Well, Here we are on the 27th of December and for the first time in memory I did NOT buy myself a camera or lens for Christmas. Or Thanksgiving. In fact, the last camera I bought was the DLUX8 back in mid-Summer. What happened?

 

At one point in my blogging history I was becoming famous for changing cameras and camera systems more often than most people change their underwear. (Gross exaggeration... really....gross). But since my initial foray into the world of Leica digital I've not strayed from the chosen path, into another system, for nearly five long years. Okay...somewhere back in time (2020) I did buy the Sigma fp but my intentions were to use that camera mostly for video, and it is part of the L mount system, and so it doesn't count as straying from the flock of true believers. Not by much...

But--- I did keep up a pretty good pace when it came to new camera body and lens acquisitions from 2019-2025. Entirely Leica cameras, some of which came and went (many seemed comfortable and stayed), and an assortment of Leica, Sigma, Panasonic, Zeiss and Voigtlander lenses. Oh! and also, this year, three of the Thypoch lenses for the M Leicas. While I have friends whose collection/accumulation of Leica gear dwarfs my small inventory I do think I've just about hit my personal Leica glut here in the studio. The very studio I'm in the process of converting from a work space to a recreational fortress of solitude. Surrounded by cameras, lights, computers but no clients.

In years past it was relatively easy to justify splashing out for newly advanced camera models within a system; and it would have been the same in any system. One could always make the argument that a new model camera or lens would add obvious value. The newly improved sensor would delivery more resolution or less noise; or both. That new lens would represent the ultimate in expressive rendering and together, camera and lens, would elevate my photography to new, ever higher levels of technical achievement. In the side chambers of my mind I'd pretend that clients would be savvy enough to appreciate the small improvements that came from the upgrades and they would appreciate my attention to any detail that might improve the work I would be delivering to them. In turn, they'd acquiesce to modest increases in my fees and we'd all walk away from the new equipment purchases much happier.

Of course it was always a self-serving ruse. Whatever incremental improvements provided were always mitigated or offset by an ever accelerating progression of the end results of the work from big prints to small screens --- which are so clever in their ability to disguise the provenance of the tools by dint of their tiny resolutions and eye candy saturation. The money was spent more as hedge against feeling sidelined by the ever constricting borders comprising the realm of fun projects. Projects which might show off just how good the gear might be... Or how shamelessly wonderful my honed eye and finely tuned sensibilities.

Since shuttering my mind to the lure of doing photography that chases money most of the desire for, and attachment to, the gear has clearly waned. If I am the only person who needs to be wowed by the gear it loses its relevance for psychologically bolstering the basic desire for it. In other words I don't have any competition left against which to measure my toolset collection against. Almost overnight all of the cameras have assumed an equal ranking in my mind. Each has its own character and each its own limitations but like children I've come to appreciate them all. No single one has an exclusive lock on bringing me imaging satisfaction. Not the most recent and not the oldest and smallest one in the big, roomy, legal-sized filing cabinets in which I store them when they are momentarily out of circulation. 

So, I changed gears in August. Sure, I bought a couple of new lenses. One was a used, little Leica zoom lens from the Leica R days. I didn't need it but it was so cute and earnest, and priced so well, that I just couldn't walk away. The other was the Thypoch 75mm f1.4 which I am still certain will elevate my rough and ready street portraits to fascinating new levels (right....). 

October rolled around and that was the month of my 70th birthday. In the past each birthday was an easy event or landmark which almost demanded I mark it with some sort of celebratory camera. Or camera and lens. But this year nothing really piqued my interest. Nothing felt "mission critical". Probably because the missions that seemed to encourage endless, tiny upgrades were gone. Finally at a point in my life where the expenses to buy "luxe" gear had become meaningless, paradoxically my desire for the new gear was inversely proportional to my ability to buy it. A stunning realization. 

I decided that month that this mindset was probably temporary, like those times when one overindulges in a lavish meal with many courses, and paired wines, and subsequently loses one's appetite for excess for days at a time. I was sure my appetite for shiny toys would bounce back, renewed.

But then Thanksgiving rolled around and while one friend added amply to his inventory of cool photo gear that month while another friend added to his collection of effete German cars I found myself, well, satisfied with the gear I had on hand to play with. And equally satisfied driving my inexpensive Subaru car. Desire not bubbling just below the surface. I was happy to just wander around with an old, worn, favorite camera and one of the ancient legacy lenses I've been hoarding for decades. And happy to rattle around in my two year old car with its 13,000 miles on the digital odometer... Still fearing that first door ding...

Then we were coming into Christmas. I shopped for fun things to give to my small, nuclear family. Sent cheques to nieces and nephews. Tipped the people who were most helpful this year. Paid my property taxes and my swim dues, and my USMS dues. Made some charitable contributions and still had money left over to shop for myself. To finally get my camera appetite back and snap up some clever morsel of optical engineering for no other reason than the promise of even better snapshots.

I saw a tasty deal on a Leica SL3. And some German lenses. And a monochrome M camera. And a Swedish medium format camera. But each time I shopped I realized that I had nowhere near used up the potential in any of the cameras I'd thought were so wonderful just last year. Or the year before. Or the year before that. Each, at the time, had appealed to me as the best in class. But I have not given them the chance yet to show me their full potential. And that gave me pause. 

Yesterday, on the way to drink coffee and read poems from a new book of poetry by Billy Collins (Dogs) I picked up my SL2-S, equipped with a 50mm Canon FD lens. Like a security blanket from a past life. I probably shot ten frames that morning. Would 100 megapixels instead of 24 megapixels have made a huge (or even tiny) difference in my enjoyment yesterday morning? Not that I could tell. 

Today as I left the house for swim practice I picked up, instead, an SL2 and the 50mm APO from Voigtlander. I always think the 47 megapixels in that camera are a good match for the times I want to make black and white pictures. And I'm still convinced that the 50mm APO is the best lens I own. I do test my lenses but I'm also a sucker sometimes for the advertising messages that tell me I should like a lens. I'm home now from swim practice but the camera and lens, unused this morning, are still sitting in the passenger seat of my practical car. I might try again this afternoon but I'm not sure if I'm motivated today to head back out and wander around in search of inspiration. 

All of which is to say that without a proscribed mission in mind the gear all starts to seem equally practical, equally exciting or unexciting, and not the locus for inspiration. 

I was going to buy a "throwaway" lens yesterday. I'd been hearing from some people about how surprised and happy they were with the size, price and performance of a TTArtisan 40mm f2 AF lens. A lens one could pick up for the L mount system for about $165. New. In a box. Ready to wow. 

I read a few things about it and thought buying one might do a bit to re-fire my desire to get back into the mix and do a bit of ambulatory photo therapy. Oh, excuse me! Cultural documentation.

The lens landed in my shopping cart and then I pushed the "buy" button and noted the promised delivery this coming Tuesday. Then I took opened gift boxes and wrapping paper and other detritus out to the recycling bin and when I walked back into the house I was overwhelmed with the feeling that as far as lenses go the purchase of the TTArtisan 40 was akin to running in place. Nothing new to see if you aren't running forward...

Somehow the elimination of clients calmed the irrational desire for more and different cameras that I'd been feeling for decades. And it's interesting to figure out how tied together our desires are with our self-worth and identities. Commercial Photographer = Guy Who Knows all About Cameras. Even if the combination isn't a smart way to move through life. 

I'm worried though that I am becoming too serious. When I went to swim practice today everyone was filled with the holiday spirit and there was much chat between sets and almost an indifference to the workout. I spotted a lane at the far end of the pool that was empty and moved down there. Then I put my head down and hammered through the workout without delays and without stopping to socialize at all. I'm not usually that way but I remembered a line from a favorite poem:  "Had we but world enough and time this coyness (lady) were no crime. But over my shoulder I do hear time's winged chariot drawing near." 

(Andrew Marvell. "To His Coy Mistress")

Suddenly I am approaching photography in the same way. I'm becoming parsimonious with my attention. I'm trying to match my time with subjects I really want to photograph instead of just walking around dragging a big net behind me, hoping to catch something in its weave. More intention? Probably. Or the realization that so much has already been added to the archives already and a bit more is not going to move the needle. 

On the other hand, I may wake up tomorrow with a renewed spark of interest. Ready to buy that used Leica SL-3 and test whether or not its 60+ megapixels will make those shots from the patio at Jo's Coffee sing a bit better. Or whether that 50mm APO Summicron will help me see more insightfully into the infinity of that beautiful portrait subject's perfect eyes. 

Kind of like tossing a proverbial stick of dynamite into the gear pool and seeing what kind of inspirational fish float to the surface...

But here we are, barreling towards the end of a tiresome and fraught year and I'm no closer to heading down to the camera river with my pail and scoop in order to dip in and fill the bucket with new stuff (apologies to Kurt Vonnegut). We'll see what transpires when the calendar clicks over. 

Thanks for reading!

It's the 23rd of December and I'm looking back at 2025. An interesting year of big changes for me.

 

Partner and spouse for lo these past 40 years...

Here's to 40 more...

It's interesting to have spent the last nearly 40 years self-employed. And self-employed in a business as fraught with peril and incredibly unpredictable ups and downs as this one. This Summer I made the decision to stop working as a commercial photographer. I started telling long term clients how appreciative I have been for their support but letting them know that I would no longer be providing business photographs and video for them. Most took it in stride while a few tried to talk me out of it. I had mixed feelings about leaving a gig I'd done for so long; mostly because I was just starting to figure it all out.

Since the pandemic and then with the introduction of A.I. I'd seen a falling off of assignments and engagement. Part of it I can justifiably blame on external causes but for the most part I just lost the feeling of being engaged in the process. Not the process of actually making photographs but the process of making it into a profitably business. It's hard to explain to most people but working as an "artist" is different than working at a job only because one needs the money and one has found something to do at which they are both competent to do well in and, at the same time, they are well paid. There is such an emotional attachment to the work for photographers, illustrators and writers. And painters, muralists and poets. While everyone needs income to survive in the world it's rarely, if ever, the top consideration for people entering these kinds of occupations. 

In some ways my career is a good example of the curve experienced by the photo world over the last 40 years. When I entered the industry as an advertising photographer it was generally clear who owned the rights to photos (me) and a certain amount of our renumeration was from fees for clients re-using photos we'd created for new periods of time or in new media. There were ample barriers to entry in the late 1970s and up until the advent of widely adopted digital cameras. There was no "instant" review in the image making process. We made due with expensive Polaroid tests. Not always infallible... Film had to be processed and in some cases also printed. If the exposures or colors weren't right we had to reshoot entire projects. Film was expensive and demanded a certain level of technical skill to work effectively. And one depended on labs to get the film processed correctly. Sometimes they glitched...

Most professionals in my niches of the industry worked with large format and medium format cameras interchangeably. For most studio product work and for architectural photography we had to know how to use the tilts and swings on 4x5 inch view cameras. We mostly worked with those under dark clothes so we could see the upside down and backwards images on the dim ground glasses of the cameras we used. We had to load our individual sheet film holders in completely dark environments. We had to figure out exposure compensation for bellows extensions and we mostly kept a light meter on our belt or hanging off our tripods. Tripods which we used a lot of the time. Reciprocity failure was always on our minds as exposures went long...

For the first ten years I plied my trade in the commercial world our films of choice had ISOs like 64 and 100. Going with faster films meant more noise and less dynamic range. But when using ISO 64 film in a view camera with the lens set to f32 we were constantly trying  to get more and more light onto our subjects. That generally meant huge strobe (electronic flash) systems which were heavy and expensive. And if we worked on location with these tools we also required lots and lots of heavy duty extension cords to deliver power to our flash boxes. 

Color control and color precision always meant using hard filters or gel filters in the light path. There was no magic knob on the camera that we twisted to make the color exactly 3200K or 4800K or anything else. In fact, careful workers had a real investment in a wide array of filters that would allow a small change to color. Even as small as 2.5 CC. And one had to know when and how to get the most out of the filtering.

When I started there was no such thing as the World Wide Web. No social media. No online portfolios. We had several promotion options. First, we'd print up a physical portfolio of our work and call on the telephone to make appointments with art buyers, art directors, designers and corporation marketing communications teams. If we were lucky enough to get appointment in town we'd agree on a date and time and the photographer would drive to the potential client's office to actually show them the work. If the client we wanted to work for was located in another city we got them to agree to see our portfolios and then arranged to send them, via Federal Express, to the potential client's office. And we'd arrange (via our own Fedex accounts) to eat the charges to send the portfolio back to us. 

Since returns could be delayed or sometimes not happen at all we had duplicate printed portfolios we could send. Sometimes we had three portfolios out with delivery services. Biting our nails that we'd get one back before another big, potential client called to request a portfolio show. If a client called and requested a portfolio and they were located out of town they'd pay to have it shipped there and back... The best case scenario for a cash strapped photographer just starting out. 

Once we had good local jobs under our belts and a few "bites" from bigger clients from out of town we'd reach out to editorial clients and try to get our work in good magazines, like Texas Monthly or Inc. Magazine so we could get credit lines and by extension get more people interested in the kinds of work we offered. 

The two marketing venues besides portfolio showings were the sending out of big, oversized postcards that showcased our best work, and then, secondly, paid inclusion into promotional books of photography that were sent to thousands of art directors and art buyers around the country. When I could afford to do so I scraped together the $3,000 it cost to buy a double truck ad in one of the big source books. That investment paid off with clients from as far away as California and New York and also brought me to the attention of the person from Dallas who ended up repping my business for several years. 

Post cards. Paid ad placement in annual promotional books. Sending out portfolios. Splitting fees with reps. It was all expensive. Right down to paying for the use of mailing and contact lists from companies whose sole product was researching and producing lists of people working in the industries we needed to reach --- in order to find clients. Marketing budgets for our single person businesses often exceeded $50K per year. Right up until the time one could put up decent looking portfolios on bespoke websites. And one could not forget to follow up with each connection we made. 

We had to understand how to print. How to develop black and white film. How to light ---- well. We needed to understand the color separation process so we could provide film deliverables that had the right contrast ranges to look good in printed materials. Most print materials were limited to a four, or five stop dynamic range. Paper only goes so far...

Suffice it to say that a photographer who wanted to create a solid and enviable income stream over time had to be a technician, an artist, a marketer, financially competent, a good people person and someone who could blend all of these skills without dropping the balls. In some ways it was easier because the cost of investing into a business like that created a lot of barriers to entry that reduced the number of competitors we had back then. Train clients to love 4x5 color transparencies and then the guy who shows up with a 35mm camera has a hard time getting a foot in the door. 

I adapted the business to digital with the purchase of big, heavy, pricey Kodak cameras back at the turn of the century. While many people criticized me for an ever-changing buying pattern of ever new cameras during my time with digitals the reality is that I was on a constant and consistent search for a camera which might match or exceed the quality that film-based Hasselblad, Bronica and Mamiya cameras could all deliver as far back as the late 1980s. Try to convince yourself otherwise but early digital cameras were uniformly a step behind their large format film ancestors in image performance at least until the second generation of 24 megapixel full frame digital cameras arrived, post 2013. 

My other reservation, which kept me from just zeroing in on a system and marrying it forever, was my desire that a professionally preferred, commercially relevant top line camera should be able to deliver the operating performance of a 1990s Nikon F5. And it took an awfully long time to get there. And by "operating performance" I don't mean "picture quality", no, I'm talking about the in hand feel, the responsiveness of the AF, the speed of handling, the quality of the finders and more. The ability to have near flawless on camera flash performance. Physical reality. Not spec sheet glory.  My decisions to be promiscuous about buying new camera gear generally always paid off. It also helped to keep me interested that side of photography. It made our work more competitive. I don't agree with people who have the idea that finding one camera, one system and embracing it and its results for all time is a great or even good strategy. I think it's mostly a misguided coping strategy for the perceived chaos of modern times. 

Stuff changes. Tastes change. Keeping up is a good thing, not a chink in the armor. And there were ample tax advantages to purchasing gear as a small business...

Elitist amateurs constantly decry the recent emphasis by working photographers on "GEAR" and wish that the conversation around successful photography only rotated around the "ART" itself. What they don't understand is that with the embrace of digital many of the things we routinely handed over to ultra-qualified professional sub-contractors are now handled by overburdened working stiff photographers. Us. We depended on labs to soup our Kodachrome and E6. We rewarded the good labs with our loyalty and significant, repeating revenue. We learned to be collaborative with color separation houses. We counted on prop makers and retouchers. We shared the physical burdens with trained assistants. Better and better gear helped alleviate some of the burdens of commerce.

But as digital progressed and actual (after inflation adjusting) fees kept shrinking it fell to photographers to do more and more of the digital analogies to those film routines. We didn't need assistants to time Polaroids and re-load film backs. We couldn't justify having a lab do the kinds of bulk post processing our clients required. The burden of retouching fell to the original photo creators, etc. And in the middle of the whole shifting of the market the need for prints collapsed to near nothingness while the quality required for more and more screen based marketing images fell off a cliff. Smart phones, honestly, are good enough for a huge percentage of current photo uses. Really. 

Outside the studio the real world took its toll on every business since the roaring, late 1990s. The events of 9-11 paralyzed the creative economy for the better part of a full year. The economic collapse of 2008-2010 chewed through phalanx after phalanx of freelancers, agency employees and, of course all kinds of photographers. It was pretty much a blood bath which makes me wonder why so many people in 2012 and 2013 were excited about the prospect of becoming professional creative content workers....

The negative capper in my career arc, when it comes to business destruction, had to be the Covid Epidemic which destroyed, at least temporarily, a huge portion of the markets not only for creative pros but the food service industry, the hospitality industry and so much more. Right now one continuing result of the epidemic is the collapse of CRE (commercial real estate) caused by the rise of remote working and the lower and lower demand for consolidated and expensive office space. For us in the photo business the long term result is a reset of our industry at lower fee levels, with less engagement and higher and higher overall costs. Things like business insurance and equipment replacement costs have continued in a brisk, upward spiral. 

The industry now offers lower rewards for higher investment risks. Even though professional photography has always been a relatively risky adventure; as far as business goes. 

From the beginning of our careers we've personally had good advice about investing for retirement and rainy days. My business weathered all of the downturns I mentioned above. We continued to thrive. One piece of advice I always heard was that once your investment returns (dividends, gains, reinvested profits) outpace your earned income you can be pretty comfortable with the idea of retiring. Of exiting the marketplace once and for all.  It seems like pretty sound advice. I decided to take it.

I had two medical issues (skin cancers) that sidelined me, cumulatively, for a month this year. No swimming for those two week post surgical recovery periods!!! No real desire to show up for a work project with a big, white bandage on one side of my face. And no real desire to trade continuing work against more valuable swim, walk, family time. I've watched friends much younger than myself get sick and die this year. And it's always reminded me of just how much we put off by continuing to work when we don't have to. At 70 I think I hit my limit for how much routine office work and marketing I had the inspiration for. And how little I needed the $ rewards.

This year I made up my mind and marked a day on my calendar. I'm a binary thinker so the idea of continuing to take random jobs after that date is/was very much a non-starter. I'm either all in or all out. And now? I'm all out. That doesn't mean I tossed a dozen Leica cameras in the trash, washed my hands of photography and moved to playing pickle ball or shuffle board.

Nothing has changed other than the deletion of interfacing and working directly with clients. The money coming in is about the same but now I have more time to do things my way. To walk around with a camera and not take pictures if nothing captures my interest. To hop in the car and head out of town for days at a time when I get the urge to do so. The sense of temporal freedom is ... giddy. But I'm sure the feeling resolves and one gets used to having full agency over their time and attention without it feeling too novel. 

My partner/spouse is spending three days a week in another city helping to take care of her 95 year old mother who still lives in her own home, is still ambulatory and mostly mentally sound. That leaves me with additional space to work on personal projects, lunch with friends, coffee with people who are continual mentors for me in the basic process of life. And swimming. And writing.

At 70 years old I am still healthy, completely mobile and have no medical issues other than a scare of more skin issues (my cross to bear for spending a 70 year life swimming in the Texas sun) to hold me back. I know that, statistically, I'll start to run down. Perhaps joints will begin to complain. Energy levels will drop. Maladies that seem to accompany aging will make themselves right at home. But for now my idea is to enjoy being a photographer with my own agenda for as long and as happily as I can. 

The blog has been an important part of my past 16 years in the business. I started writing this blog to help my publisher sell more of the five books I wrote for them. In that regard it seems to have done well. After I got tired of helping to sell books on the web I re-imagined the blog as being a diary of daily commercial photography work and for a decade most of the writing was about projects I was in the middle of, projects I had just completed and projects I was planning for. Interwoven in there were thoughts about the art of photography, some writing about swimming and health, some reviews of various cameras that I liked, and occasional pokes at people who I thought were horribly misguided, mostly lazy, and sharing bad ideas about our chosen hobby --- photography. 

I had the idea last week that the blog is going to be re-imagined again as a repository of what I learn going forward; from 70 to 105, about being a photographer, permanently smitten by the thrill of finding and taking images which move me to hit that shutter button. My goal is to not ossify, not to become trapped into the gear, methods, styles etc. of the present. Not to be unwilling to continue to explore and change as I go forward. And to share these experiences with anyone who might want to read about them. 

I refuse to be trapped in endless servitude to the past.

The value to me is the continued value of having a diary of sorts to reference. A place to air ideas and get push back from other (respectful) points of view. And to be a contrarian for fun and my own personal satisfaction. But to move with intention into the future.

That's all I can think of right now. I'm currently sad about the holidays for only one reason: the pool is closed on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and on the 26th. There goes my favorite routine. Replaced by social duty and the continued belief in good cheer. 

A side goal during the holidays is to not gain  weight and not to too readily accept too much "holiday cheer." 

I hope you've enjoyed the first 6300+ blog posts. Buckle up for the next 6300.

One hand behind his back.

 

Rome. 1991. Agfapan 400 film. 35mm.

B. Somewhere in Europe. At some time in the past.