Looking at photographs is a very personal experience. Everyone has their opinions about what is good art and what is not. When it comes to photographs, some like landscapes, others go for street photography, and others prefer conceptual photography or portraits. It’s all a matter of personal taste. Of course, I have my own preferences, but it is not a particular style of photography that I prefer over another. What interests me are the way a photograph is made and the impact it has on me as a viewer.

Seeing and Believing

Photography these days is moving along two separate, distinct paths. The first is the photographer observing something, photographing it, and printing the image exactly as he or she saw it. Outside of correcting the RAW image for color balance and exposure, nothing else is done to the photograph. No burning in of the corners, no darkening or lightening of the subject, no darkening of the background or dodging of the subject — nothing. What they are telling me is, “This is what I saw.”

In order for these types of images to succeed as photographs, what the photographer saw has to be special — something unique; something that is unnoticed by the casual viewer. A different angle, a shadow, a relationship between between subject and background, anything to tell me that the photographer noticed something out of the ordinary. Then it is transformed into a photograph, something special. Unfortunately, when it does not work, it is because the photographer was working to a formal, preordained plan or statement and the resulting images are no more than a checked-off list to suit that plan. Working this way results in dull, uninspiring images.

Once More, with Feeling

The second path is to view something ordinary and make something special from it — to take what the photographer saw, and then by some form of manipulation such as framing, dodging, burning in, contrast adjustment, adding something personal to the image. I am not referring to extreme Photoshop manipulation techniques but simply the same adjustments that photographers have traditionally used to place their distinct marks upon an image — passion, feeling, something to tell me, “This is what I felt.” That is done by working with the image, changing it in such a way as to put some of the photographer’s heart and soul into it. Dark corners or background, lightened subject, bleached color or color desaturated or super-saturated — all of these techniques may contribute to putting the photographer’s personal impression upon their image.

This is nothing new. Photographers have been doing this for years. Eugene Smith was fanatical about his printing and would spend days working on a single print — bleaching small areas, darkening foregrounds, and lightening shadows until he got what he wanted. Man Ray would solarize his images (exposing the negative to light while processing) to create the surreal image he desired.

In my view, the best images work when the viewer is transformed from an ordinary reality (seeing what everybody else sees) to what the photographer saw and felt when he or she snapped the shutter. These photographs work because they make the viewer want to linger, to explore and involve themselves in to what is happening in the image. If the all the photographer has to say is, “This is what I saw,” I am left unimpressed.

My wedding work outside London and in Indonesia has provided me with plenty of experience posing subjects and trying to capture for them one of life’s real milestone moments. And while there are lots of ways to make great portraits, it seems to me essential to follow three simple rules.

1. Do some homework.

I have a “Poses” folder where I save images that catch my eye. I look at images in magazines, blogs, or even other photographers’ websites. Studying them with a critical eye, I try and note where the subject was placed in relation to light and the objects around him or her. I try to imagine how I would get the subject to ease into the pose without actually having to show them.

I never want to show people how to pose because everyone interprets directions differently. If I were to ask ten grooms to kiss their brides on forehead, I would get ten different kisses resulting in ten different pictures. If I were to show them how I’d like them to kiss, I’d end up with a generic kissing pose, which is exactly what I want to avoid.

2. Direct the subject into a pose, but shoot the moment before or after the pose.

This is all about getting a shot that looks natural. Most people tend to freeze when the camera is aimed at them, and the photographer is left with awkward smiles that make people cringe. The trick is to capture the moment before and after a pose.

For this very reason, I like to crack little jokes as I’m snapping away. If my subject looks a bit stiff, I might say in a jokey-stern way, “If you don’t smile I’m going to make you look fat!” It catches them off guard and they’ll laugh out loud.

If I’m photographing couples, I’ll play them off each other. I’ll get them into the pose I want, for example, a hug. Usually the girl is more comfortable in front of the camera, so I might say, “Beautiful smile, Tara! James … you’re OK.” They’ll laugh out loud, and since they’re already in the pose I want them in, this makes for a perfect picture.

3. Practice.

It’s all too easy to think about what we’re going to do, but when we’re at a shoot and the subject is looking at us and awaiting direction, it’s easy to forget everything. The most memorable lessons are the ones we learn through our own experience.

A spouse, a friend, even a long-suffering mother can be bribed into modeling. And the less photogenic they think they are, the better. My husband hates the camera. I swear he’s able to smell it. Even when I take it out of my bag as silently as I can from behind him, I see his shoulders tense up. That’s what makes my husband makes a great model.

He challenges me to find newer and better ways of getting a natural laugh out of him, and when it comes to an actual shoot, I remain calm because I know that if I can make my husband laugh for my camera, then I can make anyone laugh.

There are dozens of other tips and tricks to make great portraits, such as using props or getting your subjects to interact with the environment, but for me, these three rules are the backbone of a great portrait session.

Not long ago I was sitting in my car by a seawall, watching fishermen surf casting. As daylight faded, a nearly full moon began to rise behind them and light up the water in a beautiful silver and blue pattern.

Moonlight Fisherman is a product of experimentation.

Despite how bright the moonlight looked on the water, the exposure times were still far too long for handheld exposures, even when I raised the ISO of my Nikon D90 to its max of ISO 3200. I considered using a tripod, but with such long exposures and with the fishermen constantly moving, I knew a tripod wouldn’t help that much.

Trying Something New, Even Through the Windshield

As an experiment, I started shooting handheld exposures (mostly of this one fisherman) with the lens resting on my steering wheel. I had to focus on him manually because, as bright as the water looks here, the camera was still having trouble focusing and I was shooting through the windshield (something I would never do unless I was after an abstract image and true sharpness didn’t matter).

Rather than try to constrain my exposures to times when he was relatively still, I just ignored his motion completely. In fact, I hoped he would move around to add to the abstract nature of my experiments. I ended up shooting several dozen exposures of him and another fisherman using exposure times ranging from 1.5 to 6 seconds. The lens was almost wide open at f/4.5. As I watched the long exposures pop up on the LCD I began to love the shapes of the soft silhouettes against the silvery blue water.

Making the Most of What You Have

Surprisingly, most of the frames are interesting and each is somewhat unique. The fishermen’s motion, the motion of the waves, and the intensity of the moonlight were constantly changing. I’m really happy I tossed aside my usual obsession with sharpness and experimented using motion and moonlight to create abstract compositions.

You can’t plan a photo opportunity like this, you have to just watch the world around you and do whatever it takes to turn the moment into something visually different — even if everything you’re doing is technically wrong.

Blur is the new norm. Just look at a newspaper ad or a model’s portfolio and see how all too often a retoucher has taken shortcuts and smoothed out skin at the cost of the little imperfections that make each of us unique. In extreme cases, we see people who look computer generated.

A photograph can be interpreted and manipulated in almost unlimited ways. It’s like a piece of music, with the photographer the composer. The retoucher, then, is the conductor, and as such needs an approach that endeavors to preserve all but the sourest notes.

Big Adjustments First

The first step is to take a deep breath and analyze what you have in front of you.

Where are discolorations? Are there any bigger blotches?

A good trick to find those is to hold down the space bar while in Photoshop’s full-screen mode and then use the mouse to move the whole image around. If you’re looking at a static image, your brain adapts quickly and makes discolored areas blend in with the rest.

Another trick is to flip the image horizontally or vertically. That resets your brain and you will be amazed how many new things you will discover that need fixing.

Sweating the Small Stuff

Once you have identified the main areas that need adjustment, move on to the smaller details. Some people print out a reference copy and circle the areas so they don’t forget.

You are looking for blemishes like pimples or eyelashes. Create a new layer and start removing undesired particles immediately with the help of the smallest clone or heal brush.

When using tools like clone or heal, you will want to set the brush hardness to 0 in most cases so that the artificially created “patch” will blend right in. You will also want to make sure to set an origin ([option] for Mac, [alt] for Windows) that is close in both structure and luminance of the area that you are about to fix.

Easy with Enhancements

Once you’ve cleaned up the photo it’s time to enhance the image. Keep in mind that whoever is going to look at the photo has no clue what it looked like before you started editing it. Part of editing photos so they look natural is to edit them at places you least expect. I look at the hairline and see if there are any gaps that I can easily close.

Similarly, I look for blood vessels in the eyes or flaws with the make-up. Then, if you want to pronounce the jawbone or the shininess of the hair, no problem. Just use a slight dodge on the already brighter areas and a subtle burn on the darker ones. You’re just enhancing what’s already there while creating a little bit of locational contrast.

If a rogue strand of hair is bothering you, take it out. But remember that leaving it in will help to make the image look untouched. Personally, I always aim for an image that looks more real than reality.

In all this, be mindful of the model’s dignity. You are having a big impact on how this person is perceived.

With the power of the tool you’re wielding, namely Photoshop, comes great responsibility.

I have a very thin skin. I don’t take criticism well, personally or professionally. Over the years though, as a photographer, I have learned to deal with it.

When you live in a world where you are constantly being judged by your work, you cannot expect that everyone will like what you do. Sometimes criticism can be beneficial, helping you understand yourself and your work from another’s point-of-view.

Negative criticism is everywhere, and the Internet is crawling with it. “Your work sucks,” “Boring,” and “I don’t relate to it,” are all examples of absolute statements that do not invite a response and are not intended to be constructive. They are intended merely as put downs, and probably have less to do with your work and more to do with the ego of the critic.

In most cases these statements do not even address what part of your work is displeasing. The simple truth is that these people are not interested in viewing your work as much as dismissing it.

There’s a Reason It’s Called Constructive Criticism

When someone asks, “What you are trying to say?” or says, “I don’t see the relationship between your images,” or “It’s interesting, but … ,” they invite interaction. The critic is puzzled, curious or ignorant of what you are doing but still is leaving room for dialogue. It is not a closed-end statement.

Often a response on your part is all that is necessary to explain and clear things up. That is what communication is all about.

In some cases people may not like your work and tell you why. There is nothing wrong with that, and it can be a valuable learning experience. Actually, I like such comments the best because they tell you something you may not already know. People can look at the same image and have different opinions.

If someone doesn’t like my photographs it is interesting to me to know why. I may not agree, but I have a devilish curiosity how another set of eyes views my work.

Four Rules for Critics

Every now and then you may be a critic. Here are a few suggestions:

1. Take your time. Nobody is interested in a critique based on 3 seconds of looking at the photo.
2. Be honest. If you do not like the photograph, say why. If you like it, say why.
3. Be positive. After saying why you did not like an image, mention something you like about it. Most bad photographs are not 100 percent awful. Nobody wants his or her ego crushed.
4. Learn the language of photography criticism. Gallery owners, reviewers and collectors have a language of their own. Learn it so you know what they are talking about. It will also prove helpful when you are the critic. Miscommunication can be hurtful.

The most important thing to remember is this: Not everybody is going to like your work. I often go to galleries to see exhibits that I hate, and wonder why that particular artist was selected. Obviously, the curator of the exhibit would not agree.

I look at winners in online exhibits and prefer an honorable mention to the grand-prize winner. I don’t like Picasso, and think Matisse was a much better painter.

That’s my opinion. Of course, it’s all personal. Opinions always are.

Setting up a test session can be as easy as taking a friend to a park — if it’s the right friend and the right park.

A test session is for the purpose of trying out a new technique or piece of equipment, or to shoot something that you hope will end up in your portfolio.

But just because it’s a test, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t adequately prepare for it. The better you plan, the better images you’ll get.

Try to think of everything you’ll need in advance.  I brainstorm until I have five to 10 good shot ideas, then I ask myself which are the three best. I plan on shooting those and making them worthy of my portfolio.

Location, Location, Location

Your first step is to find a location that fits your vision. This may require you to get permission from the property owner.

Think of how you can make this a win-win. I have traded shots of properties for permission to shoot there. This worked great for a builder I met who needed shots of a home he built. I’ve also traded interior shots of a great restaurant for letting me shoot there.

Be creative and be respectful. Put yourself in the other person’s shoes. If they say no, you may have to come up with a new idea. Keep in mind there have been a lot of great shots made at public parks and streets.

When scouting your location, look at the light, and take shots at the same time of day you plan to shoot and from the same angles. Is the available light right? Is there room to set up lights? Scouting will make you aware of issues you need to control before you have models on set looking to you for direction.

For interior shoots, I also recommend taking shots of everything in the room beforehand, so you can make sure everything is put back in place when you finish. Ask the property owner if there is anything of great value in the room and if possible have them relocate it. Bring along boxes and packing material if you need to. Bring cleaning supplies and clean up after yourself.

If you don’t have insurance, check into short-term insurance for the day or week.  It is pretty cheap in comparison to what it could cost if something goes wrong or someone gets hurt.

If something does get broken, bring it to the proper person’s attention and pay for it or give them your insurance information. If it’s a really great location, chances are you will want to come back.

With Models, Go with the Pros

This brings us to models — and to an old adage: “You get what you pay for.”

Whether it’s a paying client or a test, professional models almost always are worth it. I have shot client jobs where we used non-pros to model for us and it has worked out great. But that is the exception rather than the rule.

I am established enough that I can call local agencies and get models for test shots, but some of you may be left working with amateurs or wannabes. Before you plan an elaborate location shoot with someone with little or no experience, meet with them and do a little test at a park. See how they do in front of a camera.

They should be comfortable, relaxed and take direction well. This is a good time to practice your direction. Give your model clear instructions; and give them from their perspective, not yours.

Your model needs to be part of the whole look you are trying to create, because when it comes to lifestyle shoots, it’s all about the right person and the right park.

Last year I wrote a blog post called “21 Signs You’re a Real Photographer Now.” Commenters said the post was elitist, “sexist crap,” “truly pointless,” “self-congratulatory nonsense,” and a “waste of time.”

That must mean it’s time for a sequel.

Here are 15 more clues that you have crossed the threshold from pretender to contender:

1. You don’t say “Lensbaby” without a separating comma, as in “Show me you love my lens, baby.”
2. You don’t mistakenly use a beauty dish for chips and salsa when your spouse has friends over.
3. It’s no longer enough to make pilgrimages to all the natural wonders of the world; you now obsess over being there at sunrise, sunset, moon rise and eclipses.
4. You’re indifferent when the airline tells you they’ve lost your baggage because all your photo gear is in your carry-on. You can always buy new clothes.
5. You’ll rather use sandpaper in the bathroom than low-quality paper for your photos.
6. You get irritated when your browsing history on Amazon gets contaminated by items other than photo gear after your spouse uses your computer.
7. You produce HDR images without the use of software or tripod. Of course, your HDR (“Huge Dumbass Removal”) technique does require that you exit your vehicle on occasion to exclude bystanders who think they’re transparent.
8. You’re not bothered by your competition’s high-end DSLR — especially when you see that their Speedlight/Speedlite is permanently bolted to their camera’s hotshoe.
9. Your spouse insists that you either take her with you, or leave your credit card at home, when you go to the neighborhood camera store.
10. More and more of your Facebook friends want to be tagged in your pictures, even the shy, private ones (and especially those too cheap to pay for profile pictures).
11. You no longer obsess over websites hot-linking your images; you’re now more interested in the number of visitors being driven to your website — and the leads that result.
12. Now that you also shoot video, you insist that every shot has to be done at your maximum aperture for that film-like look, even if it’s a group shot requiring more depth of field.
13. You finally stop obsessing over file size when you realize you don’t even like your own work enough to make a 20″ x 30″ print.
14. You grudgingly decide to show restraint in your post-production after you see the results your 5-year-old gets with your iPhone and the Hipstamatic app.
15. Your Twitter followers are increasing because they are stalking you for your great location finds — even though most of your tweets are about where you had lunch.

Summer is usually a slow period for me. You might say that I am “creatively inactive.”

I tend to stay close to home in Vermont during the summer. And when I try to shoot here, I generally don’t produce much that I like.

While Vermont is a very scenic state, I am not a landscape photographer. I am a street shooter, and there are very few streets in this small state that attract me.

So instead, summer is my time to think, to reflect, and to invent projects.

Staying in Practice 

For instance, I knew that among the thousands of photographs on my hard drive, there were some undiscovered gems to be found. So I recently scoured my files and began salvaging one image per day to post on my blog.

It’s interesting to reflect on photographs that I originally passed over, but that have become more interesting on second inspection — like homemade spaghetti that tastes better the second day.

I don’t abandon my camera entirely during the summer. I stay in practice by shooting simple mini-projects that I know will not produce great pictures, but may instead lead to an “aha” moment.

Staring at the ceiling has its advantages. © David Saxe

And I do mean simple. Over the years my subjects for such mini-projects have included:

• objects around the house
• table tops
• flowers
• building facades
• the ceiling
• my cats

None of these subjects have much creative interest for me, but they often serve to lead me to my next real project. Even in shooting the dullest subjects, I find that every now and then an idea “clicks” — literally.

The Rewards of Discipline

Take building facades, for instance.

I always shoot them straight on, as countless photographers have done before. I do it as a discipline. Through endless repetition, I hope to eventually see the same things in different ways.

I recently spent a few days in Chicago, wandering the streets with my camera. Even though I had left Vermont to visit the big city, I was still feeling totally uninspired.

The light was wrong. My feet hurt. I just wasn’t into it.

So I settled into shooting building facades until my creative juices kicked in.

Finally, I looked at a building across the street from me, and a connection was made. The building was directly in front of the elevated train that goes through the city.

The girders were casting interesting shadows on the building. I looked up and it occurred to me that it would be interesting to look down on this building from the train platform above the street.

I walked up the stairs, paid the fare and for the next few hours I rode the train, getting off and on at various stops — photographing people as they sat in the train, and photographing the streets from the higher elevation of the platform.

Boni Vino Pizza. © David Saxe

All it took was a summer day, staying busy, and an open mind.

As a wedding photographer, I know my job is important. I could argue that I’m the most important vendor at the event, in fact.

After all, I’m the one who will be documenting the day for posterity. 

I’m the one who will be with the bride all day long. 

I’m the one taking the family portrait that will be treasured by the bride’s mother forever.

There to Serve

Those are the things that make my job important. But they don’t make me more important than anyone else at the wedding — especially the bride and groom.

A wedding photographer is a vendor hired for an event, period. I am a servant, just like the waiter serving the guests their food. I am there to serve the wedding couple.

I am not there to make sure the bride accepts all my creative suggestions.

I am not there to persuade them to do a “first look” session before the ceremony.

I am not there to coerce them into posing for sunset photos if they decide — even at the last minute — that they would rather just enjoy the reception instead.

Art Comes Second

I am there to offer professional advice and to work up a shot list for the day.  But I must be OK with the fact that the schedule can change at any time, and I have to be flexible with my plans.

It is their day, not mine.

Yes, I am an artist. But I can never become so focused on my desire to create art that I lose sight of why I was hired in the first place.

Lions and tigers and bears — and gorillas — oh my! You probably won’t find any of these at your backyard feeders, but you will find them hanging out at the local zoo.

And while photographing zoo animals may be a bit less thrilling than shooting animals in the wild (though it is considerably safer), it’s still the best opportunity that most of us will get to approach many rare and exotic (and often endangered) species.

Better still, they are there waiting for you whenever the mood strikes you to photograph animals.

Good Practice

Zoo photography is surprisingly good practice for photographing in the wild, since it will teach you a lot about patience, telephoto-lens technique, and just how difficult it is to get great animal shots even in a very controlled circumstance.

American bald eagle © Andrew Thomas

The artificial environment of zoos also presents its own unique set of challenges, especially if you’re trying to present the animals in a natural state. Mesh fences, moats, walls, partially hidden doors, litter, tossed treats of food flying through the air, and, of course, the hordes of people are just a few of the many man-made distractions that you must hide or obscure if you don’t want your photos to scream “animals in captivity!”

Carefully choosing a viewpoint is paramount to hiding these indicators. But you can use a few other zoo photo tricks, too.

One of them is attaching a telephoto lens set to a fairly large aperture, such as f/4. A long lens set to a large aperture not only helps isolate animals, but if you place the lens against a mesh fence (which is sure to obstruct your view), its magnification and shallow depth of field also make the mesh disappear.

Lion at the Fort Worth Zoo © Jeff Robinson

Feeding time is a particularly good time to shoot zoo animals, because they wake up and become animated. The iconic American bald eagle featured in this post “had just finished eating its lunch of raw meat and was very active and vocal,” says Photographer Andrew Thomas.

Also, if your goal is to get good photos (as opposed to just enjoying the zoo), consider visiting often or buying a season’s pass, so that you can get to know individual animals. Then just plant yourself in one location for an hour or two while you wait for the winning moments.

“Patience is a must and I am always looking for a unique perspective where the subject tells a story,” says photographer Jeff Robinson, who made the regal portrait of a lion at the Fort Worth Zoo. “I’m a member of the zoo and I go there often to visit the lions.”

Gorillas at the Bronx Zoo © Emin Kuliyev

Most communication is nonverbal. It’s something we’ve all heard many times — ever since that 1967 UCLA study showed that only 7 percent of a message is delivered by the words, and the rest by everything surrounding them.

Nonverbal communication is the realm of photography. As photographers, we explore and transport through time and space the world that resides outside the written and spoken word.

That would seem to make what we do pretty important, wouldn’t it?

Forgetting What a Picture Is Worth

And yet, our newspapers and magazines spend more space on words than they do on photography, forgetting so often the famous adage that an image is worth a thousand words.

Editors seem convinced that if we do not read it or hear about it, it cannot really be real.

An amazing amount of energy, time and money is spent on collecting data to transmit via words — when a few images could easily, and more powerfully, do the same.

Unfortunately, centuries of dubious philosophies, started by Plato himself, have taught us not to believe in what we see — that images are limited, illusory or represent a lower order of knowledge. It’s a concept that stays with us today.

Our Clearest Understanding

And yet, how many times have we witnessed a scene without hearing a word and immediately understood what was going on?

A couple arguing on a street corner.

A woman carefully opening her change purse to pay for cloth in a store.

Children lining up for ice cream on a summer day.

Seeing such things, rather than hearing or reading about them, is what gives us our clearest, most visceral understanding of the world around us.

The Third Language

Dogs can communicate with us without a word. And they’re our best friends.

Photography is the third language, words and music being the first two. That is what gives the work of photographers its power, its heft.

If your photographs explain, then they have done their duty. But if they only replicate the world without advancing our understanding of it, they are no better than a mirror — or worse, a copy machine.

No one has ever stood in awe of a well-done photocopy.

It’s something worth remembering next time you are behind the lens.

A few years ago, I became interested in purchasing a rangefinder camera. When I checked for reviews of the product I was considering online, I found that many of the opinions were critical.

The viewfinder/autofocus system didn’t work consistently, worked slowly, or operated poorly in low light, the reviewers said. I noticed that one of the postings was by a friend of mine, so I wrote him for more detail on his experiences. He strongly advised me to avoid the camera altogether.

Despite all the criticism, I bought the rangefinder anyway. As it turned out, it was one of the best cameras I’ve ever purchased.

Works for Me

Yes, the autofocus system could be problematic in poor contrast situations, such as early evenings. On rare occasion — maybe one out of every 250 shots I took — I had difficulty focusing.

The rest of the time, I was absolutely delighted. I was so glad I hadn’t bought into the negative reviews — even from my friend.

There’s nothing wrong with reading reviews before buying a camera or other photographic equipment. It’s certainty something to factor into your purchasing decisions.

But too many photographers give reviews too much weight.

It’s important to remember that professional reviewers offer broad opinions for a general audience. And that amateur reviewers — online commenters, forum posters and the like — typically base their reviews on their own limited, often idiosyncratic experiences and preferences.

This is the way I look at it: these reviewers don’t know me. They’ve never met me or seen my photographs. They don’t know how I work.

As a result, some — or even most — of their concerns are irrelevant to me.

My Three Requirements

When I’m considering a new camera, I have three requirements:

1. It has to be a quality, major brand.
2. It has to fit my hands the way I like it to fit.
3. It has to have simple controls — everything where it belongs, nothing fancy.

That’s about it. And of course, the only way I know if I like the ergonomics and controls is to hold the camera in my hands and try it out. Reviews don’t really help with that.

The reviews in the photo magazines go on and on about corner sharpness, lens aberrations, resolution and the like. They will describe how a lens performs at f2.0 or f5.6, and blow up sections to show imperfections in the corners vs. the center of the image.

I am sure there are some people who are really interested in this stuff, but not me.

The Bigger Picture

I’ve always found that people look at photographs as a whole image — they do not look in corners or up close a foot way, scouring the image for imperfections that can be attributed to lens quality.

Henri Cartier-Bresson and Ansel Adams took their greatest photographs more than half a century ago with lenses that are considered primitive by today’s standards. You will never see anybody in a museum looking at these photographs with a magnifying glass in their hand.

Most lenses sold by the major manufacturers today are far better than the ones used to take those iconic images.

Last year, I bought a DSLR with a zoom lens from a major manufacturer. A few weeks later, I was online reading a post by a popular blogger, and I saw that he had published a list of the “top 10 worst lenses” ever produced by this manufacturer.

And what do you know: my zoom lens was at the top. The worst ever, apparently.

That’s funny, it worked fine for me.

Not everyone is a fan of the humble photographer’s vest. If you read through the 90+ comments on Peter Phun’s post, “21 Signs You’re a Real Photographer Now,” quite a few ridicule the very idea of pros wearing vests.

As one put it:

Photo vests look stupid… on anyone… unless you are fishing for trout.

I beg to differ.

Better Than Shoulder Bags

Unless you’re wealthy and can afford to hire a sherpa, probably the worst thing about traveling with camera equipment is having to haul it around with you.

Shoulder bags are convenient for carrying your gear on and off planes and trains, but when it comes to actually going out for the day shooting, forget it. They’re a giant albatross.

That’s why I always transfer the gear I need to a photographer’s vest when I arrive at my destination.

Sometimes, I skip the shoulder bag altogether. If I’m flying to a shoot, I don’t have to pack the vest since I’m wearing it on the plane, and all of those pockets are perfect for airline tickets, schedules, itineraries, bottles of water and a pound or two of trail mix.

My primary vest has about 20 pockets and allows me to carry these accessories:

• Two extra lenses (including my 70-300mm Nikkor)
• A pocketful of memory cards in a Think Tank lightweight wallet
• One or two extra camera batteries
• Several micro-fiber lens cleaning cloths
• A polarizing and at least one or two neutral density filters
• A map and pocket compass
• A rain poncho
• A few ziplock bags to use as impromptu camera rain covers
• A city guide or topo map, which fit nicely in the big rear pocket.

Easy to Carry

Most good vests have a number of inside pockets, too. I carry my passport and wallet in a hidden interior pocket. There is room for tickets, train schedules and the like. I can also carry a sandwich and a bottle of water with me.

If I buy a few postcards or a small souvenir, I can toss them in an extra pocket and keep my hands free.

Because you’re wearing the vest, you never really notice the weight — especially if you’re careful to distribute larger items carefully. I can literally spend 12 straight hours in my vest, and while I’m thrilled to get if off when I get back to the hotel, it’s completely comfortable.

I suppose there are downsides to wearing a photographer’s vest. Critics would argue that a vest makes you stand out as a photographer — or, worse, makes you a target of thieves.

Of course, you’re a far bigger target if you’re carrying around an expensive-looking shoulder bag with an expensive-sounding brand name.

Choosing a Vest

When choosing a vest, look at several different brands and designs. The most expensive vest I have costs less than $100, so there’s no need to break the bank.

It can be tough to judge one vest against another when shopping online, so I prefer going to a professional camera store or big sporting goods store to compare my options. Hunting and fishing vests are very similar to photography vests.

I’m aware of the fact that many photographers won’t wear vests because they think they’re “stupid.” This is another way of saying that the photographer would feel stupid — a.k.a., self-conscious — wearing one.

And yes, I’ll admit it — I’ve been on the receiving end of jokes about my vest.

For example, I was deboarding from a tropical cruise a few years back when I noticed one of the crew members carefully eyeing my outfit, which included the vest and brown fatigue shorts.

“Visiting or invading?” he asked me dryly.

I guess it was a little funny.

Amid all the recent hype over 3D cameras, it’s probably worth noting that creating the illusion of depth in photography is not a novel pursuit. Smart people have been finding clever ways to bring the third dimension into still photos almost since the beginning of the craft.

If you’ve ever looked at antique stereo cards using a Stereoscope, for example, you know just how real the 3D illusion can be: You feel as if you can reach in and pluck an apple from a tree.

As a kid, I was addicted to my View-Master 3D viewer. I just couldn’t get enough of those round picture wheels. As far as I was concerned, Mickey Mouse and Pluto were actually hiding inside that viewer.

And so, the technology continues to improve. But the reality is that photographs are inherently two-dimensional; they have height and width, but no depth.

So the appearance of depth will always be an illusion — no matter how we conjure it. In this post, I’ll share some of the visual tricks I use, which work with even the most low-tech cameras.

Depth Cues

Let’s face it: one of the biggest limitations of photographs is that they’re flat.

While a landscape may spread across miles, your photographs are only as deep as the paper they’re printed on. The lack of a third dimension means it’s up to you to create a believable illusion of distance in your photographs.

The reason that we see distance in everyday life is because humans have what is called “binocular vision,” or two separate images overlapping that creates the depth illusion. The ability to sense distance can have some useful applications — like knowing when to stop walking before you walk off the end of a pier or how far to reach to scratch your knee.

While you can’t get such an intense three-dimensional experience from a photograph, there are some visual tricks — known as “depth cues” — you can exploit to enhance the sensation of distance in your photographs.

Knowing how depth is created is particularly useful in landscape photographs because one of the things you’re trying to relate is the physical space involved. So I will focus on landscapes in describing how I use depth cues in my photography.

Linear Perspective

One of the simplest and most direct ways to create a sense of distance in a landscape is to include a leading line, a cue that artists refer to as linear perspective. Highways, fences, rivers, and telephone poles are all things that can take the eye on a deep journey into your image.

Lines are like a siren call to the eye; they beg the eye to follow. It’s hard to look at a photograph that includes a strong lead-in line and not trace its path. It’s the visual equivalent of eating just one potato chip — tough to do!

When these lines are combined with what’s called a “single vanishing point,” the depth illusion gets even stronger. The vanishing point is created whenever all of the lines in a scene appear to be focused on a single spot in the distance.

In the photo below of the military cemetery in St. Augustine, Fla., the lines of the headstones appear to all be heading toward a single vanishing point, making their lure that much stronger.

The lines of the headstones take your eye toward a single vanishing point, making their lure even stronger.

Aerial Perspective

If you’ve ever stood at a scenic overlook gazing out at a mountain range, you’ve probably noticed that the rows of receding peaks seem to get lighter as they get farther away.

This is example of a depth cue called “aerial perspective.” The buildup of haze (or mist or fog) as the peaks get more distant causes the more distant ones to look lighter; the brain interprets this tone change as distance.

The best time to find haze or fog is early or late in the day or just before or after a storm.

While wide-angle lenses are generally better for exaggerating distance in a normal landscape, when it comes to aerial perspective, telephoto lenses (105mm or longer) compress the ever-lightening layers of a subject and further exaggerate the feeling of space. It’s one time when a long lens actually helps create rather than eliminate depth.

I shot the photo below from a highway overlook near Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire. The scene just appeared to go on forever; it was hard to tell if the distant hills were a few miles or a hundred miles away– a feeling created largely by the thick afternoon haze.

Haze causes distant mountain peaks to appear lighter than nearby peaks, exaggerating the sense of distance.

Shrinking Sizes

Using our common knowledge of object sizes is another great way to trick the brain into sensing distance.

Since we all know approximately how big a person is, for example, if that person appears as a tiny dot on a beach, we assume there is a great amount of space between the lens and the subject.

Similarly, by contrasting objects of known size — a large person near the camera and a tiny lighthouse in the distance — you are telling the viewer that there is space between the two. Everyone knows that the lighthouse is really much larger than the person.

You can also use shrinking sizes to imply distance by having objects of similar size stretching into the distance.

When you’re sitting in a line of cars waiting to pay the morning toll, the car at the far end of the line seems a lot smaller than the one directly in front of you. We know, of course, that all of the cars are roughly the same size and they’re not really shrinking, but the distance makes them appear to be getting smaller.

Your brain knows these tractors aren't getting physically smaller, so it perceives their apparently diminishing size as distance.

Upward Dislocation

Whenever a particular subject is higher in the frame than a nearby one, it appears to us to be farther away. That’s just another trick of our vision system that automatically assumes that things higher in the frame are closer to the horizon and, therefore, farther away.

You can exploit this cue easily in a landscape by simply placing one object — such as the sailboat in my shot below — very high in the frame.

We create an illusion of distance by placing the sailboat higher in the frame.

Another way to do this, of course, is to aim the lens down to include more foreground space in the frame. By emphasizing the foreground in a beach scene, for example, you create the impression that the beach is very long and the distance to the horizon even greater.

Not all photographs — not even all landscapes — require a sense of distance to be dramatic or realistic. But whenever the perception of distance is important, knowing which cues are available and how to exploit them is a very useful tool.

My first day at L’ècole Des Beaux Arts in Montreal was quite memorable. Aside from compulsively staring at a very pretty blonde by the name of Josette, I eagerly awaited the arrival of the drawing teacher for my first class.

Eventually he entered, wearing a tweed jacket with a matching wool tie and slowly inhaling a Gitanes cigarette.

He blew out a puff of smoke, stared around the class and then announced, “Pick up your charcoal and draw vertical lines on your paper.”

And that is exactly what we did — for the next two weeks.

A New Way of Seeing

My first inclination was that this was an enormous waste of time, but eventually his intent began to sink in. After drawing these lines for a couple of classes, I started to observe the effects on the eye of putting some closer to others, changing the spaces, making some lighter and some darker.

Closer lines created an illusion of thickness. With a change in density, they began to blink. And by progressively drawing the lines in ascending or descending shades of black, I created movement across the page that I didn’t realize was possible.

My eye was beginning to be trained to see in a whole new way.

Eventually, I discovered that being a painter was not for me. But the training turned out to be very useful in my later careers as a graphic artist and photographer.

Graphic artists combine shapes, text and images in order to make a statement designed to attract and retain the attention of the viewer.

Type surrounded by white space or reversed on a colored background stands out and attracts attention.

Graphic elements such as colored blocks or patterns can direct the viewer’s eye to sections of a page to retain specific information.

Lines dividing text can separate thoughts and allow the viewer time to absorb separate ideas.

Images are used to enhance attention and memory.

Two photographs next to each other can create an illusion that is not apparent when those photographs are viewed individually.

It’s the vertical lines exercise all over again — only a bit more sophisticated.

Stepping Right or Left, Forward or Back

The lesson holds true for photographers as well.

Unlike artists, photographers are mostly limited to working with actual objects — people, props, backgrounds and so forth — instead of static graphic elements.

The relationship of these objects to each other within the frame determines the movement, interest and dynamics of the final image. The colors or shades of these objects and their relation to each other also have an effect on how the image is perceived.

Although a studio photographer may have time to carefully configure each of these elements, most photographers — photojournalists, wedding photographers, street photographers — have to work with relationships that are constantly changing around them.

This means learning how to manipulate these relationships by, say, stepping to the right or left, or forward or backward a few steps when composing an image.

Whenever I shoot a subject, I usually take three or four frames. Each one is slightly different from the others, because I have moved to the side, a few steps forward, or changed the angle of view. When I look at these images later in Adobe Lightroom, it is amazing what a difference these slight alterations can make.

It’s the same kind of difference I saw when I drew those vertical lines closer or further apart, or lighter or darker, or thicker or thinner, so many years ago.

A lot of photographers — pros and semipros alike — are angry these days.

Pros are angry because good-paying work is harder to find than it used to be; much of this anger is directed at semipros and amateurs, who are blamed for the oversupply of images in the marketplace.

Semipros, in turn, are angry at pros for blaming them for their problems, rather than looking in the mirror and adapting to the changes around them.

Battle Lines Drawn

Black Star Rising has published nearly 1,000 articles on photography topics to date — but none have generated as much passion from both pros and semipros as the posts we have run on “working for free.”

For example, a post by John Harrington, “12 Excuses for Working for Free — and Why They’re Bogus,” has been retweeted nearly 1,200 times, “liked” by more than 4,000 Facebook users, and received nearly 400 comments.

The battle lines are clear. One of the more thought-provoking questions that has been raised, by Jonathan Worth among others, is this:

If a photographer writes a blog post for Black Star Rising for free, and in this blog post argues that photographers should not work for free, is this person a hypocrite?

Some say yes. Some have even suggested that, by publishing these viewpoints while not providing monetary compensation to Black Star Rising contributors, we are participants in the hypocrisy.

Assignments vs. Personal Projects

Here are my thoughts on this.

First, Black Star Rising is agnostic on the issue of working for free. We’ve published posts for it, against it, and for/against it with various qualifications and in various circumstances.

But still, I do think the question is an interesting one.

My answer is no. And I’ll explain why.

Photographers write for Black Star Rising on the topics of their choosing. They say what they want to say. They aren’t given assignments, as they would be if writing for a newspaper, for example.

So in that sense, it’s more like a personal project, which many photographers do for free as an outlet. We like to think we’re that a similar outlet for photographers who want to express their thoughts and feelings verbally.

Now, I understand that some contributors specifically write for Black Star Rising in hopes of a financial return of some kind. Some have reported winning new clients who found them here. Others have been invited to speak at industry events or have seen an increase in traffic to their websites.

There are also cases where photographers saw no benefit and stopped contributing for that reason.

Hypocritical — or Not?

And that’s fine. It’s their choice.

But it’s not necessarily a hypocritical choice to write a “free” blog post venting about the evils of “free” photography.

Or is it?

What do you think?

“When you look into your camera, if you see an image you have ever seen before, don’t click the shutter.”

— Alexey Brodovitch

Based on my recent blog posts criticizing the tyranny of the new and the idiocy of artist statements in photography, you might have me pegged as a “grumpy old photographer,” as one commenter put it.

I like that label; I really do. I am grumpy — worse sometimes. And I am not a kid anymore, either.

A Lot Not to Like

Frankly, there is a lot of photography I don’t like.

I don’t like photographs that are pretty or cute. If it’s pretty or cute, chances are it’s been taken a thousand times before. The Web is polluted with such images.

You know what I’m talking about. Driftword on the beach. Sunsets. Colored walls in exotic locations. Sleeping children with dogs. Rays of light shining through trees. Ad nauseum.

But even though I confess to being a bit of a curmudgeon, I still love photography. Very much.

So I thought I’d try to explain why I love the images I love.

Stopping to Look Twice

Brodovitch’s quote at the top of this post represents my golden rule and guiding compass. I like almost any photograph that makes me stop to look twice.

It’s difficult to achieve this amid the constant barrage of images surrounding us today. You have to have captured something fresh, or in a fresh way.

It could be an ad in a magazine, a billboard, just something I stumble across on the Web. It does not have to be mounted on boards and framed, signed and numbered, be a certain size, or follow conventional photographic standards.

I can get excited looking at Xeroxes of images.

It is, after all, the image — not the medium — that I’m looking at.

An Unexplained Quality

In every great image, there is a certain unexplained quality that draws the viewer into the frame.

Even though I’ve studied art and been a photographer for many years, I can’t always put my finger on a photo’s secret. I just know when a photo is special to me.

In a great photograph, all the elements, shapes, tones and movement come together to make a statement. But this almost never happens in a textbook way, where the rule of thirds has been observed, or there is perfectly balanced color or contrast. Often this kind of precision leads to the most boring images imaginable.

A great photograph can be blurred, lopsided or otherwise flawed, but still have that mysterious quality that forces you to pay attention to it.

Seeing Passion

If I were to try to define this quality, the best word I can think of is “passion.” The photographer cared enough about the subject to add something unique to the image, to communicate a personal vision in a single frame.

I am sure most of you have gone to art exhibits and looked at many images in a short time. When you are walking along, I’m guessing there are some images that you give a quick look — and others that make you linger. Those are the ones that speak to you.

Ask yourself why. What is it about this image, rather than the ones on either side of it, that draws you in?

That might be a clue for the direction of your own work.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

– Henry David Thoreau

This is one of my favorite quotes. While Thoreau did not say this about photography, it’s about the best advice you can give to someone in our profession.

Photography is not about pressing a button on a camera. It is about telling a story — communicating what you see when you look at your subject.

Same Subject, Different Stories

Different photographers can photograph the same subject but tell a different story. This is true for all types of photography.

For example, let’s say you are a sports photographer covering a basketball game. The game is very close; there is a lot of excitement in the game and on the sidelines.

As the clock winds down, another photographer might focus all his attention on the court. But you spot a player on the sidelines, waving a towel to cheer on his team, that captures the emotion of the game even better.

Or let’s say you are hiking in the mountains and see a stream surrounded by lush vegetation.

Another photographer might go with a wide shot, but this seems boring to you. So you find an interesting rock formation to place in the foreground, providing contrast and giving a stronger feel for where you are.

Or perhaps you decide to go with a detail or macro shot instead. Why photograph a whole tree when a single leaf tells your story?

Training Yourself to Notice

We should always be looking for pretty light, interesting juxtapositions, leading lines and other visually stimulating subjects.

At the same time, we should always be looking for stories to tell.

Peer inside a building with unusual windows. See if someone is looking out, or reading a book, or painting.

Walk through an old cemetery. Maybe you’ll find someone pressure-washing the headstones.

Drive alongside a long, winding white fence. Perhaps you’ll come across a horse being fed by its owner.

Always be observing. Always be looking for interesting subjects, and thinking about what elements would make your photos even better.

The more you do this, the more often you will come across these elements — because you have trained yourself to notice them.

Look at the pictures. It’s not that complicated.

That’s what I want to say to photographers, curators and others who insist that exhibition-worthy photography requires artist statements.

Explaining the Obvious

The artist statement is a written statement of a photographer’s intentions, justifying his or her work. They are supposed to be brief, but seem to have gotten more verbose over the years.

Maybe I’m missing the point, but isn’t the beauty of photography that it provides a simple, direct way to communicate with your audience on a level that almost anyone can relate to?

You observe, take a photograph, print it or process it in a way that conveys the feeling you had when the image was taken, and then either exhibit it or publish it.

If the photographer has a story to tell, this should be clearly obvious to the viewer, shouldn’t it? The image is a success because the message is understood.

So if you need an artist statement to explain what you’re doing, haven’t you already failed?

Inferiority Complex

Artist statements for photographers first gained popularity about 30 years ago, and today are ubiquitous. Why is this?

Here’s my theory.

While on the one hand the public has come to embrace photography as art, I’m not sure how many photographers truly think of themselves as artists. Deep inside, many of them feel they don’t belong in the same league as painters or sculptors.

So perhaps the artist statement is a form of compensation. You know what they say about artists with really long statements, right?

Trained in Vain

I originally trained as a painter before I realized I would make a better photographer. I was admitted to l’ecole des Beaux Arts in Montreal.

In those days, you got admitted by showing up with a portfolio of your work. If they liked your stuff, you were in. They did not care about your marks, because they knew grades had very little to do with talent.

These days, photographers usually study at universities. They are admitted based on their grades and, once enrolled, they begin signing up for photography classes. These courses are formalized in an academic structure so that students can be graded and diplomas handed out.

This formalization, in many cases, includes the homework assignment of writing an artist statement. The more cryptic art-speak used in this process, the better.

What better way to attempt to separate yourself from the ignorant masses? Especially when those masses are all carrying digital SLRs.

Playing the Game

I try to avoid writing statements regarding my own work. I only give in on this issue when I am given no choice by the curator, gallery owner or publisher.

When I am forced to play the game, I roll my eyes upward, take a deep breath, and try to compose something simple, short and honest. I use words and sentences that an average high school student would understand.

Frankly, I would much rather that third parties like curators or gallery owners wrote these statements themselves. It would be valuable to learn why a gallery chose a particular artist, and what is it about their work that attracts them.

Their comments would be far more interesting than some photographer droning on about his or her own work.

Not too long ago, a friend of mine showed his portfolio to a curator at a local museum. After sifting through his photographs rather quickly, she handed them back to him and said she saw “nothing new” in his work.

Nothing new?

When did being “new” become the overriding factor in determining the quality of a photograph or other work of art?

Celebrating the New

Don’t get me wrong. I believe in celebrating the new in art, when change is organic and authentic. To study art is to study the natural evolution of human creativity.

At the beginning of the 20th century, for example, the Secessionist movement held that a photograph’s value should be based not on what was in front of the camera, but on the ability of the artist to manipulate the image to achieve a subjective vision.

In the ’20s, the arrival of the Leica changed everything and all of a sudden, journalistic photography was the “new” thing. What the artist saw was now more important than how he manipulated it.

Over time, newer movements have come along to replace the older ones. That is what art is all about — or what it should be about.

New for New’s Sake

Lately though, I believe that “new” has begun to replace “good” in photography.

The obsession with discovering the next “new” trend has given birth to a whole generation of mediocre work, as natural creativity takes a back seat to artifice and gimmickry.

Take vernacular photography, for example — the photography of everyday life and common objects.

Museums have been trying to find something “new” in vernacular photography for years. Unfortunately, when you are simply photographing things that lie in front of a camera without any regard to composition or expression or passion, what are the options, really?

So what we’ve seen is photographers making their photographs larger, changing the format from rectangular to square, and authoring more loquacious artist statements. This is the new “new.”

The subject is as boring as ever — but look, it’s so much bigger now! That should be worth a gallery opening and a higher asking price, shouldn’t it?

Dry and Bloodless

Today when I view most fine-art photography, I feel like I’m reading an academic thesis rather than experiencing a work of art. There’s no passion there; just increasingly dry and bloodless attempts to explain why I should care about what I’m witnessing. Why I should care that it’s “new.”

That’s OK. I’ll just look at Kertesz’s “Satiric Dancer” for the thousandth time and still feel something these “new” images will never inspire.

Google the term “creative block” and you’ll find countless articles trying to cure you of this terrible malady. This isn’t one of those articles.

Why not? Because I see nothing wrong with it; I don’t think it’s a malady at all.

In fact, I view it as a healthy stage in the creative process that we must embrace, not attempt to avoid.

Bull and Bear Markets of Creativity

Just as Wall Street has bull and bear markets, so too does our creativity. Sometimes we run out of juice.

In both cases, there are constructive reasons for these cycles. In the case of the stock market, a bear market deflates overvalued (i.e., cliched) ideas — sticking a pin in the dot-com and real estate bubbles, for instance — and encourages people to find new businesses to grow and new ways to make money.

In our work as photographers, creative blocks serve a similar purpose. If there weren’t a mechanism to stop us in our tracks and force us to try something new, I think we would just fall into a rut of repeating ourselves, or pursuing endless variations on a theme. We would get stale.

For me, creative blocks don’t come at regular intervals. They might happen once a month or once a year. Either way, the important thing is that I recognize them for what they are and accept them, rather than trying to fight the cycle.

This photo of Felix marked the end of one of my creative blocks.

This Too Shall Pass

Next time creative block hits, don’t panic. Just find something to occupy your time — even something seemingly uncreative and boring will do the trick.

Early in my career, I worked as a photographer at a hospital. Sometimes, employees would ask me to make copies of pictures of their relatives who had passed away. I agreed to do this work as a favor to my colleagues.

Often, the photos I was given were old, turn-of-the-century images that were faded, creased and stained. This was many years before digital photography and Photoshop, so I used a device called a Leica Reprovit to copy the pictures. It was a tedious routine, and yet over time, I got very good at retouching the creases and increasing the contrast of these old images.

One day, while I was in the midst of a creative block, I was doing some of this “boring” work when Felix, a hospital maintenance worker, came to me with a photo of one of his deceased family members. The picture was taken in Barbados during the 1940s; I found myself enjoying the process of bringing it back to life.

Then, when Felix returned later to pick up the photo, I suddenly noticed the dark glasses he was wearing and decided he would make an interesting portrait subject. I asked Felix to pose for me, and I loved the images that resulted.

As naturally as it had come, my creative block was gone.

As a student, I had a lot of original ideas. And I was determined to take only original pictures.

I hated “me too” photographs. If I saw a classmate submit a portrait with a cliched subject like a bearded, homeless man, I’d shake my head and say to myself, “How trite.”

I was so determined to be original, in fact, that I spent more time and energy criticizing my classmates’ shortcomings than executing my own lofty ideas. As a result, a lot of my ideas never materialized into images.

Excuses, Excuses

Oh, I had lots of excuses for this. I was a self-supporting college student on a foreign student visa, for example. This meant I could only work 20 hours a week and had to work on campus. I told myself that this limited my opportunities to explore the world, and to make my ideas reality.

Poor me!

I finally broke through my inertia when I discovered that I needed an internship at a newspaper to graduate. That got me moving beyond the theoretical into the practical; original or not, I had to start taking pictures, now.

Well, I got that internship, which led to a 20-odd year career in news photography.

And yet, even today, I still find myself battling those same demons that inhibited me as a student.

I have just as many excuses not to get out and shoot.

Shake Off the Inertia

Newton’s First Law of Motion states that a body will remain at rest until a force acts upon it. This rule applies not just to physics, but to photography, too.

An idea — no matter how original or exciting — doesn’t mean much if it’s confined to the recesses of your mind. You have to get out there and start shooting.

If you don’t have an original idea, that’s no excuse, either. Just borrow an idea that’s already been done.

I’m not suggesting you recreate a picture lock, stock and barrel; if you’re like me, your creativity will kick in and you’ll start changing the elements to make the image your own.

Look upon the photography of others as a means to inspire you. Don’t get in the habit of criticizing the work of colleagues, because that’s a negative cycle that will only consume you.

I’ve always hated making cold calls. It’s hard not to take each rejection personally.

A friend tried to make me feel better about it by offering some advice. He said that if every 100 calls resulted in a sale, each of the rejections had gotten me one step closer to my goal — a “yes.”

To be honest, I’ve never lost my distaste for cold calls. But I do apply his advice in how I approach my work.

A Numbers Game

For example, sometimes I spend a day shooting and nothing seems to be working. I go from place to place looking for something of interest, only to draw a blank.

This is when I remind myself that photography, like cold calling, is a numbers game. You have to keep shooting whether you like what you’re getting or not.

On those occasions when I’m not having any luck, I’ve often captured a photograph at the end of the day that makes the whole shoot worthwhile.

Other times, I’ve gone home dissatisfied. But when I do, I remind myself that when I start shooting again the next day, I’ll be closer to finding what I’m after.

The key is staying ready and not giving up. The longer you’re in the game, the better your chances of hitting a home run.

Staying Ready

When I was in Paris with my wife Sharon last month, I wasn’t having much success taking pictures. I kept coming up empty, and I began to feel disappointed. I reminded myself that we would be there for several more days and I had plenty of time; I just had to stay at it.

Sooner or later, I told myself, there would be something in front of my camera that I liked.

After a day of walking, Sharon and I decided to rest our feet and eat ice cream cones at a park. Children were playing near us, and one of the boys was being particularly obnoxious and noisy. We wished he would go away, but that wasn’t happening.

Then, as we prepared to leave, this boy ran in front of us, stopped and looked up. I raised my camera, focused quickly and snapped one frame before he ran off.

As it turns out, that’s all I needed. That one image made my day.

The numbers game had paid off again.

Photo © David Saxe

This photograph was taken last month as I took a leisurely walk along the River Seine in Paris. Somewhere near the Pont Neuf, I leaned over the wall separating the street from the walkway below and saw a couple relaxing along the bank.

It’s one of my favorite walks in Paris; I have others. In fact, I have favorite routes in many places that I walk over and over again.

Same Route, Same Pictures?

From time to time, this has made me wonder, “Am I repeating myself?”

It think it depends. If I were interested in shooting the buildings, perhaps I would be. But since my main interest is people, I think not.

No matter how many times I walk the same path, the pictures I take are never the same. Sure, the same buildings and trees are there, but the people — their numbers, actions and interactions — are always different.

My routes are my favorite routes because every time I visit them, I find something new that interests me.

In talking with my friends, I’ve found other photographers who share this approach — with their own idiosyncrasies. I’ve learned that how one walks a path says a lot about that person’s creative interests.

Following Our Interests

My friend John in Montreal, for example, likes to stop and visit the same cafes, parks and apartment buildings on his walks. He likes to shoot pictures of the people he meets at his various haunts.

By contrast, I prefer to shoot strangers, and to remain anonymous. I am interested in people’s shapes, body language, and moods. I tend to see the abstract patterns they form in relation to their surroundings.

Now that I think about it, maybe the well-worn path, or the favorite spot, is really just a familiar canvas that gives us the comfort to create. And not just for street photography, either.

I’m sure most landscape photographers have their favorite places, for example. And they, too, can capture something new — because the weather changes, or the light is different, or they feel different from the last time they visited. It all combines to make for a different image every time.

I guess that’s one reason why it’s so easy to fall in love with photography.

Photo © David Saxe

Last month, my mother was admitted to the hospital for cancer surgery. I decided to document the hospitalization, from admission to returning home.

One of my inspirations was Days With My Father, Phillip Toledano’s brave visual account of his father’s last days. I wasn’t just interested in coming up with a series of melodramatic photos; I wanted an accurate record of the event for my family.

A Solemn Journey

So the morning of the surgery, I packed a camera in my bag, and we began a solemn drive to the hospital.

On the way there, I thought about taking my camera out and documenting the drive itself. But something told me not to; we continued on to the hospital.

When my mom was admitted and shown to her ward, I was tempted to take the camera out and document the scene. But again, I didn’t.

When a hospital worker came to help her onto the gurney and wheel her to the operating room, I knew that it would make for good photographs. But upon seeing my mom lying there with tears in her eyes, my heart tightened. All I could do was hold her hand and tell her that everything would be OK.

Pictures in My Mind

A few hours later, she returned unconscious after surgery. I sat beside her, waiting for the anesthetic to wear off.

During this time, as she drifted in and out of consciousness, I wanted so badly to take my camera out and take a few photos of her. But I knew that she would never want to see these pictures — and would probably ask me to delete them from my camera.

I saw other pictures as I looked around the ward. I framed the various images in my mind. I composed them and visualized how they would look.

But again, I never removed my camera from the bag. The pictures in my mind were ones I simply didn’t have the heart to take.

Before I left, I was able to take a few pictures. Seven, to be exact — with my mobile phone.

The pictures don’t show much, and are of inferior quality. But looking at them now, they bring everything back to me: the smell of the ward, the feel of the cushion of the chair, the sickening sight of tubes running into my mom’s arms and nose.

My visual record, as haphazard and incomplete as it was, still had power.

What My Heart Said

So, am I a bad photographer for not following through on my original plans? I asked a photojournalist friend, and he assured me I did the right thing.

I would like to be able to grit my teeth and document an emotional journey like Toledano does in Days With My Father. But it’s probably not something I can accomplish, at least at this stage in my life and career.

My heart told me “no,” and I had to listen to it.

Photo © Leonard Goh

Recently I came across a YouTube video on the photographer Bruce Gilden, demonstrating his technique for taking photographs.

It’s interesting to watch. Using a Leica with a wide-angle lens and a small flash, he approaches within a few feet of people as they are walking along the street and snaps a photograph or two of them from low angles. It’s a very in-your-face way of taking a photograph of someone, resulting in people yelling at him, telling him to piss off, or just pretending not to notice him.

In the video, Gilden responds in kind, reminding his subjects that it is a public street and that he has a right to do what he is doing. He comes across as very thick-skinned; the comments from his subjects don’t seem to bother him.

It’s a highly confrontational style — but the end result is that I liked most of his images.

Preferring to Be Invisible

As much as I appreciate Gilden’s work, my style is very different. I am a “stealth photographer.”

I am more self-conscious than most people, and my approach is to be as invisible as possible. I like to blend into the background, get as close as I can, take my shot and move on. If somebody notices me, my cover is blown and I move on to something else.

Obviously, my style produces images that are very different from Gilden’s; this would be true even if we were making photographs in the exact same setting.

Letting Your Personality Come Through

For me, this drives home the point that the character of the photographer is always present in his photographs. A photograph may have something to say about its subject, but it always says something about the person taking the pictures.

Some photographers tend to be technique-oriented, precise and methodical, resulting in images that are perfectly well-composed, exposed and static.

Others are very loose, sloppy, and emotional — resulting in totally different images.

Both styles can result in excellent and interesting images. What’s more important is that the photographer allows his or her character to come through in the pictures.

Wedding Photography with Character

Take wedding photography, for example.

I used to find wedding photography dull and repetitive — totally lacking in creativity. Most wedding photographers that I met had no interest in their craft because their main goal was to make money.

They were order-takers who produced cookie-cutter images. They didn’t care about being unique.

As more photographers have entered the wedding business, however, I am finding that many are injecting their photographs with a personal style to help them stand apart. They are building clienteles by using photojournalist/documentary techniques, pictorial dreamy landscape styles, or other interesting approaches.

Colleges are churning out would-be photographers by the thousands today. On my street alone, there are four kids doing coursework in film or photography.

In this environment, investing your photographs with individuality is more critical than ever to getting noticed — and having commercial success.

Photo © David Saxe

Neon tubes have been a fixture of outdoor advertising and signage in the United States since the early 1920s. Neon naturally produces a red color, but through the use of argon, mercury and phosphor, more than 150 colors are possible in gas-filled signs.

The variety of bold colors makes neon a wonderful subject for hot summer nights — or anytime, really. It’s fun to just cruise around looking for interesting signage to shoot.

Endangered Species

Unfortunately, classic neon is a dying art, with signs disappearing as businesses and neighborhoods change. Most businesses today are satisfied to throw up an uninspired fluorescent sign. Sometimes I drive around, come up empty in my neon quest, and end up at the Dairy Queen instead.

I shot the Garden Park Motel sign (below) near my home a few summers ago, and it remains one of my favorite local signs. It’s a real throwback to those great 1950s motel signs that you used to see everywhere.

How to Shoot Neon

Photographing neon is easy, and you can get great shots with any camera. The trick is to fill the frame with just the neon sign and then trust the metered exposure.

If the sign is fairly bright and you’re close to it, there’s probably enough light to shoot at a relatively slow ISO of 100 or 200. I shot the sign pictured at ISO 200 with a Nikon D70s, and the exposure was 1/25 second at f/8.

If you’re using a tripod (and you should), put the camera in aperture-priority mode and select a middle aperture (like f/8) to get the optimum sharpness from your lens. If the sign is big and depth of field is a concern, select a smaller aperture, perhaps f/11 or even f/16. The camera will then select the correct shutter speed for you.

The size of the aperture has some effect on the bleeding or “halation” of the neon glow, so take a few test exposures and see if you like the glow. As you change apertures you will probably see the spread of the glow change.

There’s no right or wrong, of course; it’s just a matter of taste. But it’s something to be aware of while you’re shooting. If you want to take in some of the background of the sign (the metal structure, if there is one), then you can increase the exposure by a stop of so.

In the case of the Garden Park Motel sign, I wanted the colors to really pop, so I exposed for the tubes and let the sign fixture itself go black. I left the white balance in auto, and it did just fine.

Give Yourself a Neon Challenge

If you shoot in the RAW format, you can adjust the exposure and white balance after the fact, which is great. But if you’re shooting in jpeg, you can give yourself similar exposure leeway by using the auto-bracketing feature and bracketing exposures by a full stop in either direction.

If you don’t have an auto-bracketing feature, you can just use exposure compensation to add/subtract a stop or more on either side of the metered exposure and you’ll get the same result.

So the next time you want to go cruising for photos, toss the tripod in the backseat, load up the camera and give yourself a neon challenge.

And if you don’t find a great sign, you can always photograph the line at the Dairy Queen. And as long as you’re at the Dairy Queen …

Part of presenting your work is deciding how to process it. While color is the default choice for most photographs, sometimes the simplicity of a black and white image is compelling. Because we see and interpret our world in color, creating black and white photographs is really an art in itself.

When to Convert Images to Black and White

I take several factors into account when deciding what images are good candidates for conversion.

These include:

• Contrast. Strong light/dark contrasts often look great in black and white.
• Mood. A joyful image can be accentuated by color, while a melancholy image often has more impact in black and white.
• Colors. When an isolated subject has complimentary colors behind it, it can jump right off the page at you, making color the better choice. If the colors aren’t complimentary, you might try black and white instead.
• Intensity. If there is eye contact between you and the subject, is there intensity to the connection between the two of you? If so, black and white conversion can give a timeless feel to the photograph. If there isn’t a particularly strong connection, color keeps the image feeling lightweight and free.
• Intended use. How will the photograph be used? What mood and feeling are you trying to create? If the image is part of a story, consider varying your presentation with an assortment of color and black and white images that balance one another visually.

Shooting with Conversion in Mind

When shooting with conversion in mind, I like to up the ISO to between 800 and 1600. This goes against today’s trend of shooting at low ISO for black and white photographs, but I like it because it adds a nice graininess to the images.

Remember that highlights and shadows are the key to images that you plan to convert. Train your eye to compose for light and shadow in addition to your subjects and their environment.

Rear lighting is a great way to separate your subject from the background. And be sure to get a firm grip on exposure, because poorly exposed images will fall flat in conversion.

The Conversion Process

In the digital age, we are fortunate to be able to compare our color images with black and white versions of them. I like to shoot in color and then do my own conversions in post-processing.

Don’t let anyone tell you that professional-level processing cannot be achieved on your computer. It just takes time and dedication to learn how to see, and achieve, tone and contrast in grayscale.

As a general rule of thumb, look for a wide range of grays after the conversion has been made. Find the midpoint for your gray levels and compare the darks and lights around that shade to determine whether there is enough depth to the image.

Find the method that works best for you, stick with it, and build upon that skill so you can develop your own signature style for processing your images in black and white.

Photos © Michelle Black

Malcolm Gladwell famously asserted in his best-selling book Outliers that for a person to truly excel at something, he or she must have approximately 10,000 hours of practice at it. It’s become known as the “10,000-hour rule.”

The 10,000-hour rule isn’t meant to suggest that if you cook for 10,000 hours, you’ll become a world-class chef. Many factors come into play, practice being just one.

Let’s take photography, for example.

How should we apply the rule in our profession?

And what activities should count toward us earning that 10,000-hour merit badge?

Counting Up the Hours

We could start by adding up every flip of the shutter — at, say, 1/125 of a second each. The photographer would need to take about 450 million pictures to reach 10,000 hours that way.

Obviously, that’s too literal an interpretation. You should include all your time spent on shoots and preparing for shoots, too.

So, if you spent three hours on shoots each day for 10 years, that would add up to 10,000 hours. Difficult, but certainly achievable.

But I don’t think those are the only hours that should count toward your 10,000. I would also include time spent with mentors. A good mentor can give you advice that advances your photography by leaps and bounds.

Talking with and learning from the best can make a huge difference. I would contrast this with other kinds of photography discussions — such as gabbing with others at your skill level about the latest gear.

I would argue that the former activity should count toward your 10,000 hours; the latter, not so much.

Finding Your Own Style

But learning from mentors, preparing for shoots, and clicking the shutter are not enough in themselves. Even if you do them for 10,000 hours — or 20,000 hours, for that matter.

If you simply imitate your mentor in your work, for example, you’re still a wannabe.

To truly excel, a photographer must develop a personal style and approach. This requires self-reflection, and ultimately, to see the world in a unique way.

So even when you’re not making photos or talking with others about photography, you can still be logging hours toward that 10,000-hour goal. Just walking down the street, even without a camera in hand, you can be logging those hours.

As Michelle Black put it in her recent Black Star Rising post, “Photography is about moments, whether we capture them with our camera or not.”

All the time you spend seeing the world as a photographer, as opposed to just another resident of the planet, is “practice” toward becoming great at what you do.

I’m not sure how that jibes with Malcolm Gladwell’s interpretation, but it works for me.

We all have good days and bad days in our photography — successes and failures.

By failures, I don’t mean commercial failures. In fact, when I was shooting a lot of assignment photography, I never lost a client because I delivered photos I didn’t like. Typically, what I thought was crap, the client loved.

We are often harder on ourselves than others are. Sometimes, we need to give ourselves a break. But we should also use our dissatisfaction as motivation to get better.

A Day at the Beach

A couple of weeks ago, I was in Hampton Beach, N.H., shooting one of my favorite subjects — beaches.

When I got back home and downloaded my images, I was disappointed. After looking through all of the photos, I found very little that interested me. There were plenty of scenic images, but nothing that stood out.

I confess that this is not the first time I have come up short. In fact, it’s happened enough that I’ve developed my own little system for dealing with it.

My Four-Part System

Here it is, in four parts:

1. Be honest with yourself. This is often the hardest part. Don’t tell yourself that a photograph is a success simply because it is technically perfect. Is the picture actually interesting to you? Does it have a spark? After my Hampton Beach shoot, I had a lot of pretty shots — but that was all. It was hard for me to accept, but that’s photography sometimes.
2. Study the near misses. Now it’s time to get to work. Look at the images that you almost like. What would it have taken to make them better? In assessing my Hampton Beach near misses, I realized that I did not stay in any one place long enough. I was always on the move that day, searching, but never showing up at quite the right time. There is nothing wrong with staying put; the image will eventually reveal itself.
3. Identify bad decisions. When I was at the beach arcade, I focused my attention on the colors and blinking lights. I thought that this would add interest to my images, but I was wrong. It’s always the people in my photographs that add the interest. I got distracted.
4. Use Photoshop to work out issues. There’s no substitute for getting the shot you want in camera, but Photoshop is a great tool for experimenting. Does changing the tone, switching to black and white, or (God forbid) cropping give your image more impact? Sometimes, I revisit photos in Photoshop weeks or months after the shoot. I recently tried this with some rejected images I shot in France last year — and was pleasantly surprised by the results.

Kenji Miyazawa said, “We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey.” In the same way, we must embrace our failures and learn from them.

Photo © David Saxe