Category: Philosophy and Photography

What do you do when your photos don’t inspire?

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The sun was out, there was a nice breeze, and we had an entire afternoon free. A drive to Blanchetown should have provided fruitful inspiration for photographs. But it didn’t, mostly. The weather was kind, the company good, the battery charged, and the Nikon Z5 ready for anything. So, what happened? It was me…

You know those days as a photographer when things just don’t come together? There’s a disconnect between what you see and how you feel. You compose and press the shutter but the result fails to inspire you. At times like this, I do a few things:

  • Remove the pressure from myself by leaning into other moments. Not everything needs to be camera-worthy and not every moment needs to be recorded. Enjoy the day and put down the camera;
  • Take out a different camera for fun and just focus on other scenes – details, textures, shadows. There’s good stuff in the small stuff.
Peeling and rusting – Sony RX100

Finding the details again

Sometimes, it’s easy to fall into the trap of wanting every photo to make a big impact. But those magical sunsets full of great colours don’t come around too often. Those moments when the photographic mind and heart are synchronised with the wider world aren’t always available to us. At these times, it’s important to take a step back and access other areas of the photographic process: enjoying the moment, seeing the details.

Peeling and rusting 2 – RX100

Accepting fate and below average photos

Sometimes, even when we dig into another bag of tricks, the photos don’t turn out great. Over time, we develop a sense of taste and curate our photographic output, so what might please someone else won’t please us. Part of the creative journey is developing taste and deciding which photos meet our taste standards to become the ones that really make an impact.

The remaining, less than stellar, photos are still important because they’re part of the journey to get to the photos that meet a well-developed artistic taste. Some days are about honing the eye and sensibility. Not every photo is going to be a winner and that’s OK. In fact, it needs to happen, otherwise things get boring and you don’t sharpen your eye, your imagination, your taste, and your art.

Waterbirds on twisted branches – RX100

Out on the street again

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In my previous post, I went out with the Nikon D40 and made some street photos. Even though it’s an enjoyable experience, street photography can also be tiring if not in the right frame of mind. I find that placing too much pressure on myself to make good photos can take a lot away from the experience. And out in the street where you need to be alert to interesting scenes that may last mere moments, missing one can lead to frustration.

Gathering before busking – Nikon D40

As much as that experience can lead to moments of regret at having not been quick enough on the shutter button, going down that path simply leads to more frustration and lack of joy. There are so many moments on the street that it’s always possible to find another. In simple terms: don’t get stuck in a moment missed because you’ll have just missed another moment.

Fresh milk and soft toys – Nikon D40 with Tamron 17-50 2.8

What do we do as photographers?

A photographer collaborates with the world to make a photo of a moment that never repeats. As much as there’s pressure to record all of the moments that pass so quickly, the photographer also brings the attention of others to a framed moment in time. In doing so, the photographer creates an awareness in others of the larger world we inhabit. And how often do we inhabit it without much care for the present moment?

In this context, street photography is like being in a whirlpool of moments. That’s both exciting and potentially exhausting if the pangs of regret haunt us too easily when the camera and the moment don’t quite line up. In those cases, better to accept the passing moment and move into a new moment with open eyes and mind. And have we really missed a moment if we haven’t recorded it?

Celebration and relief after a street performance – Nikon D40

Red paint and contemplation

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In my previous post, I wrote about driving through some of the towns along the Murray River. We’ve been here many times but I’ve often found myself uninspired in the photography department, though I’m not entirely sure why. Going for a day-trip with friends is always fun, but sometimes it doesn’t lend itself to me spending time fiddling with camera settings or framing scenes! This time was different though. I found myself with the trusty Olympus E-1 again and looking for the kinds of scenes that the old digital sensor can manage more easily.

Red paint and corrugated iron – Olympus E-1

There’s no substitute for time when it comes to photography, at least for me. I’m not one who clicks a thousand photos in an hour. I prefer to be as deliberate as possible. Admittedly, using an old camera like the E-1 teaches me to slow down even more to carefully consider the scene before me. That’s a good thing, I think.

Red paint and old wood – Olympus E-1

How often is it that we don’t get to slow down and really look at the world around us? How often are we pre-occupied with thoughts of the forever-gone past or the uncertain future? How often do we steal the present moment from ourselves? Once that moment is gone, it’s gone for good.

I like to think that photography has the capacity to teach us something about the hidden details of the world that are ordinarily missed. When I first started teaching myself how to use a DSLR, I turned to a practice called Contemplative Photography, or Miksang.

On such occasions, I found myself a little more in touch with both my mind and the world, with inner and outer touching at the very boundaries, one might say. At these times, there’s no judgement of a scene, just an image pressing gently on the mind, as though it leaps out of the water like a fish to be seen momentarily. There’s no setting up or messing with technology beyond what the eye sees and the press of the button. And arguably, the camera itself is not even needed to see those hidden details in the world.

All the red envelops you in this moment – Olympus E-1

Photography blues: when things don’t go your way

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I rushed out yesterday with the Olympus E-1, but it wasn’t a great photo session. The sun was out but I just didn’t see much that struck me as an interesting photo. This, of course, happens from time to time. While disappointing, it’s all part of the experience with the camera. You can’t force it.

Blue beams on blue – Olympus E-1

Despite my previous positive experiences with the E-1, this time there were no epiphanies. The sun was high and hot and controlling dynamic range with such an old camera isn’t always the easiest. There’s a point at which exposing for the highlights creates shadow noise and the in-built contrasty tone curve of this camera is a detriment at such times. Still, just look at all that blue! This camera does love plenty of blue.

So, I was left with just two photos from my session that piqued my interest. On the way home, I ran across some new house constructions and just loved the way that all the blue steel beams looked on such a sunny day.

Some days are just not going to be full of great photos. Some days, the eye just isn’t attuned. And that’s perfectly OK. I’ve learned not to worry about my mistakes and missing moments. I’ve learned that on some days the photographic mind is elsewhere and all that remains is forcing a moment. At those times, it’s best to accept the moment and look around. Not everything is for the camera.

Steel blue and deep sky – Olympus E-1

Detritus in Coober Pedy

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I mentioned the town of Coober Pedy in a previous post. Going through my file folders tonight, I found some more ruins and the remains of dreams from this famous outback town. I often wonder how these places and things come to be abandoned and decaying.

No driver – Nikon D7100 with 35mm AFS Nikkor 1.8

Who once drove the bus? How did it get there? At some point, I imagine it will be nothing more than a pile of rusted metal, merging with the earth, gears and pistons embedded in thick soil. Perhaps a few blue paint flecks will provide some clue to a future explorer?

Decolonise – Olympus OMD EM5 Mark 2

Old walls become a canvas for political statements, the remains of a broken window framing the tension painted in bright pink. Thinking of photography as a voyeuristic pursuit, as Susan Sontag once wrote, such images can lend themselves to such consideration. Is there some voyeurism at work when photographing places like this? Perhaps. I certainly feel some drive to frame the political statement and focus on the socio-cultural tensions. Do I engage with it by recording it or do I step away from it by framing it as artfully as I can?

Homes not Tails – Olympus OMD EM5 Mark 2

Photography can only frame the world for others to view. Once out in the world, the audience applies their own values and beliefs. By providing the framing, the photographer must step aside for a moment to engage in the act of viewing rather than participating. But in the framing is the delightful devil – a story told by the photographer in cutting out a single view from the whole. What lies beyond the single frame and does it matter?

Making photos or taking photos?

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For a while now, I’ve taken some issue with the use of the word take when it comes to describing the making of photos. After all, we don’t take photos. We make photos in collaboration with the camera and the environment. It’s pedantic, I suppose, and it doesn’t truly bother me when someone uses the term. It’s just a word I try not to use.

The other bothersome term is shooting photos. The camera isn’t a gun, is it? Maybe I’m just a bit cranky because I’m not feeling the best at the moment!

Angel & Tina – Nikon Z5

So, why do we make photos? Why do we use cameras? What is it about photography that keeps us coming back for more? I can only speak for myself of course.

Photography allows me to see the world differently. It’s not always relaxing, as I might be prioritising Aperture values and the exposure over framing a scene, but when I see something that speaks to me, it feels as though I can frame it and place a focus on it to remind myself of details in the world that we often miss. It can remind others too.

The old glass still glows – Olympus E-1

Susan Sontag once said that photography is a voyeuristic activity that removes us from the meaning of events and diminishes their importance. I can see merit in that thinking even if others think of it as inflammatory. When behind the camera, how close are we to the events around us? Arguably, we immerse ourselves in a scene more fully when we focus on it through the lens, but the goal is also to frame that scene in a specific way so it follows the rules we deem personally important – rule of thirds, art of photography, light and shadow, marketability, appeals to social media followers, and so on. A photograph may have an audience with their own set of values. In this sense, a photo is like a cut-out of a small part of the world, presented for viewing and criticism.

Ladder pathway – Sony RX100 Mark 1

Consider the photo above, for example. Is it voyeuristic? The photo of a home, possibly abandoned, but likely still owned by someone, is a deliberate cut-out of the entirety of the home that creates a separate reality. What does it say? What was my intention in making the photo? Am I merely highlighting the abandonment of buildings where people once lived and loved? Am I doing so callously and without regard for those who may still live there?

Late night contemplation in orange and blue – Nikon D7100 with 50mm 1.8 AF-D

Street photography has a long and rich history of provoking thoughts along these lines. Is it ethical, for example, to make photos of vulnerable people on our streets? In some photography classes, it’s made clear that photographers are best-advised to ask for permission first. Yet, there is nothing surer to diminish spontaneity than to create a contrived street scene through such permission seeking.

If we are to document human life across a wide range of experiences through time, then street photography is an important tool. The photographer may, at the time, be vilified for lacking ethics, but as time relentlessly moves forward from the event, new audiences may view those photographs as historical artifacts. Perhaps there is no right or wrong in these cases – merely changeable thoughts and beliefs that drive culture.

Sunsets and uncomfortable confrontations

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Yes, it was another cloudy day and I was out with the Finepix 6500fd. Driving around tiny old towns, largely forgotten and left to people with desires to escape the rest of the world, can be surprising sometimes. Yes, there are plenty of interesting ruins to look at and photograph, but occasionally there are also encounters with unfriendly locals.

Old Post Office – Finepix 6500fd

Admittedly, not an awesome photo, but the old Post Office above is an interesting building. I’m always careful when it comes to remaining in public areas, as there’s largely few restrictions on what can be photographed as long as it can be viewed from a public area that one is occupying. I can walk along any public road or path and photograph buildings and most other things without a problem.

The confrontation

So, there I was in the middle of an old dirt road, pointing my camera at an old Post Office. A car pulled up and out hopped a local. She asked me in a very pointed manner: “Why are your taking photos of my house?”. A little surprised, and somewhat curious, I replied, “You live in the Post Office building?”.

It turns out she didn’t live there, but in the house next door. I assured her I had no interest in photographing her home, but only the old building because it “looks cool”. She clarified and told me that she only uses it for storage. I tried to de-escalate the situation and asked about the history of the building and when it was closed down. She responded but still was very unhappy and asked me again why I was making photos of her home. At this point I politely fare-welled her and left, knowing that it was pointless to continue the conversation.

Mangroves at sunset – Finepix 6500fd

Reflecting on feelings and laws

I knew I wasn’t doing anything illegal and this was simply a case of an unhappy and suspicious local. That’s perfectly understandable, of course. There’s a difference between what I can legally photograph and how someone feels about it. I’d tried to cool things down and assure her that I wasn’t interested in photographing her home, but rather just a nice old building with some history. Rather than argue any legal point about public land, it was simply better for me to leave.

I’m often in two minds about these, thankfully rare, situations. On one hand, I understand that someone might be suspicious of a stranger coming to town and having an interest in their property. Would I also react similarly if someone was camped outside my home with a camera pointed at it? I may, though I’d likely be mostly interested in the camera gear. On the other hand, it’s certainly not illegal to photograph things from the vantage point of public land.

If the person is open to a conversation, I think it’s reasonable to explain what you’re doing and why you have an interest. I don’t think it’s helpful to start a conversation about legalities around the act of photography because this may be more likely to cause more upset. There’s an understandable emotional response involved that does cause some personal dilemma but I think it’s wise to consider both sides.

It’s certainly perfectly reasonable to photograph the world around us, yet remain aware of the private and public boundaries that are sometimes difficult to define. It’s also reasonable to consider the potentially strident reaction that a person might have to the act of photography in an area they consider, legally or not, their turf. Despite the dilemma, I remain on the side of photographing the world within legal limits, and if there’s a confrontation, explaining why I’m there in hopes this will provide context and calm the situation.

In the end, we finally saw a great sunset:

A welcome sunset – Finepix 6500fd

A remembrance of old cameras and simple joys

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I came across an old Flickr group about a long obsolete and out of production Finepix camera. The discussion thread there is now abandoned and filled with hopeful posts from beginner photographers, posts from film camera veterans excited about the possibilities of digital photography, and people considering the merits and costs of upgrading to a DSLR.

Sony RX100

Some people questioned why the group was becoming less active, with people theorising that the marketing cycle of cameras and the forced obsolescence of models was resulting in formerly active members moving on to bigger and better cameras, the lure of more megapixels ever-present. Some others were steadfast in their dedication to a camera that permitted them to fall in love with photography as a hobby, sure that they’d never need any more than 5 or 6 megapixels. As you can imagine, there’s a little camera history in those threads, underpinned by melancholy.

Finepix Flickr group
Early morning walk – Sony RX100

The joy of discovering photography is reflected in those discussions, as well as the spin-cycle of marketing, upgrades, and feature-creep. Isn’t there often a sense of doubt kindled in us by big manufacturers so that we’ll buy the latest gadget? This is part of the reason why I like old digicams. It’s not that I think there’s some long-forgotten, superior image making technology buried in CCD sensors, or that those cameras are more capable than cameras of today, but that old cameras still feed the joy of photography. In this sense, they are relevant.

Seen better days – Nikon Z5

The truth is that people were making interesting photos using simple box cameras a hundred years ago. People still make arresting photos using old cameras now. The act of photography is the recording of an image to a medium, whether that’s film emulsion or software output via digital sensor and SD card. Photography is about seeing the world afresh and inhabiting the moment.

Standing alone – Sigma DP2M

Botanicals and the Biophilia Hypothesis – Sony RX100

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In my current, seemingly endless and potentially dull, blogging about the little Sony RX100 Mark 1 camera, I’ve realised that I really enjoy using old cameras. Not exclusively old cameras, mind, but just older cameras when the mood strikes. The very idea that I’d upgrade as soon as the latest fancy-glitter-megapixel thing hits the shelves is tedious. The whole thing is exhausting, really. It’s also why I’m excited to receive an old Nikon D70 in the post.

The sunny edges we miss

There’s some science behind the nurturing properties of spending time in nature, with reports that subjective well-being is elevated, even for people with depression and anxiety. Many people report feeling recharged when they spend time in nature, be it walking through the local forest or walking along the beach. The Biophilia Hypothesis posits that humans are innately attracted to natural places and living areas filled with biodiversity. By seeking out this connection, we truly get back to who we are as living beings.

A world of green

Have you ever wondered why stress levels are so high in urban environments? The further away we are from nature and our natural selves, the greater our risk of developing a wide range of physical and mental health problems. Even something as simple as exposure to natural light each day can promote better sleep and improved subjective well-being. And the addition of green spaces to urban areas is linked with lower levels of stress.

Bamboo in the sun

We all need connection

What would it be like to see our planet from the deep cold of space? Some astronauts report their lives being significantly changed and their views transformed after seeing earth from this unique angle. The Overview Effect is a transformative state of mind that affects some astronauts. They report that after viewing our planet suspended in the depths of space, they develop not just a new appreciation for beauty, but a deep connection to all life.

Our small blue planet, from this point of view, is incredibly fragile and special – an oasis in a cold, black vacuum. There may indeed be billions of planetary star systems out there, but we’ll likely never reach them as even the closest is impossibly distant, and beyond the reach of the best rocket science, unless there’s a sudden shift in our understanding of time and space. So, rather than pollute the sea and soil beneath our feet, we should imagine our planet as a tiny blue speck, teeming with life, finite and fragile.

Tin, wood, and rust

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There are dozens of old pictures on the SD card from my Sony RX100, many of them textures and abstracts. With these subjects, I prefer a photo that’s sharp enough to show the small details. Apart from some softness in the corners, the RX100 Mark 1 is possibly sharpest at an f-stop of 5.6. The combination of sensor and multi-coated Zeiss optics is a good match.

A nice arrangement of textures, shapes, and colours

There’s something distinctly Australian about rusty sheets of corrugated metal. In wandering around the streets looking for interesting scenes to record, a rather annoyed man asked what I was doing on his property. Though he was behind a fence, it seems that his property extended to what looked like public space. He insisted on this, despite my questions about how the area seemed to be arranged and how one could easily wander onto what he claimed was his turf. In the end, he permitted me to wander a little further as I assured him that I was uninterested in doing anything underhanded. It wasn’t worth the quarrel in the end, and certainly not worth the risk of harm.

The Australian summer can be very harsh. Though winters here are generally quite mild, climate change and extreme weather events notwithstanding, summers can be cruel to humans, animals, and building materials. Still, the combination of rust, metal, wood, and peeling paint is an eye-catcher, even on a cloudy day.

Speaking of clouds: not the greatest days in terms of golden light, but heavy clouds reduce harsh contrasts so that more detail is recorded in photos. Strong cloud-cover also means lower dynamic range, making it easier for the digital sensor to handle the highlights.

All photos were processed from Raw, though I’m keen to cut down on editing time and use a few custom JPG presets. In this context, I’ve set the RX100 to record both Raw and JPG files. This allows me to mess around with picture settings without relying on JPG output alone.

Public and private space

Whilst confrontation is often not worthwhile for photographers, there are certainly times when questioning laws and perceptions of those laws is applicable and useful. Being aware of where public space ends and where private space begins is important for photographers, especially if commercial intent is involved. And sometimes, it’s not clear where the private and public zones are.

Street photography has a long and rich history, but there’s a current cultural climate in which people are sensitive about someone pointing a camera in their direction. I can obstinately pronounce that the law and public space permits me to use my camera in this way, but laws versus people’s feelings is different. It’s also worth considering that there’s a difference between photographing a stranger in public space and being in that public space and photographing the texture of a brick. There’s far greater potential for confrontation in the former example.

I may quote my legal right to photograph strangers on the street, but often the risk of personal harm is not worth the effort to defend one’s rights. There’s also a question around ethics and recording the lives of some of the most vulnerable in society. Where does documentation end and voyeurism begin? The most vulnerable on our streets, dispossessed and struggling, are easily exploited. And is it ethical to exploit the most vulnerable for personal gain? Or should we take the longer view – that all such recording of people’s circumstances contribute to an important historical record?