Hot Day on the Trail_IMG_0432-HDR

Hot Day on the Trail_IMG_0432-HDR, a photo by yukonchris on Flickr.

Sometimes, dragging a very heavy tripod over five kilometres of hillside trails is absolutely necessary. I've done this more times than I can say, sometimes never to use it. Today, however, it proved a good decision as I was able to produce at least two very nice HDR images, the first of which is shared above. To see the other one, please visit my Flickr pages here.

HDRs require that you merge multiple exposures covering several f-stops in order to get the dynamic range that a single shot just can't record. This photo is an example of how that process can result in an image that really feels as if it is approaching the reality you saw when you set up for the shots.

While I always recommend hiking as lightly as possible, especially on a very hot day, adding a few pounds of photographic gear isn't always a bad idea. Besides, it all serves to help keep one fit.

The Intentional Image and Learning to See

For me, the intentional image really begins with the composition. While some may shoot from the hip or rely on processing to create impact, I feel that the heart of beauty in photography is defined by what is essential in the composition. There is little doubt in my mind that the world around us is absolutely loaded with beauty. Some of it is obvious and we can't help but notice, for example, a classical face or a striking mountain vista, but much, is less so. A great deal of the world's beauty tends to go completely unrecognised, sometimes because it isn't part of the common picture, sometimes because it is ubiquitous, sometimes because no one else has pointed it out, but most often because we really don't know how to see.

One of the greatest lessons any artist , or more specifically, any photographer can learn is how to see the world around them. It seems like a crazy thing to say, because the obvious answer is that unless one is blind, how can one not see? In truth, though, what most of us do see is the everyday; we notice what we need to as part of our routine and as part of our survival. Advertisers know this, which is why signs are big and bold. It is why corporations spend millions trying to get your attention by tailoring advertisements to appeal to your core survival instincts. They are flashy, quick and loud; they relate product ownership to your vitality, family, success and reproductive needs. It's actually amazing to think that so much time effort and money is spent making messages that are so base in their content. If you want to grow beyond the obvious, and if you want to make great art, you need to learn to see!

Really seeing, as an inspired artist does, means learning to see what isn't everyday. It is about seeing on a whole new level. When you walk down the street that takes you to work, instead of just noticing the traffic, or the buildings, or the people, you will begin to see other things that are not part of your need to move from A to B safely. You will begin to see things that aren't so obvious. You will see things that will register on the retinas of everyone walking down that same street at that same moment, but that no one else will notice. In a sense, seeing, in the visual sense that I am alluding to, is analogous to developing strong critical thinking skills...

Despite the best efforts of thousands of school teachers, most people, once they've grown up, have failed to nurture the kind of inquiring mind that will question beyond the surface of things. How many people do you know who will attempt to "read between the lines," or "dig just a little bit deeper" to synthesize prior learning and experience with each new "given?" How many people do you know who will attempt to find "a deeper truth," question "an accepted fact," or perceive "a bigger picture?" It is much the same way with the visual world. Learning to see requires effort. The intentional image is a considered image. It is the result of work.

When I was young, like a lot of young people, I figured that I knew most of what I needed to and it hadn't occurred to me that I was blind to much of the real beauty of the world. Fortunately, my first foray into higher education took me to Art School where I completed a three-year diploma in Fine Arts. We did all the usual things one would expect of art students - lots of drawing practice, painting, working with a variety of media, English, Art History. We had some very talented instructors and it was a time of life, and an experience, that I wouldn't trade for any other.

In addition to all of the formal instruction, projects and papers that helped define my art school experience, I remember one of the instructors talking to us on many occasions about learning to see. If I remember correctly, I think it was Eric Atkinson, an Englishman and a classically trained painter who had achieved some limited fame for his work. Naturally, I thought that I understood those lessons and was as observant as any other, but eventually, all the inspired instruction, exercises dealing with texture, colour, shades, composition, tension, and more, actually had the desired effect. To this day, I remember standing outside a gallery in downtown London presumably after a hard day of schooling, and ,suddenly noticing everything in an entirely new way. If there ever was a definitive moment, for me on the road to becoming who I am, it was that one instant in time when I suddenly became aware that the world was so much more than just what was plainly in front of me. Obviously, it isn't the only field stone or road sign I've encountered in life, but it was a profoundly important one. To use the parlance of that school, it was an epiphany.

Since then, I have been unable to look around and not notice things that are not obvious, or in my way, or crucial to my survival. I have become an active observer.

On the simplest level, a photographer needs to, as I once heard someone say, "look up, look down, look all around." In truth, one needs to do much more than this. Begin by looking at the best work of other photographers and artists. Take a look at your town's most impressive architecture. Read books on composition, light, and design. Take notice of simple textures, patterns and rhythms around your own home. Consider that even the simple weave of the fabric on an inexpensive chair was designed by someone somewhere, not just to achieve decently durable cloth, but also cloth attractive enough to recommend the finished product above its competition.

While it has been said that the devil is in the details, it is probably just as true that within the details can be found unseen beauty. While the flower is striking, a close inspection will reveal that the petal and even the aphid crawling on the petal are just as remarkable. Notice, too, that each petal may be attached the the centre of the flower by the slimmest of devices and that they radiate from the centre in perfect, or perhaps imperfect unity. Notice the relationship of the flower in space to other objects in the vicinity. Notice too how light falls with subtle difference of angle and intensity on each part of the bloom. Consider the texture of the petals against the texture of the stamens. Look for subtleties of tone and colour - it's all there!

Of course, just as one can find world within worlds if one looks closely enough, the same can be true from a distance. Our world is so alive and rich in its complexity, that, to paraphrase, it may be impossible to see the forest for the trees. Sometimes, there is so much happening in front of us that we fail to see the simplest and most elegant composition in the middle of it all. Learn to clear away the visual clutter competing for your attention and find that quiet gem - it may be a questioning look in a crowd, or a lone brick of particular character on a wall of red. - again, it's all there!

Practice looking and seeing. In time, it will become second nature; perfectly balanced and unified compositions will jump out at you from every corner. You will suddenly find balance, beauty and a mysterious wonder in a section of broken steel by a puddle and it will remind you of the way a mountain cast its shadow on a small lake beside the forest. It is all there. If you want it. Begin looking and you'll eventually start seeing...

Evening HDR_IMG_0284-HDR

Evening HDR_IMG_0284-HDR, a photo by yukonchris on Flickr.

Sometimes less is more.

Notice that I composed this image to provide a sense that below the sky is an expansive forest without showing it all. This places the photo in context but allows the viewer to see what is important: the mountains, moon and sky.

The Processed Image

I have long held the opinion that photography, like any other kind of creative art, tends to take its lead from nature and the world around us. If you ask a thoughtful or formally educated artist about the purpose of art, you might get an answer along the lines that art allows us to interpret our experience and make sense of our place in the world. Many years ago, I remember reading a book that described art as a way of taking possession of the world - in that sense, art allows us to understand our world and thus give the artist and those who view the art, some ownership in a word that can otherwise seem quite overwhelming at times.

I tend to agree with the sentiments expressed in that long ago read, and that is probably why it has stuck with me. Having said that, I think the creative process is also much more complex than any single thought can express. I think we also create art because we are esthetic creatures who have been given concepts such as beauty and ugliness. I think we create art because we are natural engineers who like to modify our environment. I think we create art because we are created in the image of God and are therefore creative ourselves.

The thing about art that one needs to understand right off, though, is that it is the result, or in some cases the process, of being creative. Art in whatever form it takes is as much a new thing as it is a facsimile of something that already exists. I think this is an understanding that painters and sculptors, and those who appreciate those forms, would understand almost intuitively - it can't be exclusively new or accurately representational. Strangely, when we move from such traditional forms to photography, we find that many practitioners and viewers hold to a different understanding. While no one would say that a painting is reality, it is remarkable how many people feel that a photograph is. Of course, no matter how an image is made, it can never be more than an interpretation of what it seeks to represent.

I wanted to talk about this today, because one of the potential problems I see with photography are people who insist on "reality".

"You shouldn't change that colour, or process that image, because it isn't real," is something many photographers have heard at one time or another. Of course, when one sits down and takes the time to understand that a photograph of a valley isn't a valley, then the senselessness of that statement becomes somewhat more clear.

An out of camera jpeg and a version processed through ACDSee Pro 5 from RAW. Which one better evokes the scene as viewed by the photographer? Shot with an Olympus E-30 and 9-18mm Zuiko Lens. Photos Copyright Christopher Wheeler. Do not use without the permission of the photographer.

"But, a photograph is supposed to represent the real world," may be the subsequent comment. Well, yes, a photograph is representational art, but so is a book that describes the lives of its characters. I am no philosopher, but it seems to me that much of what we create in art and science is in fact representational even if that relationship is not immediately obvious. Religions seek to uncover the mysteries of the universe through a search for God, and science despite its supposed logical detachment is in fact doing much the same.

Religious art seeks to represent something of the divine without blundering into the area of idolatry, while science, through math and an understanding of the laws that govern the universe, finds its own way of expressing the same. For a scientist or mathematician, an elegant and concise algorithm or formula may conjure a remarkable picture of the universe or represent a physical manifestation of the natural world more concisely and accurately than any image. Likewise an inspired piece of biblical text may evoke in the reader a profound image of life encompassing far more than any momentary experience.

Producing an image when the goal is realism cannot be accomplished simply by what the camera records. The camera is a product of science and engineering. It is a cold hard tool that responds only to light. The light passes through glass elements that redirect it and focus it onto a sensor. The sensor has more microscopic lenses that focus the photons into silicon wells where they create an electrical charge. The electrical charge is then quantified through the magic of electronics and reinterpreted on a small screen as a recorded visual image that emits light. This light then enters our eyes where it strikes nerves that send signals to the brain which then reinterprets the image. It is quite a process and one that emphasized how far removed the recorded image is from the scene it represents.

When one explores the world, what we see is not just informed by the photons that enter the eye, as the cameras image is by the light that contacts the sensor. Our prior experiences, our state of mind, and our other senses, to name a few contributory elements, all impact on how our minds interpret the scene. I for one, often find that no matter how good the camera, its results seldom describe with any real impact, the profound beauty of the view that propelled me to take the photo in the first place. The colours are hardly ever as saturated, the vista never feels as immense, the range never as dramatic, and the detail is never revealed to the same extent. If I were to leave such a photo as the camera "saw" it, then I would have a poor representation of reality to share with others.

An out of camera jpeg and a version processed through ACDSee Pro 5 from RAW. Which one better evokes the scene as viewed by the photographer? Shot with a Canon 7D and 15-85mm Canon Lens. Photos Copyright Christopher Wheeler. Do not use without the permission of the photographer.

Post processing is one way that the modern photographer seeks to recreate something of the mystery and magic of their own vision in the final work. You start with a RAW file from the camera and then you tweak it in a effort to reveal the beauty that was there. Then there are photographers who push photos beyond the threshold of mere visual reproduction. They want to evoke the emotion of their experience, which is no less real for them than a cold image uninformed by human experience or feeling.

The truth is that we all see the same scene quite differently. There is no one reality! If you don't believe this, ask a crime investigator. He will tell you that three honest witnesses, all of whom saw the same crime take place, will each tell a different story. None is lying, but all saw something that was interpreted differently by their minds because each was, in fact, a different person.

Photography, as an arm of art, records the visual world. Sometimes this is the visual world that we are familiar with as in street, landscape, or portrait photography, and sometimes it records the less familiar as in macro-photography or astrophotography. Whatever the subject matter, what one sees is unique to that person, and how one represents it, to be honest and accurate, must also be unique.

So, in conclusion, my message today is don't get hung up on whether or not the photograph looks "real enough" to you but consider it as a representation of the artist's vision, as something unique and special in its own right. If then you can say, "I love this!" So much the better. If not, well, that's honesty and there's no fault in that.

Olympus to Canon - First Thoughts

I just took delivery of a brand new Canon EOS 7D. Up until this time, I have been the proud owner of a number of Olympus digital cameras including two dSLRs - the E-330 followed by the E-30. Recently my son, combined with years of exposure to web hype about Canons, Nikons and Sonys, convinced me that it was time to upgrade my camera and also time to consider another brand. Olympus, after all, and despite their claims to the contrary, has in many practical senses, abandoned the Four Thirds dSLR system.

This photo shows, clockwise from the top, Olympus E-330, Canon 7D, and Olympus E-30.

So, onward with the Canon...

While I opened the boxes just a few hours ago, and have only just managed to fully charge the enclosed battery and begin wading through the instruction manual, it is interesting that I am already drawing comparisons between this unit and the Olympus E-30 that it replaces. So far, I'd say that as nice as the 7D is, size wise and shape wise, the Olympus wins the ergonomics contest. Mind you, this may not be a fair comparison as the E-30 was, for me, almost perfect in terms of construction, size and weight. The fact that it also offered a tilt swivel LCD, while the 7D does not, just adds to my sense that Olympus had it right and Canon, not quite.

Other subtle differences that affect usability include the the on/off switch which seemed better positioned on the E-30, but better executed on the 7D; the use of two standard control dials on the Olympus versus one oddly placed dial on the Canon and that strange wheel on the back. While they work well, they are just not placed quite as conveniently as they are on the Olympus, so once again the Olympus layout seems more convenient to me. Beyond that general and admittedly niggling comparison though, it is quite astonishing just how similar these two cameras feel in the hands. On the whole, both offer an excellent control layout, strong construction and solid feel. There really isn't much to recommend one over the other, and both feel much better to me than the Nikon D7000 I looked at.

Then there is the manual, which seems quite good, better than any Olympus manual I've read, and is already shedding light on a few areas that no one seems to speak much about. First off is image stabilization. Olympus uses an in body stabilization system that I rarely used, but which also never got in the way. The E-30 had a three mode system that would allow you to stabilize shots even if you were panning. The first thing I have discovered about Canon's lens based system is that it apparently doesn't work while the camera is in motion, as in when you're panning. Hmmm. That's interesting. The other thing I noticed, at least with the 15 - 85mm kit lens I purchased with the camera, is that it is huge. It seems fairly well built but is quite a bit heavier and larger in diameter than any of my Olympus lenses. The APS-C sensor isn't that much larger than a four-thirds sensor so I wonder how much of this is due to that, apparently less than optimal, optical image stabilization system. Hmmm again... Also, while the manual is good, the complexity of the 7D makes it a must read.

What I do like right away about the 7D is that the camera seems to be very solid, as does the lens. The 7D is built such that one could probably employ it as a fairly effective modern take on the Medieval mace, if you needed to. I also very much like the fact that the 7D is part of a living breathing system with lots of third party support, a huge variety of lenses and accessories to choose from and most importantly, a future (well, nothing is certain, but it seems probable)!

Of course, all this comes under the heading of first impressions, and nothing much can really be said until I have had a chance to get out into the field and take photos. So more to come in future posts. Stay tuned...

Olympus or What?

The following article has grown out of a post I contributed on another blog.

Back in the days of film, I shot with Nikon but switched to Olympus with the advent of digital. My first Olympus actually came to me as a gift. My father discovering that we had no working camera when my last Nikon quit, and with babes, a new mortgage, and no money to replace the Nikon, was kind enough to send me his old Olympus D600L.

That first Olympus, which I still own and which still works, was a simple camera with a 3x optical zoom and a 1.4 Megapixel sensor. In additon to a rather nice lens and a comfortable all in one design, it could handle smart media cards with a massive maximum storage capacity of something like 8MB.  What that meant was that I could save up to approximately 12 jpegs on the card before it was full. Not bad really, and while not as good as the 36 exposures that I could fit on a roll of Kodachrome, it was every bit as good as the number I could fit on a roll of 127 film with the first camera I ever owned, a Kodak Brownie Starmite. Of course, the best thing about my new Olympus was that I could take photos again, including pictures of my young children and it was capable of producing some very fine images - a good tool for the time!

A few years after starting out with the D600L, I finally found myself with enough extra cash to buy a new camera - no not enough for one of the C7070 Wide Zooms I was lusting after, but enough for a new line of inexpensive cross-over digitals, the SP-500 UZ. Once again, Olympus didn't disappoint. While this camera was little more than a point and shoot with a decently versatile lens and a pseudo slr style, it proved reliable and very capable of gathering light in a most appealing way. I took this light little camera everywhere I went and took thousands of photos until I dropped in onto a cement sidewalk damaging the case but remarkably failing to kill it.

As it turned out, that accident proved rather fortuitous because my wife seeing the horror on my face and realizing how important photography was to me, suggested that it would be OK if I purchased a replacement. What joy! What luck! I was very quickly lusting after a lovely Canon 40D. Once again, however, the price seemed a little beyond my limited budget. Then I noticed that one of the big American camera stores was hosting a very appealing sale on the Olympus E-330. While I knew little about the model, the style instantly appealed to me, recalling images of that C7070 that I'd wanted a few years earlier. Besides, it was a two lens kit for little more than I'd paid for the SP-500 UZ. My Visa was out before you could say, "check that exposure," and within a couple of weeks, I found myself in possession of a brand spanking new E-330.

Like the two cameras before it, the E-330 proved to be a solidly reliable beast, but unlike the previous cameras, getting exceptional images was more of a challenge.The E-330 was very slow to focus in poor light and no speed demon in good light, a drawback that was compounded by the two rather under impressive kit lenses that came with the camera. I soon found myself frustrated with the soft out-of-focus images and blown highlights that seemed to characterize many of my imaging attempts. The fact that I liked to photograph wildlife, where a quick accurate focus lock was essential, made matters even worse. Finally, there was the very small viewfinder and a sensor that couldn't really do anything above 400 ISO.

The thing is, once you've purchased the beast with the somewhat reluctant blessings of your wife, you are obliged to make it work, or look forward to a future in which the words, "upgrade my camera" would never be received positively again. I soon learned to set the exposure compensation to underexpose all my outdoor shots by at least a third stop, which fixed the blown highlights, and after replacing the kits lenses with a 70-300mm, a 9-18mm, a 14-54mm and a 35mm macro, solved most of the other problems. Though it could never be called a speed demon, by any stretch of the imagination, the E-330 began to work for me and produced some exceptional images.

If the E-330 had any real strengths it was the reliability and compact nature of the camera. I took the E-330 everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE! During the time that I owned that model, I spent half a year working in an experiential education class that specialized in long outdoor adventures. My Olympus went on snowshoe hikes into the back-country for days at a time with temperatures that never rose above -20 C. It hung around my neck as we built quinzies (igloo like sleeping accommodation) and rested beside my sleeping bag at night. It journeyed on a 400 KM bicycle trek bouncing around in one of my pannier bags as I peddled mile after mile of rutted northern highway through blowing snow, wind and rain. It accompanied me on a mountain hike that lasted a day up into the alpine, and a trek back to an wilderness cabin in which it rained so hard that my camera bag wound up as wet on the inside as it was on the outside. I dried my camera gear on a log ledge about three feet from a roaring wood fire in a cabin where wet people and gear meant the humidity was probably 250%; if it was any cooler, it would have rained inside the cabin!

Having thrown everything possible at that camera and its lenses, it still works to this very day, and works quite well. I have never ever had to clean the sensor which, given that I am constantly changing lenses, speaks volumes for the Olympus sensor cleaning system. I think I can honestly say that I have never owned a camera, and am unlikely to ever own a camera as ruggedly reliable as the E-330.

Despite its durability and the excellent images I was able to get in ideal lighting conditions, the dismal low light performance, both in terms of acquiring a focus lock and in terms of image noise, eventually propelled me towards another investment. Once again I started looking for a new product. This time, Canon had just released the 60D and Nikon the D7000. I liked the look of both but now I had another problem: a rudimentary but expensive collection of Olympus lenses - both the greatest asset and the greatest trap of the dSLR. In the end, I purchased an Olympus E-30.

Like the E-330, the E-30 has proven solid. The focus is much better, the low light performance better, the body quite close to perfect in it design and proportions, but somehow, it doesn't have the character or personality of the previous models. It felt like an attempt to compete with the big boys on their own turf and in doing so, it lost some of the quirky idiosyncrasies of previous cameras.

Ultimately, every camera represents a compromise and every camera is different. From the creative standpoint, this is a good thing since it allows us to find a tool which best reflects our own creative goals. It’s a real shame that so many photographers fail to recognize this. A great artist will use a stick if it allows him or her to express a unique vision not attainable with a sable haired brush, but the art magazines might run pages of detail on why a particular brush brand provides the better quality tool.

I am primarily a landscape photographer and have used Olympus cameras for years because no matter where I hike or how rough the conditions, I have never been let down by a failed camera. This was not the case when I shot with Nikons back in the days of film. Two of them died irrevocably at the most inopportune moments, one while I was beginning a once in a lifetime trip overseas, the other by a drop similar to the one that only wounded my SP-500 UZ a number of years later.

Olympus cameras I have owed over the past couple of decades, from left: D600L, SP-500 UZ, E-30, E-330.

Beyond their reliability, Olympus cameras have traditionally offered me three more advantages: 1) due to their reasonable dimensions and weights, I can carry a body and three lenses over long distances, which is important when one has to hike over hills and up mountains to reach his shooting locations; 2) the smaller Four-Thirds sensor used in their dSLRs and Mirrorless Compact System Cameras means a larger depth of field at all apertures, which is often a plus when shooting landscapes, and; 3) the two-times crop factor means that I can shoot the wildlife I want using more compact and less expensive long focal length lenses.

Despite all the advantages noted above, I have never been fully satisfied with the dynamic range of the Panasonic sensors that Olympus has used for the past several years. In fact, as other cameras, especially Nikons and Sonys, have incorporated sensors with better and better dynamic range, I have found myself becoming less and less satisfied with my own gear. The result is that lately I started looking again.

Of course, one hears so much commentary on the advantages of Canon and Nikon products that the reality can be a bit of an eye opener. I spent a good part of a day last week handling products from both makes at my local photographic store. I was expecting to be thoroughly impressed,especially with the Nikon D7000 which seemed to sit in the sweet spot where my budget and feature set requirements coincide. Of course, numerous glowing reviews haven't hurt either. Unfortunately, the hands-on impressions provided something different. In truth, I came away feeling disappointed. The Nikon D7000, which I had gone down to look at, and Canon 60D which seemed a good back up plan, both failed to impress me when examined in person. While each unit had some standout features, either technically or in terms of usability, neither handled as well as my E-30. The Canon felt cheap to me. Its rear buttons and controls, in particular, were disappointing and the D7000 seemed even worse but for completely different reasons.

There is no doubt that the Nikon D7000 has a very capable sensor and has been highly lauded in the media of late. But in my opinion, it has one of the most uncomfortable grips I've ever had the misfortune to hold. The viewfinder was disappointingly busy, and frankly, the lens mounting system was the worst, by feel, that I have ever tried. While the mechanical connection affected by the bayonet mount is probably hardly changed from the excellent system that was used during the late 70's and 80's, the addition of the side mounted electrical contacts used in today's cameras meant that the action of changing lenses was no where near as smooth as it is on the Olympus E system cameras. In fact, Nikon's lens mount made the Canon's system feel quite slick by comparison.

So what did I decide to do? In the end, the only camera I tried that impressed me with its good design was the Canon 7D. While it was a bit more than I wanted to pay, and while it is bulkier and heavier than one would hope for in a dSLR camera, and while its sensor is arguably less capable than those in the Nikons and Sonys, it was by far the most pleasant to handle and the most solid feeling, attributes that cannot be overlooked - craftsmen everywhere will tell you that a good tool always feels right in the hand!

I have a 7D on order.

What worries me now is whether the 7D will match the glowing endorsements and media hype one reads on-line. I have no doubt that it will excel in all the areas where my previous cameras fell short, but how will it compare in the areas where they excelled? I hope the reality proves as good as the hype. For the price, it should be about twice as good as my E-30. Of course, if it does disappoint, I can always resell it and chalk one up to experience before I invest too heavily in Canon glass. I'll have to let you folks know how it works out once I've had it for a while. Stay tuned. More to come...

Thoughts on Camera Design

Looking at the latest crop of advanced cameras from the big makers, festooned as they are with buttons, dials, and multi-coloured menus, I can't help but feel a certain pining for the good old days of unencumbered simplicity. Of course, I use the word, "unencumbered," purposefully here. When one considers the camera, one cannot lose sight of the goal: to produce excellent photos. In holding to this goal, we must ask, what factors need to be considered in the pursuit of that result? From the photographer's point of view, things like composition, framing, point of view, shooting angle, subject matter, and balance within the frame are omnipresent considerations. That is the art of photography. The science is really pretty simple, how to get the right amount of light into the camera in the right way to capture the desired image (not including gathering and focusing the light, which is the job of the lens, and is beyond the scope of this article).

There are essentially three ways to control the amount of light that enters a camera: 1) shutter speed; 2) aperture, and; 3) ISO sensitivity. If you're using a flash, add to this some options to control flash power, flash groups, etc., but it’s those first three variables that really count, controlling the amount of light that impacts the film or the sensor housed within. That’s it!

Accessing these essential controls on your camera should be as seamless and natural as operating a car. In fact, this is a good analogy given that we are dealing with essentially the same number of primary inputs: three. In the case of an automobile these are steering, braking and acceleration as provided by the steering wheel, brakes and accelerator. Like a camera, the car will have all manner of optional extras such as a radio or stereo system, air-conditioning and  electronic windows that make it more desirable, but none of these are essential, and more importantly, none of them can in any way compromise access to steering, brakes and acceleration or the car will be an unmitigated failure.

Modern cameras come with extras that often make a luxury car seem under specked. GPS, electronic filters, face detection, and anti-shake facilities to name a few. But unlike a good car, it would seem that designers sometimes put so much emphasis on these “extras” that the essential controls, aperture, shutter speed and ISO, get submerged. When this happens, the camera becomes more difficult to control in day to day use, and begins to “get in the way of the photograph” as it were.

Perhaps camera designers need to start at the right place, with the essential inputs, and then add the extras. A number of years ago, I imagined a camera design with three prominent wheels, one for each of those essential controls. No need for a top mounted LCD panel, no need for a complicated menu system. Everything controlled from those three wheels. It really isn’t radical thinking, there already exist good examples from the past for this approach.

In the heyday of the single lens reflex camera, when film was still king, in the 1970s and 1980s, the aperture ring almost always fell naturally to hand no matter what the make or model, because it was where one would expect to find it, on the lens. The aperture is, after all, a function of the lens. The shutter speed dial was similarly well positioned, on the camera body, which contained the focal plane shutter, characteristic of the SLR type. The dial for this usually also included the ability to adjust ISO (ASA/DIN). Although the positioning of these inputs wasn't exactly the same on every camera, Olympus OM cameras for instance, placed the shutter speed dial on the camera body at the base of the lens rather than on the top plate, they were always easily accessible and obvious to the user. Once you became comfortable with your particular camera, changing shutter speed and aperture could be easily managed without even removing your eye from the viewfinder. A simple match needle light meter, inside the finder, ensured that your adjustments didn’t result in over or under-exposed images. In short, the designers were producing elegant tools that worked as intuitively as a good automobile. Today, such obvious placement of the primary inputs seems to be the exception rather than the rule.

Another thing that has changed over the years is the sense of value that one used to expect from something as personal as a camera. Nikon, Canon, Minolta, Pentax and Olympus, among others, all produced reliable metal bodied masterpieces that also felt solid. The same could be said for the lenses. Slapping down $500.00 for a good camera was never all that easy, but you always felt as if your hard earned money was being exchanged for something solid and lasting.

Today, while cameras are more advanced in terms of electronics, which are often intrinsically reliable, the camera bodies and lens barrels often feel cheap and toy like compared to their predecessors. This impression is furthered by the plethora of plastic buttons, and dials which may have only dubious relevance to the primary inputs described earlier. Most perplexing of all, while SLRs in the 1970s and 1980s were often mechanical masterpieces with hundreds of widgets, pins, springs, gears and oddly shaped stainless rods or arms held together by miniscule screws, the complete camera was often smaller than modern dSLRs whose internal workings are almost entirely electronic.

Consider the Nikon FM and FE, the Canon AE-1 and A-1, the Minolta SRT-201 and X-700, Pentax ME and MX. They were all solid representatives of an age when the camera was a truly valued acquisition. Also consider the Olympus OM-1 and OM-2, in my opinion, the  pinnacle of design in single lens reflex cameras. If you have any doubt, find one in a used camera store and hold it for a few moments. Incomparable!

Fortunately, after years of plastic cameras, it looks as if the industry is beginning to learn. Fujifilm’s success with the Finepix X100 has certainly not gone unnoticed. Here we have a camera that in all but technology could have been created in 1978. Form, as a product of function, may be on its way back. Likewise Sony’s newly announced NX-7, and Samsung’s NEX-200 seem to be getting back to a more minimalist formula where solid build, access to basic inputs and compact design are once more being considered. I was especially pleased to see Sony adapt a dual control wheel design on the body of the NX-7 that suggests a more careful analysis of the camera as an extension of the photographer. Hopefully, there will be more of the same to follow from all of the major manufacturers.

In my opinion, big sensor, sturdy construction, simple controls, exceptional image quality, and compact form factor is the formula that makers should be leaning towards. Pentax was certainly on the right track with its K-3 and K-5 designs. Unfortunately, most cameras seem to offer only part of this formula in any one package. Walks through the local big box store, especially past the camera counter, fill me with dread. Picking up the latest consumer dSLRs or super zoom is a regular disappointment. Their incredibly light plastic designs, especially their featherweight lenses, scream disposable! It's not the impression one wants from any consumer device costing more than a couple hundred dollars, and it certainly wouldn't have sufficed for any of the serious brands of the past. Even many entry level SLRs in the 70's felt impressive. The K1000 from Pentax is a case in point. It was notoriously robust, a first choice for art school and photography students, and often used continuously for decades after. Surely this is the better approach, especially in an age when we are supposed to be more, rather than less, environmentally aware.

A good camera should function like an extension of the photographer. It should speak care in design and strength in execution. It should be a product that one keeps, not only because it works well, but because it has become a friend. Ultimately, I think this is what people want.

Conformation or Creativity?

A few days ago I noticed that Darren Rowse’s Digital Photography School (DPS) was running its fifth annual Which Camera Do You Use reader survey. He called it a census, but I think survey is probably more accurate.

In any event, as someone who receives the DPS e-newsletter and occasionally visits their site, I was intrigued to note how quickly the the responses piled up – close to 3,000 after only two or three days. Scrolling down through the posts, it seemed pretty obvious that most of his readers were proud owners of Canon or Nikon cameras with the odd Pentax, Olympus, or Leica thrown in to keep things interesting.

I suppose this survey does little more than confirm what the marketing types have been telling us all along; Nikon and Canon pretty much run the dSLR show. Something else it suggests to me is just how much stock people put in their equipment, and this raises a few important questions.

My family’s collection of photographic equipment has grown over the years.
Photo copyright Chris Wheeler, 2011

First of all, isn’t photography, primarily, a creative pursuit? By that, I mean isn’t the point to explore visual possibilities? I may be the naive product of the Art School I attended as a young man, but I thought the point with most art forms, including visual arts such as photography, was to explore. Let’s not diverge into a debate on post-modernist versus modernist, or classical motivations. Exploration can favour the process or the product, and in both cases, should result in growth.

While exploring possibilities or results may not be the primary objective for photojournalists, or forensic photographers, even news photographers I’ve met will hunt for photos that offer more than a photocopier interpretation of the scene. In fact, truly good photojournalists regularly produce newsworthy photographs that not only record events, or tell a story, but also offer a compelling visual composition.

A creative photographer is someone who invests something of themselves in every image they take. These people are informed by their own aesthetic, their knowledge of composition and their experience. Whether the thought they put into their photographs is muscular and hard won, or essentially automatic and seemingly easy, the image is intentional and reflects the content of their artistic toolbox, or visual vocabulary. We are talking about art and craft, not mere reproduction. Each image is not only an interpretation of reality, if one can even say that, it is something special and unique. Certainly not a snapshot or a photocopy.

Some fun on the road results in a unique interpretation of the experience.
Photo Copyright Chris Wheeler 2011

If we can agree that photography, like any other art form, is a creative endeavour at its core, we must learn to dispense with useless concepts like “professional” or “amateur” when our intent is to consider the art rather than its disbursement.

So what is the real value of the photograph? There can be many answers here. If you are a professional, or one who earns his or her living through their photography (which is all that term means), then the art’s ability to inspire a purchase may be front and centre. If you are an amateur, then you can enjoy the luxury of many more possibilities, any one of which can be paramount: Personal growth, process, technique, simply seeing the world in a new way…

Whatever reason, or reasons, you have for pursuing photography, one thing is almost guaranteed: the creative journey is ultimately a personal trip about you, and your unique relationship with the world around you.

Now, having briefly considered the art of photography, we find ourselves back at the beginning considering the camera survey at the DPS website; how is it that a question about a tool can be so much more popular than posts about technique, setting, or subject matter, and why will a creative endeavour like photography spawn so many passionate arguments about who is using the best camera? Yes, that will almost certainly happen at some point.

While artists should explore new tools to facilitate new craft, perhaps the emphasis should be placed on what each tool does differently rather than on which most closely matches a standard check list. A sculptor will use a broken chisel if it produces a more interesting line than its pristine companion sitting on the other side of the tool chest. When he or she picks up that chipped steel the reasoning isn’t based on technical advantage, but on creative possibility.

A photographer who is willing to use an old Brownie box camera because it gives voice to his inner vision is far more interesting, in the long run, than the guy who uses the 5DMKII because it won the review at ISO 6400.

Endless debates about the “best equipment” ignore the fact that depending on a photographer’s unique vision, the “worst camera” in the bunch, from a reviewer’s point of view, may produce the “best picture” in terms of the user’s photographic style.

Like people, every camera model will be different, each one offering its own unique qualities. In this way, considering the differences may be more valuable from a creative standpoint than looking at standards. What is it that you are trying to achieve visually?

One of the promising products to arise out of this debate is the camera phone. Take a look at Flickr’s camera finder to see just how they are growing in popularity. You may notice that the iPhone has even passed the best of breed from the biggest traditional camera manufacturers in terms of popularity on that site. Yet camera phones with their miniscule lenses and equally small sensors are unlikely to win a detail or noise test against a more traditional camera. So what’s the deal? The knee jerk reaction might be, it’s just convenience and hype, and there will almost certainly be some truth to both. Still, there are other possibilities...

While it is true that camera phones are almost always available and convenient, look at how many camera phone images utilize creative filters to achieve a retro look, unique colour cast, or grainy texture. Consider how the diminutive size of these units suggests, almost begs, for a more intimate composition - bringing the lens that much closer to the subject.

A unique point of view suggested by the small size of my Android phone resulted in this image processed with the Vignette camera app.
Photo copyright Chris Wheeler 2011

What we are seeing with camera phones are both traditional and non-traditional photographers picking up that strangely bent chisel because it offers an alternative that facilitates their creative side. We are seeing people think beyond the limits of the pixel-peepers and reviewers to achieve something they like.

Finally, out of a few phones comes the sense (the possibility) that photography is regaining its purpose; the joy of interpreting our own worlds. But for those who want to focus on the tool rather than the process, or the result, consider this: it might be more sensible to simply use a reliable photocopier and dispense with the camera altogether. The quality would certainly be predictable!

If my thoughts about the creative importance of photography are even close to the mark, then we might do well to celebrate our differences. Instead of finding satisfaction in the knowledge that some impressive percentage of us chose a particular model or brand, we should be heartened that there is still choice. Possibilities expand with choice, and variety stimulates creativity. In my estimation, creativity is the prize accorded free thinkers while conformity may just be a little less interesting.