1000 Words
I can appreciate the hell out of a good photograph. Simple snapshots to large format landscapes, high speed/low light wizardry... I love em all. I finally got a digital camera about a year ago, a simple little Nikon Coolpix. It's just a snapshot camera but it got me back into taking pictures. Then of course there's the camera in my cellphone. So damned convenient and I can instantly post pictures to my blog or twitter via email.
One thing I've noticed now that I have these cameras available, I feel a greater need to take pictures. I've always had the eye. You know, you see something in a simple everyday place that has a bit of drama in it. Actually getting the photo looking like what your eye drew you to in the first place is a different matter entirely.
I do need to work on my my technique a bit, but a bigger and better(more expensive) camera is probably in my near future. It's always this way for me, an appreciation and a small bit of raw talent leads to experimentation and research and then inevitably, gear lust.
Having spent some time recently with fellow brinkster Burning Sand, I caught myself casting longing glances at her sleek SLR and more than ample telephoto lense. Once when she wasn't looking, in a fit of curiosity I brutishly yanked on the zipper of her camera pack just to see what a real photographer packs. Christ allmighty! That might have cured me.
It's like in that story about flyfishing they made into a Brad Pitt movie. Flyfishermen can be divided into two catagories the first carries every fly pattern he might need on the given stretch of water he's working stoneflies, mayflys, damselflys. Nymphs, streamers ants and hoppers all in at least six dirrent sizes.
Then there's the guy the guy (Brad Pitt) that carries a few elk hair caddis, a bunch of Wooly Buggers and Gold Ribbed Hare's Ear nymphs and catches more fish and bigger fish than his brother the gear slut. Probably because he spends his time fishing rather than constantly tying new patterns on.
There's an old photo bug saying that the secret of taking a good picture is "f-8 and be there." In other words if you want to take a pic of the moon rising over on old pueblo in New Mexico, it doesn't matter what kind of camera you have, if you're not in New Mexico you're shit out of luck. It's all about the subject, not the gear. Notice how even the crappiest of snapshots become heirlooms because the people in them (the subjects) are so dear to us.
I do have a hard time understanding our fascination with other people's pain and suffering though. Right now I'm seeing Dorothea Lange's Migrant Mother.
One thing I've noticed now that I have these cameras available, I feel a greater need to take pictures. I've always had the eye. You know, you see something in a simple everyday place that has a bit of drama in it. Actually getting the photo looking like what your eye drew you to in the first place is a different matter entirely.
I do need to work on my my technique a bit, but a bigger and better(more expensive) camera is probably in my near future. It's always this way for me, an appreciation and a small bit of raw talent leads to experimentation and research and then inevitably, gear lust.
Having spent some time recently with fellow brinkster Burning Sand, I caught myself casting longing glances at her sleek SLR and more than ample telephoto lense. Once when she wasn't looking, in a fit of curiosity I brutishly yanked on the zipper of her camera pack just to see what a real photographer packs. Christ allmighty! That might have cured me.
It's like in that story about flyfishing they made into a Brad Pitt movie. Flyfishermen can be divided into two catagories the first carries every fly pattern he might need on the given stretch of water he's working stoneflies, mayflys, damselflys. Nymphs, streamers ants and hoppers all in at least six dirrent sizes.
Then there's the guy the guy (Brad Pitt) that carries a few elk hair caddis, a bunch of Wooly Buggers and Gold Ribbed Hare's Ear nymphs and catches more fish and bigger fish than his brother the gear slut. Probably because he spends his time fishing rather than constantly tying new patterns on.
There's an old photo bug saying that the secret of taking a good picture is "f-8 and be there." In other words if you want to take a pic of the moon rising over on old pueblo in New Mexico, it doesn't matter what kind of camera you have, if you're not in New Mexico you're shit out of luck. It's all about the subject, not the gear. Notice how even the crappiest of snapshots become heirlooms because the people in them (the subjects) are so dear to us.
I do have a hard time understanding our fascination with other people's pain and suffering though. Right now I'm seeing Dorothea Lange's Migrant Mother.
Maybe I could have taken that photo from 75 yards away hiding like a theif in my car. Good God Dorothea! What gave you license to approach that woman (she could have been my grandmother) and ask her to sit under your lens while you sucked a precious portion of her soul onto a strip of film?
I think of all the critics, curators, and Chardonnay that photo has endured and my vision blurs. Or Eddie Adam's Saigon Execution how do people swirl that image around and gush about it's bold, rich exposure, flinty focus and faint cordite finish?
The website 100 strangers encourages photographers to take to the streets and engage strangers. I have a friend that is trying to get me to do this with him. Most of his photos are of street people he's taken down around the homeless shelter.
"Excuse me can I take your picture?"
"Why? What you want my picture for?"
"Uhm, uh...it's for a project I'm working on."
"OK. but I'm working on a project too so I need five dollars."
"Allright, I have...five dolllars here."
"OK so you want me to just stand here doing what I do right? That's what the other guy wanted."
A couple months ago, I was sitting at a red light. I saw an old Mexican woman and her family coming across the crosswalk, they were going to pass right in front of me just a few feet away. I rolled my window down and grabbed my little Nikon.
The old woman was in one of those little electric scoot-around things they sell on TV. Tiny little tough looking brown woman, her right fist clutching the joystick. With her scooter she was towing (I'm thinking) her daughter in a wheelchair. This woman was probably in her thirties, wearing sweatpants rolled up to the knees and had stuck her legs straight out in front hooking her feet under the older woman's arms.
There was something wrong with her legs. The feet were bent at a unnatural angle and the skin on her shins was way too pale for a Mexican and flakey. Despite her ailment, she seemed very happy clutching a tall vanilla frosty-cone in her left hand. Beside these two women waddled two morbidly obese little Mexican boys. Each with their own precariously tall vanilla frosty, each supremely joyous.
They looked so happy, I couldn't bring myself to raise my camera up and take a picture. It probably wouldn't have looked as good as my memory anyway.
I just might get my 100 Strangers yet, but will confine my subject matter to people with dogs, well mannered children, and smoking hot women.
I think of all the critics, curators, and Chardonnay that photo has endured and my vision blurs. Or Eddie Adam's Saigon Execution how do people swirl that image around and gush about it's bold, rich exposure, flinty focus and faint cordite finish?
The website 100 strangers encourages photographers to take to the streets and engage strangers. I have a friend that is trying to get me to do this with him. Most of his photos are of street people he's taken down around the homeless shelter.
"Excuse me can I take your picture?"
"Why? What you want my picture for?"
"Uhm, uh...it's for a project I'm working on."
"OK. but I'm working on a project too so I need five dollars."
"Allright, I have...five dolllars here."
"OK so you want me to just stand here doing what I do right? That's what the other guy wanted."
A couple months ago, I was sitting at a red light. I saw an old Mexican woman and her family coming across the crosswalk, they were going to pass right in front of me just a few feet away. I rolled my window down and grabbed my little Nikon.
The old woman was in one of those little electric scoot-around things they sell on TV. Tiny little tough looking brown woman, her right fist clutching the joystick. With her scooter she was towing (I'm thinking) her daughter in a wheelchair. This woman was probably in her thirties, wearing sweatpants rolled up to the knees and had stuck her legs straight out in front hooking her feet under the older woman's arms.
There was something wrong with her legs. The feet were bent at a unnatural angle and the skin on her shins was way too pale for a Mexican and flakey. Despite her ailment, she seemed very happy clutching a tall vanilla frosty-cone in her left hand. Beside these two women waddled two morbidly obese little Mexican boys. Each with their own precariously tall vanilla frosty, each supremely joyous.
They looked so happy, I couldn't bring myself to raise my camera up and take a picture. It probably wouldn't have looked as good as my memory anyway.
I just might get my 100 Strangers yet, but will confine my subject matter to people with dogs, well mannered children, and smoking hot women.
REACTIONSAscending | Descending
Monday, 23 November 2009
seems i recall ansel saying that the fine photo of the moonrise was a bit of an accident, he was running late and hadn't gotten to the place he wanted to be, pulled the car over to the side of the road, got out and set the big box camera up on top of his car...but, he WAS in new mexico....
Monday, 23 November 2009
The Brink's own Katie Bond is a hell of a fine photographer. She had some sort of idiot-savant mentor like person who always told her this:"No matter where you are, if you can turn in a circle and not find anything worth taking a picture of, you shouldn't be allowed to own a camera."
Smart guy.
Cool name as well.
Smart guy.
Cool name as well.
Monday, 11 January 2010
For as long as I can remember I have seen things as possible photographs. My first photography assignment was to just "Go out and shoot what interests you." (Circa 1982) I went down to the Fullerton train station. It was old and in disrepair, covered with graffiti, heaped in trash and overgrown weeds. I ended up running into an older gentleman who was quite the local. He spoke of the old days in Fullerton, the trains and life. I asked if I could take his picture and he was more than pleased to oblige. I often wonder how the rest of his life played out. I still love those early B&W shots that I had to develop and print myself.
Thanks, Reno, you reminded me of some stuf thatt has long been stashed away!
(Also, the next time you peek, there's even more.)
Thanks, Reno, you reminded me of some stuf thatt has long been stashed away!
(Also, the next time you peek, there's even more.)
Monday, 11 January 2010
For as long as I can remember I have seen things as possible photographs. My first photography assignment was to just "Go out and shoot what interests you." (Circa 1982) I went down to the Fullerton train station. It was old and in disrepair, covered with graffiti, heaped in trash and overgrown weeds. I ended up running into an older gentleman who was quite the local. He spoke of the old days in Fullerton, the trains and life. I asked if I could take his picture and he was more than pleased to oblige. I often wonder how the rest of his life played out. I still love those early B&W shots that I had to develop and print myself.
Thanks, Reno, you reminded me of stuff that has been stashed away!
(Also, the next time you peek, there's even more.)
Thanks, Reno, you reminded me of stuff that has been stashed away!
(Also, the next time you peek, there's even more.)
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