Narrow your horizons

Here's a little thought-experiment for you to start with.  Apart from "family", how many of your "serious" photos have you taken within half a mile of your home?  Roughly, in percentage terms...

I'll wager it is a low number.  A very low number, unless you have a home studio or the like.  Most of us shoot while out and about, either because we have gone out to take photos, or have taken photos while we are out (there is a significant difference, but more of that another day).  The interesting thing about this thought experiment is that it doesn't matter where you live - you could be in the centre of the most fascinating metropolis on the planet, you could open your front door onto the Grand Canal in Venice, or you could be in the midst of the moors - habituation gets you every time.

Our Wikipedia friends define habituation as "...a form of learning in which an organism decreases or ceases to respond to a stimulus after repeated presentations".  You can't fight it - it happens to us all.   It is the same phenomenon that partly drives addictions - that quest for an ever-greater "high", whether that be an armful of heroin or a new camera (Gear Acquisition Syndrome or "GAS" is real, and causes considerable wallet pain.) In context of where we live, we stop seeing our immediate environs and treat them as part of our life furniture.

So here's thought experiment number 2.  How often do you actually walk out past the end of your drive or your front gate?  Many of us - though admittedly not all - can actually say seldom, because we get into the car parked on said drive and motor off to our destination.  It's convenient, easy and in many respects it isolates and insulates us from our immediate surroundings - we only ever see the next road and the road after that through our windscreens, never through our viewfinders.  Try this - how far away from home are you after five minutes behind the wheel of your car?  Two miles?  Three?  How long would it take you to walk the same distance?  Half an hour?  An hour?  The modern car is a wonderous thing, but like many other "advances" it detracts from our perception of the world immediately around us.

End of the road...

I recently spent a week or so unable to drive, following some minor surgery.  I was restricted to sitting at home, or going out for a walk with a camera; the latter won.  I have lived in the same area for going on 15 years now, but with a fresh eye and a narrowed horizon I saw more in that week than I have in the seven hundred and fifty-odd that preceded it.

My operation also forced a double-whammy on me.  It was to my right shoulder, so I could neither carry any great weight, nor hold a heavy camera to my face for any length of time.  I was thus forced by circumstance to "travel light".  In order to do so I chose to use a Fujifilm X-M1 mounted with a Fujinon XF 27mm f2.8 lens.  Even with a handgrip and a thumb-rest attached, this combination tips the scales at very little more than 500 of those modern gram things.  With an APS-C sensor in a tiny body, Fuji have reduced functionality from their more upmarket models but not by any means the quality of output.  Equally, the 27mm, with a focal length equivalent of a very useful 40-41mm is not only a good match but an under-rated and handy lens reminiscent of the 40mm Summicron from Leica and the 40mm Nokton from Voigtlander.  The lens and body combined brings back happy memories of using an Olympus Trip - and that is praise indeed.

The Whovians will enjoy this one:

...and this

I have bought an X-M1 twice, as it happens.  First of all as a backup to my X-E1 then when I acquired an X-T1 and replaced the X-E1 with an X-Pro1 three X mount bodies seemed a little extravagant, so I sold it on.  Then more recently I realised that a small, lightweight but capable backup to whichever of the X-Pro and X-T I was carrying as my main kit did in fact make sense, so...

What has surprised me - although it shouldn't if I had thought about it - is what a good little setup this is for street photography.  The 55.5 degree angle of view is ideal for urban action and set to manual focus, zone-focussed to 7-10 feet at f8 or thereabouts, the X-M1 and 27mm combination is a good 'un.  For years I have used Leica M and LTM for such endeavors, with a focal length between 35 and 50mm, ISO 400 film and Sunny-16 as my guide and I am happy to say that I can use the Fuji in the same basic way to good effect.

Pardon?

One advantage that I hadn't expected comes in the form of the "fly by wire" focussing of the 27mm.  Not only can I opt to have it turn the same way as my Leicas, but I have "discovered" (durr...) that turning the camera off and on does not effect the focal distance set; this is a boon to someone like me who drops the camera back into a bag and out of sight every so often.  Where it loses out is that I can't adjust focus by feel as I could with my Leicas before I brought them to my eye,  particularly with those lenses with focus tabs like the old 5cm Elmars.

Cast off those earthly underpants...

Anyway, enough of the kit chat.  The key point of today's "sermon" is that we are frequently exhorted to "broaden our horizons", seek new life and new civilisations (sorry, couldn't resist) and get out there to take our photos. The reality is that sometimes, just sometimes, it can give you more of a creative kick to narrow those horizons down to just the places you can easily walk to from home, with one small, lightweight camera and a single focal length lens.

Try it - you may be surprised...

f8 and Be There

There aren't too many of us who have pockets large enough to walk about with a large format view camera upon our persons. By the same token almost everyone has a portable telephone that can be used to take pictures (even if it can't be used very well to make calls). They probably represent the extremes of photographic portability (I'm not counting here the wheelie-bin full of lenses, laptops, lighting and latte-makers that studio work demands). Both are trade-offs. One for quality and the other for Angry Birds.

The demise of the compact camera has been forecast for some time now, as more and more compromise and settle for the shampoo commercial approach to photography - "Take two image capture devices into the streets? Not me!" I do believe there continues to be a niche for a high quality compact camera that handles like a compact camera and not like a frozen slab of raspberry panna cotta. I have long said that I will take portable telephones seriously as an image capture device when they start showing up with tripod sockets but even I cannot fault some of the photos that come out from the likes of the Nokia N8 and others.

They are not cameras though, any more than a Swiss Army knife is a kitchen tool. It can do many of the tasks that you need in a kitchen but you would not use it to cook day in, day out because it is a compromise and an uncomfortable one at that. The last bastion of the compact camera is and will remain for some time the "high end compact". This has always been a rarefied and slightly odd niche, populated in years past by companies such as Rollei with the 35 and Contax with the T series. Everyone jumped on the bandwagon at some time - who can forget the Nikon 35ti and its beautiful dials? They were designed to be as much expressions of wealth as picture taking machines - nobody who used a gold Rollei 35 could ever seriously describe it as the easiest camera they had ever used to take a snap of their Persian cat...

The current crop is all digital, of course, and there are some crackers out there. The Canon G11 and Nikon P7100 represent the "prosumer" end of things - cameras that are big and complex enough to be almost as capable as their big DSLR brothers while still being portable (perhaps "luggable" is a better term). Leica has the D-Lux 5 and Panasonic its LX sibling while Olympus have the XZ-1. All are well thought of and all have zooms large and small.

Then there is Ricoh... They appear to follow their own trajectory, largely untroubled by such niceties as fashion and the latest trends. I was a Ricoh user many years ago, when they produced a quietly excellent SLR called the XR-X which took Pentax lenses. Today I already own a GXR with the M-Mount module that allows me to put Leica LTM, M or R lenses in front of an APS sized sensor and snap away to my hearts' content. Recently and as a result of my experiences with this setup I also acquired a GR Digital III. This is the penultimate expression of a line of cameras that echoes back to the film-consuming GR1 and continues with the recently released GRD IV. I picked my III up cheaply due to its having been superseded, at least in the minds of the marketing men and the early adopters for whom the next shiny thing is their sole raison d'etre.

Right from the early days the GR and now GRD line have been characterised by two key attributes - small size and a 28mm lens. The computation of that lens has changed over the years but there is still a striking family resemblance from first to last. Oh, the other defining characteristic worthy of a mention is the quality of the output, easily belying the size of the unit. The GRD is small, light and discreet. In use it reminds me of nothing less than my Leica II - almost instinctive to use and capable of punching well above its weight in all but the most exotic of company.

One of the simple joys of the GRD is its black and white performance. It really does produce outputs reminiscent of film. We don't all want to render the world all the time in razor sharpness or in shortbread tin hues and the little GRD is ideal for those who are more concerned with the image than their image. I am sure that the more recent GRD IV is better in all sorts of interesting ways but the III works for me.

Which brings me to the point of today's sermon. I have a number of cameras, all in regular use. If leaving the house on business or pleasure I always pop one into a pocket, a briefcase or a bag. Over the years my "camera I bring when I don't want to use a camera" has varied from an Olympus Mju-II to a Rollei 35, from a Yashica T4 to a Contax T2, from a Minox B to a Leica D-Lux 4 with a few others along the way. Today it is the Ricoh. It is not a Leica, it is not even a Nikon, but it is more than capable of acting as my visual notebook. If I had not been carrying it the other day I wouldn't have got this shot. If I hadn't got this shot I wouldn't have felt moved to write this piece.

What goes around...

--o-O-o--

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

New lamps for old...

Ironically, I started this blog with a review, and here I am a couple of years later writing another. The world has moved on, however, and now I am writing about a different concept, one that did not exist when I started.

I have recently acquired a Ricoh GXR in anticipation of the introduction of the M-Module A12. This module allows the mounting of Leica M (and other) lenses to the Ricoh body. An interesting concept that, if it lives up to its promise, could offer considerable scope and flexibility not to say a new lease of life for older lenses. The GXR itself has been around now for about 18 months, with a small set of dedicated "Lensors" - lenses and sensors combined into a single "dust free" unit. The GXR system is not cheap, and the four Lensors thus far available have themselves been quite pricey. The GXR concept is intriguing, but for a long time has looked like a solution in search of a problem. The GXR body is rugged and well-made and by all accounts designed by photographers for photographers but it has enjoyed only modest sales success in a market that seems awash with mirrorless interchangable compacts - Micro Four Thirds and others - from Sony, Samsung, Olympus, Panasonic, Nikon and now (amusingly) Nikon. Against that backdrop the Ricoh has been seen as innovative but just a bit odd - a bit like Saabs used to be before they were assimilated by GM.

The GXR kit I picked up came with the 28-300 lensor (I added the VF-2 viewfinder soon thereafter). This little setup is a competent but frankly lacklustre "travel zoom" that produces ok results but nothing to write home about. Ideal for slipping in a pocket and handing to a waiter in the beach restaurant to catch that snap of you and your loved one partly hidden behind unfeasibly large cocktails. Honestly, if this was all there was to the system the answer would be no. The two prime lenses (28 and 50mm) come with bigger sensors and are reputed to be a lot better, but I have neither tried them nor intend to.

I rummaged around looking for a UK price for the module and ended up visiting my friendly neighbourhood local "crack dealer". London Camera Exchange in Guildford has been my primary source for all things Leica for many years, both new and secondhand. The manager there knows me and was more than happy to give me first dibs on the first M Module that he was able to get his hands on. A week or three later the phone rang and I trundled over on a sunny Saturday afternoon with a bagful of lenses.

It was busy as usual in the shop but one of the staff handed over the box and they left me to it. First surprise, the Lensor once attached prompts you through a firmware upgrade - none of that sticking a file on an SD card and loading it up. The upgrade gave my GXR body the necessary changes to menus etc to accommodate the M Module. It fits like a glove, of course, with a bulge that doesn't appear on the other Lensors which actually adds to the handling. My first, hurried shots in and outside the shop were what you would expect - crap - but good enough to show promise. Card details were provided and I walked out with another of those brown cardboard Ricoh boxes that looks as if it has been recycled from old cereal packets - very green, very now.

Apart from the Lensor, the box contains a sheaf of instruction books and stuff and a little bit of plastic that resembles one of those drain sieves that stops bits of carrot from blocking the U bend in the kitchen. This neat device is actually a "lens gauge" that allows the user to check if their lenses will mount without fouling the sensor. First (but not unexpected) disappointment - my three collapsible lenses, 5cm Elmar, 50mm Elmar M and 90mm Elmarit, cannot be mounted and collapsed - c'est la vie, but a shame since two of that three are my favourites.

Lenses that do mount, I am here to tell you, do so with a satisfying snick - there is no play in this mount. So far I have tried it with a range of lenses from Leica, Zeiss and Voigtlander and have yet to be disappointed. M Mount lenses fit and perform of course, but so do LTM (Leica Thread Mount, or Screwmount, or "Barnack") lenses such as the tiny 3.5cm Elmar and the 15mm Cosina Voigtlander Color Heliar. No accessory viewfinders needed, of course, since the view, on the rear screen or through the Electronic Viewfinder ("EVF") is WYSIWYG (TTL). I have tried it so far with focal lengths of 15, 28, 35, 50, 60 90 and 135mm and have yet to observe any significant vignetting, darkening or colour shift at the corners.

You notice I listed 60mm in there - that's not M, but R... I have three Leica R Mount Elmarit lenses - 28, 60 (macro) and 135mm - that I have already converted with Leitax mounts to use upon Nikon bodies (in my case an FM3A). With the addition of a Novoflex "Lem/Nik" converter from the nice people at SRB Griturn, they can also be mounted to the M Mount and thus the GXR body. The same would be true, of course, of any Nikon AI, AIS, AF or AFD lens although you could not mount the G lenses with this combination without losing aperture control. (By the way I initially tried a "cheap" mount that I found on eBay. It was looser than a footballer's morals; the lens drooped from the mount like the "before" metaphor in an impotence advert. The Novoflex, on the other hand, is tighter than a 10th generation Scotsman's sporran clip; proof of the old adage "buy cheap, buy twice"...)

So, I have a single platform that is able to take any Leica LTM, M or R mount lens (with a litttle prior adaptation). I can use glass from the 1920s to 2011 with a modern, APS-C sized sensor. As a backup this is ideal, but it also has advantages as a primary system under certain circumstances.

So, what's it like to use and does it deliver the results?

We all get there, Sonnar or later...

The most important thing for me is that this combination allows the character of each lens to come through. I have chosen the lens "palette" that I have for good reasons - each performs differently and delivers a different rendition. The GXR sensor does not get in the way but instead delivers a faithful result. Each focal length is multiplied by 1.5x, of course but in practice this is workable and certainly won't come as a surprise to those who come to the GXR from the M8, M8.2 or Epson R-D1. Where the little GXR scores over the M8 of course is that it doesn't require UV/IR filters, let alone dedicated viewfinders for the wider focal lengths. That, coupled with the ability to take lenses of greater than 135mm focal length, starts to add up to a compelling package.

Handling takes a little getting used to. The need to grip the body while manually focussing the lens means that one has to think about where to put one's fingers... Initially I found myself regularly pressing buttons on the rear with my right thumb - irritating, but soom remedied with some self-discipline. Larger lenses are heavier, of course, but not unduly so. The offset tripod socket may be a little irritating, however and for lenses larger than the 135mm Elmarit R I think I would be happier with a tripod mount on the lens rather than relying upon the body.

Focussing is via two different Modes - much has been written about these already from a technical standpoint so I will focus (pun intended) on the practicalities. Mode 1 provides a "marching ants" white dotted outline around anything within the plane of focus. It offers the advantage of maintaining a "natural" view of your subject, in colour (if set) but is not that easy to use, particularly in very bright or low light. Mode 2 provides a monochrome view that again highlights the plane of focus with whiteness but this time against a grey background. Although less "realistic", I find this easier to use in all conditions. A half-press of the shutter release gives you a normal view and I find myself toggling between the two easily. For critical focussing applications it is possible to enlarge the view, either as a central "picture in picture" or filling the screen. I have tried this but don't find it particularly useful. Focussing close up with the Macro Elmarit is particularly interesting with Mode 2; it's easy to rock back and forth and watch the plane of focus wash across your subject until it is were you want it to be.

Overall, how easy is it to focus? Here is a very subjective, very personal league table - you may be able to relate to it, but then again, maybe not...

• M2 - simply the clearest of all
• MP/M7 - mine are both .85. My MP only has four framelines so is marginally clearer than the M7
• Contax RX - about the best film SLR I ever owned
• Nikon FM3A with R lenses
• M6 "classic" - I've had a couple of .72 Too many framelines for my taste
• Epson R-D1
• Ricoh GXR with M Module
• Leica II
• Leica IIIc
• Olympus XA
• Panasonic LC-1 (Digilux 2)
• D-Lux 4
• Olympus E-P1 with M lenses

So far I have not had the time or opportunity to do much more than scratch the surface with the M Module. All of my shots have been test shots, with no "soul". I'll address that in the weeks and months to come. For now, you can see the fruits of my experimentation here, together with a bit of "camera porn" that shows a number of lenses mounted, either directly or with the Novoflex adaptor.

So... the verdict so far is a qualified but approving thumbs-up. The GXR system comes of age with the M Module and it will be fascinating to look back in about 12 months time and see what has developed next. For now, the GXR has a firm place in my kit bag. It does not replace my M or Barnack cameras but it augments them well and gives my Leica glass - all my Leica glass - a strong digital platform.

--o-O-o--

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

Tantric Photography?

What (or indeed who) springs to mind if I say “tantric sex”? (No sniggering at the back there...) For most people of a certain age, in the UK at least, it is Sting and Trudie Styler. Sting was once famously quoted as saying that the couple enjoyed hours of tantric lovemaking. An image was conjured up of Mr and Mrs Sumner lying intimately entwined in a protracted state of ecstacy, each on the brink of a wardrobe-trembling climax, holding the same position for ages in order to prolong the moment until, when it – and they – came, it provided the ultimate high. This slightly disturbing image was shattered forever years later when in another interview, Sting confessed that the hours of tantric sex alluded to actually encompassed going to a movie, followed by a decent dinner and a bit of begging on his part.

Seldom has an illusion been cruelly and totally shattered; women the world over sighed and resigned themselves to forever muttering “No, its alright, you tried, you couldn't help it” and men smirked in the confirmation that their sexual stamina was not going to be compared unfavourably any more to that of the great Mr Sumner.

Which of course brings us, as you knew it would, to the world of photography. Since the dawning of the Age of Digital (AD) photographers have become hopelessly addicted to the siren lure of instant gratification. In the past, the only way to hold the image in your hand shortly after exposure was to invest in a Polaroid camera, film or back. The slightly ridiculous looking act of shaking the print worked the necessary chemical magic and in moments you could find yourself holding the end result. Of course the great advantage of the instant camera was cutting out the middleman – the processor – and hence keeping your sordid little snaps to yourself. It was said that Edwin Land, the inventor of the Polaroid camera refused to include a self-timer in any of his products in order to dissuade their use for immoral purposes.

Whatever.

The reality was that Polaroids were a niche product, and it wasn't until digital image capture really took off that instant photography came into its element. Suddenly you could take a photo of granny and show her the immediate result (bifocals permitting). Suddenly you could fire off a snap of kids in the street (PCSOs permitting) and show them the immediate result, to their delight (assuming they didn't try to up their ASBO count by stealing your camera). Above all, suddenly you could take a photo and see for yourself if it was blurred, poorly exposed, or just plain crap.

Enter the “chimp”.

I don't know who first coined the phrase, but they had clearly spent time observing both apes and humans; perhaps on the same zoo trip. “Chimping” perfectly describes the act of snap-check-snap-check-snap-check that the inexperienced or insecure indulge in. Some risk repetitive strain injuries as they whip their heads up and down. No thought is given to the very real risk of missing what is going on now while checking what has happened in the immediate past. Chimpers, in effect, spend more time living in the past than capturing the present. The hunt-peck, hunt-peck action is actually reminiscent of an inexperienced typist – maybe the eponymous chimp was one of those employed to knock out the works of Shakespeare...

Back to the plot. The problem with instant gratification, as is well known by anyone who has succumbed to the lure of a bag of sweets, is that a moment of pleasure is followed by an anticlimax. The moment has passed, and the only way to recapture it, to get that high again is to have another

and another...

and another.

Before you know it you feel both mildly nauseous and forever dissatisfied. Instant gratification has devalued the experience for you, reduced it to a ho-hum norm. You are engorged and unhappy, and worst of all, a suspiciously porky looking Jamie Oliver is contemplating visiting you to make an infotainment programme pour encourager les autres.

As with bags of sweets, so with digital photographers. Just before the mighty SD card swept all before it, the high-street processors battling for your business were offering ever shorter turnarounds on your prints of little Tarquin and Tasmin. Modern machinery such as the Fuji Frontier series reduced an already rapid one hour service to 30 minutes, then 20 and in some cases 15. I don't know about you, but I struggle to drink a cup of tea in 15 minutes let alone dip, dunk, develop, print and cut to CD. At one point you could walk into some branches of Sainsburys, drop your films at the dry cleaners just inside the door and receive a text to tell you your snaps were ready before you had even got past the cake ingredients – well, certainly long before you got to the wines and spirits.

Queen once released a song called I Want It Now. This elegant bit of pomp-rock could have been penned as the theme tune to today's cash-rich, time-poor, need it yesterday consumers. The entire concept of patience being a virtue has been devalued to the point of parity with the Zimbabwean Pound.

The nearest I get to phallic symbolism...

And therein lies my point. In sales, there is a concept rather unpleasantly but graphically referred to as “the whores dilemma”. In simple terms this states that there is no point in asking for the money after the product or service has been provided; the act of provision has in effect reduced if not eliminated your customer's willingness to pay for something that is already in their possession. The immediate availability of the image on the back of the digital camera reduces both the enjoyment of “rediscovery” hours or days after the event and the likelihood of the image ever being printed at all. At best it may be shared with “m8s” on Facebook, at worst it is consigned to a computer hard-drive or never taken off the card at all. The print, on the other hand can be displayed, passed around, touched, felt, put in a drawer, forgotten then rediscovered months or years later. It can be written upon, front or back, or stained with tears of sorrow or joy. It exists, therefore it is.

Call me old-fashioned (it wouldn't be the first time) but the instant nature of digital photography has impoverished the photographic experience. Tantric photography is as much about the journey as the destination; tantalising expectation is part of that journey. Sometimes it is truly better to travel than to arrive.

And sometimes you should seek to prolong, not just preserve, the decisive moment. Try it – think Tantric. But please don't stand so close to me...

--o-O-o--

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

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

--0-O-o--

- 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.

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

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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.
- 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

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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.