Anatomy of a Shot - Letchworth

Great Bend at sunset

I had scouted this location the evening before, having made the shot you see here. Since the view is to the east I knew it would be much better at sunrise, although this version stands up well on its own. I arrived a good 45 minutes before the sun was up to get in place and have everything ready. Given the very high dynamic range of the scene (bright sky, dark foreground) I knew one exposure was not going to cut it, and in fact three was barely enough to record the range of light in the scene. As many of you (or the few of you who read this) may suspect this is an HDR image composited from five exposures. (I am a fan of HDR as a process, but I don't like the HDR "look" that is so prevalent these days). The sky was so bright relative to the foreground that I also used a 2-stop soft graduated neutral-density filter, something I carry in my arsenal but rarely use these days. The low light and smaller aperture necessary for depth of field meant that the entire time required to obtain five bracketed exposures was several seconds. Fortunately there was little wind this particular morning, otherwise things would have been much more difficult.

I always shoot in RAW, so on the processing end I converted each RAW file to a 16 bit TIFF file and then ran them through Photomatix to obtain the HDR image.

While this was a somewhat technically difficult shot, it by no means was unusual. Shooting at the edge of light often requires these steps.

Here are the particulars:

5 exposures, separated by one stop (-2, -1, 0, +1, +2)

f/11

focal length 24mm

ISO 250

You can never go back (and sometimes that's a good thing)

Last week my wife and I had the occasion to visit Houston, our former home of ten years. It was my first time back in over four years. Living in Houston never agreed with me, it's nothing against the city, just contrasting personalities. Good things did happen while I lived there, however. I met my wife in Houston, and it is also where I learned photography. I am self taught (which probably sometimes shows), and I largely learned my craft taking photos each spring of the wildflowers in the ranch lands between Houston and Austin. For that reason that area will always be special to me. At work I was known (not among the bosses) for contracting what I called "bluebonnet fever" each spring, taking a sick day here and there to go and photograph the wildflowers. Such dedication to my job. A model employee.

On this recent visit we were able to take a drive and visit former photographic haunts. I didn't bring my camera with me, but we did have my wife's new Nikon 1 J3 ILC (interchangeable lens camera). Below are two photos I made with this camera, my first wildflower photos in six years. With no tripod I was limited in what I could do, but they came out nice nonetheless. ILC cameras are the new rage, offering DSLR (or near DSLR) quality photos in a much smaller camera body.

Coreopsis

Bluebonnets

My wife came across a greeting card still in circulation that has my photo on it.

All Work and No Play...

If there are rules for blogging (and there no doubt are), I imagine the first one is to have a clear and specific idea of which to write about. To hell with that, I say. I've had a couple of things on  my mind recently, photographically speaking. Consider this a train of thought type of post, rambling perhaps, but hopefully interesting nonetheless. Quite possibly not.

It has been 6+ weeks since I last tripped the shutter on my camera, the longest drought I've had for some time. The reasons are varied: time of year, work, the holidays, etc. Over the last few years I've noticed that my mood largely hinges on one of two things happening, and those are either making great pics or selling them. And as wonderful a feeling it is to sell a photo, there is nothing quite like the satisfaction and fulfillment I get from making a great image. It's been a long time since that has happened. Yes, I have had success lately selling photos, and that's all well and good, but the creative side of me is starving. Surliness is settling in. The fall colors are long gone, but the snow has yet to fly. The outside world is varying shades of brown and gray. Ugh. I'm beginning to feel like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. The cats are getting worried. They should be. And the forecast for the next week holds little promise for snow. What is a landscape photographer to do? The answer, of course, is to have patience. In the meantime I will continue to focus my efforts on the marketing side and wait patiently for the snow. And try not to kill the cats.

Moving on. Over the years I have sold a fair number of photos, either to individuals or in the publishing world. From a sales standpoint, this photo of Calumet Island has without a doubt been my most successful image ever. Had I known this when I made the image I would have been incredulous. This is an image I came very close to not even making, but since I was there and had some time to kill I thought why not. To my eye at the time it was nothing special. And yet a few years later it has sold repeatedly and continues to garner attention. At my exhibits this photo has always been a standout. Weird. It is ironic that an image that I put little effort into and almost didn't even bother to make has become my most popular. The obvious lesson here is that as a photographer one has no idea what photo will resonate with people. I actually don't make all that many images when I'm out in the field, not bothering to trip the shutter unless I feel it's a scene truly worth capturing. And I can be very lazy when it comes to photography, or anything else for that matter. Quite often when I'm out in the field I will have, thinking I am done with a location, collapsed my tripod and put the camera away, only to find another scene that catches my eye. Out of sheer laziness I have at times eschewed capturing the scene because that would require re-setting up the tripod (takes all of ten seconds) and getting the camera out. Heaven forbid! This image is a reminder to just take the damn photo, one never knows.

Measuring Oneself

Autumn colors adorn the banks of the West Branch of the Ausable River

I'm a very good landscape photographer. There, I said it. Don't hate me. I don't believe I'm being conceited or arrogant, just giving myself an honest assessment. There are times when I think I may even be better than most. Other times not. But I know one thing for sure: I'm not the best. Now, I know you're probably thinking, "No Chris, you are the best!" Right? Right?! But I know that's not true. I'm not the best. I've always known this, and I'm sure it will always be the case. But knowing it and accepting it are two different things. I thought I had accepted this fact, but as it turns out not really.

Being secure in my talents as a photographer has been tough this year, more so than any year previous. The reasons are not entirely clear to me. Part of it may be due to the fact that at this level improvement comes in tiny increments. It's easy to see improvement early on, when there is nowhere to go but up. It's easy to improve on nothing. But now it's getting harder for me to see improvement in my art. I look at the images I made this year and think that I could have easily made them two years ago. Where's the growth? Couple this with the discovery of a few extremely talented photographers in my region and the voices of self doubt in my head begin to get louder. Yes, I am hard on myself. But better that than have delusions of grandeur. It's the only way to get better.

I was in the Adirondack Mountains a couple weeks ago, and my first evening there I was sharing the summit of a mountain with another photographer. The whole time he seemed to be shooting entirely different things than I was, and my first impulse was to think that he was seeing something that I wasn't, that I was missing something. That his photos from that same vantage point were no doubt going to be better than mine. I have always struggled with this insecurity when sharing a location with other photogs. And I wonder if it was just me or was he also pondering the same things, experiencing the same doubts. I'm inclined to think not, as I never caught him glancing my way. He was lost in his art, which is where I should have been. After a while we began chatting and as it turned out we knew who each other was through Flickr, which was pretty cool. I complimented him on his excellent photography; it was not returned. Damn him. We expressed interest in seeing each others photographs once we returned home. Honestly, I'm afraid to look at his photos from that afternoon, worried that my fears will be realized. Ridiculous perhaps, but understandable.

Where am I going with this blog post? I have no idea. I don't have the answers yet. I just thought it might be a help to those other photographers out there who suffer similar insecurities to know they are not alone. You are out there, right? Right?!

Waiting For Perfection

I've noticed a trend this past year with regards to my photography that has been causing me some consternation. Simply put, I'm finding pleasure in the results and the images I produce, but not so much in the process, which is troublesome. If I'm not enjoying the act of photography, then why bother doing it? Then it would be like work, and I certainly can't have any of that. More often than not lately, my time in the field has been rife with feelings of anxiety and frustration, mainly because I'm not getting that "perfect"light. It doesn't take a genius to see that going in with that mindset is setting oneself up for failure, and falling far short of a genius it's taken me longer than I would have liked to recognize this.

Recently I read an article in Outdoor Photographer by Scott Mansfield in which he states that he shoots at any time of the day and makes the most of what the conditions offer him. This runs contrary to the approach most photographers take. Generally speaking, most landscape photographers shoot during the golden hour, that magic hour surrounding sunrise and sunset. There are some photographers who rarely if ever shoot during the middle of the day. I'm not that rigid, but the vast majority of my photos are from sunrise or sunset. This entails a period of waiting around for the light to happen, followed by an anxious flurry of picture taking as the light continues to quickly change. Mansfield takes a different approach. His creative process entails arriving at a location at any time of day in any type of weather and making photographs. There is no waiting around for the light to change or anything like that. He believes that there are always good photographs to be had, no matter the place or time of day or the weather. My approach lately has been exactly the opposite. I have a predetermined idea of the light I want at a particular location and then wait hours, days, sometimes weeks for that light. Ridiculous! Mansfield's approach allows him to be spontaneous and free, whereas my approach leaves me shackled by the constraints of preconceived notions and ideas. After reading the article I decided it was time to change my philosophy. No more waiting around for perfection.

Moss Lake Outlet

I applied my new found wisdom this week on a one day trip to the Adirondacks. I arrived mid afternoon on a beautiful, sunny day and immediately set out on a hike around Moss Lake. The sun was high overhead and the lighting a bit harsh, not the ideal conditions I normally wait for. This time I pushed those thoughts aside and just decided to see what I see and make the most of that moment in time. The photograph you see here is a result of that mindset. It's not the most spectacular photo I've ever made but who cares, it's plenty nice enough and it's what nature was offering me at that moment. The time I spent hiking around the lake was the most relaxed and joyful photography experience I've had in a long time.

Lost

I spent the better part of last week in the Thousand Islands. While I stayed with my parents, who are retired and now live up there, the primary purpose of the trip was photography. As I am active in selling my work in the area there is a need for me to produce at least a few new photographs each year. The paradox, however, is that while the Islands are my favorite place, it is at the same time my least favorite place to photograph. There are several reasons for this, some simply logistical while others go deeper.

While growing up my best friend's family and mine would rent cottages for a few weeks each summer on Hill Island, which is on the Canadian side of the river. Without a doubt those were the happiest times of my life, and I'm sure my friend would agree. It sounds cheesy to say but it was simply magical. Shear unadulterated joy from sunup to sundown. Trying to recapture and experience even a fraction of that feeling as an adult has proven elusive. The reasons are obvious and not unique, a consequence of age and circumstance. A classic case of you can never go home. But it's more than that.

After I developed my passion for photography I resisted for years taking pictures while in the Islands. Doing anything professionally (or aiming for that) always results in a certain loss of innocence. I no longer take pictures solely for the sake of taking them. There is a business need now that makes it at times feel more like work. I'm quite certain professional golfers regard golf as work more than a game. It is their livelihood and as such requires endless practice and carries with it even more pressure. While growing up the Islands were a place of play and relaxation, I was reluctant to taint that with the pressure of having to produce beautiful photos of the region. With time my passion eventually got the better of me and I embarked down that road.

Driving around one evening last week with camera in tow I felt that frustration of being a stranger in a once familiar land. Sure, the lack of good light and consequently no worthwhile photos was part of it. Getting great shots always makes me feel better. But in this case I wanted something much more elusive than a great photograph. What I really wanted was to go back to that simpler time, sitting on the granite rock warmed by the afternoon sun, the smell of pine in the air, looking out over the beautiful St. Lawrence River, feeling free.

The Lost Channel, as viewed from the Canadian Span

Hot Blogging Action

Yesterday I received a text from my good friend Ashley, asking (telling) me to "Update your damn blog, I'm waiting to hear about your trip to Shenandoah!". Well okay then, I guess I better get on it. I've given thought to blogging about that trip, but have always found something better to do, like staring at the wall. Truth is, I'm rather ambivalent about blogging, for two reasons. First, I'm not convinced anyone but those closest to me actually gives a crap what I have to say, and secondly, I'm a far better photographer than writer. If you want to read truly excellent blogs you need to check out those of my two best friends. Brian actually is a writer, and has both a daily (roughly daily) blog that is insightful, funny, inspiring, thought provoking, and a thousand other adjectives. Check it out at http://bgfay750.blogspot.com/. He also has a blog of his excellent prose poetry, http://schlabotnick.blogspot.com. For any of those who are fans of The Bloggess you need to check out my friend Ashley's blog at http://andthatswhenshesnapped.wordpress.com. Too funny. A great writer and a great photographer to boot. Damn her.

As for my trip to Shenandoah, there's really not much to say, aside from that it was a great trip. How's that for creative writing?  I prefer to let my photos do the talking. I highly recommend visiting, as national parks go Shenandoah flies somewhat below the radar. Far less busy than its cousin, the Smokies.

Pre-dawn light over the Blue Ridge Mountains of Shenandoah N.P.

In two days my wife and I head for the Canadian Rockies for a week, the last of three trips this spring. I've been fortunate to visit three extraordinary and vastly different locations in as many months. As an artist (I cringe when I call myself that, I don't think I'll ever be able to believe it) inspiration is the fuel behind our creations, and prior to these trips I was running low on that fuel. Seeing and photographing new and different places has stoked that creative fire.

Music was a huge part of my life while growing up, and whenever a favorite artist would put out something different from their usual work I would get confused and angry. What are they doing? Why mess with a good thing? How dare they! The most famous example of course was Bob Dylan going electric, pissing off legions of his fans. I'm not a Dylan fan, but you get the idea. Of course I now realize that as artists we have to continue to grow and try different things. At a recent social event I was asked what was my favorite type of scene to photograph. Until recently I probably would have said streams and waterfalls. But now I feel I've been there, done that. Not to say I won't ever photograph them again, I'm just taking a break. I did shoot a few waterfalls in Shenandoah, but only because I felt I needed to for marketing reasons. The lack of excitement and inspiration I was feeling shows in the photos, at least to me. They are technically and compositionally sound, good enough for publication, just not special in my eyes. And when it comes to our creations, no one's eyes are more important than our own. After I return from out west I hope to find that inspiration once again, this time closer to home.