situation with butterflies in your stomach and you ask.  And, surprisingly, most times the person smiles and says "yes."  They are flattered.  They are human. They are part of the continuum of humanity.




The more often you practice the better you are able to push down the fear until you nearly conquer it.  Then you move on to the next challenge.  The next fear.  Joseph Campbell says it better than I in one quick sentence.  


Consider this next time fear of a deadline, a meeting, a new way of doing something presents itself.  By pushing against the fear you may unlock doors of which you only dreamed.  Steven Pressfield, in his incredible book, The War of Art, basically says that resistance is stronger the closer you get to accomplishing your goals.




Happy Holidays!   Kirk

When In Rome....

Is everything in your life done on some sort of efficient agenda?  Are all your shoots scheduled?  Are you proud of your time management skills?  Do you see value in walking around with no conscious intention?

There's tremendous creative energy in throwing away "productivity" and replacing it with quiet, active observation.  When I lose the thread of excitement in my art (as opposed to work) I know I can get it back by repudiating the socially engrained work ethic that haunts most of us.  The only way for me to move forward is to not think about "moving forward."

I pick up a camera and a lens and some film or a memory card and I hit the streets and wander aimlessly. Sometimes I just observe stuff.  Sometimes I have a reaction to what I see.  It could be excitement or fear or a cynical sense of boredom; but some sort of reaction.  That's when I photograph.

A number of years ago I finished up some corporate work and I felt burned out.  Used up.  My store of visual energy was used up in the service of injecting passion into temporary, and ultimately unimportant materials.  I told my wife I needed to recharge and I packed a small bag and headed to the airport alone.

I was thinking of going to Mexico City but at the last moment I decided on Rome.  I had no agenda, no itinerary.  I landed at the Leonardo Da Vinci airport, took the train into town and booked a room at my favorite old hotel, the Victoria.

Every morning I got up early and ate quick breakfast in the dining room.  I carried a Mamiya 6 camera with a 75mm lens and stuck a 50mm lens in the pocket of my jacket.  In the opposite pocket I stuffed in ten rolls of 120mm Tri-x or T-max CN.  This gave me 120 potential images per day.  120 chances to find something fun.

But I never went out thinking, "I need to find something to shoot."  Instead I went out thinking, "I want to see what life looks like in Rome."  And if I saw something that caused a reaction then that was a bonus.  I walked and ate and shopped and shot for the better part of eight days.

When I came back home I had images that echoed what I felt during my visit.  During my walks.  I never thought about the images as stock.  I never justified the trip as a tax write off.  I just responded to things that made me think or feel.

Using one simple camera and one or two lenses, along with the formalist discipline of locking into one kind of monochrome film, focused me in a way that digital doesn't.  It limited choice so that my brain could process the emotion instead of running mental sub routines concerning color balance or contrast.  It freed me up to respond in a less encumbered way.

I have a camera I am using right now that I'm trying to sculpt into the shooting cameras of those days.  Black and white.  One aspect ratio (square).  One ISO (160).  One lens (Normal focal length).  If I limit choice I expand reaction.  My brain might work differently from yours.  That's what makes my vision mine and yours yours.

I'm just describing what works for me.

The top image was taken while walking down an alley.  The gentleman was totally aware of my presence.  I smiled and brought the camera up to my eye.  When I clicked the shutter and then let the camera drop down to my waist we both nodded at each other and moved on with our days.

The bottom image was taken during a crowded day at the Vatican.  It's part of a series that I love because it shows how integrated faith is in the daily lives of some Romans, as well as their proximity to the symbols of their faith.

I went to Rome to see things in a fresh way.  Next week maybe I'll go to San Antonio, Texas and walk around downtown.   Readjust my eyes to a new year.

A non-photographic mentor. Learn more from people who know more.

Mike Hicks, circa 2007.  Austin, Texas.

If you woke me up in the middle of the night, at gunpoint, and demanded to know who has taught me more about photography and creativity in general, I would blurt out, "Mike Hicks."  Which is interesting because Mike is not a  photographer.  Mike is the consummate "Renaissance Man" of advertising and creativity.  I first met Mike back in the early 1980's.  He ran the most respected graphic design firm in Texas, Hixo, and he taught graphic design at the University of Texas at Austin, College of Fine Arts.

I didn't meet him in either of these contexts.  I met him at a restaurant called La Provence.  It was an amazing restaurant for Austin, at the time.  Patricia Bauer-Slate, the founder of the world famous, Sweetish Hill Bakery, decided Austin needed a classic, haute cuisine restaurant and for several years her restaurant set the standard for Texas, a land festooned with lots of chicken fried steak, BBQ and Tex-Mex food.  It was amazing.  And Mike is always at the forefront of good food in the capitol city.  We were introduced by Patricia one evening.  My wife and I were already in awe of Mike for his design work.  Now we came to know him as a "foodie".  In fact, many years later, he gave me a copy of the Larousse cookbook as a birthday present......

But this is a story about photography and mentors.  For a while I ran a competing ad agency and, when the opportunity presented I convinced Mike to joint venture with us on a big, multi-year project.  His command of the field was amazing.  His concepts were both timeless and cutting edge.

A few years later I left the ad industry to become a photographer and Mike was one of my first and most loyal clients.  What I learned from him came from almost weekly assignments for an ongoing, black and white newspaper campaign for a major retailer.  Once a week I would get a comp from his agency and I would be required to find the props and models and shoot, with rigorous precision, the exact set up described by the comp.  In those days we were shooting most studio shots on 4x5 film.

Sometimes Mike would indicate on the comp a very specific lighting style.  This was before the days of the internet and sometimes I would research and refine techniques for days before I got them to work.  One time I was asked to illustrate a baseball for an ad for Nolan Ryan's book.  The baseball needed to be clear and crisp but look as though it had been thrown so fast that it was on fire and trailing smoke.  Easy enough against a black background, but our whole campaign was shot against white.

I researched everywhere I could.  I called every pro I knew and came up blank.  Finally, after destroying ten or so baseballs I invented a technique that gave Mike exactly what he wanted.  When he looked at the 11x14 inch fiber based print (that's how we presented back then) he chuckled a bit and said,  "I thought that would be impossible.  Nice job."   This happened more than once.

I didn't learn anything directly.  It has all been osmotic.  But I've learned so much.  The biggest thing I've learned is that clients look at things differently from photographers.  We need to make work that works well for both sides of the camera.

Another thing I've learned from Mike is the importance of constant, personal reinvention.  He made the leap from analog to digital as seamlessly as a teenager learns a video game.  He's been able to translate a print sensibility into television commercials. He's a brilliant writer for publications like Graphis and  CA. And he understands the importance of a good lunch.

He's in his early sixties and has the energy of a 30 year old.  He never lives in the past.  Doesn't talk about the good old days.  He looks ahead, figures out how to do things in new ways and always finds a way to make it profitable.

You could do worse in choosing a role model.

I asked Mike to come by and let me photograph him a few years ago when some company lent me a medium format digital camera to test.  I like this image because it shows his relentless intensity.  Maybe it will be lost in translation but it is one of my favorite portraits.