What should I take...

I have commented before about the phenomenon that sees ordinary, otherwise sensible people apparently turn into blathering, indecisive jellies when confronted with a keyboard, an internet connection and an audience on a photo forum. There is a particular variant of that malady that tends to manifest itself in the Summer months - the thread that starts "I'm going to [insert as applicable] and I can't decide whether to just take [insert interminably long list of equipment] or whether I should also take [insert equally long list of equipment] what do you think?"

Leaving aside the probability that:

a) The audience doesn't know a lot about the poster in terms of their tastes, skills etc.,

b) Most of said audience doesn't know anything material about the proposed holiday destination either,

c) The destination given ("Europe", "China", "South America"...) is so vague that no answer can be meaningful,

and

d) Most of said audience only ever give the same answer to any such query based upon their own tastes and preferences.

The quality and usefulness of response is going to be dubious at best and bloody useless at worst.

So why (oh why) do people persist in these ridiculous threads? There can be only one answer.

They're boasting.

Yes.

That's it. They are simply taking the opportunity for a spot of self-aggrandisement. In fact, the seemingly innocent "holiday question" is a great 2 for 1:

a) I am going somewhere special/expensive/hard to get to

b) I have lots of expensive kit

This last is a particularly modern form of hubris. In the ancient world, excessive pride was a crime. Crowing over one's peers, or indeed one's vanquished foes, was regarded as very bad form indeed, much as owning an f1 Noctilux today and openly musing as to the benefits of adding a f.0.95 Noctilux to your collection of humidity-controlled dust-gatherers is guaranteed to reduce any right-thinking fellow photographer (for which read "real photographer") to acts of mindless irritation. The "autosignature" is a particular refinement of this phoenomenon, enabling the poster to re-state their entire palette of toys with the press of a button. I do wonder at the mentality of those whose signature is both longer and more interesting than their posts, however.

The only form of this question that makes any real sense is "From your own direct experience, what is [location x] like?". Any photographer with half a brain can do their own online research these days; the likes of Flickr and Google Earth provide the opportunity to find out what others have done, and what a given location looks like. The old advice used to be to go to a newsagents on arrival and look at the postcards - now with the "global village" we can browse through others' snaps, tagged - geotagged, even - without leaving the comfort of our own armchairs.

What is invaluable is "local knowledge" - places to eat, to sit, where photography is encouraged, where it is frowned upon, where and how the scam artists operate, how to get around, where the best beer is to be found. All of the above come from personal experience. People who have been there, or even better, live there -in other words, those least likely to be impressed by your ability to travel there.


I chose the lens, body, aperture, shutter speed and destination all by myself...


I don't want or need someone to pick my kit for me. I don't want someone to oo and ah over my equipment - unless they are particularly attractive, of course - I don't need people to be impressed by my choice of destination, or by the size of my wallet. It's useful to know that the lighting in museum x is particularly low, or that the queues for art gallery y only get bad after 10AM, but telling me that I absolutely must take a wide-angle or I will miss some great shots is about as useful as a photograph of a rope to a drowning man.

No, I don't care how much you have spent on where you are going, or the money you have invested in what you might take, but if I've been there before, I'll gladly give you my opinion on the place - provided you aren't just boasting, of course...


Bill

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- All images on this blog are copyright Bill Palmer and may not be reproduced in any format or medium without permission.

Great Photo! Great camera...?

We have all been there, at one time or another. It is usually absolutely genuinely meant. It may come from a friend, or a relative, or a total stranger. When you hear those words, though, it is like fingernails on a blackboard for the photographer concerned.

"What a lovely photo! You must have a very good camera..."

What on Earth is an appropriate answer?

"Indeed I have - my sole contribution to the creative process was buying it in the first place..."

"No, it's a cheap piece of crap, but I have the compositional skills of Raphael."

...or something in between?

over the years I have been as guilty as anyone of the typical English passive aggressive non-response in such circumstances - smile, shrug and back away while simultaneously listening to the little inner voice chanting "Blood, blood, blood"... Of course it's hard to be rude when a) someone genuinely thinks they are paying you a compliment and b) they are either elderly or attractive. The natural impulse to snap back is repressed - bad for the blood pressure, I know, but good for the inheritance/prospects of a good night out.

Of course in many cases it is true. It is hard to find a truly bad camera these days. Even the cheapest digi-compact can turn out a halfway decent result if handled right. However, I think it is worth exploring what triggers such a comment. Look at it from the point of view of the other person - your photo has moved them in some way. Why? What was it that drove them to say something? I think in many cases it comes down to what they are used to seeing, and the results that they feel they can produce themselves.

The photos that I find get a strong reaction are those that either have a strong motif, or a particular "look" - that might be a macro shot, or one dominated by a single strong colour, or a powerful monochrome image, or, particularly, one with very shallow depth of focus. That last fascinates me - and I think it is because it is simply not available to anyone using a cameraphone, small sensor digicam or slow-lensed film compact that it is so worthy of comment. It smacks the viewer in the eye, because it isn't the way they see the world, or have been able to capture it themselves.

Okay bokeh?


Do the particpants and professional practitioners of other pursuits have to put up with this, I wonder? Does Gordon Ramsay get told his meals are delicious because of his great pans, or does Elton John get complimented on his choice of piano? I think not. Maybe it is because everyone fancies that they can take a photo, but that you need a "better" camera than the one they have to take a "better" photo than they can.

We aren't going to change the world overnight, though. So what to do? Now I am more grumpy old, than angry young man, I have more of an inclination towards the "mission to inform" approach. I try - gently - to explain that yes, I do have a good camera, but that it does need me to carry it from place to place, aim it in the right direction, decide what settings to use, where to put the point of focus, etc. I try not to sound condescending, but instead try to build a rapport, and generate some genuine interest in how I have achieved an image worthy of their comment, and how they could do the same.

The key to this approach is the counter question - keep it in mind, chant it like a mantra, so that you are ready for the next time.

Ok?

Ready?

Here we go...

"What makes you think that?"

Try it - it works, and is far less likely to get you arrested than clobbering an old lady around the head with a Leica...

Bill

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- All images on this blog are copyright Bill Palmer and may not be reproduced in any format or medium without permission.

Unplugged...

I think it was MTV that first made popular the "unplugged" approach to music performance. It came as a reaction to the at the time almost inescapable use of electric this, synth that. I particularly remember the acoustic version of Layla by Eric Clapton - still recognisably the same song, but completely re-interpreted. Different. Fresh. What interests me about the very concept of doing something "unplugged" is that it implies a state of plugged-in-ness preceding it - less unplugged than post-plugged.

A musician performing acapella with nothing but an acoustic guitar is in effect putting their talent on the line. They cannot hide behind producers with mixing desks, or digital enhancement. It is them, their capabilities, their instrument and the music. It separates the men (and women) from the boys (and, er, girls). Not everyone can do it. Not everyone, to be fair, feels the need. Those that do, however, show a new dimension to their skills, and earn the respect of their peers and audience as a result.

In the photographic world, the relentless drive to bigger, faster, better digital cameras has led to an explosion of innovation. Product cycles have dropped from years to months or even weeks. From nowhere, it is now possible to buy, for considerably less than the price of a decent weekend break, a digital SLR that produces clean, high quality images without a film in sight. It is all so easy, quick, predictable, efficient, clean, clinical... did I mention soul-less?

I have in the past owned some of the finest film equipment in the world - Nikon, Leica and Contax SLRs and rangefinders, with lenses that were (and are) second to none. When digital happened, I joined the bandwagon after a while, then sat out a few rounds of innovation before rejoining in the shape of an Olympus DSLR. It does all that I ask of it and more, but like the most sophisticated film cameras, you are not always sure what it is doing, or, more crucially, why. There is so much inherent complexity in the modern DSLR - any modern DSLR, not just the Olympus - that it is indeed possible to get yourself caught at the bottom of a sub-menu and trapped there forever until your air runs out and you drown. The modern viewfinder is now more like a dashboard than an optical instrument, with head-up displays and overlays.

*sigh*

I had been aware of screwmount Leicas for as long as I had been aware of the brand. I knew they were the precursors to the M, and much more primitive for that. Separate view and rangefinders, the need for accessory finders for anything other than 50mm focal length, even the need to trim the leader - none of this was lost on me. It all seemed a bit old-fashioned, a bit anachronistic - even, for modern use, a bit masochistic. Why, I thought, would I ever want to use something that didn't even have a built-in meter? Where's the fun in that?

It was about two and a half years ago that I succumbed and bought my first "Barnack". My local dealer had a IIIc in the window, complete with 3.5cm Elmar - still the most compact lens in that focal length ever produced by Leica. It winked at me through the window like a rascally old lady - past her prime but still full of charm, fun and joie de vivre. It took minimal thought for me to go in, plant down my money and walk out with it in my pocket.

I resolved from the outset to go the whole hog and live the Barnack experience - I didn't own a handheld meter, so I decided to rely upon "Sunny 16". I also decided, to make my life a little easier, to only feed the old girl a limited diet - Kodak 400CN. Reasonably fast to compensate for the slow lens, easy to get developed in the high street (even today, if you know where to go), plenty of latitude and somehow black and white just seemed appropriate.

I cheated a little - I used a Panasonic digicam as a back-up to my exposure guesstimation at first, treating it as a meter that could take photos. I kidded myself that I was carrying it as a backup, but I soon realised that I didn't need it - practically or psychologically.

A couple of rolls of film through the gate also made me realise that, in the UK at least, Sunny-16 is nearer to Sunny-12. The little IIIc became my constant companion, in my bag, briefcase or pocket at all times - partly because it was small enough, and partly because it was really just that much fun to use. I got used to the poky rangefinder, and with switching over to the viewfinder for composition. Mostly I used it for "street photography"... I lived the HCB dream, or at least I wandered about with a Leica and snapped people doing vaguely interesting stuff in the street.

Caught with a camera older than you and me put together...

Continuing with the unplugged analogy, if the IIIc is equivalent to an acoustic guitar, then the II that followed is probably nearer to a lute. The II was an impulse buy, from the US via eBay. You know what I mean - I put in a bid and went to bed, and woke up with less money and a parcel on the way. When it arrived it was, er, "crispy" to say the least. Years of gunge meant it handled like a chewy toffee and the view and rangefinders were "atmospheric". A trip to CRR in Luton soon sorted that out, and a new chapter began.

My II is actually a I - it started life in 1930, and was factory-upgraded in 1934. It is both a demanding mistress and a delight - there is nothing between me and my subjects except a thin layer of brass and glass. I don't miss the slow speeds at all, and I find the wider spacing of the view- and rangefinders actually, if anything, make life easier. There are (many) days when it is the only camera I carry.

So does it take more skill to use a Barnack than a modern DSLR? In some respects, I would contend that it does. If you nail it - if everything comes together and you get it right - then the resultant image is all your own work. When you trip the shutter on an old Leica gears whir, springs contract and silk curtains part. When you press the shutter release on the DSLR, you send a command to the CPU that in turn starts a process that...

Let me conclude with this thought; the 40th anniversary of the Beatles' Sgt Pepper album has been marked by some of today's "stars" going into the studios at Abbey Road, using the original analogue 4-track equipment to record cover versions of the songs from the album. Their only recourse to getting it wrong was to re-record... Again, and again, and again... Without the aid of the Antares Autotune - the technology that ensures that however sharp or flat your voice is, you can appear pitch perfect when you "perform" (we have it to blame for the Spice Girls and many others) - the "Talent" struggled to rise to the occasion...

Enough said.

Bill

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- All images on this blog are copyright Bill Palmer and may not be reproduced in any format or medium without permission.