Cameras and Photography Explained

Quite some time ago Mike Johnston at Online Photographer posted “got any photography questions?” on his site. To which, of course, he got plenty. But one barrage he received from reader Kirk seemed like a challenge. A really good set of questions. I asked if I could step in and take a whack at answering them, as there’s plenty to write about in Kirk’s questions that’s not often discussed, let alone discussed well. Plus none of the questions were the ones I get most, like “which autofocus system is best?” ;~)

Here’s my take on answering a number of Kirk’s questions:

"If you had ample funds, ample time and access to any gear you wanted where in the United States would you like to go explore?"

This is like asking me “where do you want to go eat tonight?” It’s not that I don’t want to eat, it’s that the choices are endless. However, what struck me about this question was that it really was more along the line of “what do you want to photograph?”

Everyone’s answer is going to be different. My specific answer of place isn’t particularly relevant to you, therefore. 

Let me illustrate: you’re driving down the road (or walking down the street) with your camera handy. You don’t stop everywhere. You drive or walk until something strikes your fancy. Your attention has been caught by something, so you stop and take a photograph. But it’s your attention that was caught, not mine. I might drive right on by where you stopped and then come to a halt somewhere further up the road because something else catches my attention. Meanwhile, you’ve taken your image and drive right past me. 

So I can answer the question this way: I believe a photographer is curious and looking all around them at all times to try to best understand the world they see. Curiosity leads them to a place. That place changes with time. It changes with your mood. It changes with your knowledge accumulation. The place in question has things that stand out to you today, while other places don’t. That’s the thing about curiosity: almost by definition what you’re curious about changes.  

I’m not really curious about Half Dome any more, for example, having dealt with it for most of my life. Well, okay, I’m curious about whether I can still take a photograph of Half Dome that hasn’t been captured before, but that’s getting to be an almost unsolvable problem. Meanwhile, I’m curious about a tremendous number of other places that I don’t have as much experience with. I’ve contemplated buying a 4x4 van and just setting off for an extended period of time, as there are plenty of reachable places within the US I’d want to overnight as close to as possible, and which I still haven’t explored despite years of hiking, years of being the editor of Backpacker magazine and being paid to explore, and years of picking where I wanted to hold photo workshops (which helps with the “ample funds” problem in the question). 

Here’s another problem: I want to go back to pretty much all the places I’ve been (I’ve got better skills and better equipment now), but I also want to go to all the places I haven’t been, too. 

Thus, as the question is asked, the list is essentially infinite. The better question is this: “given a minimum of funds, a short amount of time, and the gear you currently have, what would be the first place you set off to photograph?” To that question, I’d tend to say Grand Staircase-Escalante. I have multiple reasons for that, but one of the key ones is that it’s not an overphotographed place, so the curious explorer should find plenty to catch their interest. I’m 100% convinced from previous visits that with some additional footwork I can find plenty of new interesting and unique things to photograph there. Since I indicated finite time in my version of the question and I want my photos to stand out from those of others, the place I go to has to present unique opportunities. 

"What kind of project would you make of it?”

One partially hidden assumption in this followup question is that it needs to be a “project” because at some point you’d show it to others as a set of related images. I actually like that idea. Photos can stand completely alone, or they can have enormously more power when shown together. A lot of folk don’t realize why we have a National Park System and not a bunch of private Disney experiences across the US. Either was a possibility until a set of photos showing off the unique features of Yellowstone and other areas were framed on the walls of Congress in a lobbying campaign. The power of walls of unique American places being shown captured by the best artists of the time was enough to kick off the establishment of the National Park System. That also stopped the development of a Buffalo Bill type zoo private attraction that was being planned for the same area that now includes Yellowstone National Park.

So yes, we should all be tackling projects. Projects have impacts beyond the individual photos when done well.

At present I have a number of projects ongoing. I’ll just give you a few of their working titles and let you imagine what they might be:

• Big sky.
• Dirty Africa.
• How’s it made/done?
• The painting versus the photo.
• Triangles, triangles, triangles.
• Where am I?
• Twins, triplets, and quartets.
• Tiny. Bubbles.

I know that some take on only one project at a time and won’t tackle another until they drive their current task to completion. I’m not that person. I’m clearly ADV (attention deficit viewfinder). Moreover, I also know that the best projects evolve and transform over time into something better than what you originally imagined. 

However, there’s an even more powerful construct going on here: I go into every place looking for something. Actually, multiple somethings. The place might not have what I’m looking for and present a different opportunity, and I’m fine with that. But my looking has direction to it due to the projects, not just randomness. It’s been amazing to me how often I can find what I’m looking for in a place I didn’t think had it, while I go into another place not looking for something and not find it ;~). 

Intention should be an attribute of your photography.

Okay, you wanted to see one of my projects. Here's a complete one: my valentine's day card to lions. Yes, that was the project: wish lions a happy valentines day.

"How would you produce it [project]? Where and how would you show it to an audience?”

Ah, a trick question! The real answer is probably “any way I can.” 

However, in that snarky answer lies a problem: producing a show sometimes diminshes the project. We’re in the border of art versus craft here. The more we push into the art side, I believe the less the artist should be thinking about this question. Once you get too intentional towards an audience, I’d argue that the art suffers (there are forms of art where that’s not true, but we’re basically talking photos in frames here). I think of art as more the spontaneous discoveries and decisions that reveal my thinking, while craft is mostly about discipline. I admire great craft, but it doesn’t tend to transcend like art does. 

However, there’s a bit of a chicken and egg problem here. I need to produce great art in order to have a successful showing. I need to have a successful showing in order to be considered an artist and produce more art. The more I get into the “this is the way it should be” thinking (e.g. planning a show), the less I’m doing of the more important things I need to do. It's possible that my conundrum here is making it so that people don't see my art, but so be it. My art is for me first and foremost. If it never shows anywhere, I'm fine with that. After all, all art appreciates after the artist dies ;~).

Embedded in the question is a better question: are we showing images to the public the best possible way? I’d tend to say no, but I’m not sure I’m the one who knows what that best way might be. That in itself might be a project.

"Do you see the possibility for a resurgence of brick and mortar photographic galleries?”

The good news is that, last time I looked, there were still an endless supply of museums and art galleries in the world. Painters must have asked themselves this same question at some point, yet I can still go find their paintings on display somewhere (some of those “somewhere’s” are obscure, partly because the painter was themself obscure, though). I can go to numerous Web sites (or museum gift shops) and buy posters or reproductions of those paintings to hang on my wall. I just looked in the phone book; yes, there are several local art galleries even though I don’t live in a big city and hadn't noticed them tucked away in the corners. Heck, my mom’s painted a number of items “in the style of” an artist, so I can just go visit her and browse the walls (the walls in her home are filled with her work; good thing they’re huge, tall walls). 

I hear you saying “but that’s painting, photography is more ephemeral.” To a large degree, that’s true. I even tend to encourage that myself by making the once-a-week image at the top of my site’s home page disappear after seven days. I’ve even toyed with the idea of having all my work destroyed when I die (note that I wrote “toyed”; no decisions yet). 

The true answer to your question is that we photographers need to do more to make sure that we still have and reward places where images can continue to be seen in ways that highlight them. That’s tricky, though, because photos get created far more often than paintings. You can’t just save and display everything. For photo galleries (or museums, et.al.) to thrive, there needs to be strong and excellent curation. Thus, my answer is this: if curators still exist and want them to, the answer is that you might see more photo galleries in the future.

I’m disturbed by one trend, though. At virtually every photography trade show you’ll see exhibits of photos, both standalone and in camera/lens maker booths. Photokina used to have whole halls full of photos. Every such display was temporary. I have no idea what happened to the big prints that were displayed. I have no idea where I could go to see them again. There’s no Nikon Photo Museum that attempts to collect and display all the trade show booth photos, let alone the most important works taken on Nikon cameras. 

The other aspect of photo (or art) galleries is that you need people with money who become patrons of the art, and who provide the fuel (money) those galleries need. Back when Bill Gates was getting ready to build his mansion, he mentioned that he wanted walls that were screens, so he could change the art that was being displayed on demand. I remember thinking to myself “oh oh.” If you’re constanting changing what you’re viewing via a digital slide projector you’re not valuing some photos (or art) above the others. In essence, Bill was essentially getting ready to swipe left and post likes on the walls of his house. 

We all know how that’s working. Best case is that enough people like a photo, story, video, and it briefly goes viral when everyone else wants to know why it was so popular. Days later, it’s already forgetten. 

In answering this question the underlying attribute that kept coming up is permanance. Or at least stickiness. Photos aren’t sticky or permanent today. They’re ephemeral and expire quickly. Galleries require the opposite. So the real question is how do we make that happen?

"If you had to choose between being out photographing your passion or spending the time in the office printing the results of past passions which would you choose? How would you choose?"

I don’t think you can do only one or the other if you’re serious about photography. One instructs the other. I make it a habit of alternating. I’ll spend long periods in the field collecting optimal data, then I’ll spend long periods in the office optimally processing that data. I learn things in both operations that helps the other. I believe Ansel did the same thing.

Here’s the thing: how do you know if you’re achieving anything with your passion if you don’t spend some time examining what you actually achieved? I believe you should be your own harshest critic (but a loving one). 

At the other extreme (opposite of passion) I encounter a lot of students that are just “collectors.” They collect an image of something, then move onto collecting an image of something else. Yet they don’t actually do anything with their collections! It’s solely the act of collecting, apparently, that motivates them. Their passion isn’t photography, it’s collecting photographs of things, which is different. Many of this group of photographer are also imitators. They attempt to get the same image they’ve seen elsewhere. 

So I’m going to circle around: these collectors aren’t valuing images. Instead of going to a gallery (see above) and viewing and maybe purchasing a photo, they think they can go out and get their own imitation—most often they can’t achieve what the original photographer did—and then simply abandon that to go onto the next one to copy. In doing so, they devalue photography in multiple ways. I simply don’t know what they think they’re achieving, and I worry that it’s counterproductive to the long-term health of photography as something more than a statement of record (e.g. scene selfie). 

"Given we only have so much time in front of us, would you consider the idea of legacy (printing, arranging, showing) or rather, embrace the fun of the process of shooting?”

Same answer as before, really. And by the way, the process of photographing isn’t always “fun.” It’s demanding is the way I’d put it. I spend time, effort, and a lot of money getting to the right place at the right time, and then doing the right thing. That’s work, not fun. However, I’ll grant you that it’s work I enjoy, so maybe you think I’m having fun ;~). 

But again, if you ask me collecting data (photography), processing data (printing), and displaying data (showing) all should work together. Feedback I get from images almost always surprises me in some way. Something I saw is seen differently by someone else, and that gives me ideas to put into practice next time I’m out and about. Processing my images tells me whether I actually did collect optimal data, and forces me learn how to do that better when I find out that I didn’t. Trying to create a show tells me if I actually accomplished something that others might want to see.

"Which is more important to an artist, having a good and ample social media presence, or chasing after publication in a book that might reach only several thousand people?”

Ah, we’re back to ephemeral again. Social media is, for the most part, ephemeral. If you’re after instant reaction only, social media would be what you should pursue. The problem with social media is that your few kilobytes of data will get buried by tomorrow’s terabytes. It’s almost like performance art: it only lasts for a short time. A book, on the other hand, is more permanent, but as the question notes, it might not have as large an audience. Yes, books are also ephemeral, but generally have longer lives than a social media post. People don’t collect and keep social media posts, but they do that with books. 

Another way you could look at it is “do you want to burn some coal or oil” (to power the Web) or “do you want to kill some trees” (to create the book). Oh dear, that doesn’t sound good, does it? 

Implicit in the question is the notion of ego. The reason to have a big social media bang (e.g. go viral) is usually to fuel one’s ego (the smart know that going viral is more beneficial financially, but only if you know that and prepare for it). But for some, the notion of having a book that exists with your photos is also an ego thing. One that will probably occupy a prominent position on their coffee table, where they can casually point to it. 

Many acquaint acclaim with acceptance. When it comes down to it, the question basically is about who you want to be accepted by. Figure that out and you know what outlet you should be chasing. 

"Is the black and white print still the gold standard in an age in which people can reach thousands and thousands of viewers using good social media platforms and the skills needed to attract audiences?”

Technically correct answer: no. 

However, I’ve noted that when I do display one of my better black and white images, it gets a big response. Typically bigger than the usual response to my image posts. This puzzles me. I’m not sure whether it’s because (1) black and white now stands out in a world of oversaturated color; (2) black and white is regarded as being “faithfully photographic” because of historical context; or (3) something else. 

Certainly, there’s a long history of black and white prints being the ones most talked about. Ansel and his cohorts saw to that. His work in color was, well, meh. Moreover, he didn’t write a book about how to print color right. Technically, black and white is both simpler and harder than color. Simpler in that you’re juggling fewer visual variables (tonal levels). Harder in that those same fewer variables have to be dialed in very precisely to have any impact. 

"Do we do ourselves a disservice as artists in constantly mining the past as opposed to embracing the future of our photographic craft?”

Wait, what? What’s the future of our craft? Can you please illuminate me on that? (Word choice intentional.)

We live in a story that only has a middle. What past we know can help instruct us on what to do today. What we do today can be inspired by dreams of the future. But in the end, we live in the present. The past instructs that better than the future. 

"Another travel and value question: What are the 10 best places in the USA to see great photography in gallery environments?"

It used to be that you’d find great (but limited) galleries where great photographers were located. This is still true to some degree. Look up a photographer you admire on the Web and see if they have a gallery. For instance, Thomas Magnelsen still has his Images of Nature gallery in Jackson, Wyoming, and  Peter Lik has eleven galleries of his work, mostly in Las Vegas and Florida.

Originally, self-owned galleries, particularly for nature and landscape photographers, were an excellent source of income. Of course, when a photographer has their own gallery, they have to bear the brunt of all overhead, marketing costs, and rents. Those and other costs have gone up over the years, making it tough to make a living this way. And when a photographer doesn’t have their own gallery, they only get a fraction of the income from a sale.

There’s another unsaid thing that happens with the galleries that sell a photographer’s work: they emphasize the work that sells, not necessarily the best work. What sells tends to be cliche, oversaturated, large, and is done with a heavy dose of sales person persuasion. 

"What do you think the impact of images made solely through 'text to image' Artificial Intelligence will have on the market for collectible photography and/or commercial photography?”

My answer here might surprise you. To a large degree, many of us have been doing that—with real intelligence—for decades. My mentor Galen Rowell used to talk about pre-visualization. What’s the image you want to capture, and why? The better you can define that, the more likely you can attain it in the field. 

Nature photographers use weather predictions, seasonal variations, migration paths, and a host of other things that are really a crude form of text to image to determine when and where they want to be. For instance, we just had an annular eclipse in the US. We knew when it would occur, how long it would last, and what the sun/moon relationship would look like and where it would be in the sky. What else might we put in the frame and why? Pre-visualization.

Fashion and advertising photographers often build totally original images from concepts and descriptions, building out sets and hiring models as desired. One thing I admire about Joe McNally is his seemingly endless imagination where it comes to putting interesting subjects in interesting places doing interesting things.

Thus, I’d argue that the best practitioners have been doing a form of text-to-image for a long, long time. The difference that artificial intelligence introduces is that it relies upon a huge database of already known images and fractions of images to “paint” a photo, while photographers use real things in the real world to optimally collect the data need to go out and create a photo. The big thing I’ve seen so far is that AI is producing more “impossible” photos, while photographers have been hitting ceilings on what they can do “possibly.” 

"How can we of a certain generation keep up with progress/changes in the art of photography (styles, content, craft) without defaulting to just mining the legends from a time when barriers to entry made defining 'stars' easier?”

Excellent question. Sontag sort of captured this in her essays: those of us practicing today stand on the shoulders of those that came before us. We can’t just imitate or reproduce what those before us have done, but have to find ways to expand and extend what photography sees and does. At Backpacker we worked for awhile with a photographer whose—at the time—identifying attribute was that he would only photograph at night and only light subjects himself, but always with colored filters. Light is one of the three cornerstones of photography, and his basic approach was to take 100% control of it and make light do things that it didn’t do in nature.

So my basic answer is that you need to find elements to experiment with. The bigger and more unique the element, the more likely it will stand out. Example: start photographing sports at 1/15 second only. 

I’d also argue that the barriers to entry have never been lower. 

I gave a short lecture at Indiana University a few years ago to Telecommunications students. The premise of that lecture is that media outlets are black holes for content. Turn on a TV transmitter, start a newspaper or magazine, create a cable network, or begin a new Web site and you have an insatiable need for content. TV, cable, and Web? That appetite goes 24/7. Newspapers, magazines, blogs, and a few other things? The appetite for content is periodic and regular. Every one of those outlets is commercial—well, okay, a few are non-profit, but even non-profits need money—so if they run out of content, they stop getting money. 

For a content producer, such as a photographer, there’s never been as much demand for work as there is today. The tricky part is turning that demand into real income. But barrier for entry? There is none. The black holes suck up content constantly. Even the biggest of the big is likely to give a newcomer a chance (though that particular chance will disappear and not repeat if you fail). 

Finally, you can’t be afraid of failure. You won’t know if something works until you’ve tried it, tinkered with it, and gone full scale hypothesis/experiment/analysis on it. 

"What do you think of the current styles of street photography? It seems so many younger practitioners are copying each other by using film Leica M cameras and 28mm lenses. Snapping semi-candid opportunities and displaying online in the same styles. Is this the death knell of street photography?"

This is the HCB (Henri Cartier-Bresson) formula: damn the camera, find the moment. If all the “moments” captured in this style of street photography start looking the same, then yes, that would be an indicator that this style is done. Thing is, the best moments don’t tend to repeat, so I say go for it, just don’t expect to bring home a winner every day. 

Which brings me to a related comment: too many folk show too many images, including myself sometimes. What I find mostly missing in today’s Insta and Tokking environs is selection discipline. Remember, those black holes I mentioned? The moment that feeding a black hole becomes more important than the “art” of what you’re doing, you’re about to disappear across the event horizon. 

It’s a very delicate balance between not showing enough and showing too much. Anyone whose been through a serious portfolio review with a pro almost has certainly heard the comment “you need to be more selective.” If you can’t show me your talent in 12 photos or less, you don’t yet have a talent that’s yours and unique. Show me 100 photos and I’ll have plenty of opportunity to point out all the things you’re not getting right ;~). In fact, you’ll feel like a failure by the time I get done reviewing all those images you thought you had to show me. (Technically, you are a failure: you failed to inform me of your unique talent that would get me to hire you [remember, I was buying photos for years at publications I ran]). 

Since it was unstated, let me state it: great photos stand out because they’re unique in some way. The moment. The style. The compositional choices. The processing/printing choices. The use of perspective. The use of isolation. The use of negative space. Something is unique that makes the image stand out. Usually it’s multiple things.

If you’re really executing at high levels, you can mix one of your photos in with those of other photographers and I’ll see that it is yours. At Backpacker we had an 8 foot light table on which there were often a hundred images spread out. It was interesting that the photo editor, art director, and I could almost always identify whose image was whose—at least among the dozens of pros we often worked with—without looking at the slide mount. 

"Do photographers retire?”

From their work-for-salary jobs, sure. From taking images? Not unless a disability occurs that inhibits them.