f/go Rambler

Visually recording a record event

2011-04-26T18:03:00.002-05:00

April 16th was national Record Store Day http://www.recordstoreday.com/Home, a perfect match for a photo assignment for my composition and design class. We needed to shoot at least 150 images and narrow them down to just five that were somehow linked to a series. What would be more natural than taking a photojournalistic approach and covering an event that overlaps with a interest for local music.

On the eve of this day that celebrates the local charm and cool factor that surrounds the experience of actually stepping into a record store to flip through the stacks, expose yourself to new sounds and learn about music from those more passionate about music that we can only imagine. I still thank Rob (John Cusack) in "High Fidelity" for selling me The Beta Band record! The project took me straight to my favorite Minneapolis record store, Electric Fetus.

This was a cold wet night, just what I was hoping for to get some "edgy" urbanscape reflections. Add whipping winds and rain that quickly filled the lens and the plan worked out just part way. But thanks to one of the managers Paul, I felt very welcome to shoot the event. He encouraged me to come back early in time to capture the line that wrapped around the building before they opened the next morning. I knew that this was going to be fun if these record store fanatics were going to brave these 30 degrees temps for the chance to get their vinyl rewards. I took the opportunity to pick up a half dozen CDs before the next day's crowds swarmed.

"Move on buddy. We're not interested"

My adventure took me to a second record store too, but the experience was wholly different. While I got to the second store Treehouse just after their 9pm closing, and I admit I didn't get the same chance to warm up to the management in the same way, what I did encounter was not cool. Approaching Treehouse, I saw the lights on and guys huddled around the front counter, seemingly readying for the next day. I tugged on the handle of the glass door only to find it locked. I pointed to my camera, letting them know what I was up to and then backed away to take a series of shots. Admittedly, this took some time. I was shooting HDR (high dynamic range) shots, so the series of shots in the dark ranged from 30-seconds on down, and five shots per try. At one point, the inside lights went dark. Finally, after perhaps 3 to 4 minutes, one guy cracked open the door and yelled out, "Okay buddy. Move on. Get going." I have to admit I was taken aback. I felt like he was treating me like some drunk pissing on his building." I replied in my optimistic South Park character Butters' tone, "It's for tomorrow," only to be curtly replied, "We're not interested." I walked back to my car down the street a bit wounded, but also resolved that I wasn't going to give that store my photo coverage the next day, much less my business in the future.

These guys got here at 4:30!

Arriving bright and early the next morning was as described. The first two guys in line had been there since 4:30 am. Second in line last year, they vowed to be track one on this year's release. And they came prepared, having brought a portable gas stove to make early morning waffles. By the time I arrived, breakfast was all cleaned up and put away, so it seems I need to get there earlier next year if I want a shot of that!

The line of record store supporters snaked around the building

As promised, the line of record store enthusiasts snaked around the building. I didn't get a good count, but when shooting it, it seem the number walking through the doorway at the initial opening approached some 100. People came and went all day.

Crowds took in the day's experience

Once inside, record store enthusiasts checked out their favorite artists, on vinyl, CD and live!

Live performances featured Fort Wilson Riot, Holly Newsome of Zoo Animal, Ben Kyle of Romatica, Haley Bonar, Christine Brown and No Bird Sing. The final set (which I regrettably missed) featured Low.

Haley Bonar returned from West Coast to release her new CD

Ben Kyle of Romantica played a nice set

It was a fun time visually recording Record Store Day!

Shooting the best, with the best

2011-04-11T16:20:00.001-05:00

This past week I had a special opportunity to photograph the best college hockey players in the nation at the 2011 Frozen Four NCAA national championships. Wow.

I got to shoot the event because I was credentialed by Southcreek Global Media, a company where you have to be referred by a fellow photographer to get reviewed and if you get approved you have the opportunity to shoot events under their name. (Many thanks you to my referring photographer who wishes to remain anonymous.) The shots get uploaded to their distribution system. If they get purchased by national or international clients, such as media outlets and companies, I get paid. If nothing sells, I don't get anything. So it's speculative, but a pretty good risk factor for someone like me who needs to have a means of access to big time events and distribution network to get the shots into the marketplace. As a result of this relationship, I don't sell the images directly. I can show my photos but only with the Southcreek watermark (except for the some that I will not submit to SCG because they are not interested in non-standard sized images or personal shots.)

So the night before the event, I shot some photos of the exterior of the Xcel Energy Center, the venue for this pinacle of college hockey sport. It's a great venue in that it's where each year in Minnesota, "The State of Hockey" it's where the state high school hockey championships are held. Lots of hockey dreams are associated with this place.

Because of the gravitas and romantic nature of "the X" I used two newly learned techniques to shoot it: Pano and High Dynamic Range (HDR). The first shot above i used both. The panoramic technique was surprisingly simple. Just use a tripod. Line it up and shoot the series. The HDR technique was way easy too. The camera and software does all the work. All I had to do was to get my light settings right, and set the camera to shoot a bracketed range of exposures. I went +2 and -2 on both of the building shots above, so it was capturing 5 shots , +2, +1, 0, -1 and -2 and then collapsing them into a single image. I did some addition tweaks to make it pop just how I liked it. I was pretty pleased that it reached the affect I was after.

Thursday it was game time. I got the X parking lot about three hours before the first of two games. As strapped my gear onto my back, I saw a fellow photographer loading up too. We took the walk into the X together and he told me his name was Eric Miller and had been shooting for Reuters for 27+ years. What a great guy. He made a point of waiting for me as we got our credentials. He was familiar with the place and wanted to be sure I knew where to go. Only later did I figure out that this was my first of many encounters with "the best." Fast forward to after the championship game on Saturday: I was doing some quick research to caption a photo and landed on the New York Times page, with an image by Eric, as he sat right behind me!

Another great guy I met was Pat Green. Pat noticed my credentials after I sat down in the workspace next to him, plugging in my laptop and unloading some of my equipment with hardly the faintest idea of what I needed to do next. He told me that he too shot for Southcreek, and that he'd come up from Dallas to shoot this event. Pat was a heaven sent, showing me the ropes, giving some great advice on how to do my best for Southcreek. Pat's been doing this work for several years too and loves it. Can you tell?

This start and this space helped me realize that I was surrounded by men and women photographers, maybe two dozen or more, who were here because they loved shooting sports. They were the best at what they do from all around the country as well as locals who really know their sport in this State of Hockey. Not to mention I was amongst the ESPN team, bumped sholders (almost literally as I entered an elevator, with ESPN analyst Barry Melrose.

Geez, did I feel pretty okay about all of that.

More later. I've got a high school baseball game to shoot now so will get back to this story afterwards.

Chapters of stories focuses shooting

2011-01-20T14:03:00.000-06:00

In shooting sporting events, there are so many compostions to consider. Deciding where and what to shoot is one of my greatest challenge as a photographer. It's easy to take on a photo opportunity and approach it as I've done it in the past. But the more I shoot and the more I learn about what I'm doing, I trying harder to consider the stories I'm wishing to tell. Many stories and better yet, many different chapters. As told through my lens from some recent events, here's a mix of chapters to sports stories.

Isolated and simple. Shooting single subject with a simple background is a wonderful way to present an athlete. An image that isolates the individual and includes the pure image of the athletic performance tells a story that often suggests precision, striving for perfection and focus that is all in the context of personal dedication and sacrifice.

Pairings. Sometimes photos show great pairings; one-on-one, mano-mano, or girlo-girlo! As self composed the athletes may be, these shots often represent two forces coming together. One's going to get and one's going to give. Best shots are not when one athlete is dominating another, but when there's that ultimate back and forth struggle, when one wins one battle and the other the next.

Opposing forces. While it's often preferable to capture the faces of the clashing titans, that's not necessarily required. The sheer physicality of athletes forcing their wills upon one another can just as effectively tell a compelling story of struggle and striving for dominance in a pairing.

Instants. There are times when a sporting event has a single instant that without a photograph passes as a flashing moment in time. The start of a race, the pivot of balance in a wrestling match, the tip of a ball, the stretching reach of a first baseman. These instants are can be game changers, but may just be routine plays. It's hard to always tell the difference until what elapses just following that instant.

Boosters. It's wonderful to help include the story about the place and context and what got us all here. Regardless of what level of sport, most athletes could not be where they are without the support of families, teachers and friends. Interestingly, last year while at a dinner for some US Ski Team atletes, one of the Olympians said just this when she and thanked all those who supported her for allowing her to be so selfish, for without them letting her be so self absorbed she would not be there. Fans, organizers and volunteers often make it possible for these contests between athletes take place. They are definitely an important chapter in the story of sports.

There are so many more chapters and stories. But I find it helpful to think about these different angles to storytelling with photography.

Writing with light beyond the photograph

2010-11-22T11:06:00.001-06:00

Break down the word photograph and you get photo = light plus graph = write. So it's about writing with light. A story. Hopefully, a compelling one.

But what happens when we take a photo and go beyond the actual image that's been taken? Is it still a photograph?

As photographers, we all do post-production; color correct, crop, touch-up and enhance a graphic file to meet our needs or liking. Even photojournalists, who are held to the most strict standards of not altering the content of their images, do post. So it's undeniable that there's a blurry line, or in our digital world, blurry pixels that purely define what constitutes a photograph. Ethics drives the photojournalist. Creativity and expression would seem to compel the rest of our shots.

When I capture the "ah ha" shot, the 5-star photograph, that's often an easy call. Leave that file alone and publish or print it as is. (Even the idea of printing "as is" not even a reality when I consider the countless choices in color settings, not to mention optional printing substrates.)

But what about those photo files that didn't turn out so nearly perfect? what about the shots that I really like the composition but feel like there's still more that could be done to express an idea? For me, I like to play in Photoshop, poking around creating layers with different affect. I know little about PS and am not a graphic artist. But I find mixing and meshing options often surprise and once in awhile delight. So every so often I'll post the played with image in the gallery with the other shots because I like what came of them. To my amazement, last week one of these altered shots sold!

Being a person open to feedback, that sale served as a bit of an encouragement to play more. Not because I want to sell more images per se, but because it suggested that perhaps others appreciate the storytelling of photography in a different, more abstract way. It prompted me to think more about pursuing a project that I initiated a few weeks back with a local coffee-bike shop about hanging some of my stuff. I've been thinking about giving this a try. And I've been encouraged by a friend Matt Schillerberg trailheads.imagekind.com who's hung his photos at a gallery for the world to see.

I have to admit that the idea of doing this is both easy, as in who the heck gives a darn, just do what you want to do, and at the same time terrifying, as in who the hell do you think you are? After all, I'm not a graphic artist, don't have any "style" to bridge the images.

But that brings me back to the definition of photography. Seems I need to figure out what story it is I'm trying to "write" with the "light" of these images.

You'll be the judge of that

2010-11-10T20:11:00.000-06:00

In my last post, I included an image of a spinning "big ring" bike sprocket. It was one of two images I felt pretty good about to submit for my lighting class. I sent and posted the images around to friends whose tastes I value, other photographers and finally to my instructor. They all picked the other image. The image I'm including in this post.

Wow.

Sometimes I feel like my taste must really suck.

Actually, I find myself often challenged between determining what's good. I post lots and lots of pictures on my f/go site, almost 60,000 since February 2008, and I still find myself almost fascinated by the images that show the most traffic or are voted as favorites. Am I that much out of touch with what's considered good? And who is to judge what's good, better or best?

Personally, I find myself most attracted to what I don't think I can do or something I've never seen before. Some might call that attention deficit, others some Freudian complex. But I prefer to call it open-minded. But being open minded does make it more difficult at times to judge what's better than another.

So I leave it to others to be the judge of my work. I know there are things I like about some of the work I do, but the target keeps moving, advancing, just a beyond what I can attain. And that's okay. It keeps me striving, still hungry and in pursuit. I won't ever be judge of the journey I get to enjoy, followed through my cameras lens.

Wheels go round in circles. Don't let yours drive you crazy.

2010-10-27T21:27:00.001-05:00

I can't explain why some songs keep coming back to mind, years and years after I'm stumped that they haven't yet been replaced by everything else that passes through our senses and packs our brains with memories. I also can't seem to replace the mistaken lyrics that even long after I now know better.

Billy Preston's "Will Go Round in Circles" (1973) for example. I could have sworn it was "Wheels go round in circles."

[[[[SIDEBAR: And one of my favorites related to photography, Paul Simon's "Kodachrome." I was convinced that when it started off "With all the crap I learned in high school." that the name of the song was, "Chromosomes." I swear I heard the words, "I got a night on campus." suggesting it must have been a song about a young man discovering his manhood and loosing his virginity when he went off to college. "Kodachrome?" "I got a Nikon camera?" Whatever.]]]]

A second song that I even hate to admit sticking in my head was the Eagles, "Take it Easy." I only hate admitting it because you were definitely not cool if you listened to the Eagles. But really, who could help it? Seems that's all they played for years while I lived in Columbus, Ohio. But the line. "Take it easy. Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy," were just so telling that they always stuck with me.

These two songs came to mind after working on this photo for my Lighting I class. The assignment was to do a product shot. I asked my instructor for guidance on this assignment. I told him I felt this was a weak spot for me. He responded, "What are you passionate about?" "Drugs, sex and rock and roll was my immediate response." (The source of that line is actually quite interesting.) But the question got me thinking and I ended up shooting some bike parts with some cool lighting.

After shooting many angles, I ended up focusing on one of the components, the front derailleur, a part that shifts the chain on the front rings. I like the idea of something that stands its ground while all else spins around it. Unaffected, the derailleur waits to be called on to do its job while all else is quite literally flying by, the wheels, tires and spokes, the chain links, the sprocket, the bikers pumping legs, the feet that get cleated in and out, and surface below, regardless of if it's dry, sandy, rocky, wet or muddy.

All else shakes, rattles and rolls and the derailleur waits for its command and then jumps to action, immediately and with precision. Thanks to the many unsung heroes out there who keep all of our wheels going 'round in circles. It helps many of us fly high like a bird up in the sky without going crazy.

Every picture tells a story. But sometimes you can't judge a book by its cover.

2010-08-03T10:14:00.001-05:00

I entered my first photo competition. It was at the Mpls Photo Center, a place where I've attended some presentations openings and events, met some interesting shooters and took a weekend workshop. All good. And I just recently submitted a couple of photos for a b/w competition.

They say that photos are best when then tell a story. That's not so easy. Unlike the writing, the narration of the idea delivered in such a different way. Sometimes a photo idea requires, like pages in a book, a number of images to convey its thoughts.

Just yesterday I received the dreaded, "We regret to inform you" email explaining my entries sucked. Oh wait, the email didn't say they sucked. It said my entries were not selected for the exhibit but of course that in no way did it reflect the quality of my work. Wow, even written words can be misconstrued. Either that or they have that email software that allows you to retract an email you didn't mean to send and replace it with another one. I mean I could swear the first time I read the email it said my work sucked.

So my work is great but it didn't make the show. It won't be hung on the walls for the exhibition. I suppose that means when I attend the opening for this event I will not be inviting anyone to come along with me. But I'll definitely attend. I want to learn what the juror saw. I want to experience the stories others told through their images.

I'm going to go out on limb an guess why my work may not have made the cut. To begin, I'm just starting to understand this concept of storytelling through images. I have to admit that the juror George Slade seems a bit of a mystery to me. I mean he is very acclaimed, but he stumped me when he showed images he appreciated from a previous exhibition he juried in Seattle. I mean the photo that was on the screen most of his presentation was a tossed apple with a bunch of ants all over it. Another was a triangle shape made from the water behind a boat. These images seemed to be about scale and shape, though I did not fully grasp the story he was reading in them.

I've got to admit that I haven't done much b/w photography. As such, I had little inventory to choose from when collecting pieces to submit. I actually had to scan one of the two pieces I took many years ago with my old film camera.

But I think there's an idea still worth developing beyond this exhibit. It's about seeing a diminishing one-point perspective, with a rhythm of inanimate lines that create movement towards the diminishing point, whose pattern is broken by a human element.

So what's my story and why might anyone care about it? These images say something to me about the intersection of the built environment and desire for order and control within the context of the human form, with all our nuances and imperfections.

Don't see it? Maybe the two photos I submitted are just the bookends. Maybe this book is not ready to be judged by its cover alone. Seems I have some more photography work to do on help tell this story.

I < 3 = Love

2010-07-20T15:49:00.000-05:00

What is love? It seems a few hundred folks in Minneapolis who gathered this past Sunday at the annual Barbette's Bastille Day wanted to celebrate their amour --- for France's independence, for Cotes du Rhone, for Fat Tire brew, for brassy music, for raucous dance, for flying skateboards over and trashing an old Oldsmobile, for a perfect sun-soaked summer day, for a fire-eating and twirling trio finale.

Love, just like beauty, is in the eyes of the beholder. Find your passion. Dream. Pursue. Viva!

Sometimes love's not so easy to find. Perhaps a bit concealed. Sometimes without realizing it, we may find we're staring right at it. That's kind of how I felt as I roamed about those who were partying like it was 1794.

No, no, nothing like that.

More like I was taking a photo of a bloke silk screening of T-shirts with the imprint that read, "I < 3 MPLS" Just on the other side of the parking lot there was a vendor selling "SIX ONE TWO" T's. I understood that. In fact, back when cell phones came out and I was traveling a lot, I had this crazy idea of creating T-shirts that would be sold at gift shops at airports with the urban zip codes. Before I knew it, someone also had the idea and ran with it. Good for them.

Finally, after a couple of those Cotes du Rhone that mellowed some of inhibitions, I approached the silk-screener. "Excuse me. What does the equation one is less than three MPLS mean?" I asked. He both frowned and smiled at my inquiry and replied, "What?" I pointed to the design and tried my question over again. He got it. "It's a heart. I love Minneapolis." We both exploded with laughter, mine at my self revealing ignorance of the text messaging modicom and him with his joy of schooling me. I left telling him "I heart that!"

Best case scenario is we all learn from one another. And generational learning can go both ways. I learned that less than three, <3, is an equation that equals love. And I just heard Lilly Allen sing in "Everything's Just Wonderful" a saying I first learned from my grandparents, "That's how the cookie crumbles." I <3 THAT.

Who's in First? What's in Second?

2010-07-12T06:15:00.007-05:00

In shooting events like races, like this past weekend's Lifetime Fitness Triathalon, there's a tendency for most photographers to want to shoot the leader. I know I do. Why not? The one who is winning the race tend to epitomize sport in that they represent the pinnacle, stand for dedication and will.

And let's be real. Winners of sport tend to have well tuned, well proportioned and attractive bodies.

In most cases, I'm still not shooting as a credentialed photographer. That means when shooting race events, I've got to seek a location to shoot that's not at the start or finish line. I've got to be creative and shoot from somewhere that offers that unique point of view. Finding those locations takes some pre-scouting and preparation. Once positioned, it's all about testing the camera settings, shooting test shots, revising angles for background and lighting. When sitting in a ditch, I've had to relocate to not become lunch for an anthill. In the snowbank, I've carved out a comfy cove. Often these locations are relatively remote and downright peaceful. That means when the subject finally does approach, I actually feel my heart beat quickens a bit from the anticipation of the ensuing shot.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

Leader come. Leader go. Chimp. I review what I shot. If I'm lucky, there's a keeper in there. Hopefully I've captured the one who's in first. If I've very lucky, that's the same one who finishes first.

The racers who follow offer great opportunities to shoot, starting with the strongest contenders. Might they end up in first time will only tell. They are distinctive in their like coordination of apparel, equipment, form and intense focus on their thin ribbon to the finish.

At some point though, there's a pivot. Replacing the focused stare of the highest performers come what I'd call the "joyful meanders." These are the competitors who's higher numbers flap in the wind on their loose fitted, non-team or logo sponsored attire. They accept the fact that those who finish among the first in the race event are probably putting in post-race cool down paces hours before they will see the finish line. They are competing, but mostly with themselves. To finish or to reach a personal best time.

I often find myself compelled to photograph these many "second place" competitors. They smile and they struggle. I'm compelled to keep photographing them as they approach one-by-one, almost in a way that spectators cheer, knowing the next one that follows could use the acknowledgment more than the one before.

So here's to all who don't come in first. They're all in second. They're all winners.

They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

2010-06-13T20:17:00.003-05:00

With about 20 pounds of camera equipment strapped over my shoulder, I trudged up the back stairway and through the back halls to the media box at Canterbury Downs. We shot from the restricted area aside the racetrack. We climbed to the rooftop. It was a field trip of a different kind. The three of us, photo students, and our instructor, Carlos Gonzalez were here at the thoroughbred race track. We were here to shoot athletes. We were here to shoot horses.

This was a weekend sports photography workshop offered by the Mpls Photo Center. Two six hour days of getting firsthand knowledge from a premier sports photographer who works for the Minneapolis Star Tribune, shoots professional sports like the Minnesota Vikings and Twins, and the Olympics was fantastic. Understanding the approach and work flow from Carlos; well let's just say we were getting it straight from the horses mouth.

Carlos offered us an unbridled perspectives. And fellow students Wally and Greg appreciated the opportunity to share our passion for sports and photography. We knew this was a treasured opportunity to get firsthand knowledge. We weren't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Seeing how Carlos reviewed our photos, from framing our shots, foreground-background separation, cropping, and color correction, as well as reviewing the inventory of gadgets and equipment; may I say it had me seeing a horse of a different color.

Ney, I would have never expected to learn so much from shooting horses.

Who do I shoot for?

2010-05-13T15:55:00.004-05:00

Having just posted a couple hundred shots from a weekend ultimate frisbee tournament in Seattle, I find myself going back to the "View Stats" pages. My web site shows a line graph of the daily hits, lists the photos by number of visits, sizes and all sorts of info. Being the data junkie I can be, I love this feature. I love the feedback. I'm thrilled to see over the past four weeks I've reached almost 100,000 hits. (96,158 to be exact, but the day's not over!)

But I've got to admit, it's got me asking myself, "Who am I shooting for?"

That question was yelled to me once at a high school football game. "Hey, Mr. Cameraman! Who are you shooting for?"

"You!" was my immediate response.

It was sincere because I knew the person yelling to me was a parent. I know the parents of high school students I shoot are especially appreciative of the action shots. Realistically, most of these high school athletes are at the pinnacle of their athletic careers. And that's pretty cool.

And most of the kids I shoot are at Minneapolis public schools. Lots of these kids are in schools with a majority of the students living in poverty. Yes, even here in Minneapolis, we have abject poverty. These kids don't get many pictures taken of them. And as a result, many of the pictures or stories we tend to hear about them aren't good ones. Things are often not as bad as things seem, but when kids going to our schools are surrounded by negative stories and pictures, we as a society tend to quickly believe them, and generalize about them. It's sad because in doing work with the branding of high schools (what I am working during my days these days), the whole issue of adolescents and young adults establishing their own self identities is paramount in these formative years.

Kids need to see and hear good things about them for them gain an emotional readiness to learn. Emotional readiness means these kids are motivated to learn rather than motivated to protect themselves from situations they perceive as threatening their self or their social image. And most of us who have experienced adolescence can attest to the importance of social image in high school.

So to answer my opening question, I take a lot of pictures to help project a positive message to kids who don't often get it. The shots are placed on the web site free for download for electronic purposes because I want these kids to use them in their social media. To project a positive image of themselves. And to get the shots of these kids on the local news media web sites, like GameFaceMN the Minneapolis Star Tribune high school sports web site where I post many shots.

But I know I take them for myself too. Otherwise, how could I explain the great trip out to Seattle this past week?

Closer

2010-04-27T07:22:00.006-05:00

One of the assignments for my photo class was to create a self portrait. I have to admit, this was a bit of a challenging one. Being on the shooting side of the lens, I find myself comfortable doing the view finding. When the view is turned back on myself, when I was supposed to reveal myself from the outside in, well that was new. I tried a number of versions, including this one shadow in a field, "Out Standing in My Field." I liked the way the shape created an "A." Outstanding.

But I don't really feel that way. Not yet. I'm still a novice at this photography thing. So I pressed on.

"Closer." That was the image I ended up with for the assignment. I liked the idea because in many way taking photographs brings me closer to who and what I shoot.

After taking a season long series of shots of teams, I get to know the players, their tendencies, their approach to their sport. After spending a series of days in a neighborhood, I become familiar and comfortable with my surroundings and what's happening. Heck, stare at landscape long enough and watch the light change in front of my eyes, I feel more connected to it.

But looking through the lens can only bring me so close to my subject. Photographing might bring me closer, but that closeness is admittedly a bit, shall I say, distorted. Actually being close to something or someone is not a one-way connection. Relationships are two-way. They require both give and take.

My self portrait says to me that photography is a great catalyst to bring me to places where I may not otherwise visit. It gives me the opportunity to encounter people I may not otherwise meet. And while it brings me in proximity of who or what I am shooting, I appreciate that its one-way direction takes me only so close.

What light is inside of you?

2010-04-14T17:01:00.004-05:00

As I lined up my camera to focus on taking a shot of the band Ryan Paul and the Ardent (http://www.ryanpaulandtheardent.com/main.html) at last week's Art Crank opening, a guy next to me with his camera looked over and said, "Oh, oh. Competition."

I could only respond, "Never."

The thought that another guy (or gal) with camera shooting the same subject might be believed to be competition, I just don't see it that way. I guess I might understand how someone might, but if I was able to take some time to talk about this with this guy, I would hope he'd gain a new perspective on two of us shooting side by side.

To be sure, I understand competition is not foreign concept. Not in life. Not even in creativity. Working in advertising for some 15 years of my checkered career, I fully get the idea of winners and losers. You win accounts. You lose accounts. And much of that is hinged on an ability to come up with creative approaches and executions.

While working in ad agencies, I admit I wasn't even on the "creative side." Ha. That is what they call it. Either you're on the creative, account, production or media "side" of an agency. Talk about competition. It exists within an agency, much less between agencies. And I realize there are even winners versus losers within creative staffs of an agency. Some agencies even pit creative teams against one another to win accounts or presentations to clients.

So I get it when the concept of competition is applied to creativity.

But it seems to me, competition is more genuinely an internal thing. Those committed, fixated or obsessed with reaching the pinnacle of what we are doing are looking for more than beating the other guy or gal. No, we're looking for reaching our own peak. We're our greatest critic. We look at others' work not not with jealousy nor envy, but rather as inspiration and perhaps motivation. Pushing ourselves because we see that someone has created something that so beautifully, so eloquently, so effectively has expressed their own self or their interpretation of an idea or thought.

When I see that, I can't help but think, "Wow. How can I do that?"

When shooting side by side, I realize that each of us has a unique perspective on the very same subject. Hey, I know I can't say it as well as Wilco says it. I'll just share it and say to myself, "Wow. How can I do that?"

What Light (Wilco)

If you feel like singing a song
And you want other people to sing along
Just sing what you feel
Don't let anyone say it's wrong

And if you're trying to paint a picture
But you're not sure which colors belong
Just paint what you see
Don't let anyone say it's wrong

And if you're strung out like a kite
Or stung awake in the night
It's alright to be frightened

When there's a light (what light)
There's a light (one light)
There's a light (white light)
Inside of you

If you think you might need somebody
To pick you up when you drag
Don't loose sight of yourself
Don't let anyone change your bag

And if the whole world's singing your songs
And all of your paintings have been hung
Just remember what was yours is everyone's from now on

And that's not wrong or right
But you can struggle with it all you like
You'll only get uptight

Because there's a light (what light)
There's a light (one light)
There's a light (white light)
There's a light (what light)
There's a light (one light)
There's a light (white light)
There's a light (what light)
There's a light (one light)
There's a light (white light)
There's a light (what light)
There's a light (one light)
There's a light (white light)
Inside of you

The hole that makes us whole

2010-04-06T13:41:00.004-05:00

Today's post comes with gratitude to fellow photographer and blogger Mitch Rossow (http://www.mitchster.com/). I asked Mitch for some perspective on a studio shoot I'll be doing tomorrow.

Shooting in a studio new territory for me, but thanks to a willing subject (competitive biker Camilla), a helpful studio (Mpls Photo Center) and Mitch who gave me some insights on studio lighting, I will venture into this shoot tomorrow. Nothing ventured nothing gained.

My conversation with Mitch included talking about what it is to shoot. That is, there is actually a point of time in doing photography when the shooter is actually not working.

That time non-working time is the fraction of time, perhaps ranging from 1/8000th of a second to maybe 30-seconds long, when the shutter is open. (Of course, technically there are exceptions, like when doing slash and flash or shutter dragging, but let's stay with the conventional argument here.)

We laughed at this concept. The idea that the time the photographer is not working is the time fraction of time the shutter is open. It sounded almost absurd. Is a copywriter not working with each keystroke? Is a surgeon not fully engaged in their work with the precise cut of a scalpel? Is a salesperson not working with flow of their words to address a customer's concerns?

The idea that the photographer is not working when the shutter is open, we agreed was more like the sharpshooter's release of the trigger. Once the bullet is out of the chamber, there's little else that can be done to redirect the bullet. Rather, all the time that is spent surrounding the pressing of the shutter, that's work time. Getting in the right place. Setting up the background. Assessing and making adjustments for the light sources. Creating rapport with a subject. Seeing the action develop in front of you and being ready to shoot at the precise moment the action or feeling unfolds. Not to mention all of the post shoot work. Those are the industrious work times for a photographer.

Minneapolis being named this week as #1 bike city in the country draws another analogy. The act of photography is like a wheel. The rim, the spokes and the hub. They're all critical components of a wheel. But what makes a wheel truly functional is the hole in the middle. Without the hole, the void, the negative space of the object, one could not place the axle and employ the wheel to serve to move objects.

Today, I celebrate the hole in the wheel, the void, the negative space, the open shutter. In a perverse way, it gives meaning to what we do.

May your life's blur be behind you.

2010-04-01T16:00:00.003-05:00

April 1st. Life seems a blur with how fast time passes.

Even if this feels like the best time of the year, coming out of fun in the snow and heading into fun in the sun, the laps click along.

Spent some of the morning updating the f/go shooting event calendar. Ultimate Player's Association disk Westerns are in Seattle this spring. Would love to figure out a way to make that happen. Velodrome season's already well started out in California and it won't be long here in Minnesota before the sound of those wheels rolling across the wood slatted banks will echo. And of course there's baseball, track & field, rugby and all the regular sporting events with their calendar reminders popping up.

This entry will be a quick one for today. Wanted to post this image I was working on for my photo class. A composition from the previously posted shot that I believe captures the beauty of motion I witnessed and even for a few moments experienced skiing last weekend. Might do more with it, or just leave it as is. Was a good exercise in learning some new techniques on PhotoShop.

While I'm a bit sad to see the ski season end, I'll just keep focused on the present and future. And hope I can keep life's blur behind me.

Capturing the action. It's 90 percent mental.

2010-03-30T09:56:00.004-05:00

Attending this past weekend's NASTAR national Alpine ski championships (www.Nastar.com), I am reminded why I love shooting sporting events. Being close to the action. After all, shooting sports what's made jump into photography with both feet.

Sometimes, I'm close enough to become a part of the action. Like on Saturday, when the skier from Detroit caught an edge rounding a post and came flying at me full speed. Before me I saw he eyes widen through his red-tinted goggles, and his arms and legs flailing out of control. I regrettably abandoned getting the shot and did a quick reverse pivot and outstretched dive headfirst. I planted myself and my camera equipment off-course and into the ski slope. The plume of snow covered us both, with the skidding racer's head stopping at my feet. All was good.

Of course, as a photographer I love being in the action as long as I don't actually affect the action. Being invisible is perfect. The nice part of carrying a big enough camera around at sporting events, or most events for that matter, I almost feel invisible.

With adequate credentials and an attitude of belonging there, I can gain almost unlimited access and get close to the action. Court-side at basketball. Sidelines at football. On the deck at swim meets. Along side the apparatus at gymnastics. Inside the dugout at baseball. On the running surface at track & field. Behind the net at soccer. Inside the velodrome at bike track racing. And on the trail in Nordic skiing, cross-country, cyclocross and mountain biking. Best seat in the house! Better yet, I'm often embedded. Right within the teams. I hear the sideline chatter, from the players, the coaches and between the coaches and the game officials. As such, I get a real sense of the vibe, the feeling. The attitude.

Yogi Berra said it best, "Baseball is 90 percent mental; the other half is physical."

Thanks Yogi. So much of sport and athletic performance is mental. Those who win are separated from the rest in large part by how they develop and flex the muscle between their ears. And that point of view was undeniably confirmed in a recent dinnertime conversation I was able to have with Olympic Nordic Combined gold and silver medalist Billy Demong. "Sometimes I actually get up in the morning and actually feel sorry for the person I'm competing against," Billy explained as he talked about how powerful attitude is towards winning. Some days you have it. Others you don't. Billy explained that as an athlete, you just have to hope it peaks at the most important times. Believe me, getting to talk with Billy for this time I can confirm, he wasn't bragging. He was just making the point that the real action of sport is mental.

So with camera strapped around my neck, I keep doing what I can to get close enough to capture the physical and mental action of sport. Then I'm sure I've got the best seat in the house.

Live each day as a tourist. (Visitez le jour)

2010-03-24T08:59:00.006-05:00

Anytime Scott, my brother, calls me, my first question to him is, "Where are you?"

His answers range from being on his way home stuck in Chicagoland traffic to his telling me he's walking the Red Square in Moscow, to driving Dubai (while at the same time I was at a Green Bay Packers game), to being in Singapore, Bangkok, Capetown, Tokyo, Manila, Kuala Lumpur ("Again?" I ask), Saigon, Sydney. . . . Well you get the idea.

Scott's a worldly traveler to say the least. As I write this he's towards the end of one of his trips, I believe today in Tokyo. He's in something like 1o to 20 countries a year and at times his travels have taken him literally around the globe. And because he works in industrial manufacturing, he's not jumping off an airplane and taking a cab to the nearest skyscraper. Rather, he's got tales of riding trains overnight (in sleeper cells that are great if you're about 5' tall) and hours of car rides to places most of us have never heard of, much less pronounce.

I love hearing about his voyages, because as a twin, I have to admit I live vicariously through them. While my photo tours take me to the depths of foreign Minneapolis neighborhoods with unrecognizable dialects, I know I'm just 5-10 minutes from a familiar cafe where if necessary I can digest all I've taken in. Conversely, I realize he's in places where he's no closer than a 15 hour flight away from the comforts of his local Starbuck's.

"Live each day as a tourist." It's long been a motto of mine. For when I'm a tourist, my senses are open and accepting of all that's out there. It's not so easy to do. I realize sometimes that the hardest part of travel are the little navigations that trip me up. Like the time I tried to drive out of the Brisbane, Queensland parking lot after a 24-hour series of flights, only to realize I was driving on the wrong side of the road. (As opposed to the "right" side, as we Americans like to call it.) Or on the same trip when I constantly tried to use my turn signal only it was my windshield wiper. And then there was the time Camille and I tried desperately to purchase train tickets in Vienna. After repeated failed attempts to purchase our passes in a cigar shop as instructed, I spotted a vending machine at the rail stop. Running across the street to the machine, I proudly felt like the problem-solver and began inserting coins into the box. After all, we were just in Frankfurt for a week and I was getting used to the ever-efficient German systems to purchase tickets. Only, I was in Austria, and as I inserted a second coin I realized I was purchasing a pack of condoms. Ah, the nuances of being in new places.

Today's shot comes from the birthplace of Minneapolis, the shores of the St. Anthony neighborhood. The Stone Arch Bridge is a wonderful tourist attraction, affording beautiful views up and down the Mighty Mississippi. It's a bit of a cliché shot, but it did take a little getting off the beaten path to capture this vantage point. But well worth the trek through wooded brambles and lying dead trees that blocked clear passage.

I take a lot of what I do each day for granted. And that's not so much a bad thing. After all, I appreciate not having to learn how to make coffee each morning. But it does limit me from realizing who and what surrounds me. The camera around my neck and pack of lenses on my back is a good reminder.

Visitez le jour!

Sometimes I can't see what I can see.

2010-03-23T13:55:00.008-05:00

There's an oft shared exchange between photographers shooting a sporting event.

"Getting any good shots?"

"I don't know until I get home."

"Yeah. I hear ya."

The fact is, even with all the planning, observation, equipment, positioning, adjustments, shutter flaps, monitor peeks, and luck that goes behind shooting an event with hopes and dreams of capturing the perfect shot, way often I get back home, or to the hotel and can't wait to see what I caught. I mean, honestly, it's almost like Christmas morning opening up a present that has a shape I have no clue about what's wrapped inside.

How can this be?

The fact is, those disks are little bundles of surprises.

Some not so good.

How did that light pole end up coming out of the side of her head? Why isn't that horizon line level? Do you think I could figure out how to not get a blurry shot, even when using a tripod? Ooooh. I don't think I'll use a fisheye lens when shooting people at an event again, unless it's about a circus family.

But sometimes, thankfully, those surprises are just . . . wonderful.

Where did those yellows in the ice come from? Cool reflection off that windshield. Look how those shadows lay against that textured surface. I like the pattern from the ceiling beams. Ahh, look how those lights sparkle like stars. The photo for today was taken on the St. Croix River. The springtime breaking up of the ice was so amazing. I loved the different shapes and textures. But to be honest, I never saw all those colors. They were only revealed after uploading the shots to my laptop. I popped up the vibrancy to help make the colors come more alive and thought it turned out way different than what I actually saw.

Writing today's entry compelled me to pull a couple dusty books off the bookshelf, and reminds me of third, Defensible Space by Kevin Lynch, that I think I'll leave up there for now. It's too text heavy and too many flashbacks to Land Use Planning CRP845. I struggled in that class until I finally figured out by mid-term that the class met Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. (I had another class scheduled at that time on Fridays. You're supposed to be smart enough to not have to need guidance counselors in grad school to be sure you're not double-booking classes, right?)

Where was I?

Oh, the first of the two books is How to See, A Guide to Reading our Manmade Environment by George Nelson. I see Amazon's got a copy of it dated Jan 2003. My dusty one is from 1977. I've long appreciated this book as a wonderful prompt of thinking about what to look for when out wandering aimlessly, or even while driving hard to a determined destination. It's a good read and filled with lots of photographs to illustrate design concepts.

The second one is Interaction of Color by Joseph Albers. I'll start by re-review with the text I highlighted in this book. And wow, there's still has the receipt in it as a bookmark; Walker Art Center, July 22, 1983. That was like the first week I moved to Minneapolis. What was I thinking back then?

Seems maybe even back then I was seeing something I didn't know I was seeing. Some of my future.

See new things. Living longer.

2010-03-22T14:12:00.002-05:00

I think it's pretty easy to get in a rut. Get up the same time everyday. Watch the same news channel as I get ready for the day. Take the same commute to work or school. Eat much of the same food. Get together with the same friends. Let's face it, routines are . . . comfortable.

But here's the challenge. When we do so many things the same way time after time, we forget to notice some of the details or nuances. We look back in time and ask, (Going for my second David Bryne reference in two days. Am I in a rut?), "How did I get here?"

Brain research has shown that routine, and not exposing oneself to new things may calm, but it also dulls our memories. Memories of like experiences fade as our brain senors them repeatedly. They quite literally go into auto-pilot to register them. After time, the brain nerve endings go, "Been there. Done that. Snore." We become, in the words of Pink Floyd, comfortably numb. The big downside to that is as we age, the brain actually makes us believe that time is flying faster. What can be worse to an aging baby-boomer but the end coming towards me at a quickening pace?

For me, photography has become an important device to literally slow down the pace of time. I am seeing new things, and see old things in new ways. While I've long considered design and aesthetics to be an important and relative to my own sense of place and being, photography is forcing me become more active and interactive with design. It provides purpose to explore and discover. And it's medium to reveal and express. This immediate project, "Textures of Minneapolis" is forcing me out to neighborhoods I've visited, but now it's making me look deep for some of the details.

I believe collecting all those images helps my memory too. I believe it will make me live longer, or at least remember more of the details of where I've been so time will not feel like it has just passed so darned fast.

It's 6am. Rise and maybe shine of a new blog.

2010-03-21T06:10:00.003-05:00

I’m finally restarting my journaling. Well, it's a modern day journal. It’s been since junior high school when I maintained a journal. I think one reason I did not keep it up was because I’ve been looking for focus. I think I’ve found that focus, at least for now. It’s photography.

Maybe what this journal will help me accomplish is some focus in photography. Maybe it’s not so much focus in the way that it will keep me narrowly focused, like using a telephoto to zoom in on an object. But rather to explore how I can develop more of a soul in the photography I’m doing, which may mean photographing more than just sports.

To be sure, one of the drivers of shooting sports is to find and reveal the inner soul of people. That is, when people are involved with sport, they are pretty exposed. They’re too consumed with what they are doing, how they are performing, what they are focused on achieving to hold pretenses. They are stripped of self-consciousness. In other words, they hardly even acknowledge that I’m there taking their picture. It seems to provide an easy access to that soul.

My focus on high school sports is perhaps one of my greatest joys because in addition to the revealing realness of shooting sport, is the innocence of youth. They’re kids. Many of their bodies and physical talents are reaching a high level, but they are far from perfection. Clumsiness of imperfection is also very real and part of the beauty.

But in shooting sport, perhaps the most fulfilling sight I appreciate is that of the underprivileged, the kids in the toughest neighborhoods, the kids too many people outside of their own parents see as throw away kids. There are too many of them. Kids who have the same desire, focus, determination, dedication, and spirit as anyone. But these kids often go unseen. They don’t have parents hovering them with cameras and video cameras. They don’t work out in nice well-equipped athletic facilities. They aren’t surrounded by cable companies taping their performances, like those I’ve the broadcasting of games I’ve witnessed in surrounding suburban communities. They don’t get seen.

I guess that’s where photography comes in. It helps to show what may not be otherwise seen.

Part of what I’ve been trying to do, to push myself, is to photograph what is out there in a way that does provide a view of what’s out there. I’ve started it with this “Textures of Minneapolis” project.

Thanks to Jack Mader’s Photo I assignment at MCTC, I am shooting to fulfill a need to show “urban details.” Jack’s good enough about this subject to keep it broad enough for each of us to interpret in our own way. I’ve taken this project on, as I often do, in perhaps too big of a way in that I’m looking for urban details in each of our neighborhoods. There are some 85 neighborhoods in Minneapolis, so I realize that I may be biting off more than I can chew. But I like having a context for things, so I may not get to all 85 at once. But it will keep me exploring and pushing myself to discover urban details not just in my comfortable space, but also in places in which I am not so familiar.

I think reading David Byrne’s “Bicycle Diaries” while working on this project is also helping. Byrne’s book is about accessing a city via bicycle. I’m right in line with that in that there are so many details we miss because we stream right by them in our protected spaces, whether that’s an automobile, the kind of street we tend to travel that keeps us outside where things really happen, or our minds that tend to be preoccupied with so much other than where we actually are. I guess for me, photography is about being present. It’d about noticing and appreciating details.

So my project, “Textures of Minneapolis” started with seeing a lamp post a block away from my house that’s antique. I don’t know if I’ve seen any more like it, but it’s got amazing detail to it. And its patina is so real, so imperfect, so authentic and so time genuine. It’s reached this point only in a way that it could, by standing there year after year after year.

But I’m going to bet that 99.99% of the people who pass this lamppost never actually notice it’s there. It’s invisible because it just is. To me, it may be unnoticed, but it still adds to the texture of our neighborhood. It building material says it’s established. “They don’t make them like that anymore.” Its delicate and intricate details say craftsmanship and quality. Its age says it’s functional and enduring.

So I’ve begun looking for other objects in other neighborhoods. Looking to see what they say about those places. My focus is in public objects. I’m trying to stay away from signs and privately owned objects because I’m trying to focus on our public infrastructure. But I wonder how well I will do with that. I’ve already found it a challenge to find public objects with interesting detail in other, especially less economically advantaged neighborhoods. That already says something. It says we, as a city as a public, may not invest equitably in all of our neighborhoods. Duh, would be the response to that lightning bolt of an idea I’m figuring many would say.

Geez, I’m having a flashback to my Master’s thesis that was about this very same subject: the public investment in infrastructure as it relates to the changing socio-economics of a neighborhood. Keep pressing on that with photography. But what is distinct in my objective with this photography project is I actually am looking to discover and reveal as possible the beautiful detail that exists everywhere. I’m trying to say that it does exist but it may be overlooked. That we already have our own lens of preoccupation and preconception and prejudice that does not allow us to actually see the beauty that sits before us. It’s a theory. Now I’m working (and determined) to prove it.

But the one thing I want to do is to push myself (and others) to look beyond the beauty of the inanimate. Sure, I am out there looking for “things” to photograph. And I don’t underestimate the challenge I’ve already set for myself trying to collect some 85 of these things that show detail of beauty in public spaces. But in walking and observing and seeking these things, I’ve also encountered and will encounter people.

These people are, as I see it, also a part of the texture of these neighborhoods. I want to get more comfortable photographing these people to represent and express the uniqueness of our urban fabric.

The first person I encountered and photographed was last week, a street musician on the Nicollet Mall downtown. I loved the juxtaposition of him, not quite dirty or homeless, but still in relative contrast to the beauty and elegance of the mannequins in the storefront behind him. He was friendly and fine with my taking his picture. I found myself talking briefly with other homeless people on the mall, but didn’t quite have the guts to ask to take their picture, except the one I took as a reflection to a sign about selling business suits. Again, a juxtaposition kind of story shot.

Earlier this week I shot a young man in a park playing his guitar. I liked talking with him a bit, and only shot his hands strumming. And yesterday, I encountered a guy with his bow and arrow doing target practice in a park practice range. I actually stopped at the site before he got there for the purpose of shooting the straw target, but was waiting for the sun to move a bit further so I might get some better shadow action. I ended up shooting his arrows imbeded in the straw target and enjoyed talking with him.

But there’s an image that stuck in my head that I wish I could somehow get. It was from earlier this week when I was in the East Phillips neighborhood. It was a group of 6 or 8 older kids hanging out. They were all huddled on a front stoop. They looked happy hanging out on this unseasonably warm day. There was something about this composition that grabbed me and has stuck with me. Something about the way they were very close to one another. I don’t know if they were close for safety, or because they liked each other, or because that was just their sense of personal space. I just wish I knew how I could bring myself to capture images like that. That’s what I want to push myself to do.

So if I say it here, maybe I will do it.