Thursday Tips: Working With What You Have

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Photography, Tips

I know that many people think that a successful artist needs to demonstrate a given style, and perhaps that’s true, but in the world of nature photography I feel that if you must reveal a style (and I’m not at all sure that you do, but that’s a topic for another day), it’s important to do so within the confines of the setting. That is to say, a successful nature image should let the scene reveal itself through the style and technique of the photographer. It is, then, a symbiotic relationship; it’s not about imposing oneself on the natural world, literally or figuratively.

Allow me to illustrate my meaning through an image that was made during my recently concluded trip to the Canadian Rockies.

I was in Mistaya Canyon, in Banff National Park, and was a bit frustrated. I like to shoot in settings like this one—a fairly deep canyon, with a rushing river running through it—in even light. But, for a variety of reasons which are ultimately beside the point, I found myself there mid-afternoon on a mostly sunny day. I kept seeing pleasing compositions that just happened to be poorly suited for the lighting conditions that were present because there were distracting hot spots all over the place.

The ideal solution to the problem would have been to return at a time when the light was better suited to my intentions, but that wasn’t possible—it was my last day in the area and I had several other locations I wanted to visit before the end of the day. So rather than cursing the darkness (or in the case, the light), I decided to light a candle: I turned my attention to intimate scenes that were lying entirely in shade. While this eliminated a good number of compositions from consideration, it ratcheted down the frustration level because I turned my attention to something that I could accomplish—even if it wasn’t necessarily my first choice in an ideal world.

I identified such a shot that I found pleasing but it had its own problem—insufficient depth of field. The shot you see above was taken at a focal length of 66 mm and it originally contained an exposed rock in the foreground and another in the mid-ground; even with an aperture of f/16 there was no way to obtain a sharp image from front to back. Going wider—thereby increasing the depth of field—significantly changed the composition, introducing elements that I wanted to exclude and also returned me to the mixed light problem. It was only with a very tight shot that I was able to work with even light.

What to do? I kept the tight shot but altered the composition modestly by eliminating the rocks in the fore- and mid-ground, and placing the plane of focus on the exposed rocks in the background. The foreground and mid-ground would appear soft, but in this instance that was fine, since those areas were made up entirely of textured, blurred water.

So, instead of “imposing” myself on the scene, I worked with it…and still had the opportunity to reveal my style, such as it is, in the process. Symbiosis at its best.

Thursday Tips is written by Kerry Mark Leibowitz, a guest blogger on 1001 Scribbles, and appears every other Thursday. To read more of his thoughts on photography, please visit his blog: Lightscapes Nature Photography.

Thursday Tips: Practice Makes Perfect

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Photography, Tips

Next week I begin a nearly two-week–long photo excursion to a part of North America I haven’t visited in the past (the Canadian Rockies). The last time I photographed in a previously unfamiliar place was five months ago.

This past weekend, I gathered up my photo gear and headed out to a nearby park—one I have photographed at before—and wandered down a trail I had never set foot on before that day.

If you think I’m drawing a connection between these two things—the prospect of photographing soon in an entirely new locale and taking a jaunt down a previously unexplored trail—you’re correct. Simply put, I wanted some “practice” making images in a place that was new to me in advance of a time where I’m going to be doing that very thing day after day. The fact that the kind of place where I would be engaged in this “practice” session is completely different than the Canadian Rockies is irrelevant. The common thread is the new-to-my-eyes factor.

What am I talking about? Why would I do this and, more to the point, why would I regard it as important?

In my view, photography is fundamentally about seeing. It’s about seeing the image immediately prior to the time of capture. Light is important, technique is important, a working comprehension of the technical components of the endeavor—including one’s equipment—is important, but none of these things is, as I see it, nearly as important as the ability to see the image that you want to capture with the naked eye and/or through the viewfinder (or on the LCD screen of the camera). It’s largely this ability—to see—that underlies the process of creating a successful image.

While we’re always engaged in the process of “seeing” when we’re in the field, there’s a qualitative difference between doing so in a familiar venue and an unfamiliar one. In the case of the former, we’re inherently biased by our past experiences. Having seen what this place has on a prior visit (or visits, plural) we’re predisposed as to what we expect to see in succeeding trips to the same place. This doesn’t preclude the ability to spot something different at a previously visited locale and there’s nothing wrong with leveraging familiarity in any event, but it’s human nature to see familiar places differently than on the inaugural trip to an unfamiliar one. When something’s new, we must—by definition—see it for the first time. That’s literally impossible on a return trip.

What I was trying to do in my venture down the new trail the other day was engage my mind in the unique process of seeing a place for the first time. There’s a method involved in this practice that’s difficult to describe, but I was attempting to stimulate the process so that I can essentially hit the ground running next week. I was, in other words, trying to shake off the cobwebs a bit. That would have happened, inevitably, next week anyway, but my hope was that by making a trial run I’d kick start things just a little bit. The place itself will, of course, be unfamiliar to me but the process of engaging with it will (hopefully) be as comfortable as an old shoe.

Thursday Tips is written by Kerry Mark Leibowitz, a guest blogger on 1001 Scribbles, and appears every other Thursday. To read more of his thoughts on photography, please visit his blog: Lightscapes Nature Photography.

Thursday Tips: Equipment Shouldn’t Be An Encumbrance

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cameras, Photography, Tips

I’m in the final stages of planning for a photo trip—I leave in less than three weeks—that will involve quite a bit of hiking, much of it over steep, uneven terrain. On at least one of the days when I’ll be on location, I anticipate hiking from shortly after sunrise until shortly before sunset. I’ll be shuttled into a remote area early in the day and shuttled out again at day’s end. The point is, I have to carry everything I need—clothing and other accessories, food, water and (of course) photo equipment—all day long. Given the grueling nature of the itinerary and the lack of options, I’ve had to spend some time thinking about what to bring and how I can enforce reasonable weight and space limitations without negatively impacting the point of the exercise—picture taking.

I’ve had some experience doing this (I’ve discussed photo trip planning in a previous post on this blog; I wrote specifically about limiting photo gear on challenging hikes in another entry, as well as in a post on my own blog), but I want to cover the subject in more general terms.

Basically, no matter what kind of photography you’re engaged in, regardless of the place, the first rule of photo gear is that it shouldn’t get in your way. There have never been as many quality options with regard to photographic systems as exist today, so there’s almost certainly an option that best fits the specifics surrounding your shooting experience. For instance, all things being equal, the ideal system to take on a jaunt similar to the one that I mentioned above is either a high-end point-and-shoot with a large zoom range lens and a very light tripod to support it. This arrangement takes up minimal space and weighs very little.

For something with a bit more technical control, any one of a series of mirrorless camera system packages will fill the bill. The camera bodies that provide the foundation for these systems are tiny—many of them fit in the palm of your hand—and the lenses are small as well. A three-lens outfit, plus the camera itself, takes up about as much space (and weighs less) than a pro-level DSLR and a single wide-aperture mid-range zoom.

If you already have a DSLR body, a do-it-all variable aperture zoom lens might be just the ticket for you. It’s heavier and takes up more space than either of the options mentioned above, but it’s well within the limits of many hikers.

What will I be doing? Well, I normally carry four heavy lenses and two camera bodies and I’m cutting that typical load in half—one camera, two lenses (with one of those lenses mounted). That will allow all kinds of room for everything else I bring and will lighten the load well below the normal weight of gear that I normally bring with me. This will make the hike less burdensome and allow me to focus more of my energy on the reason for the hike—photography. And that’s always how it ought to be.

I’ve used the example of photographing as part of a strenuous hike, but the point is applicable to any form of photography. Say, for instance, you’re interested in street photography, which involves a lot of walking around with your camera in your hands and/or around your neck while making candid images of people. Anything other than a camera that’s light, fast to autofocus and small and unobtrusive enough not to attract attention is going to get in the way of what you want to do.

What could be more absurd than your photo gear getting in the way of your photography? It’s a simple principle: if your equipment is inhibiting your photography, you have the wrong equipment.  Don’t let this happen to you.

Thursday Tips is written by Kerry Mark Leibowitz, a guest blogger on 1001 Scribbles, and appears every other Thursday. To read more of his thoughts on photography, please visit his blog: Lightscapes Nature Photography.

Thursday Tips: Preparation and Exploration

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Photography, Tips

A few years ago I was on a waterfall shoot with a sizable group of people. (The “sizable group of people” scenario is far from my preferred modus operandi, but that’s a story for another day.) We arrived at a waterfall—Ludlow Falls, in Miami County, Ohio—that presented several challenges. Ludlow Falls is located on Ludlow Creek, which is as wide as most rivers at the point of the falls, but access to the waterfall is limited. You can walk down to the riverside with relative ease, but the falls are hundreds of feet away from the nearest exposed section of riverbank. To make things more difficult, there’s a (very unattractive) concrete bridge that carries a roadway and spans Ludlow Creek almost immediately above the waterfall.

When the group I was with arrived at this location everyone more or less automatically collected at the same riverside spot, pulled out a telephoto lens and went about the task of taking head-on shots of one type or another of Ludlow Falls. Everyone, that is, except me.

I sized up the “conventional shot” with a sidelong glance and pretty much immediately deemed it unappealing. I then went about exploring location to see if I could come up with something more interesting.

I thought—as I almost always do—that finding and expressing a different perspective—with a distinct foreground, middle ground and background—would help produce a more three dimensional feel using a medium that is, obviously, two dimensional in nature. The way to do that, I quickly concluded, was to incorporate elements of the creek. There was absolutely no way to do so without actually climbing into the creek itself and navigating my way to a series of rocks that were roughly 35 feet away from the riverbank.

Fortunately I had the appropriate footwear to do this. Since I had known that the focus of the shoot (waterfalls) would lead us to be around water, I was wearing a pair of waterproof knee-high rubber boats (as I always do when I expect to be around something wet). The water level of the creek at this point was below knee level, so, using a combination of rock hopping and wading, I made my way in the direction of the aforementioned rocks. I propped my tripod up on one of the rocks and then maneuvered around in the water, camera in hand, to try to find the ideal composition. Once I did so, I retrieved my tripod, set up, and produced the image (which you see below).

When all who were present that day subsequently shared images electronically, via a Web-based forum, the other attendees all heaped praise on my photograph of Ludlow Falls. It was “so different.” I had really “demonstrated outside the box thinking” in obtaining my shot.

So what’s the point of my story? Am I patting myself on the back because I’m a “better” photographer than the people I was with that day? No. What I was—at least that day—was the better prepared photographer. I was one of only two people who had brought waterproof footwear. What I had done wasn’t even an option for most of the people who were in attendance (though several of them, after seeing me wade into the creek, moved away from the “conventional” position to see if there was anything they could do with a different perspective).

I was also—again, at least that day—the more thoughtful photographer. I didn’t simply settle for the most obvious, easiest-to-access vantage point. (A clear view doesn’t always equal a compelling view.) Even the one other person with waterproof footwear that day didn’t bother to attempt anything but a snapshot of the conventional view (much to her chagrin, she later told me). She snapped that conventional shot, packed up and left, without even bothering to investigate other options.

Composing landscape photographs is about “seeing,” but in order to do so you have to give yourself a chance. That means exploring different perspectives and that, in turn, means being prepared to be able to move around and investigate. Sometimes the “better” shot is available only if you’re patient and inquisitive.

Thursday Tips is written by Kerry Mark Leibowitz, a guest blogger on 1001 Scribbles, and appears every other Thursday. To read more of his thoughts on photography, please visit his blog: Lightscapes Nature Photography.

Thursday Tips: An Approach for Growth

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critique, Photography, Tips

Many moons ago, after I’d mastered the technical aspects of photography, I set about trying to further the aesthetic side of the endeavor. The logical approach, it seemed to me at the time, was to ask for critiques from other photographers. It seemed intuitive that such an approach would provide substantial assistance in my quest to develop creatively.

I was wrong. Critiques from others did me little, if any, good. I found many of the critiques—most of which were highly positive (perhaps unfortunately)–to be fairly prosaic, for one thing, but even with thoughtful, well-meaning constructive criticism, I found myself at least as likely to disagree with the thrust of the criticism as I was to gain anything from it.

In more recent years I’ve had a fairly large number of requests from other—presumably developing—photographers asking me to critique their work. I’m almost always willing, but with a couple of caveats, the first being that I never got much out of this process myself. The second limitation is that I see these kinds of critiques as little more than “one man’s opinion,” and I’m far from certain that anyone ought to take anyone’s opinion about something I believe to be as inherently subjective as the aesthetics of art all that seriously. Surely that doubt applies every bit as much to my opinion of someone’s art as anyone else’s.

Before anyone gets bent out of shape about any of this, let me clarify that I’m not saying that it’s impossible for anyone to benefit from the critique of their work by others. I have a number of photographer friends who swear that such a process was more helpful to them in their development than anything else. All I’m saying is that I don’t feel that it was helpful to me.

But, somewhat ironically, I do feel that the critique process was more helpful to my artistic development than anything else.

Huh? Did I not just contradict everything I wrote in the four preceding paragraphs? No. I really did benefit from the critique process. But it was the process of critiquing the images of others—often silently—that assisted me, not having others critique my work. Allow me to explain—this ongoing exercise helped me and it’s possible that it will help some of you with your own photographic development. It’s really quite simple.

Step 1: Look at images—lots of them. Include any and all photographic genres in which you’re interested and include the work of a multitude of photographers—and don’t necessarily limit yourself to those whose work you like—cast a broad brush.

Step 2: When you look at an image, give yourself a few seconds to simply react to it—and note that reaction, be it like, dislike, ambivalence, whatever.

Step 3: Analyze the reaction recorded in Step 2. Why did you have the reaction you had? What is it about the image in question that elicited your visceral response? Be as specific and complete as possible. This is the most difficult step of all, in my view, but it’s assuredly the most important—the critique itself. You may well take some time before you’re able to routinely—and honestly—fulfill this step, but don’t be frustrated and definitely don’t get caught up in the notion of discovering the “correct” answer. There isn’t one, at least not in any objective sense.  And keep in mind that since the point of this exercise is to benefit you, there’s no need to share your feelings with anyone else.

Step 4: After running through steps 1-3 on at least a few dozen images, step back and attempt to summarize to yourself; are you detecting any patterns outlining what you like/dislike and why? You may have to run though many, many images before you’re able to answer these questions in the affirmative but, eventually, you’re likely to do so. This is where the process should concretely help you in your own photographic endeavors, because once you’re able to obtain a better feel for what appeals to you and why you can apply that knowledge directly in the field.

And understand—this isn’t about copying someone else’s technique or duplicating their images. It’s about using the power of observation to better understand yourself and, as a result, your ever-developing art.

Thursday Tips is written by Kerry Mark Leibowitz, a guest blogger on 1001 Scribbles, and appears every other Thursday. To read more of his thoughts on photography, please visit his blog: Lightscapes Nature Photography.