Tag Archives: landscape

Thinking about colour and monochrome images

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There are some images that I just know need to be monochrome, even before I squeeze the shutter – I think that is perhaps the case for many photographers.  And if I have my film camera with me and it has black and white film in it, then I try to compose and visualise accordingly.  But sometimes I create a colour image and then come to the editing stage and find I have an image which could be either, and it’s not clear to me which one is ‘better’.  This is especially the case when I have a series of images, and I wonder if a monochrome development of one or two individual images might be good.

For example, this image of Ngoni is a case in point.  I have a number of these images of her on the bridge in the snow (in her bikini, in a dress, and in a coat), and this one seemed quite strong when converted to monochrome, emphasising her dark naked skin against the white snow and white bikini, with the bridge playing a less significant role than it appears to in the colour version (of course, that’s also an editing question).  I did eventually put the monochrome image on RedBubble for sale – and you can see a larger version of the image there – but I’m not wholly convinced this is the right one to have used.  The tones (values) of light and darkness are what make or break a monochrome image… and I find I’m not completely sure if this is quite right when examined under these criteria (and you may think this is because it’s not a particularly strong image, despite what I think!).  Of course, in the ‘old days’ a camera would have had either colour or black and white film in it, and composition and visualisation would have been guided accordingly, but in these digital days (even with scans of colour images from film), conversion to monochrome is always an easy possibility – and perhaps this makes life a little bit harder.  Thoughts on all this in the comments section below are most welcome!

And, of course, these questions apply not only to portraits… they also arise when thinking about landscapes.

I’ve struggled with this before…!

Great British Landscapes

Portobello beach (shot on Velvia, with Nikon FM2 and 50mm lens)

Portobello beach (shot on Velvia, with Nikon FM2 and 50mm lens)

Towards the end of last year, the first issue of a new online landscape photography magazine, Great British Landscapes, was launched, with the express intention of wanting to utilise the different opportunities that a web presence offered.  The first issue was free, and I thought it was great.  So I subscribed for a year and have not been disappointed (it went on my list of photographic inspirations almost immediately; the two editors were already there!).  Tim Parkin, one of the editors, said at one point that he would like to conduct interviews with the early annual subscribers, and it also says this at the bottom of the homepage… but I thought nothing more of it.  During the holidays, however, he got in touch, and we had a long conversation about all kind of topics, and the piece has now appeared in the sixth issue.

Tim chose a number of photographs to include with the article.  The three in the article itself are ones I sent him, but the others are all his choice – and it’s very interesting for me to see the images that have attracted a talented photographer like Tim!  In particular, the ‘headline’ image (next to the link to the interview) is one I recall being quite uncertain about posting, since I wasn’t sure it had worked.  For me this raises interesting questions about the value I place on particular images, perhaps something to return to in a blog posting in the future.  But in the meantime, it’s exciting to be in the magazine! :)

Dornoch images

Embo - beach

Embo - beach

Tim Parkin from Great British Landscapes has been in touch and interviewed me for the magazine; this will be appearing shortly.  In talking with him I realised that I had completely forgotten to upload images from the week in Dornoch last summer, when I spent much of the time photographing using just my prime lenses (in Nikon DX format, the 35mm f1.8 and 50mm f1.4).  A fault with my film camera meant I couldn’t take that with me, so all the images that week were created digitally, on the Nikon D90.

As I note in the text on the gallery page, this marked an interesting point in my compositions.  Click on the image here to see the gallery, or look down the list to the side.

Location location location

The title of this post is taken from a really terrible – on all sorts of levels! – TV programme in the UK that I have watched bits of once or twice…

This last week I met two potential models, with whom I plan to do some interesting and in part slightly crazy photoshoots in the near future (not necessarily with the two of them together, though that is also a possibility at some time in the future). One of the very nice things to come out of these discussions is that I am thinking a lot about about locations for shoots – we have a number of ideas, and so I can link plans for landscape excursions with planning photoshoots with these two lovely models. This has to be a good thing!

An idea developed with one of the models involves a particular setup on a hillside.  I know which hillside I want to use, so I planned an exploratory return trip this weekend.  The photographs I have from my last visit are quite uninspiring, for example:

Castlelaw Hill Fort, Pentland Hills

Castlelaw Hill Fort, Pentland Hills

But today I had snow to contend with!  The car wouldn’t even get up the little road to the car park when I was out before dawn this morning, so I gave up on the idea of exploring the hill altogether – and explored some fields and woods instead!  There are some images (just the digital ones – the film ones will take a little longer) in a gallery tracing some of the changes from autumn-winter.

Castlelaw Hill, Pentland Hills

Castlelaw Hill, Pentland Hills

The beauty of autumn

The beauty of autumn

The beauty of autumn

I love the autumn – the clouds that fill the skies, and the soft gentle light that allows for a different kind of photograph to be taken from the harshness of summer light.  So whereas other members of the family, and colleagues at work are sorry to see the summer days going and resent the autumnal weather and nights drawing in, like a little child I’m getting rather excited at the opportunities that lie before me with the soft diffused light that is the hallmark of this season.  Of course, all the seasons offer something different, but autumn and spring are perhaps the two I prefer, at least in terms of light.

I’m planning a few short trips over the winter into the Scottish hills so that I can benefit from this light in a variety of landscapes, and am also intending to try a variety of film types (b/w print film in particular) as well as the usual digital images.  So interesting times ahead…

Cityscapes and landscapes

As a historian by day and a photographer by night (as it were), I find I am fortunate enough to have two very different creative outlets: archival and writing work, and the making of images. And later today I am off to Germany for a week and will be able to indulge in both: I’m going to a private archive in Düsseldorf for a few short days, and then – via a circuitous train journey through half of Germany in order to include a meeting with a colleague – going on to visit family in the north. The archive is very close to the Rhine and so I’m hoping for some evening or night opportunities there, and my family live in a small town called Ratzeburg, which is on an island surrounded by three lakes; I’m hoping to catch the sunrise at least once across one of the lakes.

It all sounds like a near-perfect week, combining enjoyable work and pleasurable past-time… especially after the long and exhausting semester I’ve had…

Technology and art

Nikon introduced the first zoom lens before I was born, which was a 43-86mm lens – by all accounts an absolutely horrific piece of equipment.  It was so unbelievably bad that it gave zoom lenses a bad name: I, for one, grew up with the idea that all zoom lenses were terrible, which they are not.  Even by the time I was aware of zoom lenses (mid-late 1970s), things had actually moved on substantially, and there were many great zoom lenses available.

Ever since I began to take my photography more seriously, I have used zoom lenses, and I have mostly enjoyed using them.  One of the latest ones, that I really like, is the 18-200mm, which is fantastic as an all-round lens, even though it produces slightly ‘saggy’ horizons when used wide.  It is great for portraits as well as a good travel lens.  But… but…

I also bought a prime last year, the gorgeous little 35mm, and it is so light and produces such beautiful images that it is a joy to have on my camera (it’s about equivalent to a 50mm on a full 35mm frame; the same as I have on my FM2).  I find I use it more and more frequently.  The aperture goes down to f1.8 to produce lovely blur in out-of-focus areas.  I’ve also now invested in a 50mm f1.4, which for my D90 is about 75mm.  This I expect to be great for portraits, especially with the wide aperture; on the basis of a few sample shots, I can already tell that it produces really creamy blur with naked skin.  But I can also see that it will also be useful for certain kinds of landscapes.

There is something about the simplicity of using prime lenses that I find really attractive.  Zoom lenses make me lazier, but with a prime, if I want to frame something in a particular way, I need to make myself get up and move to another location, to walk closer or further away, to think differently about how I approach a subject.  It makes for a more interactive engagement with the environment I’m in and that – for me – is a very appealing aspect to photography.  I tend to think that it’s not really about taking a photograph, but about making an image, and making requires much more personal engagement than taking!

At some point, you can therefore expect to read about the purchase of a wide prime too… (but unless I win the lottery that I don’t play, I expect this to be in the very distant future, given the high prices of these lenses!).

Saying goodbye, hello, and goodbye again

Sometimes I’m amazed at how attached I become to cameras.  I’ve written about my lovely Nikon FM2, and also a little about my new D90.  But I haven’t written about my most faithful workhorse, my Nikon D40, that I have been wanting (rather half-heartedly, if truth be told) to sell.  The reason for selling is very simple: the D90 is not cheap, and my bank balance will benefit from having funds restored to it having after buying the D90.  I’m very glad to have found a buyer, and in particular a very special buyer (more on that in a moment), but I’m still sad to be seeing it go.  I bought the D90 for a few specific features that the D40 didn’t have, but I haven’t yet formed quite the intimate bond with it that I feel I have with the D40, even 3,500 shots on the D90 later.

The D40 was my first digital SLR, and in fact, my first digital camera at all.  I had always used film until then; now I use both.  It was bought reluctantly in the summer of 2008, when the shutter on my film camera jammed just before a holiday and I needed a camera.  To my surprise (naive, I know!), it was only possible to buy an F6 from Nikon – whilst I’d love an F6, it’s a bit outwith my price range!  So after a bit of research, I went for the D40 – the cheapest digital SLR in Nikon’s range, and despite my initial wariness, I now really love it.

Why? Because it allowed me to explore the art of photography in a way I hadn’t done quite so systematically before then, and allowed me to take some of my favourite pictures ever.  This post is a brief review of my D40 photographic life…

Hotel, Bergen

Hotel, Bergen

Very early on, I took this image from a hotel window in Bergen, Norway, where I was for an academic conference. The 18-55mm kit lens, despite weighing next to nothing, is great, and served me well on my travels. Although I did later bought the much heavier 18-200mm, the smaller lens is not only considerably lighter, it doesn’t have the barrel distortion of the larger one (that sometimes, if not used carefully, results in horizons sagging in the middle, for example).

With the D40, I usually felt I was being relatively unobtrusive – not quite like a rangefinder (which doesn’t have the clunking mirror noise that an SLR has), but it is a small SLR and therefore not as ‘in your face’ as my old film SLR was, which had a large battery grip as well as fairly big fat old lenses; this made the D40 great for social occasions (the D90 is again a bigger camera…).

Stephanie Tait

Stephanie

Speaking of people, it was with the D40 that I took some of my first systematic portraits.  One of my very early blog posts was about directing portraits and it was with the D40 that I took several hundred photographs of Stephanie.  She allowed herself to be photographed – wanted it even – in itself a new experience for me, and this enabled me to discover a whole new aspect to my photographic interest: aside from landscapes and family photography, I loved being able to photograph someone who was willing to do what I asked them to do, even if I wasn’t very good at doing it!

Stephanie Tait

Stephanie

However, I did go on a very helpful one-day introductory course to portrait photography at Stills, and began to find it easier to think about these things.  A later photoshoot with Stephanie resulted in what I felt were better portraits.  And of course, the D40 was part of all of this.

Over the summer of 2009 I spent 3 weeks on Mull, and was up about half the mornings to take dawn photographs – a wonderful experience.  I used both film and digital for these sessions.  Some of the D40 photographs formed the basis of a 2010 calendar I created.

Torridon

Torridon

And when I went to Torridon for my first weekend course with Bruce Percy, it was the D40 that I took with me.  This was the first time I’d ever spent time thinking about how to approach landscape photography under the guidance of a really great photographer, and the D40 was a great camera to have with me for that (I wrote about that in a series of blog entries: 1, 2, 3, 4).  It coped with some very soggy weather (plastic bags were on hand to wrap it in whilst taking photographs!), and I came home with a collection of images that I really love.

So the D40 has been through a lot with me.  It feels a bit like a ‘first ever’ camera, because we’ve done so much together.  I’m reminded of all this because my D90 has been in for repair (a minor warranty issue), and so I’ve reverted to using the D40.  It feels so nice and snug in my hands, and I’ve really enjoyed taking it with me for walks and events in the last couple of weeks.  As it happens, a day or two after the D90 went in for repair, a friend got in touch to say she wanted to buy the D40.  So in a funny kind of way, these last two weeks have felt a bit like a swansong, just before it moves on to a new owner; 15,000 exposures later, and it works as it did on the day I bought it.  There is no doubt in my mind that this is a really fantastic camera – if you’re looking for a digital SLR, this is a great one to consider (though now going up in price drastically!  I’m not asking for anything like the amounts noted here for mine…).

What I am really pleased about, however, in the sadness at having to sell it at all, is that the D40 is going to a very good new home.  My friend Carrie is buying it, and will, I am sure, put it to very good use in her art and more generally.  She is a fantastically creative individual, and very reflective of her own place and identity in relation to her art, and I’m sure she will find that a good camera will help her.  I realise I’m writing about a device made of metal, glass and plastic as if it were a beloved pet cat that I need to give away when moving to another country, but it almost feels like that.  For me, the idea of the camera not ‘getting in the way’ of the photograph is perfectly realised in a camera like the D40, and this fusion is exactly what Dorothea Lange was speaking about.  I hope Carrie finds the D40 as useful as I did, and before long finds herself ‘fused’ to it in the way that I did.

Today I collected the repaired D90, so now it really is farewell, faithful friend.

Photographing in the snow…

Snow has finally reached my part of Edinburgh – quite unusual in that I live close to the North Sea.  I’ve been asked how to photograph in this, so here are some bullet points to help (everything here is for digital cameras, if you’re using film with a camera that has a full matrix exposure meter – you’ll probably know if you do! – you just need to change the exposure compensation):

  • change your white balance: every digital camera, no matter how basic, will let you change the white balance (even my cheap mobile phone does this!).  It tells the camera what you think is really white.  Try using the cloudy or shade setting – take a few pictures and see what you think works best.  You can always change this later on the computer (easier if you’re shooting RAW not JPG), but why give yourself that extra step? – and this way you know you’ve got some good photos (you can, of course, always change your white balance manually, but if you know how or why you’d want to do this, why are sitting at your computer reading this instead of photographing the snow?!);
  • exposure compensation: you’ll need to adjust exposure compensation by anything between +2/3 or +1 stops or more depending on how bright it is… this helps the camera expose properly, and allows you to rely on your camera’s meter.  Every DSLR will let you do this, and most point-and-shoot cameras will do it too.  If using film start with +2/3, then try +1, or if it’s very bright, go straight for +2.

If it’s good weather outside, stop reading about making pictures in the snow and get out there – the rest of this post is just niceties:

  • use a slow shutter speed to capture falling snowflakes, though if this looks too blurred, you might want to use a flash as well;
  • rather than just lots of white, try including something with colour in it – a red car parked in the snow or a black lake or a half-covered tree can make the image more than just a boring white surface;
  • if you have one, you might find a lens hood reduces glare in really bright light;
  • if you can, get out in the late afternoon when the sun is setting – the golden light will transform your white into spectacular shades of golden yellow tones merging into white.

The obvious:

  • dress really warmly (you’ll be standing about a lot!), but wear thin gloves so you can adjust your camera;
  • don’t breath out onto your camera, or it’ll be covered in condensation – snow in that kind of ‘fog’ doesn’t look as good! :)
  • protect your camera from too much dampness, but don’t worry overly about this: most cameras won’t mind a bit of snow falling on them;
  • when you come back in, let your camera warm up very slowly (perhaps on a window sill), with the zoom fully extended if you can – this stops compensation building up;
  • if you have changed settings as described above, remember to change them back, or your Christmas dinner photos of your family will look very odd!!

Above all – HAVE FUN!

‘Postcards’ and the aspiration to create beautiful images

One of the things that never ceases to amaze me is the aspiration that people have to make beautiful images, coupled with a complete lack of realism about how to go about doing that, or more specifically, when to go about doing that.

There is absolutely no need to have a really expensive camera to be able to make spectacular images.  This photograph of Stirling train station was taken using a cheap 4 (or 5?) year-old 4.1 megapixel point-and-shoot no-brand digital camera with dodgy red-rendition.

Stirling train station

Stirling train station

I love it.  It’s not the greatest image ever, but for me it communicates a city’s winter evening: magical skies over a new and interesting piece of architecture (the bridge, although lit up, was not yet open).  I was in the right place at the right time, and just happened to have a camera to hand (actually, that’s meant to be funny: I rarely even go to the supermarket without a camera of some kind in my pocket/bag, even if it’s a Fuji single-use camera!).

Wherever we go, whether to a secluded spot or to a warehouse store, there are interesting things to photograph.  But the time of day is crucial.  Here is an image from my recent trip to the Lake of Menteith, where I went with my colleague Antonio to photograph the dawn:

Lake of Menteith

Lake of Menteith

And here is pretty much the same scene an hour later:

Lake of Menteith

Lake of Menteith

Although the framing is different, the dramatic changes in light and colour are all nature’s doing – I have done almost nothing to these images in Photoshop.  If I had tried to make such dramatic changes on the computer, the resulting images would undoubtedly look AWFUL (incidentally, both of these images are also available to buy as prints on my RedBubble page; it’s also interesting to see which of these two generates more comments from the RB community!).

After making these images, I went to the Lake of Menteith hotel (just to the left of the church) for a departmental staff awayday.  Colleagues were amazed at the photographs Antonio and I showed them, even on the rubbish little screens on our cameras, and several people said things like ‘those photos look like postcards!  My pictures never turn out like that!’  The main reason for that, of course, is that most people don’t get up at a sensible time in order to see this light in the first place!  Joe Cornish, Bruce Percy, Martin Guppy and all the other greats don’t stay in bed until 8:30, stagger down to their hotel breakfast at 9:30, look blearily out of the window and finally get themselves out the door at 11h to wander round to the jetty for 11:30… and then see bland, washed-out midday skies.  They do exactly what Antonio and I did: get up at 5:15, arrive on location at 7:15 (almost half-an-hour before dawn, and in fact a bit later than I would have liked), capture the rising sun and the magical light – and then go to the hotel for breakfast and lots of hot coffee to warm up just after 9h!

All that a bigger/better camera does is help to ease the process of making photographs, but even using a cheap digital point-and-shoot would allow some amazing images to be made… if you can be bothered to get out of bed in time to see the fantastic morning light!

Reflecting on my images

Jane, reflective

Jane, reflective

The main resource for viewing my images is presently my own website, but over recent weeks I have been adding more and more images to my RedBubble page (incidentally, this is also one of the reasons why I have not been writing here, though there are things to write about).  RedBubble is used for exhibiting and selling all kinds of visual art (and to a certain extent also literary works) – a kind of upmarket version of other photography sites.  In adding my images to this site, I’ve found myself editing some of them again, cleaning up and sorting minor problems, whether they are landscapes or portraits.  I’ve also rethought some pictures that I haven’t shown before, such as this beautiful colour version of a portrait of Jane I’d previously only shown in black and white – I now prefer this version.  It’s an interesting process: engaging with photographs that were taken a while ago, and thinking again about how they can be improved/best shown.  With both landscapes and portraits I find myself re-engaging with the emotions at the time they were taken – the mood of the time, the intimacy of the relationship with the model and so on (by the way, I’m now drafting a longer reflective piece on this theme which I intend to finish sometime next month).

For a while now I’ve been meaning to re-organise my website, and thinking about this reflective process is one of the factors that spurs that desire on: I think I want to show fewer images, and I want to update the ones that I have recently re-edited.  I just need to find the time to do this… a long journey somewhere with no distractions would be ideal, but I expect it’ll be mid-January before I get that (I’m going to the Middle East for three weeks in January/February).

In the meantime, please take a look at some of the art I’ve added to RedBubble – until the images on my website are updated, you’ll find the definite version of these particular photographs at RedBubble and not on my site.  Oh, and if you want to buy anything from my RedBubble page, feel free!!

Torridon – the art of adventure photography part 3

We were out again early this morning.  The day looked like this:

  • 6:30 meet in hotel lobby, out to location
  • 9h return for breakfast
  • we then had time for washing/packing up (we needed to check out of the hotel room)
  • 11h image critique
  • followed by lunch and departure.

Bruce took us to a new location, near Shieldaig (upper Loch Torridon), overlooking water, with quite a steep hill rising up from the shoreline of Loch Torridon.  My first reaction was to think: ‘Why did he take us here?  Those trees are in the way!’  I realised I was a bit disgruntled about this, and wandered around at first not finding anything I could imagine as an image.  I find I often do this: pace up and down looking for an angle, a view, something that is unusual and stimulating that will grab me.  But I wasn’t finding it on this occasion.  I went down the hill and to the right to avoid the trees, but the view just felt bland – another set of grey mountains with water in front, so very typically postcard Scottish, and at that moment for me, completely boring.  So I headed left, nearer to the shore, and this brought me closer to the trees.  I was trying to look through them at the view behind, to see if there was any point in climbing up the hill again and looking over the trees.  Nothing.  As I was stumbling about looking through the trees and muttering away to myself in frustration, I suddenly realised that looking through the trees was just what I ought to be doing.  I found myself facing two trees that were distinct and separate from the rest (i.e. the branches were not intertwined).  They were also leaning left, which I liked: we often think that moving right ‘leads the eye in’ (see for example, Ken Rockwell’s stair images entitled ‘McCloud, California’ about 3/4 down the page; he shows the image facing both ways), and many of my photographs reflect this.  But I think the orientation to the right only works because we read left to right, whereas for readers of, for example, Hebrew and Arabic, this doesn’t necessarily make sense, and given my academic research topics, I felt this spoke to me on that level too.  The mountains across the loch formed a ‘v’ just in the middle of the image, balancing the ‘v’ formed by the tips of the trees in the foreground – and so this is the image that I came up with (note that, following yesterday’s post about cropping, this is very slightly cropped at the sides, but otherwise works in the 35mm format):

Torridon

Torridon

This was my second image of the day, and after taking it I thought, ‘well, it won’t get any better than this, I should stop now…’ – but I didn’t!  After my initial disgruntlement and frustration, I felt tremendously moved by the beauty of the light, and began to see all sorts of other patterns:

Torridon

Torridon

The trees on either side seem to me to be reaching towards each other, forming an upside-down ‘v’, almost like a classic child’s drawing of a house.  The other trees in the centre are smaller, almost as if they are in the ‘house’.  Bruce later pointed to the four ‘quarters’ in the image that balance each other – I hadn’t consciously seen this, but he’s right, of course. By this stage, I was elated – I realised that even if the images on the tiny screen on the camera had been out-of-focus, I had seen something I thought was special.  It’s an interesting issue: here I was, trying to capture an image on a camera not knowing if it would work, but knowing also that even if it didn’t, I would remember this image without the camera’s help.  It’s a way of internal visualisation that I will want to explore further at some point, perhaps here.

Bruce came over to me a while later, once I was on the shore line, wrestling with another image, of which more in a moment.  He looked at the first of these two images on my screen, and was delighted for me, exclaiming: ‘This is the kind of photograph I always want to take and I never manage it.’  Now although I’m sure that’s not really true, it gives me the opportunity to reiterate something about Bruce: I hope I’ve already communicated something of Bruce’s genius with imagery – but he’s also a genuinely warm and generous person.  This is something I felt again and again over the weekend, and although I point to this in a context of his praising my image, I don’t do so to show off (well, ok, maybe I do just a little bit…!), but to say that I saw this repeatedly in his interactions with all the other participants.  If you’re thinking of going on a course like this, Bruce will make you feel really welcome, and it will be an affirming and uplifting experience – guaranteed!

The image I was struggling with when Bruce came over to me is this one:

Torridon

Torridon

Or rather, this is what it became.  I felt I wasn’t capturing the mountain behind the first one, which, especially on the right side, looked in part as if it was a shadow of the foreground mountain, but Bruce assured me I was on the right lines.  I was sure this could be cropped – it had lots of sky that wasn’t ‘doing’ anything, but I felt I wasn’t really getting the detail in the more distant mountains that I wanted.  I knew I wanted this to be black and white, but needed somehow to make that ‘shadow’ appear in order to provide the continuous line of the second mountain that I could so clearly see.  Once back at the hotel, I offered this along with the previous two images for critique.  From this session, and Bruce’s earlier comments, I was reminded of the complete inadequacy of the screen on the back of the camera, even when zooming in on the image, because the shadow is clearly there, but was barely visible on the camera’s screen.  And the lesson is: trust that most of what you can see in the landscape can be seen by the camera, even if it sees it quite differently (note to self: I never doubted this kind of thing with film, so the screen is actually hindering me here!  In a different context over the weekend, Bruce mentioned photographers he knows who tape over the screen on their digital cameras and just trust their instincts).  In Photoshop, I cropped this down, developed the tones just a fraction, and turned it into a black and white image.

After lunch, we all got ready to depart.  Before we did, Bruce gave each of us a large brown envelope – without saying more than that ‘it doesn’t contain banknotes’, he just made sure everyone had one.  It was only when I arrived home that I found out what was in it… but I’ll leave the discussion of that for the fourth post about this trip, which I intend to write in a couple of days time, after I’ve had a little more mental space to digest what I’ve learnt, what the experience did for me, and so on.  However, I hope you’ve gathered that I have had a magical weekend, in the company of and under the guidance of a tremendously creative, passionate and generous teacher and fellow traveller, and accompanied by five other participants who brought light (in all ways!), energy and laughter to the creative process.  Many of their images were fantastic too, and I found myself thinking tonight how nice it would be to have a little online gallery somewhere with one of each of our images, even if that is somewhat impractical.

P.S. I did, of course, have a film camera with me (guess which one!), but found that I only used it a couple of times.  I think I was concentrating too much on using the digital camera in order to make images that could be critiqued.  Insha’allah I’ll be back to Torridon with a film camera to make many more images.

Torridon – the art of adventure photography part 2

Day two of our course began very early.  Here’s an approximate breakdown of my day:

  • get up 5:30
  • out 6h (rain)
  • ca. 6:20 arrive on location (a LOT of rain) – we are at Loch Clare
  • waiting in the van
  • rain clears a bit, returning intermittently; we’re out, taking photographs
  • back to the hotel and breakfast for 9h
  • out to another location shortly after 10h – this time Loch Torridon
  • more photos, more rain – then lots more rain (run back to minibus)
  • new location (no rain)
  • ca. 13h rain
  • at Bruce’s suggestion, we decide to return to the hotel and have lunch
  • 14h everyone chooses two photos to critique
  • 15:30 out for sunset
  • periods of heavy rain, and beautiful calm
  • moon photographs (visible for exactly 25 seconds – see below!) and more
  • return to hotel
  • 18:30 in the bar
  • 19h dinner
  • and then blog writing and bed!

An excellent day, though a long one… and I think all six of us felt that.

When out, we all wandered off in our own direction, photographing what we saw.  Bruce knows the area, and chose locations that he had either photographed in the past, or that he knew would offer something tangible for us to photograph (after all, this weekend is about learning techniques etc., not about photographing something that has never been photographed before – though, of course, each of us returned with very different images from each location).  He then made a point of going to each person and reviewing some of their photographs (we’re all on digital this weekend to help with the teaching process, though I am not the only film shooter here), talking through how they were approaching their imaging, what might work differently, ways to deal with particular compositional or lighting problems, suggesting alternative perspectives, exposures and so on.  For example, I have often felt that the metering on my Nikon D40 was out, and have therefore almost always had the exposure compensation set at -2/3.  Bruce discussed this with me at length and demonstrated, even on the crappy wee screen at the back of the camera, that this resulted in problems with my shadow detail (lesson: there is a difference between dark and moody… and just dark).  I realise that this is also partly Bruce’s style – I sometimes think that although he describes himself as a landscape photographer, I wonder if this not more of a convenient label: his images are often not really landscapes, but images of light that is transformed in some way through reflection, absorption etc. in the encounter with the land.  That is what attracted me so much to his art in the first place, and so I have no objection if even a tiny fraction of this sensibility rubs off on me.

I want to describe some images.  After breakfast we went to Loch Torridon.  Bruce drove us quite high up, and we took photographs overlooking the loch, towards the mountains around the water.  In the foreground, there were substantial erratics (a new term I learnt: these are the rocks that have been brought to their present location by glaciers that have long since vanished, leaving just the rocks in their incongruous locations), and Bruce wanted us to try and think about the use of foreground detail as well as background material.  The wind was strong, it was raining, but despite water droplets dribbling down both sides of the filter, we managed some spectacular images.  When Bruce came over to me, we talked about what I had been trying to do, and he asked me if I had turned and seen a particular tree; I hadn’t.  He borrowed my camera, and took three or four photographs.  He showed me the last one, pointing out the simplicity of the image, and the ways in which the mist isolated the tree from the mountain in the background, making for a very simple, but very powerful image of the tree.  This is his photograph (which I post here and on my website with his permission):

Tree and mountain (Bruce Percy)

Tree and mountain (Bruce Percy)

I liked this immediately, but also wondered about other ways of taking this photograph.  I took several photographs, and ended up with this one:

Mountains and tree

Mountains and tree

Bruce’s photograph is undoubtedly fantastic (though he said he thought it was a little underexposed; without wanting to sound presumptuous, I’d agree – and also add that mine was underexposed too; I’ve corrected this a little here, but didn’t feel I should manipulate his photograph!).  But I also like mine, bringing in more of the mountain outlines, setting a wider context, and offering a different role for the tree.  In my image, I realised later, the tree almost serves as an anchor for the mountains, rather than the mountains doing that for the tree.  It’s as if the majesty and grandeur of these incredible hills is given additional meaning by the tree’s inclusion in the image – although several times as tall as me, it is quite tiny in comparison to the massive mountains in the background – and thereby it perhaps helps to give a sense of the amazing landscape we were in.  I also converted this to black and white, and cannot quite decide which I prefer – the subtle tones of the colours in the original, or the even more simple tones of the black and white (comments on this are very welcome!):

Mountains and tree

Mountains and tree

As we were driving back in really hard rain, Bruce slowed the minibus and pointed out the view.  He asked if anyone wanted to photograph this, and two of us leapt out of the bus, getting ourselves and our dried off cameras wet all over again.  This is the image I came up with:

Mountains, Torridon

Mountains, Torridon

I post it here as a kind of contrast to the tree/moutain images.  Although I think this is beautiful, the large white expanse (that’s the mist…) in the bottom left corner decontextualises the mountains, making them almost more of an abstract series of lines than a mountain range.  Although these are pretty much the same mountains as in the tree photograph, in this photograph there is nothing much that anchors them to the earth, and so the photograph becomes something quite different.

Undoubtedly the most useful part of the day was the critical review.  We had very little time, but we each had to choose two photographs we had taken, and offer them for review (not easy to choose, when you have just a few minutes and are scanning 150 images!).  Bruce had brought a projector and showed us our images on a large screen.  We then explained what we had been trying to do, why the image was important to us, what we felt about how it had turned out, and so on.  Other participants then offered comment, as did Bruce.  This was in all cases incredibly positive and helpful criticism.  Bruce then went through the images in Photoshop, and showed us simple and effective ways of manipulating them in order to bring out contrasts, highlights etc.  There are many many ‘small’ things that I took from this, but the really major one that I took away was a reflection on image size: even when I crop my images, I tend to leave them in the original aspect ratio (i.e. based on a 35mm film image – perhaps this is a subcounscious desire to ‘retain’ something of the ‘original’? even though I know this is a nonsense), even though most images benefit from different shapes.  I’ve often felt my images were too ‘long’, and this session radically opened my eyes to the more pleasing ratios of 4×5, 6×7, or 1×1 as well as arbitrary crops – you’ll see that nearly all the images from today on my website are now cropped in such a way, almost as if to make a point to me, never mind anyone else.

In the late afternoon, we went to another loch, Bruce hoping to offer us a location and a sunset for trying out some of the techniques we had talked about in the critique and other locations.  It was very wet.  Not just the loch from below, but also the clouds from above.  I sometimes think that rain in Scotland must have magical molecular properties that other rain does not have… but more on that later!  I went down to the edge of the loch, and also into the loch (very slight shoreline, so that wellies were more than adequate).  It was cloudy and overcast, making for very soft light.  No real sign of a sunset, but despite this, some of the resulting images were great.  I was very pleased with my foregrounding of stones, for example, and the capture of the moonlight, which appeared once, for about 10 seconds, and I missed it; but I saw the clouds moving in such a way that it might reappear.  It did, for precisely 25 seconds (I know this, because I took five images at 5 seconds each – and it was gone!).  The image originally has the moonlight curving, which I think might be the lens’ barrel distortion (I’ll perhaps get around to correcting this at some point…):

Moonlight, Torridon

Moonlight, Torridon

Bruce then took us all back to the hotel – and our first shower of the day!  The dinner discussion in the evening was stimulating, covering the purpose of this kind of photography (one participant argued that it is to document reality/something ‘real’; Bruce asked if that was so, why was this person using a wide-angle lens?!), the processing stage (are images ‘doctored’ if they’re manipulated in Photoshop to bring out the highlights etc.?), Vettriano (is it art?), the BNP on BBC Question Time (should they have done/should they not have done?), free speech in a democracy, the Iraq invasion/war, the significance of 11.9.2001…

Excitement…

I am very excited at the prospect of going away this weekend with Bruce Percy!  I am going on his Torridon workshop.  If there is internet access at the hotel we’re staying in, I’ll try and add comments and reports here – and perhaps even photographs!

Long exposures and the problem of noise

One of the big problems with digital cameras and long exposures is noise: in long exposures, for example at sunrise or sunset, the shutter often needs to be open for lengthy periods of time. This can be 15, 30 seconds, or many minutes. What happens then, however, is that the camera sensor begins to introduce noise into images – it seems to me that this is often especially visible on “flat” or even surfaces, such as still water (and water then loses the glassy look that makes such images work so well). This noise can look a little bit like grain on traditional fast film. Most digital cameras have a noise reduction “feature”, but it is best left turned off, I think: these usually work by mushing up the pixels to reduce noise. What you get is an image that looks poorly focused – which just defeats the object of taking the photograph in the first place.

So what to do?

I’ve been going through a number of the images that I took on Mull this summer using Fuji Velvia 50 slide film (I plan to add some of them to my website soon; all the Mull ones that are online just now are from the digital camera). Many are taken using longer exposures and there is – of course! – no noticeable noise/grain, even on the longest exposures. So rather than worrying about how to solve the noise problem on my digital camera, for now at least, I think I’ll just stick to Velvia and my old film camera for the long exposures.

(Note that this post doesn’t even attempt to touch on all the other issues that relate to image quality when discussing the digital/film issue, I’m just focusing on noise… clearly, Velvia, properly used, is immeasurably superior to most digital cameras)