Here are some things that caught my eye, and ear, on social media this week: #fbf
What inspired Margaret Atwood to write The Handmaid’s Tale,
Stunning photos from Berlin photographer Markus Lehr
Taj Mahal “Leaving Trunk” (1968),
Representing Toronto in a single photograph,
Toronto’s Contact photography festival,
Bombay Sapphire gin recalled across Canada for containing too much alcohol,
Two-thirds of Canada’s electricity now comes from renewable energy
Here are some things that caught my eye, and ear, on social media this week: #fbf
How to tell if your child is a future art star,
Wonderful work from photographer Patrice Moreau,
Maud Lewis film “Maudie” is a blockbuster in Atlantic Canada,
Fort McMurray firefighters share pictures and stories,
Chris Coghlan’s leap to home plate,
Inuk throat singer Tanya Tagaq,
Aerial photos of London by Jason Hawkes,
Meteorologists examine Munch’s “The Scream”,
New York streets through the eyes of Mike Lee,
George Eastman, founder of Eastman Kodak Company, once said, “Embrace light. Admire it. Love it. But above all, know light. Know it for all you are worth, and you will know the key to photography.” Light, along with time, is a key ingredient in the photographic process.
Many photos posted on social media seem bland–they may have interesting subject matter and location, good colour, even a good moment, but what they often lack is good lighting. I have heard that Lee Friedlander chose not to shoot on overcast days because he didn’t want to take lifeless photos.
The photo at the top of this blog was taken in Halifax, Nova Scotia, in 1980 –my early days in photography. It shows a certain type of high-contrast light that I was photographing that day for, as far as I can remember, the very first time: sunlight, directly overhead, shining on pavement. The effect is even more pronounced if the pavement is wet. This lighting situation is great for silhouettes and good for isolating people and cars and seems to work best in black and white. Any time I see this king of light, I’m eager to capture it. (Yes, thirty-five years later.)
For me, then, this is a well of inspiration that never dries up. I go back to this high-contrast light again and again, always stopping to get my camera out, always pulling over to the side of the road and standing on the line down the middle, checking over my shoulder for cars coming. How is it that something can so capture our imagination that we never tire of it?
I think it’s partly that photography, even when it’s pretty much taking the same photo for the hundredth time (as my family likes to remind me) has an always-fresh quality. This photo is, by definition, not quite like all the other photos, no matter how similar they may be. For the person holding the camera, and later looking at the image with attention, the details add up to something wholly different. The balance, the atmosphere evoked, the contrast, the mood of the moment–these are all going to vary.
Moreover, for the photographer, there can be great satisfaction in dealing with the learning curve. This is essentially a private endeavor; that’s why my family isn’t really able to appreciate it when I stop the car. Sure, if I show my wife a photo I took as a student side-by-side with one I took last week, she can observe, “You’ve really improved.” But the incremental changes, the tiny little notches of achievement or refinement in being able to capture what I’m seeing, are perceptible only to me.
Photography is a way to share your vision, but it’s also an individual journey. No one else is on it with you, or not in quite the same way. It’s important for us to honour where we are in terms of what we’re discovering for ourselves over the years.
Light is a key part of every photo we take. The hard, brilliant light on a wet pavement is for me, for some reason, one of life’s great joys. It fills me with happiness to see these black-and-silver vistas stretching in front of me. I think I would reach for my camera in my sleep, confronted with such a scene.
Whatever impels you to reach for your camera again and again, it’s worth paying attention to why you’re drawn to it, how you’re photographing it, and how your photographic eye for the subject you love is improving over time.
Here are some things that caught my eye, and ear, on social media this week:
Amazing documentary photos from Dave Jordano,
Jazz Sounds from Toronto’s “Metalwood”,
The surreal eye of Brazilian artist Viki Olner,
Saskatchewan ranchers stunned as beaver herds 150 cattle,
Light pollution in Halifax, Nova Scotia,
East Coast Music Awards (ECMA) Nominees for 2017,
Graham MacIndoe’s best photograph: Quentin Crisp, toast of New York,
Editing photographs takes time and patience. You’ll probably follow different strategies, depending on whether you’re working on an assignment, an exhibition, or a scrapbook. I’ve found it helpful to let some time pass before making choices. That could be a few days, months, or years. It’s important to try to lessen the emotional attachment to an image and see it as objectively as possible.
On his blog, American photographer Eric Kim tells a story of photographer O.C. Garza, who said, about a class he took with master street photographer Gary Winogrand, “He never developed film right after shooting it. He deliberately waited a year or two, so he would have virtually no memory of the act of taking an individual photograph. This, he claimed, made it easier for him to approach his contact sheets more critically. Winogrand said, ‘If I was in a good mood when I was shooting one day, then developed the film right away,’ he told us, ‘I might choose a picture because I remember how good I felt when I took it, not necessarily because it was a great shot.’” (To be clear on how meta this is: I’m quoting Kim quoting Garza, who’s quoting Winogrand. Four layers of photographers finding this a useful insight!)
The photo at the top of this blog post is perhaps a solid example of letting time pass in editing: It was taken in Little Italy in Toronto in 1983, and scanned some 33 years later. I didn’t think it was a worthy photo when I took it, but I do now. Time has given me a different perspective on the photo. Part of the reason is that I’m a better photo editor now than I was in my twenties.
In these days of social media, it seems to be a lot about instant gratification–how many likes a photo received that was taken just five minutes ago. Resisting the urge to post things immediately is sometimes difficult but rewarding.
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St. Clair West, Toronto, 1983 is from the series: Toronto Days