Where I'm coming from

A frequently given piece of photographic advice is something along the lines of, 'after you take a photograph, turn around and shoot what is directly behind you'. I was on my way to the beach on a trip to Los Angeles and I wanted to make a few images of the sunset. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Funny, when I actually lived in LA, I seldom bothered to go to the beach, but whenever I return, it is usually at the top of my list of locations to photograph. At any rate, the first image I took was a standard beach shot. This is the 'looking back' photograph. Kodak Ektar 100, Leica R8, 35mm Summicron.

Luscious colors

A couple of years ago, we were wandering around Ponce City Market in ATL and came across a space that was being prepped for renovation. I fell in love with the patina on these old columns. Film is the perfect medium for these type of scenes, in my opinion. I exposed for the level of ambient light I wanted to record in the main space, and I knew that at least some information would be retained in the highlight areas of the windows. The final image successfully captured the feeling I had at the time. By now, the space is probably fully occupied, but I have not had the chance to go back to see what things look like. My gear that day was the Leica R8 and the last version of the 35mm Summicron-R. 

Conundrum

 

I shot this scene twice, once with the house perfectly aligned in the frame, and the second as presented here. Maybe I should combine the two as an animated gif. Hmm. Shot using the Leica R8 and a 50 mm lens on Ektar film. What I really wish is that I had brought my 35 mm with me that day. 

Magnolia seasons

I never saw very many of them growing up in California, but here in the Southeast, the magnolia is indeed a common sight. Over the years, I've become a huge fan of these majestic trees, although some folks can't seem to wait to cut theirs down. I guess the shallow root system can be pretty annoying and the leaves hard to rake, but I find them lovely to look at and don't feel compelled to rake, so that isn't a problem for me. Also, magnolias don't tend to fall on your roof the way the pine trees do, so there's that. In addition to their beauty, I've come to appreciate how magnolias help me mark the four seasons. In particular, once they start to bloom, you know it's fixing to get hot. 

This particular tree was a healthy specimen -- just look at the number of blooms. The photo was shot using a very old Fuji 690BL and the Fujinon 100 mm f/3.5 lens on Portra 400. This is the original model of the so-called Texas Leica, a beast of a camera producing an enormous 6x9 cm negative. I loved the older model because you could change lenses, and I used it until the day it broke in my hands. 

Can your photographs of other people's art be considered art in their own right?

I was taking a load off in the main lobby of the High Museum of Art in Atlanta when my attention was diverted to how the surface of a large painting by Ellsworth Kelly was changing as the ambient light fluctuated. I'm that kind of person. I was motivated to frame up and take a shot.

I don't think this image can be considered a documentary photograph of the original artwork, if for no other reason than it doesn't show the entire piece. That said, I feel that it does successfully record one aspect of my experience of contemplating the piece, namely my interest in how the shadow cast by the canvas interacts with the painted surface and the wall behind. Leica R8, 35 mm Summicron, Kodak Portra 400. Notice how the old lens adds a nice vignette to all of the images I took that day. Saves time in post.

Making marks and taking notes

I suspect this old van, which I photographed in NYC way back in the day, was actually owned by an artist or a group of artists, and they chose to cover its rotten paint job with graffiti. If you look closely, you'll see that it comes with instructions, "CONSIDER THIS ART". Very helpful, although by now, the issue is probably settled for most of us. 

I am happy to have captured this record of the early days of street art on film -- it was an exciting time. Some have even called it utopian. As I drink my tea and allow my mind to wander, I find myself contemplating whether images of public art can be considered works of art in their own right.

Pining for PolaChrome

I was paging through Beth Moon's "Ancient Trees" the other day, and, in addition to the photographs, I enjoyed the following quote from W. S. Merwin: "...trees may be one of the things I miss most from the earth".

I think many of us might agree with that sentiment, even though we each might have our own unique reasons why. And this may also be why we feel compelled to photograph trees, to help us hold on to our memories of them as long as we can.

One of the most impressive trees I've personally ever seen is growing in a cemetery just outside of Nashville, TN. That day, I was using the Leica R6, the 35 mm Summicron, and a roll of Kodak XX. 

While it is a spectacular tree, I can't help thinking that it's a bit of a shame to only photograph the oldest, tallest, and most beautiful trees. 

What about the trees in our own backyards? 

Subject, camera, photographer, memory...

We choose to take a photograph because we feel a personal connection to the subject. There is a link between the thing photographed, the camera, and the photographer. When we revisit a photograph after a period of time has elapsed, we often cannot remember the details, or even why we made the photograph in the first place. The action of time on memory depends on our experiences and is fundamentally different than it is for a photograph, which is basically unchanged over time.

Often, how we choose to post-process or print a photograph changes over time as well.

Here is a photograph I took several years ago in Ventura, California, about an hour away from where I grew up in Los Angeles. This image was captured using the Leica R8, the 35 mm f/2 lens, and Ilford HP5+. It was developed and scanned at a lab, and is therefore perhaps the best representation of the experience between me, the beach at sunset and the gear I had with me at the time.

That Leica feeling

At some point on your photographic journey, you're going to want to shoot with a Leica. You're going to want to see for yourself what the Leica hardware brings to your images. You're going to be at least tempted to do it, and you'll give it some serious thought. I've been there, but I never really wanted to lay out the cash required to get into the M-system. I turned my attention instead to the Leica reflex cameras and they've kept me pretty busy ever since. As with all film cameras, they are not being made anymore, but they definitely had a good run (1964-2009). The penultimate Leica R camera was the R8, which is unique looking, let's put it that way. A few years ago they were practically giving them away, and the lenses were pretty affordable, too, at least the non-exotic ones. That is not so much the case anymore as folks have discovered these remarkable photographic tools. The first lens I bought was a 35mm f/2. Believe it or not, the camera and lens together cost about $600 -- it will be at least double that these days, unfortunately. At any rate, I took this set-up with me on a trip to Washington, DC, and spent about an hour photographing near the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History & Culture. I had a roll of Ilford HP5+ in the camera and I shot the entire roll there. Here's one of my favorites from that shoot. I like the contrast in this photograph between the new architecture and the reflection of the classic architecture in the windows. I was at f/8 to test the sharpness of the lens. It did pretty well in that regard, I'd say. (Click to see the image larger.) These lens designs are all pretty long in the tooth by now and it is worth noting that they can't really compete with more modern lens designs on the technical side. I'm willing to carry that burden.