Tuesday, January 12, 2016

Swimmer. USMS Short Course Nationals. 2008.



While it is nice to have a state of the art lens and camera I'm thinking that standing in the right spot is at least as important.



I'm slow to think things through. But I think I've figured out why dedicated sports shooters get the best shots and make shooting sports look easy, but feel damn hard for the rest of us. It's the same reason the best architectural photographs seem to have a magic touch in doing their work. We may buy the same tilt/shift lenses and the same cameras but there's something a bit better, a bit more pleasing about the way their work always seems to turn out. Same thing with landscape photographers. There are legions of retired businessmen and engineers, accountings and certainly doctors and dentists, who can afford gear that's even better than the stuff a full time landscape artist might be able to afford but for some reason the committed artists always seem to get the shot everyone else wishes they'd gotten.

After 25 years of shooting theater I think I understand the missing link! It's not the gear, it's knowing where to stand with the gear, that makes all the difference in the world. Work in sports photography long enough and you learn the stuff you cover forward and backward. The intimate knowledge, coupled with years and years of trial and error, eventually lead you to anticipate where the action will end up. This means you can get ready with the right focal length and settings. You can line up the right background and the wait for all the moving pieces to pull themselves into position. You get it because you've tried it all before and you were smart enough to

There is a lot of talk on the web about the new Phase One camera. 100 megabytes sounds good...



Nearly eight years ago I used to write articles and reviews for Studio Photography Magazine (another casualty of the digital transition) and in my role as a freelance technology writer I got asked to review some pretty cool stuff. Sometimes interesting boxes would appear at my doorstep. One day I was shocked and amazed when I got a box from Leica containing the brand new M8.2 and four brand new lenses. The Fedex or UPS driver left the box, unsigned for, right at the front door. I thought that was crazy and risky until I had a similar thing happen with a box from Phase One that contained their latest 40 megapixel, medium format camera and a trio of really nice lenses. $40,000 worth of cool camera gear just hanging out in front of my studio and thunderclouds looming in the northwestern sky....

But, as usual, I digress. What I really wanted to talk about today is the announcement of the latest Phase One camera, with 100 megapixels. The underlying question: Is this camera at all relevant to working photographers or enthusiasts today? I know there is a market for it but for photographers who are not employees of large corporations or museums; does this camera make any sense at all?

When I reviewed the 40 megapixel Phase One camera (based on a Mamiya body) the one thing I really liked about it was somewhat independent from the pixel count. I like the way the larger sensor emulated the look for medium format film cameras by allowing the use of longer lenses for the same angle of view as shorter lenses would give on smaller format cameras. Even a fast 80mm lens gave a different look when coupled with the larger sensor. One could say the benefit of the system was the way it drew images. 

While I understand the benefits of higher megapixel counts coupled with low noise CMOS sensors I think that the designers of medium format cameras (and sensors) have been going in the wrong direction. They should have moderated the pursuit

Monday, January 11, 2016

OT: back to the push-ups for a moment.

Self portrait #12

When I visited my portrait subject, a 93 year old physician, today at his house I noticed that he had an exercise mat and several 10 and 20 pound hand weights in his day room. We talked about exercise a bit and he told me just how important maintaining muscle mass is when aging. I mentioned the push-ups and he countered with the weights. I asked "why?" and he told me he never liked doing push-ups and found weights to be a good alternative. He's a good role model. I noticed he wasn't even out of breath when we climbed up the stairs to the third floor to look at cameras (tangential connection to the blog). 

Thinking about it I decided to share my push-up progress with the brain trust here at VSL; having written about it recently. I am now, after weeks of building up to it, able to execute 50 proper push-ups in one set without falling apart or breaking into a sweat. I am now pushing for my ultimate goal of doing 100 in a continuous set but I am breaking up the training by doing one continuous set of 50 in the morning and then two sets of 25 in the evenings. Once I get used to it I'll increase the number of reps in the first set in the evening until I am do continuous set of 50 in the evening. 

I plan to keep the numbers the same after I hit this intermediary goal but to then start slowing down the push ups to put more pressure on the muscles involved. 

Someone mentioned a concern about blood pressure in one of the comments. I took that seriously and have been monitoring my blood pressure after my set of 50 reps in the morning. I do the set and then rest for 60 seconds and then take my blood pressure with an automatic wrist cuff. 

My blood pressure this morning after the 50 set and the 6o seconds rest was 130/70 with a pulse rate of 68. My average reading, done at random times during the day, seated is usually about 118/60 with a pulse rate of 58-60.  I don't think I am taking too much of a risk at the moment but I guess it's always a good idea to monitor. 

But how are all those push ups paying off? I am stronger in the pool and it's reflected in a new ability to shift down about 5 seconds on intervals (based on sets of 100 yards). I also seem to have more endurance in the middle of a set than I did only a month or two ago. I am also noticing a slight reduction in waist line measurements. Other than that, no radical changes. I think I'll have to stay at it for a longer period of time to see really obvious changes. 

Nothing has changed in my sensitivity to getting up in the dark, driving to the pool in 32 degree temperatures and then flinging myself into the chilly water. I still hate process right up to the point when we get sufficiently warmed up. The hardest part? Getting out of the pool in a brisk wind and running the 200 feet to the locker room. Ouch!

I make house calls. I packed my little black bag and made one this morning. It was good.

This photograph has little or nothing to do with the subject of the blog post other than to show 
the opposite end of the aging spectrum; the playfulness and whimsy.
I'd love to post an image of today's subject but I can't until it goes through "the process."

For the last two decades I've done a lot of photographic and video work for a large company that is owned by 120+ doctors and which provides imaging services all over central Texas. Last week I got a phone call from one of the people in the management department. The phone call turned into a request that I make an "official" portrait of the company's founder. The man is a retired doctor. He founded the company in 1954, here in Austin, Texas. He is now 93 years old. 

The manager and I discussed the logistics of setting up the session. Usually, the doctors from that group come to our little studio in west Austin and I photograph them against a canvas background that their marketing team likes, and has been requesting for nearly 15 years. There's a continuity there. But when I heard that the portrait subject was 93 years old I quickly suggested that we do a "house call." I knew it would be easier to pack up a lighting kit, camera and the "timeless" background and head on over to the doctor's house. And I thought it would be much less hassle for our sitter.

The doctor, my portrait subject, called the next day to set up a time. He lives in a central neighborhood, about ten minutes away from my studio. This morning I loaded three portable flashes, a big umbrella, some light stands and a smaller umbrella as my lighting kit. I grabbed the Nikon D810 and the 24-120mm lens as my basic camera kit (Olympus EM5.2 as the perennial "car" camera for back-up) and I added the 5x7 foot collapsible background to complete the tool selection. 

I had photographed this particular doctor about six years ago when several of his younger friends retired from the group. He met me at the front door of his house wearing a dark suit and a perfectly tied tie. We scouted the downstairs of the house and decided to set up in a living room area that had nice light coming in big windows. We chatted as I set up my lights and my camera and I didn't feel the barrier that a difference of ages and generations used to create in my mind. I guess I'm coming to grips with my own aging. 

The lighting was my typically simple light with a large, soft main light used in close, a light on the background for separation and a passive fill via a white pop-up reflector on the opposite side from the main light. The whole set could be contained in about 15 by 15 feet. 

I wanted to make a standing portrait because people's suits look better that way and have fewer wrinkles and fabric bulges to contend with. I found a high backed, dining room chair to use as a "posing" device and a place for him to anchor his hands and provide a bit of support. I love the backs of chairs and use them this way as often as I can find them. 

After I had the primary portrait I asked if we could do an alternate because I loved the Robin's egg blue that his walls were painted. He agreed and I quickly did a number of frames against that alternative background. 

When I finished up the doctor told me that he was quite interested in photography and always had been. I followed him upstairs to the third floor of his home where he showed me a display case filled with the cameras he had owned and used over the years. We talked with genuine nostalgia about loading our own 35mm film when we came across his old, bulk film loader. That led to a discussion about doing our own black and white darkroom work.  We talked about his time in the navy in World War Two, and we talked about aging and living well. We agreed to catch up over a cup of coffee in the next week or so; but only if he likes the images we did today. I hope he loves them, I'd enjoy going back.

Photography is fascinating work because you repeatedly get permission to insert yourself into someone else's life and expand your knowledge of what different people are like. It's a never ending story. The camera is my ticket for entry. 

Today the business this man started employs hundreds of people, provides well for over 100 specialized partners/doctors, and helps to diagnosis and treat lots of health issues for people. What an incredible legacy!

Sunday, January 10, 2016

Here is a sample from the Nikon 135mm f2.0 ai lens I bought a few weeks ago. I finally got around to using it on a job and it worked.


A still image from "Tomås and the Librarian."


sI was photographing a family play about the early life of Hispanic writer, Tomås Rivera, at Zach Scott Theatre when I decided to give the 135mm a thorough wringing out. The play is called, "Tomås and the Librarian." The artists at Zach presented it on the Wisenhunt Stage which is a very small, intimate auditorium which seats about 150 guests. The seats are on all four walls so all the plays done in this space are performed in the round. This also means that all the lighting is mounted on grids and catwalks overhead. 

I was being capricious when I photographed the rehearsal; I used two cameras and two lenses. One camera was the D750 with the Sigma 50mm f1.4 Art lens on it and the other camera was a D810 with the manual focusing 135mm f2.0 lens along for the ride. I felt brave enough to use the 135mm because I had ordered and installed an eyepiece magnifier that adds 1.2X magnification to the finder image on the D810. Just to make things fun the theater has black walls and a black ceiling and the light levels on this play are lower by a couple stops than the light I've become accustomed to over on the Topfer stage. 

I ended up using the 135mm for about 40% of the images I took and I'm pretty pleased to report that only about 10-15% were unusable due to focusing errors. Of those about half were almost intentional in that I knew my subjects were moving out of the band of correct focus but I didn't have time to adjust and sprayed and prayed that some would make the cut. 

Most of the images were shot at ISO 1250, Shutter Speeds between 1/125th and 1/200th of a second. While the aperture stayed pretty much constant at f2.8. I set a custom white balance at 3000 K and didn't need to apply color correction in post processing. 

I have proven to myself that I can still focus a long, fast lens through a digital SLR viewfinder and hit focus enough times to keep a good amount of eyelashes looking crispy. 

The 50mm wasn't being tested. It was just being used. Can't complain for even a second about that lens as wide open it outperforms most of my other lenses even when they have the advantage of being stopped down. It's not a question of sharpness, it's just that the Sigma lens seems more resolute..l

Both of the images here were shot one after the other with the 135mm f2.0. It's a very nice, old lens.
I'll definitely keep it.




Deep down what I really feel photography is all about for nearly everyone...



There are plenty of reasons to document the world around us. We might need some evidence for an insurance claim, we might want a record of what our kids look like, right now. If we make photography our work we probably need to photograph a product that our client would like to advertise and sell; and we might make some portraits so other client can project a certain (benevolent) image to prospective buyers of the subject's expertise or valuable service. But when all the day to day uses of photography are cleared off the table I think most people who take photographs for themselves do it for one overwhelming reason: social connection.

If we profess to "just enjoy taking photographs" then why do we feel the need to post them and share them with other people? And, in most cases, these other people are people like us who are using their cameras and posting their images in order to belong; however tangentially, to a broad social group.

All the bickering over brands or specs or "the correct way" to do photography is just the baggage that humans bring with them as they jockey for what they perceive to be their place in the social hierarchy of this or that collection of like minded photographers.  But the need to share is implied in the immersion into online forae, real world camera clubs and meet ups. 

There's really no way to divorce the need for social connection and interconnection from any hobby or avocation that people enjoy doing. Must of us must go to work in order to survive, buy food and shelter and save up enough $$$ for cameras. But after we meet the basic criteria it's the hobbies and the passions we pursue that provide the glue that binds people with similar interests together.

I am going to pack a camera bag and go over to Zach Theatre this afternoon to photograph a play. I'll be paid, but really, in the grand scheme of things, the money is incidental, I'm also going because being present to do the marketing photographs means I'll spend time with a group of people I like to be with. Lauren from marketing will be there with a warm smile and stories about her three year old. The actors will be doing what is their passion --- entertaining us. We all support each other's human side and passion side. I exist in this situation as validation that they will reach a wider audience.

I have many friends who've taken pains to learn a great deal about photography in general and cameras in particular. We have found in each other a group of like minded individuals who don't seem to share a bigger demographic's appreciation for televised sports but we enjoy the one-to-one experience of sitting across a table from each other, talking about photography. Or talking about cameras. On one level it doesn't matter if we talk about cameras or we talk about some great show we've seen; we're using our common interest to build social bonds and relationships.

When you go to a workshop your conscious (advertising?) reason to go is to learn more about my craft, but I would say that while improving craft sounds like a very good thing one of your main reasons for paying and attending is to spend time with like minded people, and to build credentials for cementing or improving your social position within your chosen hierarchy. A selected group of photographers.

Your sub group within photography might be landscapes in which case you might share more conversations about good locations and dynamic range enhancements. If you enjoy photographing beautiful people (models) your conversation will, no doubt, center around how to find beautiful people to shoot, and about how to light people in the most dramatic and flattering way. Part of your reasons for talking to each other about these topics is to make sure you aren't missing something obvious that will improve your enjoyment of the art, but for the most part you display your shared knowledge in order to exist, meaningfully, within your group.

It's interesting to see the dynamics at work at a photo walk, a workshop, or even at the counter of the local camera store (sorry if you no longer have one). It's a process that I've reduced down to a coffee analogy. That's how I come to understand most social interactions.

People exist, psychologically, along a long curve of what psychologist might refer to as an "emotional intelligence quotient." How well do you read other people? Do you have an easy or hard time understanding humor? Are you very, very literal or very empathetic?

Here's how I take a quick evaluation of a new person arriving to our group, any group:

At my masters swimming team we swim from 8:30 am till 10:00 am every Saturday. Have for years. About 16 years ago a group of us decided to drop by a coffee shop after the long, sometimes cold, Saturday morning swim to have coffee ---- together. It's a way of catching up as well as prolonging the shared social experience of exercising together. We head over to the coffee shop and pull a couple of tables together and just share stories. They could be about swimming, or someone's latest vacation, or a bitch about there being too much (or too little) distance work in the recent swims. Doesn't matter. We learn more about each other, say supportive things about the benefits of swimming, and then go home. We build and maintain a supportive social structure.

Like any big program we frequently have new people join. The critical measure in parsing a person's group social fitness is the response we get when we invite the new person to the group coffee, following the Saturday workout.

One response tells us that the person isn't a particularly good social candidate (although they may be just fine in the swimming program!). When asked if they want to join us for coffee the response we are never looking for is: "Sorry, I don't drink coffee."  In a big way it means that they just didn't understand the un-literal underlying invitation. That "coffee" is just common code for, "join us and we'll get to know each other and welcome you into the network." 

There are tons of legitimate answers we'd accept including, "I'd love to but I left my wife at home with three kids and she'd kill me if I didn't get back with donuts!" Or, "I've got other plans today but it sounds great. Can I get a rain check?" We get that hanging out with a bunch of swimmers might not be everyone's idea of good times but we also get it that the last two answers might also mean, "Thanks for the invitation. I'll decline and pretend to leave the door open, but we all understand that I won't be attending now or in the future. I do, though, appreciate the offer." But we respect that because it shows us that the person in question understands the underlying meaning of our invitation and values our social ring enough to answer in a graceful way.

The first person, the one "who doesn't drink coffee!", doesn't understand the question but, in a broader sense, doesn't understand the social glue of groups and, by extension, the place of our hobbies within the context of our own chosen cultures.

Deep down I don't feel like most of us care all that much about the images the people around us create. We care more about being part of their hobby/art/craft connected social construct and finding our particular spot within that matrix of people. It's a way of building emotionally helpful structures in a changing world. We just happen to socialize better when mixing with cameras than with beer pong or opera singing. Seems like a valuable part of our collective photography experience to me.

There can be no stars in our group without others to acknowledge them and provide the feedback some people need in order to thrive. In a sense, we are all interconnected within our groups. Much as Taoist explain our connection to all things, living and inanimate, in the Universe.