Great expectations...

Well, two years have flown by and another Photokina is upon us. The Techno-Tubbies and up-before-the-dawn Early Adopters have been wetting themselves with excitement for weeks at the thought of some tasty new bit of bloatware or “shiny thing”. The internet fora have been rife with onanistic speculation as to what would be served up to the eager faithful. With camera product cycles now measured in weeks and rapidly approaching something that would compare to the life of an average mayfly, the expectations placed upon camera manufacturers are now more unrealistic than a TV advert for mascara.

In order to feed this insatiable appetite for the novel, manufacturers are forced into unnatural acts of marketing hype. “Innovations” that would never have been deemed as newsworthy a few years ago are now trumpeted to the World with all the zeal of the Second Coming. Even the venerable Leica cannot ignore the “need” to feed. Unfortunately the NIRN (Need It Right NOW) Brigade, brought up on a diet of instant gratification – from mashed potato to fame – do not share the same planet as the Gnomes of Solms. Leica have always pursued a policy - either deliberately or through Teutonic indifference to the more excitable elements of society - of “never apologise, never explain”. Now this works if you are an absolute monarch, or an absolute bastard, but is not what sits well with the posters in the opinion-rich, patience-poor online communities to which Leica is both paramour and pariah.

The howls of indignant and righteous frustration that have greeted the announcement of the M9 Titanium special edition would put a cuckolded husband to shame. Never have I seen so many middle-aged men united in universal derision and condemnation of a product launch. You would have thought that Dr Kaufmann and Stefan Daniel had stood up and announced the joint development of a nuclear-powered electronic viewfinder M10 with Iraq and North Korea – the axis of EVIL itself – rather than a simple special edition. In the stream of thoughtless bandwagon-jumping vituperation few seem to have stopped to consider that this is effectively a "concept camera" a mule, or testbed for "new" ideas. The clever bit is that Leica are offering those with more money than sense the opportunity to own something limited to just 500 pieces worldwide. Leica have been offering luxury versions of standard models since the Luxus in 1929 - at least this is more than just some gold-plating and a lizardskin cover.

What did people expect? It is only just over a year since the M9 saw the light of day. The factory has been going flat out to meet demand, not only for that but for M lenses and the ugly duckling X1. The fact that Leica has managed to introduce anything significantly novel at all should be applauded rather than derided.

But no.

“...embarrassment...”

"...betrayal...”

“...ugly...”

“...obscene...”

“...unreal...”

These and many other brickbats have been hurled like so many cups and saucers in a domestic tiff. Messrs Mills and Boon will never run out of authors; all they need do is sign up some of the more waspish internet commentators and they will have an endless supply of melodramatic hissy fitters to fill their pages.

Don't get me wrong – Leica is not squeaky-clean in all this. Their biggest “mistake” (for which read “tactical error”) is not that they are not listening to their faithful followers, it is that they are not being seen to listen. Middle-aged men make toddlers look sanguine in their ability to pout, stamp their Mephisto-shod feet and hold their breath until they turn HDR-sky blue. Middle-aged men regard it as their God-given right to hold forth on their opinions and be listened to in rapt attention. It is a consequence of having nobody to order about now that their children are old enough to tell them where to go. Hell hath no fury like a middle-aged man scorned by the object of their affections.

And make no mistake, “affections” is the right word, It is clear that the wailing and gnashing of teeth is coming from those who feel that they have been cruelly betrayed by the love of their life. How DARE Leica not make a camera EXACTLY to their fantasy specifications? How DARE they make a camera that is more expensive than a diamond-tipped dental drill? How DARE they put that red dot on the front? It is only their corporate logo, after all. Do hip-hop chaps complain, I wonder, when Nike puts their swoosh on the side of their latest gym-shoe? I think not. The only reason the faithful take issue with a red dot on a titanium camera is because they know how hard it is to find titanium-coloured insulating tape.

At least they are trying to break out of the straitjacket of expectation and traditionalist inertia that is both their greatest asset and biggest millstone. Leica MUST innovate to survive, but they forever tread the unreasonable tightrope of expectation. In the past you didn't buy a Leica; you took it into your life, nurtured it and shared decisive moments with it. In time you passed it on to a new carer - a younger relative, or a stranger - and it lived on. But now we are in a new Millennium - expectations have changed, Leica must change - and so must its followers.

I shall continue to watch this soap opera with interest; the week is still young...

--o-O-o--

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

Rules are made to be...

...broken?

Maybe... But to be honest life gets a little tedious (and potentially truncated) if you spend all your time in nihilist mode. We all go through a teenage phase in which we rebel against authority - any authority - just because. Rule breaking can range from the subversive - graffiti, or leaving the toilet seat up when you go to visit Granny - to downright stupid - driving on the wrong side of the road, for example, or not wearing a seat-belt in Reading. Most of us grow out of it, unless we are middle-aged, male and the owner of an expensive camera, a demographic that appears to have ripped up the rulebook on tolerance and courtesy, particularly when participating on internet fora.

Blindly following the rules is however as counter-productive as a total disregard. Some rules are downright pointless, some are outmoded and some are simply stifling. Consider the "compensation culture" that came to its pointless peak under the last government. Rules were put in place in every avenue of daily life to mitigate often unquantifiable and statistically insignificant risk in order to avoid the attentions of the ambulance chasers. Unquestioning adherence to rules is for the unimaginative, the risk averse and the habitual wearers of an inordinate amount of beige.

Let me offer an alternative approach to the rule.

Rules are made to be understood and disregarded if appropriate.

This more enlightened approach comes with age and experience. When we are children it is a rule not to touch the top of the stove. We do not have the nous to do anything other than obey the rule, or we will be hurt. When we are older, we understand that the rule only has meaning within a contextual framework; is the stove hot or cold? Can I touch it for an instant without harm? These levels of subtlety - of interpretation - can only come by understanding the rule and then interpreting - over-riding - it when it is safe or advisable to do so.

Issac Asimov built a whole career as an author on writing three simple rules, and then finding ways and means to subvert and interpret them in an entertaining manner. His Three Laws of Robotics:

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2.A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

...are a case in point. Each "Law" is actually open to interpretation and subversion dependent upon context. Ultimately they can be bent, but not broken without terminal consequences. Thus, gravity can be defied, but never ignored. Exposure can be adjusted but not wilfully disregarded. F2.0 is F2.0, 1/1000 is 1/1000 and so on.

Today's techno-marvel digital cameras carry enough processing power to target a missile strike. But they are simply automata that blindly follow pre-set rules, partly defined by the laws of physics and partly by a team of programmers in the Far East. The photographer who places his images in the "hands" of his camera instead of taking control himself does so at his peril. It's a bit like those lorry drivers who find themselves wedged in a small village street having blindly followed their dashboard sat-nav. They have ignored the (sometimes literal) warning signs and simply let the machine take them up a blind alley.

Don't play with fire...


In the 1982 Star Trek movie, The Wrath of Khan, there is a memorable scene where the Enterprise is under heavy attack by another starship manned by renegades. Kirk, by now old and wily, uses a little-known command protocol to lower the other ships' shields before he delivers a decisive counter-attack. His explanatory line to a younger officer - "You have got to learn why things work on a starship..." is the perfect example of the benefit of applied experience over blind reliance on technology.

There is no harm per se in relying upon automated features as long as a) you understand what they are doing b) you know how they will behave in a given situation and c) you know how - and when - to over-ride and take direct control. The harm is in adopting the "fire and forget" approach, in which your only contribution to the process of taking the photo is being there and pointing the camera in the right direction. You may as well have acted as chauffeur for a mate who snaps in the direction you are pointing. Dumbing down only happens to those who are dumb enough in the first place to embrace without question the talent-numbing excesses of do-it-for-you technology.

--o-O-o--

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

T for three...

Ask any photographer about the three Ts and he will look at you blankly. And yet the three Ts – Talent, Technique and Technology – are contributing factors, in varying degree, to every photograph ever taken. Mastering the relationship between the three is key to mastering both one's equipment and oneself.

Let me explore each element in human terms. At one extreme we will find the Techno-Tubbies, whose unswerving devotion to the essential rightness of every technological advance is breathtaking in its thoughtless, naive simplicity. Bloatware bingers and feature-creepers to a man (and indeed exclusively male), many if not most are early adopters, eager to consume the latest and greatest even if it is barely teetering on the bleeding edge.

Technique is far less important than Technology, and Talent hardly figures at all. Why bother to learn the basics when you can rely on your whizz-bang, state of next-week's art, CaNikOny camera to do it all for you? Why concentrate on the essentials of getting a single shot right, when you can hose down your subject and pick the shot that works best? In the mind of the Techno-Tubby, quantity has a quality all of it's own, a bit like going large on your Big Mac – more must be better – mustn't it? Time spent at a location taking photos is kept to an absolute minimum in favour of time spent in front of Lightroom, Aperture or Photoshop, deciding on which shot is “best” and then “improving” it.

Our second group of extremists is the Techniquerats. To them, Technology is merely a tool and Talent something random, capricious and intangible and hence to be distrusted and downplayed. Like the Techno-Tubbies, they crave the newest and best, but only because it provides them with a platform to achieve a higher, purer state of nerdy Nirvana. The Techniquerats obsession is less with the tools and more with the sterile perfection of the end result. The Techniquerat spends hours poring over MTF graphs and debating which is sharper – a Global kitchen knife or a 50mm Summilux ASPH.

The Über Techniquerats of course eschew all forms of manufacturer or third party testing in favour of their own painstaking research, haunting hardware stores and stationers hunting down the optimum ruler to act as their unwilling subject in their quest for front (or back) focussing. Never as vociferous, as thin-skinned or as cocky as the Techno-Tubbies, a Techniquerat, if cornered, will adopt a pained expression and retreat to his shed with cries of “You just don't understand”

A splinter group of Techniquerats, the Bokeh Barons, obsess over out of focus areas, seeking the meaning of life, the universe and everything in each swirl and blur. The biggest frustration for the Bokeh Barons is that their particular fetish is in and of itself hard to quantify in objective terms so they are looked down on by the rest of the metronomically precise Techniquerat community. This causes them to sulk and to play with FSU lenses in fruitless attempts to prove them optically equivalent to Leica's finest.

Our third and final group, the Talent Scouts, are loathed and distrusted by the Techno-Tubbies and the Techniquerats in equal measure – and for good reason. The true Talent Scout lives in his right-brain to the extent of struggling with mundane and insignifiant matters like teabags, doorknobs and light-switches. Unworldly to a degree not seen since the glory days of Woodstock, the Talent Scouts make the capture of an eyeball-achingly beautiful image seem like child's play. It doesn't matter what camera they use – a Box Brownie, a Leica MP, a mobile 'phone or a webcam, everything is just – right.

A Talent Scout is always in the right place at the right time, blessed by lighting that Michaelangelo would have given Venus de Milo's right arm for. Every shot is pin sharp and perfectly exposed, except of course those that are deliberately and artfully out of focus or darker than an economist's heart. If you ask a Talent Scout what camera or lens or exposure he used he won't be able to tell you, simply because to him it really doesn't matter. Corner a Talent Scout and he really won't care.

Then there are the rest of us. The mere mortals that strive to balance all three sides of the equation in order to achieve an aesthetically pleasing end result. If we rely too heavily on non-existent talent, our images will turn out dull, uninteresting and as tedious to their audiences as a National Trust guidebook on the dry stone walls of England and Wales. If we overcompensate for our lack of talent with vast and expensive injections of technology we will end up with equipment that does everything for us including think. We will not learn, grow or improve because the technology will act as a crutch. Laziness will result, and will culminate in the watching of X-Factor catch-up shows on overcast Tuesday afternoons.

Consider for a moment the dubious benefits of “Auto-”; autofocus, auto-exposure, auto-iso, auto-color (sic), auto-levels, etc. Every element in an image averaged out, all randomness eliminated and with it all personality, verve, style and individuality. Or the levelling power of the burst-mode; no need to wait for the decisive moment, no need to concentrate, to observe, to develop a sense of timing – just put your finger on the trigger and pump away like an over-excited Bandido on Che's birthday. Pick the best later, eh, in the comfort of your own batchelor pad, with a Bud in one hand and a reheated pizza at your elbow.

The power of Three; keep them in balance, eh?

Technique – true technique – is something to be nurtured, practiced and perfected, and balanced with Talent and Technology. Learning how exposure works, either by using a basic camera or by turning your Hokey-Cokey 2000 to “manual” - is not just a liberating experience, it is a revelation. Learning to rely upon yourself instead of a faceless programmer in Osaka is part of growing up as a photographer and fulfilling your potential.

In the UK, at least, it is possible to learn to drive on an automatic car only. Your licence is truncated, what you can drive is restricted. You can only ever have the gears changed for you by a CPU. Never will you feel that moment of adrenaline-fuelled satisfaction when you time a gearchange to the instant, dropping down at just the right moment to maximise the power of the engine as you sweep through that challenging set of curves, clipping the apex of each and powering out to the next straight. It's the same with photography – the sense of satisfaction that ensues when you finally see the photo that you made all the choices on is far greater than that when you pick from the lucky-dip SD card the shot that is infinitesimally better than the five before, and the 28 after.

Finesse is an art, not a range of beauty products. Timing is a skill, not a menu setting. A moment is singular, not plural. The true photographer picks his moment, plucks it from the stream of time, visualises it in his mind and captures it in his camera because he has decided, then and there, that it is special, worthy of preservation and of later display.

The lesson is simple – everything in moderation, especially moderation. Balance the triangle of the three Ts and satisfy your inner photographer.

--o-O-o--

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

The weakest link

In today's mindlessly competitive world, a lot of rubbish is talked about what is the best... The best lens, the best camera, the best film, the best memory card, the best processing software, the best printer and so on. Internet fora thrive (if not exist) on this type of discussion (and uninformed speculation). There is a particular type of grown man who spends hours painstakingly photographing brick walls, newspapers, book spines and rulers to prove that the lens that they have spent a young fortune on is infinitesimally better (or unacceptably worse) than another. Similarly there are others who will blindly chant the sales straplines of their chosen "team" like the worst sort of football supporter. Insults and ad hominem attacks abound as the debate rages - Nikon vs Canon, Summicron vs Summilux, GF-1 vs EP-2, Sandisk vs Lexar, Aliens vs Predator, and so on.

There are three fundamental flaws in the vast majority of these arguments. The first is clear. "Best" is a relative, not an absolute concept, qualified and informed by the simple question "Best for what?". Context is vital, as is intended use. One man's best is therefore another man's "you must be joking".

The second flaw is more subtle, but clear once you focus upon it. Having the best of anything does not in or of itself deliver the best end result. This is of course nothing new - the realisation that "a chain is no stronger than it's weakest link" has been around as long as, well as long as chain. In photography, the optical "supply chain" has to be optimised just like any other. It's no good having the "best" lens if the film or sensor is not up to snuff. Similarly, the whole thing falls apart if you drop your films into the local high street chemist or or photo dealer currently offering "advice for life" (They don't, by the way - I asked an assistant in my local branch how I could eat more healthily and he offered me a Canon Ixus) or process your digital images with the freeware that you downloaded off a mirror of a mirror of a mirror site in Ulan Bator.

In business systems implementations, the current fad is to speak in terms of process flows; "Procure to Pay", "Hire to Retire", "Order to Cash", etc. Each flow is made up of a series of standardised and proven steps. Do a step well and the process is improved. Do all the steps well and the process is optimised. The same logic can be applied in the photographic world.

So. It's simple, isn't it? The image excellence flow is:

Lens=>camera=>capture medium=>post processing=>output medium

In fact, let's be more snappy and call it "Snap to Show". Optimise every one of these elements and everything will be fine.

Won't it?

No.

Because there are other contributory elements. You could be using an MP or M9 with a 50mm Summilux and if you stick a hokey-cokey filter on the front, or if you don't use a lens-hood you have compromised your carefully thought through Snap to Show flow at the outset. Similarly, step through all the other stages in good order and only show off your finest photos as "optimised for web" and you may as well be using a Box Brownie. One interesting aspect of this particular chain is that if you get it wrong at an early stage, there is little or no opportunity to get it right later. A poorly exposed negative, or badly captured file is a recipe for later misery; you truly cannot turn out a silk purse from a sow's ear.

Okay, let's say we've got those bits right... what else? Now it gets interesting. Having the best is not the same as being the best. The single most important influencing factor on the quality of your photos is you. Do you know how to handle your equipment, how to get the best from it? How do you feel? A bit hung-over? A bit out of breath from walking up all those steps, perhaps? Should you have had that second expresso at lunch? Looking a bit shaky there... Oops... It's started to rain - and you without a coat...

...and so on.

I'm not suggesting that photography becomes an Olympic event - Heaven forbid - I cannot envisage photographers the world over eschewing lie-ins, beer and cigarettes and embarking on intensive fitness regimes to compete to achieve the ultimate cat snap - but why put so much thought and money into the camera and lens then skimp on such a key element? There are easy things you can do - avoid stimulants, catch your breath before trying to handhold a shot - you are a basic part of the equation.

You see where I am going with this... EVERY contributing factor must be taken into account, it's virtues and drawbacks weighed up, and the decision made. The holy trinity of flexibility - portability - image quality cannot be ignored, otherwise we would all be carrying around large format cameras on studio stands, but each and every one of us has to decide what, and how much, to compromise to achieve the desired result.

It's all in the mind...



The last flaw is so basic, so elemental, that if you do not get it right you may as well throw away all your gear and buy a postcard. The most optimised Snap to Show flow in the World will not enable you to turn out a decent photo if there is a creative gap between your ears - if you are unable to "see" in the first place. A boring photo is a boring photo. It may be technically excellent, but if the subject matter itself is more tedious than a late night chat show on Belgian TV in August nothing will save you. It really is as simple as "Garbage in, garbage out". If you cannot see - or edit - to save your life, then it's true.

You are the weakest link.

Goodbye.

--o-O-o--

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

Tools for the job

Consider for a moment the humble bottle-opener. An unsung hero of the kitchen drawer, found in a million hotel rooms worldwide. Simple, effective and downright essential at times. It is basic, in a good way. Pared to it's bare functional essentials it is all that one needs to open a bottle. A shaped hole at one end, and a corkscrew that, more often than not, folds out.

Simple. It does the job.

Or does it? Type the words "bottle opener" into Amazon and you get an astonishing twenty-six thousand, five hundred and fifty-six hits. The cheapest is 49 pence and the most expensive (by Le Creuset) an eye-watering £99.00. Both will open a bottle, so why the difference? Why such disparity?

Manufacturing cost is one answer, of course. One is made of chrome-plated steel, the other of aircraft grade aluminium. Quality is a factor, as is aesthetics and design. But a bottle is a bottle is a bottle. It doesn't care if you use a high-end tool or something that you got free out of a cracker. Both are tools for the job.

It's a short step from bottle-openers to clasp knives. Another tool to do a straightforward job. You would think, wouldn't you? Consider the Opinel "No. 7"; a single blade, a simple beechwood handle, 9cm long. Then consider the Victorinox "Swiss Champ XLT" - 50 functions crammed into the same 9cm length. Both will cut things for you, from a piece of string to your finger, but they are worlds apart both in design and concept, quite apart from the fact that one sounds like a lipstick and the other a turbocharged Gruyère cheeseburger.

The Opinel is spartan in it's simplicity - no more than a sharp blade in a simple handle. The handle is organically ergonomic, offering a firm, sure and comfortable grip. The only "advanced technology" in the entire design is the simple locking collar that prevents the blade from closing on your fingers in use. It is simple, light and will last a lifetime. The Champ is on the other hand the exact polar opposite in concept and execution. Weighing in at a pocket-straining quarter of a kilo, it is packed with features and functions, ranging from a large blade to a toothpick, via assorted screwdrivers (flat and cross-head) torx bits, wood and metal saws, a fish scaler and disgorger and of course a "pharmaceutical spatula".

The two tools represent extreme approaches to the same requirement - the provision of a portable tool. Whilst it is true to say that the Champ offers by far the more functions, it does so in a heavy, unwieldy package that sits uncomfortably both in the pocket and in the hand. Have you ever tried to use a Swiss Army Knife for more than a minute or so to cut through something? The corkscrew digs into the palm of your hand. Great when you have a break and want to open that bottle of Chateau Lafitte, but bloody annoying when you are cutting through one length of carpet after another.

The Opinel on the other (less sore) hand does just one thing and it does it extremely well. It is a knife. It cuts things. If you want to cut things (as opposed to scaling fish) it is by far the better choice.

And that brings me to camera design (you knew I would get there in the end...) Consider the Opinel as a Leica M. It fits in the hand like a glove. It's basic design has remained unchanged for over half a century. It does what it sets out to do, without compromise or digression. It does not have autofocus, face recognition (nay, not even Pentax's pet face recognition), or HDR. It eschews little-used features in favour of giving the experienced, confident photographer what he wants - a tool to do the job.


"Leica" vs "Canon" - simplicity vs. stuff...

You can manage aperture, shutter speed and ISO; balancing the three will result in a correctly exposed image under most circumstances - all you have to do is point the camera at the right thing, at the right time and press the shutter at the right moment. How hard is that? Consider now the Champ as a Canon or Nikon DSLR - large, heavy, a "master of all trades" - albeit you need a jack to lift it. It doesn't quite cut boxes as well as a box-cutter, nor cut wood as well as a rip saw. It isn't quite as good at pruning roses as secateurs and the pharmaceutical spatula is very hard to sterilise, but what the hey, it's ALL IN ONE!

Mediocrity of design reached it's apogee in the 1980s with the myriad of jellymould designs that followed in the wake of the Ford Sierra. For a time 90% of the cars on the road looked the same - half-melted metal boxes. The designers claimed it was because form followed function - this was the result of wind tunnel testing to achieve the best drag co-efficient. But it was BORING and counter-productive. Over time diversity reared it's beautiful head once again and cars today are again easily differentiated from 50 feet away.

Canon, Nikon and the rest produce fine products that aim to be all things to all men, provided those men have the patience to read through a 300 page manual (actually the theory falls apart right there, doesn't it?), have the biceps of a bodybuilder or a live-in chiropractor. Leica produces pared-down, minimalist cameras for photographers who know how to use a camera.

Simple.

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.

Humble

No, not in a Uriah Heep way.

Humility is a rare commodity in middle-aged males. We have spent years cultivating an air of omniscient superiority second only to politicians, or maybe Bible-belt preachers. We KNOW we are right; we KNOW we are good at what we do, and we KNOW women find a 0ne-pack irresistible, otherwise we would all look like Arnie...

...that's why it comes as a shock when one realises that one is confronted with evidence of one's own mediocrity.

Well, maybe mediocrity is too strong a term, but it is a sobering experience when it is graphically demonstrated that in one's chosen pastime there are those who can knock out a snap that makes anything you can do look pedestrian.

I am currently editing the Leica User Forum Charity Book. This very worthy project has already raised over seven thousand pounds for an international cancer charity, AICR. The idea is simple; members of the Leica User Forum community have been invited to submit up to three photos of their choice in one of a number of categories - effectively the chapter headings. Each entry "cost" the entrant ten pounds to the charity; a maximum of thirty pounds in all. The first surprise was those who donated more - in some cases much more - than the required sums; I am honestly proud to be a member of the human race at times like this.

The second surprise was the sheer volume of entries; over 600 photos to choose from, and whittle down into the 140-odd that would make it into the final version of the book. A team of sub-editors, every one with a better eye than my own, worked hard for weeks to make their selections.

The third surprise is the eye-searing, jaw-dropping downright stunning quality of the final submissions. For weeks now I have been downloading them, one by one, in full-size file format for insertion in the book. I am therefore privileged to be the first to see the photos selected for the book in all their glory.

And glory is not too strong a word. I am truly humbled (you knew I would get to the point in the end) by the quality of these photos. Images from all around the world, captured using cameras from the latest state of the art M9 all the way back to 50+ year old Barnacks. Images of people, of events, of landscapes, architecture... Images of the world, and of how we live in it today. There is not a duffer among them.

Every year I buy a copy of the World Press Photo Yearbook - I have them going back to 1993, the year my Son was born. My idea is to give them all to him on his 21st birthday - a unique photographic record of the world that he has grown up in. The Charity Book - this book made up largely of the work of of passionate amateurs, of hobbyists, of those who view photography as a pastime rather than a career, will take a similar place on my bookshelf.

It is a book of snapshots, and in so being, a snapshot of the world in it's own right. I am honoured to have instigated it, and humbled to be a part of the project.

This will be the first entry to this blog that does not have an illustrative photo. There's a reason for that - nothing I have is good enough to illustrate this topic.

When the book is ready to be purchased, I will let you know. Please buy it; not just because every book sold raises more money for AICR, but because you too can see what I have seen - true quality.

It does the soul good occasionally to be reminded - even as a know-all middle-aged man - that you do not have all the answers. Most, maybe - but not all. It will certainly make me think - and hopefully raise my game - the next time I raise my camera to my eye.

Bill

--0-O-o--

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

Tiger, Tiger burning bright...

Change.

A six letter word. Surely that makes it 50% better than a 4-letter word... or is it 50% worse? What's your gut reaction when confronted by change? Do you embrace it, or shy away? Do you see it as a good thing, or bad? Or does it not touch you at all? There are many types of change - climate..., small..., ...for the better, ...for worse. How we react to change is a measure not only of our own stability and confidence, but our own mutability, and the extent to which external events can touch us within.

This is a time of change for me. I have already changed cars; in the next week I shall also change job, phone, email - each in itself is not a major thing, but added together, the faff factor is significant. But am I bothered?

No.

Quite the contrary. This change has been a long time coming; it's time has come and I am both ready and eager for it. Those of you who have asked - or wondered - about my avatar, follow the next bit carefully; the 14th of February is the start of the Chinese Year of the Tiger; my own sign. The following day I start my new job. Tiger years are years of change; they pass in a whirlwind of activity. You either run like the wind, or get blown away by it. I intend to do the former.

Which will you do?

Hold that tiger...


I was on a course once, which addressed personality types in meetings. The presenter made it simple for us. He explained that there are only four basic types of behaviour to watch out for:

The Tiger - knows how to play the game, and plays it;
the Owl - knows how to play the game, but chooses to sit back and watch;
the Donkey - thinks he knows how to play the game, and tries to do so;
and the Sheep - doesn't even realise there is a game, and becomes a plaything for the others...

As in meetings, so in life. Some play the game, some spectate, and some are the ball.

So what does all this have to do with photography in general, and Leica photography in particular?

Good question. Give me a moment...

...only joking.

There was a massive upheaval in the world of Leica last September - 09/09/09, to be exact - when the M9 hit the streets. The first full-frame digital camera, it caused a minor riot. Pent up demand exploded, and as I write the waiting list is measured in weeks if not months. The evolutionary dead-end that is the M8 was deserted in droves as the early adopters vied with each other to be the first kid on the block with the new shiny thing. Those who embraced change led the charge, while others sat back, happy with what they had, unable to afford (or justify) the expenditure, or simply unconvinced that the M9 was really the sine qua non.

What has been surprising has been the extent to which we have seen the armchair CEOs and kitchen-table designers pour scorn on the M9. There have been a number of voices raised expressing dissatisfaction with the new Leica, and "designing" the M10 already.

Why?

I think that there are two reasons. First is a "disappointment" - the M9 did not go "far enough" for some. These are the same people who want the M10 to more closely resemble a Canon DSLR than a Barnack. Their philosophy is simple - "newest is best" and anyone who disagrees risks being branded a "Luddite". Change cannot happen fast enough for them; their greatest frustration is that they are not driving the pace. "The Disappointed" run the risk of throwing the baby out with the bathwater; there is genuinely a faction that believes autofocus can be added with minimal upheaval. Their answer to the "Luddites" who do not want it is that it can be turned off.

Yeh right.

The second group is more complex, more nuanced, in their thinking. These are those who will always say that they are waiting for the next thing, because it is safer than embracing the current change. When the M10 comes out they will assiduously justify why it isn't quite what they need, and why they will be saving their pennies for the M11. On the surface, they look like The Disappointed, but they are even harder to please - we will call them "The Dissatisfied". Their expressed frustration for Leica not having delivered what they want is just the tip of the iceberg. Their entire lives will be characterised by a general feeling of unhappiness with everything they own and encounter - nothing will be quite good enough, nothing quite up to their standards. They resist change by calling for more, more more - and never quite getting there.

Change is a fact of life. You can embrace it, become part of it and shape it, or you can resist it and like the rock on the seashore, eventually get worn away. Change is not to be feared, but does have to be understood and guided. If you ignore it, you cannot complain when the change affects you in a way and at a time not of your choosing.

So, whether you say Gong Xi Fa Cai or Gong Hey Fat Choy, in this, of all years, ride the Tiger of change - don't let him ride you.

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.

Hell, no, we won't logo...

I was buying a new car recently and I was asked if I wanted it "debadged". I'm aware of this "service", of course - a bit like having your hair cut or liposuction it is one of the few services in which you pay more to walk away with less - but it has always slightly mystified me. I have no particular desire to hide the model of car I am buying, so why bother? The salesman smiled. "Very well Sir", he said. and was going to leave it at that.

Out of curiosity, I asked him what sort of customer said yes. His answer was an interesting object lesson in reverse psychology. It seems that debadging is most popular with those buying base models. They opt for it so that they do not have anything on the back of their cars that declares they have gone for the cheaper option. The irony is, the salesman continued, that it is for the most part only those buying base models who choose to debadge - those who can afford the top of the range have no issue in "flaunting it". Thus, he pointed out with a certain degree of schadenfreude, if you see a debadged car, it is almost by definition equipped with cloth seats, small wheels and a socially inept owner.

This led me to thinking. One of the stranger sub-plots in the world of Leica is the desire to eliminate the red dot; remove from the front of the camera that which proclaims most loudly that you are using a high-end piece of photographic equipment. There are regular threads on fora seeking views on the best tape to use, or the best means to eliminate not just the dot but also the white lettering. Gaffer, duck, duct, insulating, etc - all have their adherents (sorry!).

So what is going through these people's minds? The most oft-expressed desire is to make the camera more "stealthy"; to present a more ninja-like face to the world. The theory goes that the red dot catches the eye and the "decisive moment" is lost.

Bollocks.

What catches people's eye is a 160-lb bloke dressing like Action Man night-stalker, making sudden movements as if he has mallards in his underpants and waving a camera in their direction. The red dot, or lack of it, has no bearing in this situation.

Let's move on to justification #2 - "I don't want to attract the attention of thieves". In this case our taper has moved to a specific class of people by whom he doesn't want to be noticed. That red dot just SCREAMS money, doesn't it?

Bollocks (again).

The average street thief is a) opportunist b) unaware of the Leica price list c) not choosy. A camera is a camera. The thought of someone initiating a mugging and then saying - "oh sorry, mate, didn't realise that was a Niktax 3000P - thought it was the far more valuable 30xls. Sorry to bother you, mind how you go..." - is not really credible, is it? A camera is a camera - it is something you have, that they do not, and something that they can sell for money. It's that simple.

Red, and proud of it...

Sooo... Justification #3 - "I don't want to be seen using an expensive camera to shoot poor people." ...I love this one. Anyone who follows this philosophy really shouldn't be allowed out on their own. Let's turn it on it's head - a great way to test any argument - "I only want to be seen shooting poor people with a cheap camera." - Well, let me put it this way; if I were pushing a Lidl trolley along the embankment, dragging my cardboard after me and swigging from a meths bottle and two photographers approached, one with a cheap disposable, and the other with an M9, I know which is more likely to catch my good side - that's the one without the suppurating sores and alopecia. If this is truly an issue to you, just stick to shooting the sort of still-lifes and landscapes so beloved of Amateur Photographer - nice, safe, anodyne and completely non-confrontational.

...and that brings me neatly on to justification #4...

Aesthetics.

Yes, aesthetics matter. And to some extent, this is the one justification with which I have some sympathy. Here's my confession - I don't like logos. If a company would like to pay me for advertising their product, I will gladly do so, but I am neither famous nor high profile enough to be sponsored, so that isn't going to happen.

I had a splendid dispute with a car salesman (yes, another one) a few years ago. I was buying a Land Rover Discovery; the Series II model that still had the spare wheel on the back door. Now, I object to advertising a dealership, so asked politely for a plain spare wheel cover. Not only was this request refused (I later bought one myself) but also my request for no cover at all; I was told that the Sales Director would not allow a car to be driven off their forecourt without a suitably tacky cover shouting their name.

In the event, and having nearly cancelled my order, I came to what I saw as a suitable compromise; I collected the car, complete with stencilled cover, drove it all of one yard across the forecourt, got out and removed the offending article, before frisbeeing it up on to the showroom roof. It described a graceful arc, and settled somewhere highly visible but inconvenient. The salesman smiled - his responsibility was discharged - and my vehicle was no longer a 4x4 billboard.

But that's one thing, and easily dealt with. I would never dream of buying an article of clothing that proclaimed "Nike" or "O'Neill", or any of a number of other brand names. I may be a Bill, but I am not a board. However, I have never let a logo stand in the way of ownership either. I have never bothered about having "Olympus" or "Leica" on a pentaprism, and I am not about to start now. It is an integral part of the design, an integral part of the product. Nobody removes the Spirit of Ecstacy from a Rolls Royce, so why worry about that little red dot?

For those to whom it really matters, there is one simple alternative - buy a Leica old enough not to have the dot - suddenly all your problems are solved. Ok, it won't be digital, but for many who seem to care about such ephemeral matters, I have a sneaking suspicion that it won't really matter - it's all about appearances. After all - who actually takes pictures with anything other than a cameraphone these days...?

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.

Tag, you're it...

I have in the past few days learned all about the joys of "Geotagging". For the uninitiated, this is the process by which you can augment the EXIF data of your photos with the physical location that they were taken. Small, relatively cheap GPS receivers are used to track your travels and the record that they keep can then be combined on your computer with the images that you have taken (usually by means of timestamping) so that you can append the co-ordinates of each photo.

That's the theory - great, isn't it?

When I first heard about it, my Inner Geek got all excited - the propeller on the top of his head whirred so fast he nearly took off. A new shiny thing! A new means of enhancing the joys of photography! I can RECORD where I took each photo! I can, within a few tens of yards, say EXACTLY where I was standing! Inner Geek immediately started conducting internet searches for Geotagging gizmos. Prices were compared, baskets were added to, complete with free postage.

Then my Inner Pragmatist rubbed his chin and chimed in with an awkward question.

"Why?"

Inner Geek froze, his spiny fingers just inches from the wallet.

"Pardon?"

"What will you use it for?"

Inner Geek excitedly rattled off the rationale. Inner Pragmatist shook his head.

"No. What will YOU use it for...?"

Inner Geek sagged, and shuffled back to looking for the best deals on Babylon 5 boxed sets.

Now don't get me wrong. I can see a multitude of applications for professional, technical and commercial uses. The ability to provide locational information - or proof - would be very useful in many situations, including stock photography.

What I cannot quite get my head around is the unseemly excitement this technology seems to generate in otherwise sane photographers of a certain age. It seems to be the self same men who would not dream of stopping the car and asking for directions but are happy to let the mellifluous tones of an in-car satnav direct them the wrong way down a newly one-way street. I think it is the same phenomenon that leads to the wearing of those fancy Breitling emergency watches by those who never go further out of their depth than the bathtub. "The big boys have it so therefore I must have it too!"

Me, I use a Moleskine - no batteries, no chargers, no upgrades, no wi-fi, no SIM, no bluetooth, no firmware, no fixes, no GPS, no calibration, no hassle. Multifunctional, always on, compact, fits in a pocket or a corner of your bag, there when you need it, interfaces seamlessly with pen or pencil...

...and you can use it during take-off and landing...

It's all I need - seriously. And it is all that 99.9% of us "need", if truth be told. There is a simple pleasure to using a map - a paper map, that is - and marking it with a pencil. There is enjoyment to be had actually writing about a location rather than just double-clicking it on a screen. A couple of years ago I went to Seville for the first time. No photo, no exif data, no tag could bring again to mind the smell of the orange blossom in the same way that my notes - made at the time, in a pavement cafe - can.


Old-school "geotagging"...


Finally, there is one other aspect to geotagging that bothers me - the invasion of privacy. This has many facets - many of which are distasteful at best, and downright dangerous at worst. Imagine as geotagging becomes more mainstream, the mayhem that will result when the first mistress is tracked to her back garden by a wronged and embittered wife. Or the first battered ex-wife is tracked down by her abusive ex-husband from the embedded data in an otherwise innocent snap on Facebook... Imagine the consequences when the whistle-blower in the witness protection programme has their new life blown apart.

...it goes on.

The genie is out of the bottle, I know. Pandora has nothing on Panasonic. We cannot retreat from this latest "advance" - and no more should we - but we can be circumspect about it's use and cognisant of the risks...

...can't we?


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.