A room with a view?

When we go on holiday, we have to pay extra for a "room with a view" - of the sea, the mountains, whatever. Never mind that sometimes the "view" requires one to stand on tiptoe hanging from the balcony rail whilst our loved one(s) hang on to our belts. Book a cruise on a modern liner and it seems that they manage to distort space itself to ensure that nobody, no matter how close to the bilges their ocean-going broom closet is, is without a sea view.

So - the view is important to us, for so many reasons. Would you be happy if you stayed in a hotel room with no windows, no outside view, save for an LCD tv?

No.

Of course not.

So why do today's camera manufacturers persist in producing even high-end digital compact cameras with no direct vision viewfinder? The technology exists, and has done for many years. The compact albada-type viewfinder has been with us in various forms since being introduced by Zeiss on the Contaflex in 1935. This simple evolution of the original Galilean finder gave us an optically projected image that showed the edges of the viewing field within the viewfinder assembly. Minox introduced parallax compensation way back in 1939 and of course it was Leica that gave the world the first viewfinder that combined parallax compensation, projected framelines and a rangefinder all in one, on the M3.

So the technology is not only proven, it has a fine pedigree - so why do so few of today's cameras have this little window on the world?

Let us examine the debate for and against.

"Too expensive" runs a common argument - it simply costs too much to put in a viewfinder. Funny then that Olympus managed to produce 10 million or so Olympus Trips at a reasonable price for so long.

"People don't want it" - ah. Now there is a splendid piece of circular logic. It's not there, so people don't want it, so it's not there.

"People like LCDs" - So do I, for some uses, like changing a setting. But using one in bright sunlight? Forget it. And use in the dark is not much better. Not only do you ruin your night vision but the ghostly glow in which you are bathed attracts unwelcome attention.

I have two theories as to the real reasons why we find ourselves viewfinderless. Firstly the rise of the mobile telephone with a picture-taking ability. As good as they are becoming, there are three things they have never had, and I suspect never will - a hotshoe, a tripod socket or a viewfinder. Whether we like it or not, cameraphones are now not only a commonplace piece of equipment for most people, they are in many cases the only camera that they own. The compact camera will eventually go the way of the dinosaur unless it learns to evolve and do new tricks - Nikon's recent projector-camera is a good example of this. So people are getting used to not having a viewfinder and see it's absence as a small price to pay for convenience.

Through the round, er, oblong window...

My second theory is a little more controversial. The act of bringing a camera to one's eye clearly indicates that you are about to take a photo. There is no other reason for doing so. This alerts others to the fact that their picture is to be taken. Some strike a pose, others object, some just don't notice, or don't care. With an LCD display in "Goldilocks light" (not too bright, not too dark...) the screen would appear to the uninitiated to give an edge - suddenly you can take a photo without raising the camera to your eye! Suddenly you can capture images discreetly, without running the risk of a confrontation! To many, this would be an advantage, especially in today's paranoid society, where every photographer is regarded as a terrorist or pedophile, guilty until proven innocent.

The reality is of course not so simple. For one thing, discreet photography without the camera at eye-level has been practiced for years. One of my favourite books, now sadly many years out of print, is "Shots From The Hip", by "Johnny Stiletto". Mr. Stiletto - at one time a regular contributor to Amateur Photographer in the days when it had relevance and balls - was known for shooting a roll a day of street subjects. He encouraged "shots from the hip" - breaking free from convention to give more dynamic and engaging results.

Secondly, the digital photographer with his LCD viewing screen is typically far from inconspicuous. The camera is held out at arms' length, like a baby with a particularly snotty nose. This is most noticeable in middle-aged men, whose eyesight has started to deteriorate. All pretence at discretion is lost by this stance, and any advantage goes with it.

A viewfinder does not have to be complex, nor even particularly informative. The add-on viewfinders are for the most part throwbacks to an earlier age - a simple means of framing up the image with no clutter, complication or extraneous information. Those cameras with accessory shoes allow their fitment. I use one myself, on my D-Lux 4. In my case it's a 50 year old SBOOI - a 50mm Leica finder that happens to give the same angle of view as the 60mm setting on the D-Lux. To me, this combination of old and new just underlines the ridiculousness of the situation - come on, chaps - just build the bloody thing in again. You'd be surprised at the number of people who would cheer.

Speaking of cheering, 'tis the season to be jolly and all that, so let me take this opportunity to say something that I have always wanted to say since my days of reading Tiger, Sparky, Eagle, Valiant and the like as a child:

A very Merry Christmas to all my readers!

...and a happy and prosperous New Year to you all.


Bill

--o-O-o--

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

Rapid weight loss...

Back from sunny Malta, I've been thinking...

I am struck by the recent rapid growth in the availability of "good things in small packages". Hot on the heels of Four-Thirds - itself a move in the small direction - Olympus and Panasonic have forged ahead with Micro Four-Thirds, and Sigma and Leica have gone down the large-sensor-small-body route to give big camera performance in a smaller body. Even "ordinary" high-end digital compacts with small sensors such as the G-11, D-Lux 4 et al offer a "power to weight" ratio that would have been unthinkable just 24 months ago. The photographer no longer needs to carry a large "pro-spec" camera everywhere to guarantee a decent image.

History repeats itself, of course. The digital size/quality ratio improvement is just following the same trajectory as that of film many years ago.

But why?

What drives the urge to miniaturise? Is there truly a demand, or is it a vanity development on behalf of the manufacturers? Portability is a very strong argument, of course, and something that I have written about in the past. The smaller, lighter and more compact your camera the more likely you are to have it with you when you need it. That's a simple equation. But I think that there are other forces - dark forces - at work.

Ever since 9/11, passenger air travel has become a trial of patience and a challenge to the traveller's ingenuity. Ever tighter security restrictions have not just reduced the amount of hand baggage but altered it's very composition. Changes in airline pricing structure, encouraging hand-baggage only by imposing a premium on hold baggage has squeezed from the other direction. The travelling photographer wanting to cover all eventualities on a long weekend city break has to fit everything he needs in a bag measuring 56x45x25 centimetres. Being slightly oversized is not an option, unless you want to run the risk of having your bag taken off you at the departures gate and shoved in the hold - don't even try to argue with the gate staff...

All this is old news for the Leica M and LTM user, of course. They have long enjoyed the advantages of a high quality, compact camera system. With the advent of digital, the need to pack multiple rolls of film has been largely circumvented (only to be replaced by the necessary chargers, spare batteries, spare memory cards and a backup storage device, of course...).

All you need? Not quite - yet...


I recently travelled to Malta for a long weekend. Beyond the clothes on my back, everything else, including three cameras, fitted in a Tamrac photo backpack. I recommend the type with the built-in laptop compartment, by the way - it's great for "flatpack" items such as shirts and trousers. Once "in theatre", everything "domestic" can be unpacked and left in your hotel, and your "luggage" becomes an ideal daypack while exploring. I'll do the same when I go to Budapest later this year. I couldn't have dreamed of doing that a few years ago, when I carried a big SLR with matching lenses - that WAS my hand-baggage. I might have fitted a spare pair of socks in the bag besides, but only if I used them as lens pouches. But the encouragement to travel light is powerful, and now we have the high quality compact camera equipment to match.

Compactness is no substitute for planning ahead though - don't for a moment think it is. I have never forgotten traveling all the way to Hawaii and finding myself with no more than a 135mm lens while trying to shoot a pod of whales from a catamaran. I did the best I could, but I was "outgunned" by those who had lugged something a little longer. Not a single decent shot that day, because I hadn't planned. Lesson learned. Now I think about what to take, and squeeze in a longer lens if absolutely necessary.

For the most part though, a decent kit these days takes up little more room than a pair of shoes (alright, I have large feet) and takes far better pictures.

So there we have it. Darwinian evolution is at work. The days of the bulky (D)SLR for travel snaps are numbered, thanks to the cold hand of Al Qaeda. Think of that the next time you heft your camera to your eye...

Bill

--o-O-o--

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

There can be only One (Challenge)...

Now.

By the time you read this I shall be in sunny Malta, for this year's One Challenge. This was a competition wot I invented six years ago exclusively for the users of Leica cameras that frequent the Leica User Forum. That first year, twelve die-hard souls met up in the Chandos pub in St Martins' Lane, London, on a dank and dreary December day. Some lunch and convivial chat followed, then everyone made their way out into the gathering gloom to shoot 36 exposures in one hour, with one camera, one lens, one ISO, one focal length and one aim in view - to capture the essence of the place.

How far we have travelled since that first gathering - literally. Subsequent One Challenges have taken place in Amsterdam, Paris, Berlin, Krakow and now Valetta. The shooting time is now two hours, but the other rules have remained the same; short, simple and truly challenging. Amateurs and pros alike are tested by the rules, by the strange surroundings and by the time constraint. It is not as easy as it sounds to capture the essence of a whole city in such a short space of time. After the event, the entrant has to select one of their thirty-six shots to put up for the public vote - the most nerve-wracking part of the whole thing. We have had some close-run voting in the past, but the winner has invariably been more than worthy.

It's not about the money, either. The "entry fee" has stood at ten Euros for the past six years. That forms the "pot" - winner takes all. Nobody is going to get rich winning The One, but they will have the satisfaction of knowing that their carefully captured and selected shot has won them the acclaim of their peers. On a number of occasions, the prize money has been donated to charity by the winner - a grand gesture that is in keeping with the spirit of Leica.

The One Challenge was always meant to be as much about the opportunity to socialise as about the competition. In recent years that too has evolved from a quick pint at the pub to drinks the evening before, lunch immediately before, dinner the evening after... it's a never-ending social whirl! It's great to meet up with old friends each year, and to put faces to new names. Long-suffering partners come along too, and make the evening dinner far less Leica-focussed - thank goodness!

The One Challenge has also spawned it's own offspring - The Uno Challenge in Los Angeles, and other spin-offs worldwide. It has been featured in the LFI, and has attracted sponsorship in the form of prizes from Leica and this year from Red Dot Cameras in London. Ivor, the owner has very kindly donated a D-Lux 4 to this year's winner - a tremendous prize and one well worth going the extra mile to win.

So. The One Challenge is now a healthy, active 6-year old, that shows no sign of slowing down. When we meet this year, we will discuss where to go in 2010 - that's half the fun of it. My thanks to the organisers, both for this year and past years, who took up the original mantle and have helped The One to be the fun event it is today.

Yes, I am proud of The One Challenge, but most of all I am proud of my third placing in 2007 - the best I have done so far!

Bill

--o-O-o--

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

Snob value...?

If I had a Pound (or a Euro, or a Dollar, etc.) for every terabyte of server space devoted to the subject of snobbery - particularly pertaining to photo equipment - I would almost have enough to afford an M9. I mention the M9 because as a brand Leica seems to attract more snobbery - both real and inverted - than any other brand of equipment with a lens on the front.

One of those ghastly on-line dictionaries - you know, the ones that claim that "lense" is a word - defines snobbery as "...the trait of condescending to those of lower social status". In this context "social status" is defined not by birth but by financial clout. There is no such thing as a "cheap" Leica; even second-hand they command a premium over comparable equipment - assuming that anything comparable exists, which is frequently not the case anyway.

So why are Leicas so expensive? And why do people with more money than sense buy them? Finally, why does Leica ownership inspire such envy in others?

To understand this phenomenon we have to understand the unique place that the Leica camera holds in both history and mythology. Long ago, it ceased to be just a picture-taking machine. It became a lifestyle choice, before the term was even invented. When Leitz Camera introduced the Luxus in the 1930s it set the tone for years to come. Never let anyone tell you that the Leica was a professionals' camera that has been adopted by well-heeled amateurs - the well-heeled amateurs got there first, at the time the professionals were still using bulky full- half- and quarter-plate folders and 120 rollfilm and looking down their noses at the new-fangled "miniature" format as inadequate for serious use.

It didn't take long, however, for canny pros to realise that those pesky amateurs were on to something worthwhile; the light and compact Leica and its contemporaries taking 35mm film loads were turning up all over the place and producing publishable results. From the Arctic to the Antarctic, from the gondola of a Zeppelin to the pyramids of Egypt, the world was being viewed through a small viewfinder and captured through an Elmar.

The Leica was never cheap. It was hand-made with quality materials and for years represented the acme of German manufacturing ingenuity. Have a look at a Leitz product catalogue from 80 years ago and you can see that the camera itself was just at the tip of an ever-increasing iceberg of accessories and attachments, each identified by its' own five-letter designation - LYCAN, FODOR, FODIS, VALOY and of course my all time favourite, NOOKY. The complexity of the system of course appealed to the boy within the man - it's the same thing you see today with modern gadgets - iphones, bluetooth headphones, GPS keyrings, Nespresso coffee makers - boy toys one and all. The Gnomes of Solms (well, the Gnomes of Wetzlar at that time) were quick to realise that the acquisition of the kit was as important to the experience as the end result.

Fast forward to today; Leica is no longer at the bleeding edge of camera design; instead the company and its' products occupy a niche that was until recently almost unassailable - the cost of entry is prohibitive to all but the most resourceful - or obsessed. Nikon, Canon, Olympus and the rest have left Leica to it, abandoning the rangefinder as the SLR moved into the ascendant. And with a few notable exceptions - Voigtlander, Epson, Contax, Zeiss, Rollei (has anyone actually SEEN a Rollei m-mount rangefinder?) that is the way it has largely stayed. Only with the advent of micro four-thirds has there been a resurgence of the non-SLR "serious" camera as - belatedly - the big boys have realised once again that there is a market for small, high quality interchangeable lens system cameras.

Snobbery abounds there too, though. When Panasonic announced the GF-1 interchangeable lens micro four-thirds camera it took about 24 hours before it was being derided on the internet as the "GirlFriend-1" - a camera that no "serious" photographer would be seen dead with. This is of course bollocks, but sadly is a school of thought to be found almost exclusively among middle-aged men with more money than sense.

...and there is the crux of the problem. Like many quality items in this world - expensive sports-cars, high-end watches, bespoke tailoring - Leica ownership is not a young man's game. Forking out the thick end of £5000 for a camera body is not something that the average thirtysomething trying to bring up a young family is going to regard as a high priority.

Snobbery - or is it passive aggressive racism? also surfaces in the form of the perennial "Where is it made?" question. To some, it is not a Leica if it isn't made in Germany. Leitz Midland in Canada and the Portuguese facility are dismissed as not quite good enough, and heaven help a lens made under licence in Japan! The highest opprobrium is reserved, however, for the products of the partnership with Panasonic. Derided as "Panaleicas", they are regarded as the bastard spawn of a desperate marketing manager's wet dream. The reality - that they are built in close co-operation to a high standard, that they bring in a newer, younger clientele that would otherwise never go near Leica, and the fact that they provide an "on-ramp" for new customers who graduate to the more expensive products - is conveniently ignored. This has reached new heights with the recent announcement of the X1 - the very thought that a Japanese company may have had a hand in its' manufacture sends some into a fit of the vapours.

Lastly, we have the "It's good but it's not a Leica" snobbery that is displayed at the sight of a non-Leica lens mounted to a Leica body. Cosina Voigtlander (CV) and Zeiss have brought to market some groundbreaking lenses in recent years. They may not be the match of the equivalent Leica glass, but more often than not they are not specifically designed to go toe-to-toe with Solms' finest. Until very recently, there was no overlap at all between the CV and Leica lens ranges. Either focal length, aperture or both varied. To this day Leica still do not offer a 12mm lens, for example, or a 40mm 1.4, both of which CV introduced. Above all, CV revitalised the screw-mount ("LTM" or "Barnack") market with a slew of new lenses, offering modern glass in the classic mount and bringing a new lease of life to the older bodies alongside their own offerings. Lenses should be regarded as a palette, or perhaps more accurately as a selection of brushes; each delivers a different result, in support of the photographer's vision. Sharpness may be a quantifiable absolute, but since when was photography about absolute technical perfection?

So.

There are Leica snobs - elitism is rife. But does that explain the bitchiness and envy that abounds? Every time Leica puts a foot wrong - or even dares to go quiet for a time - the nay-sayers and doom-mongers gather. Every time somebody dares to praise the company or its' products there are those who will crawl out of the woodwork to point out that somebody else does it better/cheaper/faster. Buyers are derided for spending so much money on something that is far more capable than they are.

It seems to me that, like Montblanc, Rolex, Porsche etc. Leica has fallen into the "lifestyle" niche - a discretionary purchase that says as much about the purchaser as it performs the task it is designed for. iPods are egalitarian - everyone has one and they are cheap and plentiful. Leicas are elitist because they are expensive and (relatively) rare.


Posh "porn" - Montblanc and Leica...

Ultimately, it doesn't matter. If you can afford it, buy it. Personally, I have a simple philosophy - "buy cheap, buy twice". I bought my M7 new back in 2002 when they were first introduced. Since then I have lost count of number of SLRs and DSLRs and compacts (with various innards) that have sat alongside it in my gadget bag. It has long since paid for itself, and will continue to do so for as long as I can get film to feed it. It has been joined in recent years by an M2 and a II - neither of them in the first flush of youth, but both capable of superlative photography for years to come.

Snobbery? No. Lifestyle choice? Maybe. Lifelong choice? Yes.

Bill

--o-O-o--

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

Thinking past the end of your lens

We all do it.

Get our priorities skewed, I mean. If you read any of the multitude of internet fora devoted to the subject of photography, they are all about the kit, not the image. People who get all bent out of shape debating the relative merits of a concave vs a convex screw-in soft release button tend to forget that they first started "getting serious" about photography not because of the sexy high tech equipment, but because of the desire to take better photos.

But techno-lust is insidious. It is all too easy to jump on the treadmill of technological advance in the (mistaken) belief that buying a better camera will result in better images. It won't. How many of us actually test our existing equipment (and ourselves) to the limits? Far too many of us walk around with a neckful of exotic glass that we can never do justice to, because our skills and expertise are just too limited.

Go on.

Admit it.

There, doesn't that feel better?

Since the advent of the digital age, the treadmill has moved faster than ever. Product cycles that used to be measured in lustrua now make the average mayfly look like Methuselah. That, combined with the ability to machine gun your subject at minimal cost then choose the "best" (ie least worst) slices from the salami of studied mediocrity is turning more than a few amateurs from being an average photographer to a poor editor.

But.

There are cheaper ways to improve your photography, both in terms of quality and personal satisfaction. Look at it this way; which is more gratifying - to sit there at your pc after the event and spot your favourite "image capture" from in amongst the myriad of infinitesimally different shots? Or is it to behave more like a sniper - wait, watch, plan, anticipate, and squeeze the shutter release at just the right moment?

The (galloping) gourmand approach to photography is all about quantity, in the fond but sadly mistaken belief that quantity has a quality all of it's own. The gourmet approach, on the other hand, is about using the finest ingredients - camera, lens, film, location, subject, timing, skill - to conjure something that captures only the most fleeting of instants, but that has the power to linger in the mind for years to come.

The key to this, I believe, is for the photographer to think ahead, and to visualise the world beyond the end of their lens hood before they even rest a finger on the shutter release. It doesn't mean that all life becomes still life - far from it - but training the mind and the eye to see shots before they are taken - before the decisive moment occurs - is a deeply satisfying experience.

(Apologies for a moment to my overseas readers - this analogy won't mean much to you, but it is the best I can think of)

Think for a moment of the Channel 4 station idents that are often broadcast before a programme starts. A selection of disparate items - buildings, cranes, etc - physically far removed from each other, are brought into juxtaposition for a moment by a change of viewpoint. For a split second the Channel 4 logo is formed, then gone again.

As in "art" so in life - watch any crowd of people; they are constantly on the move. But there are usually discernible and ultimately predictable patterns to their movement - eddies, swirls, caused by the physical strictures of the environment, by the time of day, by the announcement of the next train to Portsmouth. By tuning in on the movement, going with the flow, the photographer can capture moments of juxtaposition as they occur, because they have seen them coming. This is not some Nostradamus-like precognition at work, but just the application of observation coupled with commonsense.

In the natural world too, the same applies. Identifying just when an otherwise drab and meaningless scene will turn into an eye catching image through the play of light requires exactly the same sort of previsualisation skills as street photography. As the old gag goes, "Timing is the essence of good comedy" - it's also the attribute that, once mastered, sorts the photographers from the snappers.

Bald bod and balloon - coincidence? You decide...


So, in a nutshell you already own the most valuable and important piece of equipment that will improve your photography. It's right there, between your ears, and has been all your life. Just like the camera in your hands, you have never used it to it's full potential.

It's never too late to start...


Bill

--o-O-o--

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

Early adopting for beginners

The Leica - indeed the high-end amateur and professional photographic - world was set alight just over a week ago with the introduction - not just announcement, mark you, but actual, bodies-flying-off-shelves introduction - of the full-frame M9 digital rangefinder camera.

Leica conducted a masterful guerrilla marketing campaign which mixed absolutely watertight secrecy with the odd accidental leak so viral it made the Black Death look like the work of an amateur. The eager faithful were tantalised and teased with details, images, flashes of websites, word leaking out from impatient (and imprudent) dealers. In the meantime the trusted few were wandering around with M9s slung around their necks disguised as M8s.

I have always been clear in my personal dislike of the M8. I thought it was a remarkable achievement for a small company to bring to market a digital rangefinder given the technological challenges; "ye cannae fight the laws of physics" as a famous Scotsman will say in 200 years or so. But the M8 was flawed; the problems with sensor, rangefinder and other aspects of the design all pointed toward something that was brought together in a rush and held together by inspiration, genius and hope. Mark Norton famously dissected one to show how it was made and what it was made from - not a pretty sight. The M8 also attracted to the Leica brand culture a whole new user demographic, many of whom had never used a film Leica and for whom the M8 represented their first exposure to the world of the rangefinder. They brought with them different attitudes, different expectations. They looked on the M8 not as the latest evolution in a long line of excellent cameras but as a computer with a lens on the front that would boot up first time, every time. The MTV generation met the M rangefinder with a bang...

Leica learned a huge amount from the M8, not just in terms of the product itself, but also the need to handle the digital rangefinder user base in a very different fashion. You don't have to go back too many years to the days when nobody knew what problems anybody else was having with their camera; all communication was "hub and spoke" - a one to one relationship between user and manufacturer. In today's internet-savvy world companies such as Leica constantly find themselves in the dock of "public opinion" where a few verbose and opinionated individuals can make their voices heard out of all proportion to the significance of what they have to say.

That is not to say that openness is wrong; Leica have the benefit of being able to look into a strong and vibrant user forum that is for the most part populated with intelligent and experienced people. Sensible requests and suggestions are given the weight of popular support and no doubt have an influence on thinking in Solms. I am sure that, like most, they can tune out the sometimes high signal to noise ratio and ignore the trolls and armchair CEOs that appear to be attracted to the brand like flies to fresh shit.

The early adopter of the title is a particularly important component part of the Leica (indeed of any) community. They are those who will not - do not - cannot - wait for somebody else to form and communicate an opinion. They are those who long to be the first kid on the block with the new "toy". Sometimes it is purely and simply about bragging rights - "I have enough money to buy this expensive camera without batting an eyelid"; sometimes it is out of genuine curiosity, or pent-up demand, sometimes an altruistic desire to find out, and share the experience with others. Two weeks down the line it looks like Leica, in the M9, have a real hit on their hands. There has yet to be any shock-horror revelation such as the need for UV/IR filters that so crippled the M8, and long may that be the case. The M9 is a far more serious proposition than the M8 - a finished product brought to market when it is ready. The early teething problems appear more concerned with firmware and third party editing software than with fundamental optical or hardware issues.

So what of the early adopters of yesterday? Those hardy souls who dropped coin on the M8 and who lived with, and through, its spotty adolescence. They seem to have divided into three camps. Those who are (rightly) content with their M8s and M8.2s - they have a mature product that produces images as well as it did the day before the M9 was announced. They are happy with what they have and see no reason to change. In that they find themselves much like the film Leica users when the M8 first arrived who were not swayed by the lure of digital. Then there are the serial early adopters - those who live their entire lives on the bleeding edge. They have resigned their previously "perfect" M8s to the bottom of the camera bag or to the hands of a dealer in order that they can embrace the new best thing in the world.

Bless 'em. Patience is as alien to them as stilettos on a bullfrog. They probably stand at home in front of the microwave shouting "hurry!"

The third group is those who have an M8 but would really like to be over there with the cool kids fondling a new M9. Some will extol the virtues of what they have, but a small and vocal minority will rubbish the new product, either by querying the need for it, or by saying that they will wait for the M10. They will damn the product and the company with faint praise, while at the same time muttering darkly under their breath. They feel, bizarrely that they are no longer "in the mainstream" and they resent it.

The M2... Did M3 owners gnash their teeth when it came out, I wonder...?

Finally, we really ought to spare a thought for the trailing-edgers - those who bought into the outgoing product just as the new one hit the streets. The adults among them will shrug and accept the situation - they bought the M8 recently because they could finally afford it, or because they felt that the time was right. They have no right to feel aggrieved because the M9 has arrived - but some do. There are actually people out there who are angry with Leica for bringing out a new product without warning...

...I'm glad I don't live in their world...

For me, I held off from the M8 for all sorts of good reasons. At times I have been made to feel like the man at the party who says that he doesn't like football - there must be something odd about him - he doesn't "get it". The M9 - full frame, no UV/IR filters, robust and well-thought through - is the digital rangefinder that I have been waiting for and as soon as someone hits the "Buy It Now" button on my Granny on eBay I shall be in the queue at my local dealer...

Bill

--o-O-o--

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

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

--o-O-o--

- 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.

Objective, subjective... selective...?

A lot has been written about whether or not a photographer can ever truly be objective in his treatment of a subject. Can a war photographer, for example, ever produce an image that does not have a bias of some sort? If they show soldiers celebrating a famous victory they can be accused of triumphalism, if they turn their cameras on the wounded and dying they can equally be accused of batting for the other side and undermining morale.

The first really media-savvy war of what could euphemistically be called "the present day" (i.e. during my lifetime...) was Vietnam. Photojournalists were given unprecedented access to the front lines. Reputations were made the hard way by men such as Philip Jones-Griffiths, Tim Page and Don McCullin. They found themselves, as young men, documenting the lives and deaths of other young men, going into battle alongside them in Hueys, armed with a Nikon or a Leica instead of an Armalite, but just as much in harm's way. For a flavour of the lives they led, pick up a copy of "Nam" by Tim Page. Don't just look at the pictures and read the words, feel the rhythm of the book - Page brings those days to life in a very personal way.

The saturation coverage backfired, of course. The US lost the war, not in the paddy fields of the Mekong Delta but in the hearts and minds of the people at home, who were fed, day after day, a diet of the horrors of war; US troops and Viet civilians alike ripped apart by explosive ordnance or flayed alive by napalm.

By the time the Falklands War came around, establishment attitudes, at least in the United Kingdom, had hardened. There was a recognition that open access meant that information could not be controlled; once the genie was out of the bottle it could not be forced back in and the "bad" would be shown alongside the "good". The government of the day were keen to keep things low key. Who can forget Ian McDonald, the MOD spokesman who appeared night after night on the BBC and ITN news, delivering carefully worded briefings in a wooden monotone? The very distances involved helped in the delay and censorship of images of course; if you are on a naval warship in the South Atlantic your options, back in those days, for getting your film back to shore, were strictly limited. It was the Falklands War that ended Don McCullin's career as a war correspondent - he was denied passage to the theatre of war, it is said, because Margaret Thatcher specifically objected to his ability to depict the horror of conflict. McCullin decided not to cover any further wars, but thankfully turned his lens in other directions.

During the Gulf War(s), journalists were "embedded" - a term that first found currency in the Iraq invasion. The military machine embraced those journalists along for the ride, swaddling them so tightly that they were again, stifled. The old saying about holding your friends close and your enemies closer was never more clearly illustrated. Today, in the Afghan conflict, there is no concurrent front-line reporting at all; "news" is stale before it is ever transmitted or printed.

All of this has had two effects; firstly, the coverage of such "events" - if war can be couched in such terms - has, except for a few honourable exceptions, become anodyne and detached - subservient to the establishment. Cartoonish images of smart bombs falling on baddies, interspersed with marginally less cartoonish animations of military advances and deployments replace real, eyewitness accounts and images. The low-tech Panorama sandbox filled with Airfix tanks of the Yom Kippur War has been replaced by the high tech Newsnight computer simulation, but it is just as detached from reality. The detachment serves to make the horror of war seem somehow less real, less threatening. Soon wars will come, like movies in the cinema, with ratings - "contains mild peril and threat" for a "police action" up to "extreme action and scenes of a violent nature" for a full-blown war.

The second, and equally worrying consequence is that photojournalists - indeed any journalists - are no longer seen as impartial observers, their actions of equal benefit to both sides. Rightly or wrongly they are seen as instruments of the state, reporting what they are told, and therefore as much a fair target as anyone else on the battlefield. The net effect is clear - the more photojournalists are seen as being directly in harm's way, the less they will be free to show what is clearly going on.

So can a photographer - can a photograph - ever truly be objective? subtext and message free? Independent of all that is going on?

Peacekeeper or warmonger...?


No.

I have looked at this primarily from the point of view of a war correspondent, because it makes it easier to illustrate the point, but the same principles hold true in other fields too.

Just picking a subject makes it subjective. Pointing your camera in a direction is a conscious decision. The longer you take on composition, the more thought you put into it, the further the eventual photo becomes. Even your choice of exposure - dark or light - and colour - or monochrome - puts your own "spin" on your output. There is no such thing as a "straight record shot" - the narrative that is in your head, conscious or subconscious, comes out when you press the button. The art is to recognise that and to channel it in your work. Every photo tells a story - just make sure it is telling the story you want it to.

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.

Sharp is not the only fruit

In the realm of photography, much is made of the merits of good glass. And quite right too. If you want a tack-sharp rendition of your chosen subject, with "perfect" microcontrast and no coma, flare, vignetting, spherical aberrations, etc., then, like so many things in life, you gets what you pays for.

Things are certainly better than they used to be, of course. These days, even the worst cheap kit zoom is better than the average milk bottle thanks to modern formulations of glass, computer aided optical design and better quality materials, assembled by "infallible" machines to tight tolerances. Zoom lenses in particular, covering wide- to tele- ranges that would have been unthinkable a few years ago can now be produced to a "decent" quality at a "reasonable" cost. There are few, if any, "lemons" that can still be bought new.

So.

If "decent" is within easy reach, why do so many photographers still spend staggering amounts of money in pursuit of the dernier cri in optical excellence? It's a fairly safe bet that many (though by no means all) of the pursuers are not sufficiently talented to make the most of the optical qualities of the glass that they aspire to - and in many cases buy. A clear case of the unjustifiable in pursuit of the unfocusable.

In general, the wider or faster the lens, the more expensive it is. The lens speed "arms race" has pretty well been won for now by Leica with it's superlative 50mm Summilux f1.4 and frankly incredible 50mm Noctilux 0.95. They are not the first to build a lens this fast, of course, but you can count on them being among the last of a dying breed - the purveyors of "quality at any cost". What I find hard to believe, let alone understand, is those for whom the 0.95 represents a "must have" lens regardless of the fact that they already have it's predecessor, the f1.0. Are they truly good enough to push this lens to it's limits, or do they just have an overinflated bank balance to match their overinflated egos?

But I digress... Let us return to sharpness.

Much is made on internet fora about the "need" to have the most up to date, highest performing lens to get the best out of the sensor/film. Much is made about the "need" to have something sharp enough to shave with in order to produce "worthwhile" images. Leaving aside for a moment the need for talent in the equation, the "sharp is best" school of narrow-mindedness ignores a whole world of options. The more worldly photographer views the lenses in his bag not in technical terms - Xmm wideangle, fnn tele - with more letters after it's name than a 1970's Ford (GTXLR, anyone?) but as a palette of possibilities, or perhaps more appropriately as a selection of "paintbrushes" which can be used appropriately, to make the most of the subject at the time. Ask not an experienced photographer (as opposed to an "expert" photographer...) how many lenses he has of different focal lengths, ask instead how many he has in his favourite focal length.

For my part, I "see" the world in 50mm terms. I have a (big) fast one, a (compact and collapsible) slow one, and some in between. Some are sharp, with the ability to resolve individual eyelashes at ten paces, some softer, giving a more "rounded" image. I carry and use them according to whim, destination, subject matter and expected light levels. I could probably achieve similar results with a single Summilux and some plug-in Photoshoppery, but where's the fun, the creative enjoyment - in that?

Taken handheld, with an Elmar old enough to be my grand-dad - better sharper?

...not to me.

My favourite 50 by far is an ancient and crispy 5cm Elmar f3.5. It first saw the light of day when Zeppelins were in the skies, Frozen food was a novelty and wireless was something you listened to the BBC on, transmitting from Crystal Palace in dinner jackets and brilliantine. It is a soft, low contrast, old lady, that renders out of focus highlights with a gentle glow, while at the same time giving a modern kit zoom a run for it's money on a sunny day. It is generations behind the current wonderkinds, but it still has a place. Above all, the older, less "perfect" lenses have that indefinable something that I shall, for the want of anything better, refer to as "character" - something that the more clinical "scalpels", for all their carefully engineered and computer-optimised perfection, lack.

No, sharpness is not the be all and end all. It has it's place, as does fillet steak. But who would want to live on that every day...?

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.
- I don't care how good it is, I'd want more than just a knife if I was in the Swiss Army.

Great capture!!!

WOW! What a great image!!! Phantastic Foto!!

...and so on.

Give me a break.

One of the unexpected and largely unwanted by-products of the internet age is the ability to comment upon the work of others in a simplistic and anodyne fashion. Flickr and other photo sharing sites are the worst, by far, but the pernicious plague spreads far and wide to otherwise sensible corners of the web. The almost hysterical shriek of GREAT CAPTURE! leaps from the screen like a pair of fluorescent chartreuse cycle shorts on a middle-aged sumo wrestler. It's the electronic equivalent of a "high five", or chummy slap on the back, and generally has the same tea-spitting effect as the latter.

Do other pastimes have the equivalent, I wonder? Do watercolourists run around each other in circles shouting WOOT! at the sight of a well-rendered landscape? Do quilters experience orgasmic glee when confronted by a particularly, er, well-filled, one?

Now, you will probably by this point be thinking of me as a bit of a curmudgeon. Why shouldn't people be encouraging (and encouraged), I hear you say. What's wrong with a bit of heartfelt enthusiasm?

There's the rub.

What's missing for me, 99.9 times out of 100, is the little matter of "sincerity". Let's dwell on that thought for a moment. The origins of the word give us a clue as to what it is all about. It is from the Latin, "sin cere", meaning "without wax". I understand (I wasn't there...) that an unscrupulous sculptor back in the days of the Roman Empire might use an inferior quality of marble, or cover up careless chisel marks, by using wax as a filler. This worked well as a cunning ruse to fool the unwary art lover right up to the point that their newly acquired household god, tasteful nude or priapic faun was hit by the warming rays of the sun as it streamed across the Aventine. The wax would melt, leaving our hapless purchaser with something that looked like a large tabby had sharpened their claws on it. The sculpture was revealed as not genuine. The real thing was "sin cere"...

A genuine comment, truly meant, is worth a thousand times more than something that has been cut'n'pasted a dozen times already in that browsing session alone. I swear that some people leave such comments like some sort of electronic paper trail, just to prove that they have been there. They are probably the same people who had "I-Spy" books as children, bought to keep them quiet on long journeys as they assiduously ticked off each type of lorry, tree, pylon or whatever. Big Chief I-Spy has heap much to answer for, I fear.

I'm not saying don't comment - but if you have nothing genuine to say, then I don't think I'm alone in saying that I'd rather you said nothing at all. If you have the time, the inclination and the mastery of your keyboard to use the q,y,i,o,s,d,f,h,j,k*,l,z,x,v,b,n and m keys in addition to those that go to make up that most empty of plaudits, please do so. The best comments are thought-provoking. They make the photographer look at their own image afresh, to see it with new eyes. The vast majority of photographers are terrible self-editors, who need all the help they can get to separate their wheat from the chaff. Thoughtless praise for mediocrity, lightly given, simply encourages more mediocrity.

Like it? Loathe it? Let me know. But DON'T say "Great capture!"

Original is here: Berlin

There is another dimension to this. There seems to be an almost paranoid fear of causing offense. Critical comments, especially constructive and well-composed ones, are so rare that the WWF are starting an appeal. I suspect that this is in part because it is easier to carpet-bomb with smileys than snarlys (Is that a word? It deserves to be). Constructive criticism, or critique, is HARD, because it requires TIME and THOUGHT. Those are increasingly precious commodities in the modern World, where Apple and Blackberry are now communication devices instead of something that goes well with crumble and custard.

So.

Please - comment away, but do so with your mind in gear, not your rubber stamp in hand.

Bill

*I'm assuming that you are not one of those who think it's cute to spell capture with a K...

--o-O-o--

- All images on this blog are copyright Bill Palmer and may not be reproduced in any format or medium without permission.
- This Blog entry has been brought to you by the Provisional wing of the Popular Front for the Promulgation and Preservation of Constructive Criticism.

Smart Metering?

Much has been made in recent weeks of the forthcoming introduction of "Smart Meters" for domestic use. Depending on the hue of your morning paper this is either a necessary thing (broadsheets) a costly thing (red tops) or a filthy communist plot to spy on our domestic energy consumption (The Daily Mail). All this hot air, however, has set me thinking about the a type of metering much closer to my heart.

Don't read this expecting a technical paper - these are (as usual) my personal views, based on the journey I have taken over the years.

Like many, I started off by really not understanding metering, beyond the basics of too much light = overexposure, too little light = underexposure. I relied heavily at first on built in metering (centre-weighted, of course) and aperture priority auto and gradually fumbled my way into a broader understanding of light and exposure. The greatest lesson I remember learning in those early years was that there is no such thing as "correct exposure" - there is only the exposure that gives you the end result that you are happy with. That may be too dark for some, too high-key for others, but hey, that's their problem.

The next thing that moved me forward was spot metering, combined with the use of slide film. Suddenly not only could I expose easily for the element of the subject that I wanted, but I could also see the end results as I indended without the well-meaning intervention of a spotty youth tweaking the processing machine in my local branch of Boots.

Not averagely metered...

Matrix metering - great if you are not very experienced, if you are feeling lazy, or if you are Keanu Reeves (you may of course be all of the above, in which case welcome, Mr Reeves, and when are you going to make a decent movie?) I have had various cameras with matrix metering or some variation thereon, and have generally found it to be akin to trying to get through the day wearing gardening gloves - I can still do what I want, but I cannot feel anything; subtlety is lost.

So.

That takes me full-circle. The scales fell from my eyes when I finally, after years of "I can't do that" excuses, I acquired my first totally manual, meterless camera. That was a Leica IIIc, which has subsequently gone on to new owner, but has been replaced in the proverbial gadget bag by a II and an M2. I rushed out and bought a hand-held meter (the tiny Gossen Digisix - accurate and easy to use, but with a frightening appetite for batteries.). I religiously metered each shot for all of half a roll of film, before realising that the reading did not change that often. I metered every other shot, then every 3 shots, then...

Freedom!!! My generally lazy nature combined with the realisation that I could guesstimate the majority of lighting conditions, and rely on the latitude of film allowed me to leave the meter at home. The feeling of walking around with a purely manual camera, adjusting exposure by experience and by eye and getting good results has to be experienced to be believed. Whole rolls of film slid through without a single exposure reading being taken. Sunny-16 became my friend, albeit in the UK at least, it is more like Sunny-12.

Real men don't use meters...

I've mentioned film already, and this is a key part of the equation. My camera food of choice is Kodak 400CN, a chromogenic film that means I can (still) get a 30 min high street dip and dunk and proofs to disc without too much hassle. I don't use anything else, so I have learned how this emulsion behaves under different lighting conditions and how far I can trust it.

But... here's the funny thing - although I can, I don't manually estimate, or indeed manually set, exposure on my other cameras. I am still happy to rely upon automation when it is available, even though I have tasted the fruit of self-reliance. Do I feel guilty because of this? No. No more than I do leaving my car gearbox in auto mode for 95% of my journeys. Sensible, non-invasive automation is an asset, but going "unplugged" is something special.

Bill

--0-O-0--

- All images on this blog are copyright Bill Palmer and may not be reproduced in any format or medium without permission.
- I'd rather have a week of Fridays than a month of Sundays.

Calm down, Dear, it's only a photo...

Photographers of every shape and size, amateur, professional, journeyman or craftsman are all as guilty as the average "creative" when it comes to occasionally taking themselves and their outputs just a tad too seriously. I blame Barthes, myself, and that Sontag woman. The problem starts when the "serious" snapper - that is one who takes their photography seriously, either as a hobby or a profession - starts to fret that they do not have a "personal style". HCB did, so did Chatwin, Weston and Adams. So does Rankin, O'Neill, Parr, Myerowicz, McCullin, Salgado - the list is endless.

"I have no recognisable style..." the panicky little inner monologue declaims. "I cannot be a proper photographer, I will not be taken seriously, until I have a recognisable style of my own." This pernicious little thought drives out any concept of learning the craft and letting a style evolve on it's own. Oh no.

The next "logical step" (for which read "hare-brained idea") is to work slavishly to become "the next [insert as applicable]". This leap of blind faith ignores an inconvenient truth - style does not spring full-formed overnight. and certainly cannot be adopted, like donning a suit. Those who our little lost photographer would choose to emulate built their instantly recognisable signature bodies of work over a period of years; their less polarised work has faded, either through time or assiduous editing, from the public consciousness. There is simply no short-cut to greatness, although there is a fairly easy footpath just over there that leads to mediocrity.

The other funny thing about personal style is that it tends to be structured and codified by those around you. For the most part it is their positive (and negative) feedback that encourages the photographer, like a lab rat, to understand that pressing the shutter on a particular camera, using a particular lens, pointing at a particular subject, in particular lighting conditions, results in his getting a "treat", and if he does the same thing over and over again, the treats (or plaudits, or work, or money) just keep coming.

Problems can also arise when inexperienced photographers try to run before they can walk and start to believe a little too much in their still slender abilities. "I am working on a project", they will say with a faraway gleam, or "I am building a portfolio" - just like the big boys. No they're not. They are taking lots of similar pictures in the hope that they might "hang together" in some sort of recognisable theme. At this point, the skill lies not in the execution of the image, but in the editing out of the also-rans. The photographer who declares his mojo found, his style settled, is fooling no-one but himself. No amount of Flickr slideshows or vanity publishing can disguise a lack of talent, ability, or self-awareness.

Don't get me wrong. It is very laudable to try to hone your skills, and to sharpen your eye. A good photographer works, if not with a pre-visualised idea of what he wants, at least with intent. Random snapping is not for him; he can go out with a single camera and a single lens, knowing that the shot he wants can be obtained with just that equipment. Instead of wandering, our boy follows a golden thread, exploring around and beyond it, but keeping one foot firmly on the path. He lets his subjects evolve, rather than trying to ossify and regiment them, safe in the knowledge that he has the skill and the vision to extract what he wants to draw out.

Just a photo. Anything you can "see" in it that relates to walking toward the light, or taking a journey, or striding out, is the product of your own fevered imagination...

There is another trap for the unwary. Not everything has to have a meaning or a reason. Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh and a photo is just a photo. No amount of jesuitical debate can bring three dimensional depth to a motif or subject that is inherently shallow. Images that are too weak or diffuse to stand on their own, and require explanation, or any captioning beyond a brief title, to "speak" to the viewer are by definition in and of themselves, mute.

Always remember, there is no shame in being an amateur (or jobbing) snapper. We can't all be first violinists - some of us have to push the wind through the trombone. Don't rush, and don't panic. Your style - if it is truly there within you - will evolve and emerge when it is ready, and you have the maturity and ability to let it come to the surface. In the meantime content yourself with the thought that you are still part of the orchestra...

...even if you are only playing the triangle.

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.
- If any of this makes you laugh nervously you are probably taking yourself too seriously. Put the project down, back away, go out and take some pictures.

The Invisible Man in the Street

Many who have tried their hand at "street photography" have surely, at one time or another, wished that they could find a Harry Potter-esque invisibility cloak at their local photo dealer, nestled in alongside the wibbly tripods, card readers and tobacco grad starburst filters. I say "many" rather than "anyone" because there are of course those who go out of their way to influence the scene before them. Like an old-school, tweed-suited wedding photographer, they will not be happy until they have stage-managed the people in shot, getting them to pose and smile. They are probably the same people who, as children, endlessly rearranged their Airfix 1/72nd scale commando platoon in height order by hat size. This type of invasive approach is "portraiture" in my view, not "street photography".

Those of you with a scientific background ( I know you are out there, I can hear your test-tube bubbling) will understand the "Hawthorne Effect" - a form of reactivity (it says here) whereby subjects improve an aspect of their behaviour that is being measured in direct response to the fact that they are being measured. In photographic terms, this is the equivalent of someone noticing that you are framing them up and pulling their stomach in, either voluntarily or involuntarily as a result, in order to make themselves "look better". In so doing they may very well no longer be as "interesting" as they were in the first place, and indeed may no longer be worth tripping the shutter.

So, in the absence of magic cloaks, what is the answer for the photographer who wants to capture life as it happens, without changing, or being a part of, what's going on? The natural coward has a couple of options - use a long lens (which is great if you are in a hide of some sort shooting wild birds, but is still likely to attract unwelcome attention if spotted in your local high street), or, in the finest tradition of the Wild West, shoot 'em in the back. The latter is not a bad technique per se, but if it is the only approach used it does call into question the photographers' motivation, let alone his ability to look people in the eye. No. Unobtrusive discretion is the keyword... er, words. Cartier-Bresson was a big gawky Frenchman, and he got away with it for years, so surely it can't be that hard.

Can it?

Then there is a whole school of thought that theorises that the size of one's equipment has a major influence on whether or not one is noticed. Whilst this may have some truth in the porn movie industry, it is far less relevant to the budding street snapper than many would like to believe. In all honesty, sticking tape over the red dot on your Leica is more likely to arouse curiosity of the "When did you break your camera?" variety. It does not make you look more "street" - it does make you look like an obsessive nerd with issues and too much time on your hands. Of course at the extreme there is a point at which your kit will get you noticed. One of those nice big white zoom lenses for SLRs with a front element the diameter of a Starbucks' super-grande soya latte are hard to avoid - I know, for I have been clouted by one in a crowd in the past.

My personal preference is to blend in, plant myself and keep movement to a minimum. Let the images come to me, rather than go seeking them like a demented ninja. Like any good fisherman you do have to choose what the military would refer to as a "target rich environment", of course - it's no good stationing yourself on a deserted country lane and expecting a decisive moment or two within the lifetime of the average snail. In a busy street the way the human mind works is that you will rapidly become part of the scenery. Even if you are wearing a yellow jerkin of the sort favoured by road-sweepers and lollipop ladies, this will be the case. You are there, and therefore you fade from direct consciousness.

You can enhance this effect by dressing appropriately. Going out in a "photo vest" and a pair of zip-off Rohan trousers, with a camera suspended around your neck on a strap that screams "CANON DIGITAL" in big friendly day-glo letters will make it that bit harder for you to convince people that you have just parked yourself there for a quick cappuchino and a biscotti. In general, people see what they expect to see, and disregard the rest. So if you are at Henley, a stripey blazer will help you to blend in. If you are in the City, a pinstripe suit will probably be more helpful, and so on.

There is also an interesting reverse effect, that relies upon what Douglas Adams christened the "SEP Field", where SEP stands for "Someone Else's Problem". Again, this is a bit of mental sleight of hand that relies upon the laziness of the human brain. People do not tend to look - really look - at certain types of people - "Big Issue" sellers, charity muggers, street workers and urban inhabitants in general. The ubiquitous yellow jerkin previously referred to may make you feel conspicuous when you first don it, but put on some old jeans, a tatty sweater, heavy work boots and said jerkin and notice how quickly you fade from people's consciousness. They will actively go out of their way not to make eye contact, or to "take you in".

There are two other factors to consider in our lexicon of unobtusiveness. Firstly, movement. In very simple terms, a jerky, rapid movement catches the eye, while a slow and deliberate one does not. Don't blame me for that - blame our cave-dwelling ancestors and your primitive "monkey brain". Ug and Og realised that a sabre-toothed tiger tends to move faster, and more belligerently, than a three-toed sloth, so their descendants are hard-wired to this day to notice, and react to, sudden and possibly threatening movements. Swinging your camera to your eye as if you are about to launch a grenade in someone's direction is far more likely to cause a negative reaction than a slow, gentle swing up to your eye and away again. I also have a theory, by the way, that people are getting more and more habituated to the mobile 'phone stance for picture taking - small device held in portrait fashion, up high at half-arm's length, peering at a screen - than a small camera raised to the eye. I have no scientific proof for this, but if you try it out let me know.

I think I was spotted...

Last, but far from least, comes the power of "assumed authority". Con artists rely on this all the time. If you look like you know what you are doing, and that you should be there, people will accept that as the status quo. Again, it relies on the laziness of the human brain - if it looks right, it must be right, and we will look no further. Try wearing a reasonably smart suit on a Saturday and standing still with your hands clasped behind your back in a branch of Austin Reed (or Brooks Brothers, for transatlantic readers). I guarantee that within two minutes someone will come over and ask if you have a shirt in a 14 and a half collar in the stockroom. Similarly, if you handle your camera about as if you know how to use it (I am assuming that you do) and make no effort to hide, or look even remotely furtive, you can get away with murder (and the shot).

My most extreme example of this was at a convention in Brighton for the most ardent followers of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer". I was there to shoot the fans, some of whom go to the most extraordinary lengths to dress and make themselves up as their favourite characters. Because I was dressed and looked like a security man's idea of a photographer rather than a fan I was not challenged when I unintentionally passed a "no-entry" sign and found myself in the presence of some of the stars of the show. I quickly asked them to pose, which they did without demur. I got off at least half a dozen shots before my lack of ID badge was noticed and I was politely asked to "buggeroff".

The pictures? Well, I would love to show you, but strangely enough, they were mostly blank. I suppose it must be true what they say about vampires...

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.
- Why do all cameras, on film or tv, sound like a Nikon F3 with a motordrive?

For...ummmm...

What is it about posting on internet photo forums that makes otherwise confident people turn into blathering jellies?

Picture the scene - I am sitting at home one evening when my 'phone rings. A voice says:

"Hello. I intend to buy a suit tomorrow. Do you think I should buy a black one or a blue one? And what about pinstripes?"

How should I know? I don't know the chap, I have no idea whether he is tall, short, fat, thin or purple with blue spots. Critically, I don't have an insight into his tastes.

Daft, innit?

So why do otherwise sane (big leap of faith, I know) people go on internet fora to ask total strangers whether they should buy a black or a chrome camera body? Leaving aside for a moment the practical aspects - black paint wears faster than chrome plate, for example - why would anyone think that someone else would have an aesthetic insight that could possibly relate to them? Do they spend their lives in a fog of eternal indecision, wondering whether to have tea or coffee? I think not...

...I hope not.

And another thing.

Why do so many people list their kit in their signatures? I don't mean a quick one liner, I mean a full inventory of every filter, flash lead and viewfinder that occupies their presumably enormous gadget bag? I have lost count of the number of posts that are shorter than their originator's signature. I used to have a mother-in-law (#1, I think) who said "the only difference between men and boys is the size of their toys". In that, at least, I think she had a point. I really couldn't care less how many lenses or bodies someone has. It neither makes them a better person nor gives them any enhanced right to be listened to, but some will persist in listing to the same level of obsessive detail as a ten-year old giving their home address:

15 Railway Cuttings
Chigley
Trumptonshire
England
United Kingdom
Europe
The World
The Solar System...

..and so on.

There is a similar "bragging rights" factor at work when the "Armchair CEO" pitches up. Often more interested in a camera as an investment rather than as a picture taking tool, the Armchair CEO has absolute certitude on his side. He has a lifetime of doing "stuff" in, with, or for companies and he is therefore ideally placed to "save" the unfortunate company that produces the object of his affection. Never mind that he has no access to the books, or that he has never worked in the industry, he and he alone (f0r it is always a he) has THE answer to the company's "problems". He will of course never research before pontificating and heaven help anyone who introduces inconvenient logic into the equation. The Armchair CEO is often congenitally unable to appreciate any point of view other than his own and struggles with dissent "in the ranks". He is also incapable of running any form of search to establish what has been said before. Either that, or he is sure that, if HE says it, everyone will realise how right he is.

Finally, we come full circle to the bag fetishist. They are closely related to those ladies for whom a new pair of shoes is a religious observance, and a platform is not something that trains arrive at. Never mind practicality, the bag fetishist is in search of that holy grail of camera bags - something that almost but not quite says "I'm full of cameras", but only in a language understandable by a select few. They want to be able to flaunt their taste and photographic wealth in such a way that they are completely invisible to anyone that might want to mug them for it. This group are probably responsible, single-handed, for the consumption of more server space than any other.


A bag fetishist's dream - look at all that shiny brass!!

Forum members all. Love 'em, hate 'em, but they keep the world spinning - and bag manufacturers in business.

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.
- Are Armchair CEOs answerable to a Side Board?

Rangefinding

I realise that I have been writing this blog now for some time without actually focussing (pun intended) on the personal trajectory that led me here, and to the name of this blog.

I am an unashamed user of rangefinder cameras, predominantly Leica. I use LTM (Leica Thread Mount) and M-mount bodies and a selection of lenses from 15 to 135mm and from Leica, Voigtlander and Canon. I appreciate that this makes me a member of a minority these days, all the more so since I continue to enjoy and use film. I have SLRs of course - there are some things that rangefinders do not do as well as cameras with a mirror prism - but in terms that Mr. Pareto would understand, they can do 80% of what I want, but only get used 20% of the time. In the words of a public service broadcaster, "other brands are available" but I use Leica because I appreciate the quality, heritage and inventiveness that the brand embodies.

Why? What is it that makes a Leica rangefinder camera my tool of choice? There are a number of factors. Some are mechanical, objective, easy to explain and to understand, but others are more subjective and ephemeral.

On the practical side, the rangefinder mechanism puts less between me and my subject. The camera is (often) physically smaller, and the view is more "immediate". The SLR view, even on the best and clearest, looks and feels more like a display screen, flat and two dimensional. The rangefinder image is more three-dimensional, to me at least.

Secondly, the SLR view is "WYSIWYG" - again, the best SLRs provide a 100% view of the subject - exactly what the film sees, and what will be translated to the film plane (or sensor). The Leica M series cameras, in their many variations, often provide a view wider than what the lens sees. This makes it easier to anticipate action and composition, certainly far easier than when looking down the tightly defined SLR "tube".

Thirdly, something to which I have already referred - size. This has two aspects; carrying the bulk and weight of an SLR and a brace of lenses on a hot day is not something I enjoy. Then there is the reaction of somebody who has a large black thing with a 72mm diameter barrel pointed at them. It is hard to do so un-noticed, and once noticed the very presence of an SLR can change the dynamics of the scene that you wanted to capture. A rangefinder is usually much smaller; both less obtrusive and less threatening. In the case of a small LTM "Barnack" camera (so named after it's designer) the reaction, if noticed at all, is more often curiosity or amusement - a much more photogenic result.

Enough of the physical aspects. One of the main reasons I take photos is simply because I enjoy doing so. It is simultaneously a creative and relaxing pursuit. I learned long ago the hard way that if I use a camera I don't feel comfortable with the end results will be lacklustre. I don't have to do this for a living so I have the luxury of choice. To me, using a rangefinder is instinctive, fun and tactile. Most Leicas work well for me in that respect. There are a few that don't, for one reason or another, and good as they may be it rules them out for me as day-to-day tools to use and enjoy. Later LTM cameras, that have the view- and rangefinder windows close together are one example. At the other extreme lies the M8. The benefits of digital are outweighed by the brick-like handling among other things.

Does using a rangefinder make me a better photographer? No, of course not. But it does make me enjoy the process of photography more, in the same way that using a fountain pen or a good quality propelling pencil makes writing more pleasurable than does a ballpoint. Both are capable of being used to capture thought and expression, but one is much more enjoyable to use than the other. For me, the pencil/pen analogy is a good one; the rangefinder camera is a bit old-fashioned, but it's use makes me more considered and measured. Just as my handwriting is better with a fine writing instrument, so my photography flows better with a rangefinder.

Sometimes it is not just about the end result - sometimes the journey - and how you make it - is of equal importance.

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.
- Is someone who doesn't like having their picture taken photo-sensitive...?