The Online Photographer

Didja Get Your Print?

It's now been four weeks, give or take, since the last of the prints from the 2010 Ctein Dye Transfer Print Offer were mailed. If you placed an order and haven't received it yet, time to contact Ctein.

Also, Ctein was being modest the other day and elected not to link to his 1000 True Fans page in his most recent post about it. It is hereby linked, in case you'd like to get on his good side and add to his total of 94 True Fans.

And, incidentally, TOP itself started out with about 230 True Fans, but for some reason the recurring donations keep being spontaneously canceled. If yours was canceled, all I can tell you is that it wasn't me...it might be because you canceled your credit card or changed your bank account. It might be because you came to your senses and chose to cancel it. Or, it might have happened for reasons only known to PayPal and God. In several cases we've tracked, no changes were made to any related account, the donor didn't cancel the subscription, and I didn't either. But it was canceled. Nobody knows why. Maybe some spam-protection or anti-theft protocol run amok?

Anyway, I assume we're now down 50 or 75 fans from our peak, so we could say TOP has maybe 180 True Fans. If you've signed up to give a small regular donation, thanks! And if you've signed up and been canceled, sorry. All I can tell you is that it wasn't me.

Mike

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Original contents copyright 2010 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved.

The Ill-Fated Two-Part Exercise

As a follow-up on yesterday's post, I'd like to describe a two-part exercise I used to assign my high school and beginner college students.

In the first part, they (and when I say "they" I mean "I") had to go into the darkroom and clip a three-inch piece of unexposed 35mm film, lay it across the gate of their camera, and close the back. (A brief note, not that anyone cares: that was not as easy as it sounds.)

The result was a one-shot camera. With the camera in the field, only one shot was possible. You couldn't even remove the single strip and load a roll without ruining the single shot. The assignment was to devote an hour or so to shooting and come back with the single shot exposed, develop it (in a tray, in the dark, meaning, I did a lot of "helping" with that too), and print it.

The second part of the assignment was to spend a minimum of three hours shooting a minimum of six rolls of film. (Actually it started out as ten—hey, they were only 24-exposure rolls—and ended up as three, but I tried to stick to six.)

These assignments did not go over very well. The single-shot exercise was not very popular with students. The two most common complaints were, "Why should I learn to do this? I'm never going to shoot this way for real!" and "What if I see something really great after I've already exposed my shot?" You know, the old Elvis-boarding-a-flying-saucer-on-a-unicorn argument. And the six-roll assignment was unpopular with the Head of the Art Department. The school provided film for photography students, covered by "lab fees," and six rolls was three weeks' worth of film according to the departmental budget. The limited/unlimited shooting assignments died an untimely death.

It's funny how people don't see a thing wrong with trudging up fake stairs for half an hour, or repeating "¿Dónde está el cuarto de baño?" ten times being prompted by a recording, but they balk at the concept of exercises and practice where photography is concerned.

(In fact, one of my many abandoned book projects is a book of exercises meant to make you a better photographer—many of which I've actually done my very own self. I gave up on that, though, because I knew what its fate would be: people would read it, think they'd gotten 100% of the benefit of the exercises just by reading about them, and never actually do any of them. About the third time I caught myself writing an urgent exhortation to actually do the exercises, I finally though, ah, what's the use.

There are actually a number of people who are following through with my Leica-for-a-year exercise suggestion, though, so maybe I should resurrect that book idea.)

Anyway, here's my current suggestion: If you're one of those who have never tried "a hundred shots just to warm up," you really should try it a few times.

Just as an exercise.

You might learn something from the experience. Maybe not, but maybe.

I'm just sayin'.

Mike

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Original contents copyright 2010 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved.

Voices from the Past

Jimi Hendrix at home, Brook Street, London, 1969. Photo by Barrie Wentzell.

This week, Jimi Hendrix charted a Top Five album, when the new posthumous album Valleys Of Neptune entered the Billboard Top 200 at #4. It's been 40 years since Jimi died at just shy of his 28th birthday. Nobody else has ever had an album in the Top Five so long after their death. Elvis Presley was the previous record-holder with an album that charted 26 years after he died. It's Jimi's third posthumous Top Five album, and it dragged no fewer than three other Hendrix albums into the current Billboard 200 with it.

There was some revising of history going on in photography, too. This week, the Associated Press is re-captioning a 68-year-old photograph. For many years, the picture above was believed to show the infamous Bataan Death March in the Phillipines. But an 87-year-old veteran, John E. Love of Albuquerque, N.M., remembered it differently. He believed it showed a burial detail in the weeks that followed the march itself; he knew, because he was there.

His memories eventually led to a months-long investigation by the AP, which eventually made the very unusual decision to revise the picture's caption, 65 years after the photo and caption were first released and 68 years after the event it depicts. The original picture is now in the National Archives in Washington, D.C.

The story is on the wire, including here on MSNBC.

Mike
(Thanks to Bill Mitchell)

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The Hundred-Shot Barrier

Spring is a great time for photography. (Fall too, for those you under the Southern Cross!) Two days ago we had a marvelous spring day here. It was hot: the temperature soared to 65°F. People were out in shorts and T-shirts. The air was clear and sweet, the sun bright and inviting. We had a few increasingly nice days leading up to Thursday, after a gradual but uninterrupted three-week thaw. Marvelous.

Today there's snow on the ground again. A few flakes are gently falling outside my window, and the sky is a featureless gray, with just a hint of brightness behind it.

But even that doesn't seem so bad. This time of year, you know it won't last long. 

I hope in the coming season you can get out a lot. I know a lot of us work for a living, and most of us don't work in photography. I don't know about you, but I think it does me a lot of good to just get outdoors, even for a few minutes. However you can get into the open air, whatever opportunity you have. A short walk at lunch time; once around the block after you get home; a brief walk around outside or just a short spell on the front steps in the early morning. It might not be enough to be good for your body. But it's good for your soul.

Maybe take your camera along too. If I don't have time to shoot, I don't beat myself up over it. Spring is a great time for photography, though. Nice dawns, nice dusks, clear air without the haze of summer. And even if you don't take a single shot on a short jaunt outside, having your camera with you "acclimatizes" you to having it with you. The more you can carry your camera, the more normal it feels—it's like a woman carrying a purse, or a man getting used to wearing a coat and tie. David Vestal says puts on his camera on the morning and takes it off at night, like his shirt.

I've always felt there is a sort of "starting barrier" to shooting. Like a little hump blocking your path that you have to get over. Like a cold engine that needs to warm up and get its oil flowing. When I shot film I always thought I needed to get through the first two or three rolls quickly before I felt I was really shooting. With digital, call it the first hundred shots. You've just got to get through those first hundred shots before you're really going, before things start to flow. Sometimes it takes an effort. You have to power past it with an effort of will. Before you do, there's still resistance there, still a feeling of awkwardness. Blast through a hundred shots, and the oil is warm in your engine. You're over the hump. The barrier is flattened.

Then it gets easy. Then you're shooting.

Here's to getting outside, and especially to the times you're able to get past the first hundred shots. Here's to spring.

Mike

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Featured Comment by Jeff: "Funny how styles vary.

"I'm with you 100% on the part about getting out, exercising, taking a camera along, etc. (By the way, recent studies show that small increments of exercise provide the same benefits as exercising in one shot, e.g., five minutes, six times a day, is as good as 30 minutes at once. I wonder about the aerobic differences, but that's what the studies now suggest.)

"However, I don't have a warm-up period as part of my routine. Didn't in my film days, and even less so now with digital cameras. My 'keeper' rate with digital is higher, partly due to histogram checks (infrequent, but helpful at times), and the fact that I'm likely more adept at processing via a screen than I was in my darkroom (hard to admit after years of darkroom practice).

"I'm very selective about my shots, and now with years of experience, I have a much better feel for what will work for me, and what won't. That doesn't mean I stopped experimenting, but my efforts are now more deliberate.

"My goal is always to have fun, but more specifically to generate images worth printing. I'm careful not to fall into 'analysis/paralysis,' and try to stay loose with the process of picture taking. But I don't shoot just to get in a groove. If I'm out frequently, a luxury I now have in my retirement, I'm generally warmed up out of the box.

"But, hey, whatever works. It's 73° and sunny outside, and I'm going for a bike ride."

Featured Comment by Ctein: "I love learning about the differences in how people go about creating their work. This is so very much not my style, which makes it fascinating to me.

"Digital has made me unfortunately sloppy (that's how it works in my head), as I've written about in the past, but the idea of making 100 photographs just to warm up is something I can't wrap my head around.

"Question for you: are you saying that you don't get many good photographs in those first hundred or that it just takes you 100 photographs to get comfortable with making photographs. Not the same thing, which is why I'm asking.

"I sometimes fall into the groove after I've been out photographing for a while, where it starts to become more 'second nature' and less something that I'm pushing myself to do. But the later photographs aren't necessarily any better than the earlier ones. On rare occasions, the very best photograph of the day has been the very first one I made. Perhaps because initially there's a mental barrier to get over before I'm willing to raise the camera to the eye, so it needs to have the potential to be a really good photo? I don't know. You're making me think about how I work, damn you. Head hurts, must stop <g>."

Mike replies: Jeff, yes, whatever works. True. Everyone is different, and there's no one right way for everybody. For Walker Evans during his FSA days, six sheets of film exposed was a heavy shooting day.

Ctein, this post really isn't for the people who have already pushed the shutter button tens or hundreds of thousands of times. If today is a typical Saturday, some 22,000 people will look at the main page today. Some of them (maybe some of the ones we never hear from) might benefit from this tip.

But to answer your question, my experience is that you never know when the good ones will show up. Early; late; heavy shooting days or weeks, or when you haven't shot for a month. It's like fishing. The more time you spend doing it, the better your chances, but even when you're out there with your line in the water you never know when you're going to get a bite.

Featured Comment by Pat Trent: "One of the benefits of owning a dog is that you can't make excuses for not taking that walk, because 'the dog needs the exercise' (ahem!). With few exceptions, a camera goes with us.

"My dog is a true shutterbug: From the moment I say 'Hold on,' he remains absolutely still—no tension in the leash—until he hears the shutter snap and he knows it's okay to move around again. Amazingly, all my dogs developed this understanding about the shutter sound, without any effort on my part.

"Those who don't know the joy of walking about in the spring with both a camera and a dog are missing a lot."

Featured Comment by Nick: "I envy Mr. Trent his dog; my dog has made the image stabilization on my E-P1 indispensable. Picture a (tall) grown man, with both knees and one elbow on the damp ground, trying to shoot a close-up picture of a little white flower while a deeply stupid beagle tries desperately to drag him forward. Not exactly like shooting from a tripod...."

Peter Gowland 1916-2010

Agh, we've lost Peter Gowland. I just heard. Glamor photographer, camera inventor, all-around photographic raconteur, a fixture on the scene.

I'd like to take this opportunity to re-publish a brief piece that our friend Oren Grad wrote for this site about Peter on the occasion of Peter's 90th birthday, in April, 2006:

The multitalented Peter Gowland—Hollywood bit actor, renowned glamor photographer, camera builder extraordinaire, and all-around fun guy—turned 90 last week. I leave it to the more scholarly types to opine on the esthetic and cultural significance of the Gowland photo-oeuvre; his cool cameras are just as worthy of celebration.

Gowland developed at least five distinct large-format designs—a lightweight monorail view camera, an architectural camera, an aerial camera, a single-lens reflex and a twin-lens reflex—most of which have been offered in multiple formats and with a wide array of custom variations available to meet the needs of each purchaser. Perhaps the most exotic are the 4x5 Gowland SLR and the monster 8x10 Gowlandflex TLR. (Click here and scroll down a couple of rows to see the 5x7 TLR in action on the beach, photographing Raquel Welch.) At the other extreme is the ubiquitous 4x5 Gowland Pocket View monorail, co-marketed for a time by Calumet, which turns up regularly on eBay and on used equipment shelves and which can still be purchased new from Gowland.

I've owned three Gowlands over the years. My first, a very early 8x10 monorail purchased used, was a truly spartan design—little more than a bellows riding on a pipe. (With time, the Pocket View design was refined to make it easier to use and more functional.) Later, Peter built for me an ultralight 5x7 short-rail view camera intended for field work with a 180mm lens, and then a bag-bellows version of his 6x9cm 'baby' monorail. Each time, it was a pleasure doing business. Peter would answer the phone himself, and spend the time to understand what I was hoping to accomplish and brainstorm about what he might cobble together in his shop that would be a good match.

I've linked to a few pages from the Gowland website, but it's worth the time to explore the whole thing, starting from the top. It's chock full of fun stuff about his life and work, with plenty of surprises for those who don't already know about him. Have a look and join me in a toast to Peter Gowland: a very happy 90th, and best wishes for many more years of good health and photo fun!

—Oren Grad

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Mike
(Thanks to Oren)

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Featured Comment by David A. Goldfarb: "When I bought my first large format camera on eBay—a Gowland 8x10" PocketView that I still use—I had to order a few small items like lensboards and an extension rail, so I sent a letter to an address I found online, and Peter Gowland called me himself to check on the details of my lensboards. I think he really just wanted to talk to someone who was using one of his cameras, because he loved chatting about them and finding out what people were up to. We've periodically stayed in contact since then through e-mail. He was a true gentleman."

It Came!

Regular readers will remember my accounts of my problems storing oversize books, which I talked about when I discovered that unfinished furniture stores are the place to buy odd-sized bookshelves. Actually, they're the place to buy bookshelves period—they have many styles, several woods, and can be built to order. And while not cheap, they're not expensive either. I mentioned that I had ordered one, and I told you I'd report back when I got it.

Well, it finally arrived last night—the owner of the store and I carried it up the walk last night and "walked" it into place across the living room floor. I was able to specify all the measurements myself, so I designed a case specifically for oversized photography books. The top section is a generous 13" deep, and the bottom section a whopping 17" deep. I sized it for only five shelves, so all of them have plenty of height—the tallest clears 19". The glass doors are to protect the books from dust.

Finally, a a place to keep even my biggest book, an acquisition from last year—Todd Hido's House Hunting, which is 13 1/2" x 16 7/8". That's bigger than it sounds (camera included for scale). This is one of my favorite purchases of last year, by the way. The second printing was published in 2007, and has just gone out of print, although there are still a few new copies available here and there. You can see some of the work from it here (under Photographs > Homes at night), although the huge reproductions in the book are a much better way to see the pictures. I really like the book, but had no place to put it. It had been laying flat on top of one of the tall cases, collecting dust.

And here's a tough one for any sort of bookshelves—Pentti Sammallahti's gorgeous book of panoramic photographs, limited to 1,000 slipcased copies, from 2002 (out of print, and getting pretty expensive. Although it wasn't cheap new). Not tall, but 17" wide.

It actually barely fits! I might end up storing it vertically. I love this book, too—Pentti's photographs are just gorgeous.

The amazing spontaneously-destructing photography book

Moving books around is an opportunity to reacquaint with some old friends (hullo, Virginia), and in some cases to cull the herd a bit, too. One weird thing I ran across was a book I haven't touched in a while, Camera Portraits, published by Oxford, from a National Portrait Gallery (London) exhibit. I noticed that the text block (the stack of pages) was flush with the lower edge of the binding. Then I noticed that the top of the text block was overlapped by the binding at the top by a good three-eighths of an inch, which is too much. Then I noticed the front endpaper had come detached. Then....

...Well, amazingly, what happened was that the weight of the pages made the whole text block fall out of the book's case binding! It happened just sitting on the shelf, not from handling or being moved or anything else—the last time I handled this book I'm sure it was sound. Just the book's own weight was enough to make it self-destruct. Can't say I've ever seen this happen before. Books aren't made like they used to be, for the most part, but that's what you call a badly-made book.

So now I have to decide whether to get it repaired, or just toss it. I have a feeling I know the answer to that.

At any rate, I'm going to be enjoying filling up the new bookcase with books today. And with 15 running feet of new shelf space, it's sure to relieve the overcrowding problem on the rest of the shelves in the house.

...For a few months at least.

Mike

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An Imaginary Camera (Part II)

(Part I is here.)

Next we have to consider exposure, focusing, and lenses.

Lenses first. My ideal camera, being a "strassenkamera," would have only three lens types—normal, wide, and short telephoto.

Of course, the lenses would be newly designed, according to...well, my tastes. (I know this is getting a little silly. Bear with me.)

But here's the refinement: each of the three lens categories would have a closely-spaced range of focal length options. The normal lens range might have four variants: say 35mm, 40mm, 45mm, and 50mm. (In 35mm equivalent terms, that's a range from about 40mm to 55mm.) The idea would be not for anyone to buy more than one of the four, but so that everyone could pick the normal lens that best suited the way they like to see. Some people like a normal that's a little wider, others, one that's a little narrower. This way everybody could have exactly what they want.

And here's a further refinement: each lens would be available in low-spec and high-spec versions. The LS versions would have exactly the same design as the HS versions, but would be mass-produced using engineering plastics with a relaxed QC tolerances—but they'd be very inexpensive. The HS version of the same lens would be made of higher-quality materials, with metal lens mounts, made to much higher standards and tolerances. Naturally, they'd be much more expensive.

The reason for this? Purchase and purposing flexibility. If you use a normal lens 95% of the time and a WA 5% of the time, you could buy an expensive HS normal and a cheap LS WA. Or, if money is tight, you could buy a LS lens first and replace it with a HS version when finances allowed.

Next, all the lenses would be have matched imaging characteristics for a consistent "look." And naturally all of them would be optimized to the sensor size and coated for digital.

(To be continued....)

Mike

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Supporting 1000 True Fans

By Ctein

Before launching into this week's column, follow-ups on old business. We bought a "new" car (a used Chevy HHR still under bumper-to-bumper warranty, for those who care), I sold the VW bus to the state as part of their smog-hog buy-back program, and I sold all my film camera gear (thank you, Columbus Camera Group and eBay).

Care to guess which got me more money, the car or the gear?

We now return to the regularly scheduled broadcast, the latest column in the series on my "1000 True Fan" experiment. I'm using "support" in two senses: what Contributors get from the program and what I have to do to maintain it. When I proposed this, Ken Tanaka correctly pointed out that administrative overhead was not ignorable. Fortunately, it's worked out pretty much as I expected.

Make no mistake, I didn't get anywhere close to 1000 True Fans (didn't expect to), I got 94. But those Contributors provided me with approximately $15,500 gross revenues, $12,500 net. That's about one third of what I need to live on, not a life-altering level of support but certainly a life-enhancing one that provides me with considerably more time to work on my art—the point of this.

This is a screenshot of my spreadsheet, with dummy entries to preserve my Contributors' privacy. This links to a mail merge template in Microsoft Word. (Click on the image to see it larger.)

My paperwork overhead ends up being under one day a month. To track Contributors, I created a simple spreadsheet. I copy each new Contributor's information into the spreadsheet and annotate it appropriately. The first eight columns are mailing information that I use with a Microsoft Word mail-merge template I created to generate adhesive mailing labels. "Subs" are abbreviations I used to record the tiers of support, monthly or annual payments, and U.S. or foreign Contributors. "Fee" is how much they're paying. "StartDate" lets me track when subscriptions are up. The next two columns get summed, so I always know what my monthly and one-time-annual revenues total. "Status" is scratch notes I use to I track whether I've mailed stuff I'm supposed to, e-mailed notifications, followed up on missed payments, etc.

What do the Contributors get in return? Periodic e-mails tell them how things are going with links to a private webpage where they can see recently finished pieces. Ideally I should be mailing them every month, but I haven't gotten my act entirely together. The emails don't take a lot of time, just few hours a month to prepare a couple of new JPEGs, write a newsletter, and have Mail bulk-email it.

Last Christmas I sent the Contributors a set of holiday notecards that I hand printed and signed as a surprise gift. Something like that lets people know that you appreciate what they're doing for you. People don't give you money if they don't think you're grateful. Like the newsletters, it's a way of making a connection, but it's a lot more tangible and has more impact. That was relatively time-consuming and expensive. Preparing and mailing 100 packets of five note cards and envelopes took me a good week and a half. So, I'm now up to around two days a month for support.

You can also do your Contributers favors. Last winter I offered them about a dozen extra dye transfer prints from the first TOP print sale at an extraordinarily low price, and super-cheap copies of my photo restoration book before the new edition came out. They also got advance notice of this year's print sale.

I promised people at least a half dozen photographs to choose from for their fulfillment gifts, but I ended up offering 13; here's my final selection. The first photo on this page is a dye transfer print that I overprinted for the TOP print sale, although all I had promised them were digital prints. Another unexpected perk.

The big outlay of time and money is coming up: notifying the first Contributors their subscriptions are fulfilled and they can pick their gift prints, and preparing and shipping those prints. It will wind up being about a dozen days work.

All told, probably three days a month go into supporting people who provide one third of my living expenses. If I tripled the number of subscribers, I could survive on this (barely) putting just a third of my time into "business." That's not bad! Beyond 300 Contributors, I'm not sure about my current workflow; I doubt it works for 500. If by some miracle I ever got to 1000 True Fans, it would definitely break; simple arithmetic shows support would become a full-time job. When would I do the art?!

On the other hand, at $133K/yr. net I could afford to contract out a lot of the administration. Heck, it's more money than Paula and I combined have made in our very best year; she could quit her job and become my manager. This is what's called a "champagne problem;" I should be so "unlucky" as to have it.

Now comes the Really Big Question: can I keep my True Fans? This is supposed to be an ongoing source of income for creative types, not a one-shot. The model breaks badly for my kind of business around that (I'll explain next time I write about this), so I'm nervous. In a couple of months, I'll be able to tell you how my efforts to keep Contributors has worked out.

Ctein

Ctein's regular weekly column appears every Thursday morning. —MJ

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An Imaginary Camera (Part I)

I had the rather satisfying experience recently of buying the camera that I once imagined. As I keep yawping about like a broken record, in 2005 I "specified" an imaginary camera type I called the "Decisive Moment Digital," and, last year, essentially bought the camera that I had envisioned—the Panasonic GF1. 

I'm enjoying the GF1, by the way.

The Panasonic and its brethren, the Micro 4/3 cameras, are doing well. I thought they would. When I imagined the DMD, in my mind that it was something that would be marketable.

(By the way, I am in no way taking any credit for large-sensor interchangeable-lens mirrorless compacts. I have no evidence that anyone from any camera company ever read what I wrote, much less acted on it.)

Now what I'd like to do is sketch an "ideal" imaginary camera that will never exist—and probably shouldn't. I don't actually think there's a market for it. I believe it would probably fail as a commercial product. I'm not suggesting any company should build it.

First, picture a Hasselblad body with a waist-level finder of the type which was ubiquitous on old Hassies and Rolleiflexes. For those of you who have never used a Hasselblad or a Bronica or a Rolleiflex with a waist-level (right, like such people exist! Ha!), the finder is basically a flip-up collapsible viewing hood, to block stray light from impinging on a viewing screen. I snitched this picture from an Ebay auction, which I  hereby atone for by linking to it.

If you really never have used an old medium-format camera with a waist-level finder (and yes, I know you exist), I should point out that the viewing hood pops up for use (the position it's in in this picture) and folds down for carrying and storage, protecting the viewing screen.

Now, on the right side of the box, where the knob is on this camera, picture a hand grip on a center post. The angle of the handle is adjustable in click-stops, so you can find the angle that's most comfortable for you. The shutter button is on the hand grip, wherever it would fall under your right index finger.

On the side of the body, where you can reach it with your fingers and thumb even when your hand is on the handle, is a shutter-speed dial. The aperture control is a ring on the lens. There's also (somewhere—I'd assume you'd need to get to prototype before you could determine exactly where) a little switch marked "V-H." The sensor is 4cm square. The "V-H" switch changes the orientation electronically from vertical to horizontal, in both the finder view and in the recorded file, using aspect ratios you select.

The back part of the box is the sensor module, which is removable and replaceable at the factory. (Ignore for a sec the fact that there's no factory.) The only viewfinding method is an "LCD screen" (or OLED screen, or whatever—a digital viewing screen) on the top of the camera, in the same position it is on the Hasselblad. The viewing screen is removable and replaceable as well.

Compared to this illustration, the mouth of the lensmount would be smaller, and of course there would be no mirror; this camera would be as mirrorless. Probably, the flip-up viewfinder hood would be larger. How much larger? I presume the screen would be as large as it could practically be without making the whole package unwieldy, say three inches square.

(To be continued....)

Mike

ADDENDUM: As several commenters have suggested, there would naturally have to be an option to shoot the full square format as well.

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Two Deaths

NASA photographer William Paul (Bill) Taub, 1923–2010

"Though he was rarely credited by name, Mr. Taub took nearly every official picture of the astronauts who led the nation's early forays into space and played a central role in shaping public perception of NASA's work." From the Washington Post obituary by Emma Brown. He died on February 20th.

New York City welcomes Apollo 11 crewmen. Pictured in the lead car, from the right, are astronauts Neil A. Armstrong, Commander; Michael Collins, Command Module Pilot; and Edwin E. Aldrin Jr., Lunar Module Pilot. The three astronauts teamed for the first manned lunar landing, on July 20, 1969. Taub's photographs appeared in Life magazine, Look, and National Geographic, among others. Photo by Bill Taub, NASA/washingtonpost.com (Washington Post caption).

Bill Taub (seen getting a blood test as part of the quarantine procedure for Apollo 11)

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Civil Rights Photographer Charles Moore, 1931–2010

TOP reader Terry Manning, Multimedia editor of the Montgomery [Ala.] Advertiser, writes:

Mr. Moore worked here for a while during the early years of the Civil Rights Movement. I had the chance to meet him in 2005 when he came to document the 40th anniversary of the Selma-to-Montgomery March, better known as Bloody Sunday.

He was a nice man and very down to earth. Nothing in his demeanor betrayed his legendary status. And if I recall correctly, he shot the event in 2005 with a Canon SLR and brought along a point-and-shoot digital because he was wanted photos for keepsakes and so he could shoot video. Even at his age, he was still learning. A real loss.

Charles Moore died on March 11th.

Birmingham, Alabama, 1963. Photo by Charles Moore, Blackstar/Eyevine

Charles Moore

 

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Charles Moore's book, Powerful Days: The Civil Rights Photography of Charles Moore (U.K. link).

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Mike
(Thanks to Al Benas and Terry Manning)

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Featured Comment by Jim Metzger: "I was at the parade in NYC for the Apollo 11 Astronauts. My father owned a liquor store on the corner of Bleecker Street and Lafayette Street. I was 15.

"In those days the parades ran a much longer route than they do today and my father's neighborhood, which is north of City Hall, was all light manufacturing then. (It is NYU territory now). Not many people were on the street. I stood on a step stool and got off three frames from my Nikon F (bought second hand by my father as a gift) as the parade passed by.

"I immediately dropped my Tri-X at Berkey Photo Lab on 13th street for processing. Imagine my dismay when the film came back, perfectly exposed, except for those three frames. They were missing! I never saw them again. My opportunity to shoot for Life, Nat Geo, or Time was crushed (he said tongue in cheek).

"I had a home darkroom shortly thereafter.

"Berkey is out of business, serves them right, and I still have the Nikon."

Featured Comment by Steven Alexander: "I remember how cool Charles Moore was in the most trying circumstances, at Oxford, Miss., when any outsider but especially the press were in real danger of bodily harm, he just quietly did his job and helped other do theirs. It was a pleasure to work around him and as everyone has said he was a gentleman. As a photojournalist his work was clear and to the point, tight and involved. I am so glad to have known him."

Mike the Radical

It might or might not come as a surprise to you to learn that a few of my friends and relatives consider me to be radical, politically. Well, in my quiet, unassuming way, that is...I'm not a marcher. Or a screamer.

The reason for my radical rep is that I believe in a principle called egalitarianism, which used to be a much stronger component of American democracy than it appears to have become more lately. The reason for that allegiance is simple, too: it's because I'm convinced by the sociological evidence indicating that excessive disparities in wealth, privilege, and status are a destabilizing influence on societies*. Inequality and unfairness are stressors that promote unhappiness and contribute to possible civil unrest.

I like civil rest.

Radical.

In photography, too, I guess I'm a radical—somewhat less quietly, even.

Where the Audubon article I linked to in the previous post is concerned, I'd like to put forth a modest proposal: why not just play it straight? Why not just take things the way they are?

You probably learned in Philosophy 101 about Plato's Cave. Plato was bothered by the fact that we seem to have innate notions of essential forms—archetypes—that in some nagging sense seem more important to us than specific embodiments of them. In this view, the idea of "sailboat" (say) is more pure and perfect than any actual sailboat. In Plato's Cave, the reality we can see and experience are just shadows cast on a wall; the deeper truth is the archetype, the essence—the thing we can't see that casts the shadow.

People really like archetypes. For some people, the more pure and perfect the photograph—the more idealized the subject, the closer it gets to some universalized, Platonic ideal—the better. If a photograph is of a deer, say, they want a stand-in for the archetype "all deer"—not that specific deer, but rather the "idea" of deer.

Trouble is, photography is all about the shadows, in the Platonic sense. Photographs are instantly, effortlessly specific. People spend an inordinate amount of effort and time in the cunning application of trickery to make them less so. But what photographs want to do is show the individual thing in all its quirky, specific individuality.

Somewhere I have a photograph of a deer. She was a scruffy, mangy little thing I encountered on Skyline Drive atop the Blue Ridge. The deer there are frequently fed by sightseers and are half tame—this one allowed me to get within about fifteen feet of her. The closeup view was not terribly flattering. She had a tag in her ear and bare patches on her back. She looked like it had been a hard winter. The flies had her twitching. She had a certain angular look—she was probably hungry, which is why she let me come so close with my camera.

I can't find the picture now, but you'll have to take my word that she was very far from an ideal deer.

The idyll dies hard, though. The evidence is pretty dramatic that we're in the middle of an unprecedented period of our brief history—to put it briefly, we humans (a "weed species" like rats or dandelions or pigeons, sorry to say) are overrunning the earth. As a consequence, we're in the middle of the biggest extinction event since the one that did in the dinosaurs. All told, the best estimates suggest that Earth is most likely losing between 10,000 and 17,000 species a year. The population of lions is probably a fifth of what it was in 1910, the population of big ocean fish probably less than a tenth. Grand Banks cod are all but gone; within the span of another human three score and ten we might have lost half of the biodiversity of Earth—somewhere between one third and two thirds of the species known to us in 1900—and that's not all bugs and tiny plants that are almost just like other tiny plants; it will include, most likely, rhinos, most sharks, and orangutans. The list will go on and on, and it will include some of the elemental animal paragons that parade proudly though children's books today. Tigers. Polar bears.

That's a story that's very hard to tell in pictures.

I don't own photography, of course, and it's not up to me to tell anyone else what to do, and anyway my base position has always been that everybody should do whatever they want to as long as it's not hurting anyone. Full disclosure is good enough. If you photograph captive animals, just say so.

But emotionally I find I have to go a bit further than that. What's the use of hunkering down in Plato's Cave and telling happy fibs about an idealized, romanticized ideal of wilderness that no longer exists? That's just not the story that matters. Here's another radical assertion: telling lies doesn't just promote the false; it also hides the truth. The only responsible wildlife photographers are scrupulous truth-tellers. No matter what or how they shoot. The rest have their heads in the sand. And they're asking you to put yours there, too.

Radical.

I know.

Mike

P.S. If we could confine the comments to the photographic aspects of this post, that would be nice. (See what a hopeless idealist I am?)

*Note that word excessive. I'm not saying there shouldn't be rich and poor; I'm saying we don't need people who are paid $700 million a year and we shouldn't have families living in dumpsters. Also, like the proponents of any minority political view, I'm just saying we need a little more egalitarian influence, not that I want to magically transmogrify the entire United States into some misguided Harrison Bergeron dystopia of fairness taken to—er—excess.

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Featured Comment by Josh Wilson: "Interestingly enough, the 'Photo of the Day' over at PDN is a set by Joel Sartore of portraits of endangered species made in captivity. Of course, the fact that they are captive is disclosed right up front and actually is part of the premise behind the set—very staged, human-like portraits of species on the brink of extinction at the hand of humans."

Mike replies: People need to read about the shoot of the Dehli Sands Flower-Loving Fly! Great stuff.

I should add (in the Keep-the-Lights-On Dept.) that Joel Sartore has a new book out of this work. Brand new, in fact—it was published just today! (Here's the U.K. link.)

Featured Comment by HD: "We have this conversation about climbing all the time. Rules. Ethics. I hear this guy pulled on gear. Someone said this girl previewed the route on rappel. It's clear that this guy chipped a hold to make it easier. Rumor is this team didn't make the summit but still claimed first ascent. There's only one rule, only one ethic: Say what you did. That's all. Then we can talk about whether it's a first ascent, or whether someone did it in better style, but since you said what you did, you get full credit and no slander. Say what you did. If you can't say out loud what you did, maybe you shouldn't be doing it. It seems that it works for photography also."

Featured Comment by Gilles: "Thank you for sharing; awesome post. As someone who spent months in the wilderness to find wolves and grizzlies as a graduate ecologist, I completely agree with the ethic of showing what's reality. Which is...they are very difficult to find outside of a few choice spots. Even using road kill as bait for camera traps, we rarely saw a grizzly, never a wolf. And after decades most never see a cougar.

"There's a reason so many people go to Yellowstone for wolves and Brooks Falls for bears. Without radio tracking, most are too rarely seen. And often they are mangy or have scars and wounds. And never behave like you see in captives. If you want to show a real sample of what's out there, you're going to be have to suffer hypothermia, frostbite, heatstroke, mosquitoes, deer flies, horse flies, black flies, exhausted muscles, blisters, sunburn, and so forth.

"But, on that very, very rare occasion you see something, then you are left with a true and profound sense of place. I'll never forget the first close encounter with a Coastal Brownie in Alaska, 10 feet away. Completely forgot to lift the camera. Mental image is still etched in my mind though." 

Wildlife Photography...and 'Wildlife' Photography

Here are two interesting articles that came to my attention recently—and that are even more interesting when juxtaposed.

First is a story of remarkable persistence in the face of adversity, the tale from the Daily Mail Online of Greg du Toit and how he got his remarkable picture of two lionesses at a watering hole (the first picture at the link). I think you can tell this one's impressive even if you don't care for wildlife photography—and Greg suffered diseases, parasites, and lots of effort and frustration to get it. Not to mention fear: "There were times when I was shaking with so much with fear I had to stop what I was doing and breathe to get myself calm," he says. 

'Captive wildlife' is an oxymoron
Then, consider this fascinating article from Audubon magazine about 'wildlife' photography's dirty little secret—animal models for hire. Although not exactly underground, the existence of these resources for photographers is certainly not well known the public, who often see impressive pictures of 'wild' animals that aren't really wild. Many are actually nearly as docile as pets, and run the gamut from pampered to abused.

Audubon doesn't spare itself in its exposé, either.

And it coins a rather odd locution—the "genuine wildlife photographer," meaning a photographer who only photographs wildlife that's actually wild.

Trainer Logan Saitch carries Jewel, a cougar "model" from the Triple D game farm.
Photo by Andrew Geiger.

I know I sound like a broken record, but photographs often don't stand alone. In order to know what you're looking at, you frequently need to be told—and the honesty and reliability of whoever's doing the telling is just as important with photographs as it is with written or spoken statements. The author of the Audubon article, Ted Williams, says as much: "Where there's no gray is in the need for honesty."

Mike
(Thanks to and Ryan King and David Bostedo)

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Featured Comment by Chad Thompson: "I remember when I was a younger I found a wildlife photography book at my local library. It was produced by L.L. Bean. This one I believe. Anyway, upon reading I came to a 'tip' that included catching a trout and then tethering it to the bottom of the stream with monofilament. Once placed, just submerge the camera (in housing) and happily snap away. At that point I knew I could never view even the most innocuous wildlife photo ever again without thinking there was something, well, fishy about it."

Featured Comment by Greg du Toit: "Hi guys, it is Greg here! Always interesting to read how crazy people think I am—?

"I am a wildlife photographer by profession and like other wildlife photographers, I have to go to extreme lengths to capture my subjects. Disease and illness is just a part and parcel of the job. Take Nick Nichols for example. He is and has been a leading National Geographic photographer for decades and has contracted more diseases on assignments than I can list (far more than me—he has had malaria over 20 times). Growing up in Africa, tropical bugs and diseases are part and parcel of life, and getting bilharzia and malaria are commonplace.

"Also, what the papers omitted to tell is that these pictures are not just any old lion images! No, these are images of wild lions carrying out a precarious existence on Maasai-owned community land, outside a national park or game reserve. Very few of these lions are left in Africa and in 50 years time they might be all gone. I took it upon myself to capture images of truly wild lions carrying out an existence that is currently under severe threat! Yes, I could have used a remote trigger or a dry suit, but my plan from the start was never to be in the water, that is just how the project evolved. At the time of this project I was just starting out with a very limited budget and had only one body and one lens. All the images were shot on slide film.

"I do think I deserve just a little credit for being behind the camera and capturing an image of a truly wild beast in a day and age when other photographers are using remotes and captive bred animals? (Read the full story on my website).

"There is more about my story on a BBC World Service interview with Mathew Bannister."

Featured Comment by amcananey: "The direct link to Greg's account is here. (It can be a little difficult to find on his website.) A good story and great pictures. Some are even better than those included in the newspaper article and they definitely help you appreciate Greg's unique perspective from the water."

A Tale of Two Cities

Twenty-six gigapixel Paris: Photographer Arnaud Frich and Martin Loyer have created what is being billed as the highest-resolution gigapicture yet made, a super-high-resolution view of Paris. It consists of 2,346 separate images, and, well, talk about resolution—you can make out what individual people are wearing on the steps of Montmartre's Le Sacré Coeur, on the horizon. I've always said resolution is a property that's overrated by hobbyists, and I persist in thinking of "photographs" as prints, yet I admit to a fondness for these peculiarly web-based photographic spectaculars. This one's not particularly intuitive to navigate, but it's worth taking a minute or two to figure it out. The stitching was done using Kolor Autopano.

And speaking of spectacular: Check out Sam O'Hare's 5+ minute video "The Sandpit," a tour of a faux-miniature New York. This one isn't quite what it seems—it looks like that "contratilt" technique that, by using a tilt-shift lens "the wrong way," tricks the eye into thinking real scenes are models—a trope that's getting a tad old for Yr. Hmbl. Edtr. already. And it looks like video speeded up. Wrong on both counts—this is actually time-lapse photography shot mostly with a Nikon D3! There are more than 35,000 separate images. And the contratilt effect is done in post; regular zoom lenses were used. Add an original soundtrack and the effect is quirky yet oddly charming.

Smith x 2: Finally, re models—actual miniatures—there have been not one but two articles in the World's Greatest Photography Magazine (a.k.a. The New York Times) in the past few days about Michael Paul Smith, whose work we discussed in February: this feature from March 11th, and this follow-up from the following day. Both written by Jim Koscs.

Mike
(Thanks to Andre Moreau, Nicolas, and Rob Atkins)

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On the Fringe of the Rio Carnaval

Photographs and Words by Peter Turnley

 

My first exposure to the complex human realities of life in Brazil began when I was offered an assignment to photograph the spirit of the players of the Brazilian national soccer team during the year leading up to the 1998 World Cup. This gave me the opportunity to witness up close a group of young men who, besides being the gods of soccer, also in many ways exemplified the flair, charisma, spontaneity, sensuality, and joy which are so characteristic of daily life in Brazil—coexisting with socioeconomic realities that are among the most difficult and disparate of any country in the world.

In 2005 I began to photograph the Carnaval of Rio, likely the biggest party on earth and certainly the largest expression of popular street theater in the universe. I’ve now been to Carnaval four times.

Ever since my first encounters with many of the great photographers who inspired me, I became aware of the value of turning my attention away from the main event. So often, the temptation is to look where everyone else is looking. But, time after time, I have chosen to observe what’s going on by looking in the other direction—before, or after, or at the edges of the main attraction. There I find the textures, moods, atmosphere, and emotion that enable me to arrive at a more profound level of feeling.

Besides photographing the Rio Carnaval myself in 2005, 2007, 2009, and 2010, I’ve also taught photography workshops in Rio, centered on Carnaval, in each of those years. I’ll be offering the Rio Carnaval workshop again in 2011.

I’ll also be teaching workshops in Street Photography and The Photo Essay in Seville, Istanbul, Paris, Provence, Calcutta, New York, and Buenos Aires. The exciting Easter Procession in Seville Workshop starts in only a few weeks.

My workshops embrace an appreciation for the visual and human poetry that can be found when one keeps one’s heart and eyes open to observing the “Cartier” diamonds in the rough of everyday life. The workshops are centered on observing the human realities of daily life, photographing people in their environments. We discuss philosophical issues and practical tips related to photographing people and creating photo-essay/narratives with groups of images. We explore camera techniques centered on creating the most spontaneous visual response possible to what we feel, observe, and perceive about in the world around us.

I've titled the following portfolio of images “On the Fringe of the Rio Carnaval.” It represents moments I've observed while turning away from the main event. I have witnessed and photographed many if not most of the major world news stories of the past twenty-five years. If I have been motivated to show images about what seems wrong with the world, I am also moved to underline that which is wonderful and beautiful about life. Each time I return to Rio, my soul is inspired by the amazing spirit of the people of Brazil.

—Peter Turnley

You Can't Trust Rumors

Photo: dc.watch.impress

M module for GXR?
At the CP+ show in Yokohama, Ricoh is not showing a very crude and very early mock-up of an M-mount module for the GXR.

Not? That's right. It's actually only a bodge cobbled together by an optimistic Ricoh enthusiast. What's telling is that this is getting a lot more attention than the actual news from the CP+ show about Ricoh's actual new GXR modules (including a tasty-looking 28mm-e ƒ/2.5 coupled to an APS-C CMOS sensor). Hint: when you can see the black gaffer's tape, it's usually a giveaway that you are not gazing upon official prototypy.

Hot if obvious tip for the manufacturers: First one in with a mirrorless box that has a full-frame sensor and a native M mount wins!

Master likes his inkjets
Mark Hobson is reporting on his blog some interesting comments about inkjet prints from none other than Joel Meyerowitz, author of one of the all-time evergreen classic bestsellers among photo books. Faskinatin'.

Speaking of photo books...
You made the Amazon sales ranking of Harald Mante's Photography Unplugged go from #288,330 to #4,972 following our review the other day. Harald himself wrote to say, "I am very, very happy with this review." Gawshk.

Fuji films on the chopping block?
The 'net is rife with rumors this week that Fujifilm will be cutting back a number of its C-41 and Neopan B&W films. The source of the rumor is Scott Sheppard of the podcast Inside Analog Photo, who says on APUG that he got it from the horse's mouth. Fuji's staying mum, officially.

Let Papa TOP just point out that contracting the number of films on offer might also have the effect of consolidating demand for the few(er) products that remain—although I'm just speculating. In other words, the fact that a number of films are going away doesn't necessarily mean that the remaining ones are more in jeopardy; the opposite might be the case. As for the Neopan 400 in 120, Fuji's B&W films were never easily or widely available outside of Japan and I don't think one out of 500 non-Japanese B&W photographers back in Ye Olde film days had even tried Neopan 400 in 35mm. I'm just sayin'....

Mike
(Thanks to Dirk Rösler and Oren Grad)

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What Tests Don't Tell You

By Ctein

A few weeks back, a reader wrote to Mike comparing the sharpness of prints made with his 6-MP and 12-MP digital cameras. He put in some effort to compare apples and apples. Both cameras had the same format, and he used the same high quality prime lens on both cameras at the same ISO and aperture. He worked on a tripod, photographing the same target at the same distance under the same conditions, and he printed out the photos using the same workflow in several different sizes. He saw little difference in sharpness between the two cameras. Apparently, up to fairly large print sizes, it didn't matter whether he used a 6- or a 12-megapixel camera.

The reader had made an error. He'd stopped down the lens all the way to ƒ/11. That meant his likely blur circle was larger than the pixel size on either camera. I guesstimated that the most resolution difference between the two cameras he could hope to see was 10–15%, so small as to be nearly undetectable in real photographs.

A good equipment test is really a well-designed scientific experiment that measures the variables on which you want to collect high-quality data. Few people have the knowledge or skills to design such experiments. There's a reason people go to expensive schools for many years to learn how to do this. The majority of tests that I read about online are done incorrectly. When they produce unexpected results, as they did in the case of this reader, the first thing to investigate is the testing procedure.

I've written many columns and comments about print sharpness and what people can and can't see. There have been many comments from readers who couldn't verify my assertions, making comparison prints on their inkjet printers. The readers neglected to determine whether their printers were even capable of reproducing such fine detail before making the comparison prints; they weren't. Like Mike's correspondent, their experiments were too crude to measure what they were looking for.

That's why I was so happy with this column back in January: "How Sharp Is Your Printer; How Much Can You See?" It's not easy to come up with a robust test that a non-expert user could run that tells them something useful and meaningful about what kind of fine detail they're getting and seeing.

There's another way tests go wrong. Mike has described to me how tests of total harmonic distortion failed to tell us how audio equipment would sound, because it really matters to the human ear which harmonics get distorted. Once you know that, you can design an appropriate test, but the most competently-executed THD test won't tell you what you want to know.

I just ran into this with my Olympus Pen E-P1 (which I am very a very happy with, don't get me wrong.) Published tests report a pleasantly low level of noise with this camera. DxOMark is still my favorite for quantitative information, and they have comparison data for my old Fuji S100fs and the Olympus. My field tests pretty much agree—with a glaring exception. No one's noise tests distinguish between visually-random noise and noise that appears as a regular pattern. By the time electronic noise gets massaged into a photograph random electronic variations can turn into a very non-random artifacts.

I photographed a moonbow on New Year's Eve, handheld with the EP-1 (God, but I love an ƒ/1.7 lens and image stabilization!) The top image was taken at ISO 800, the lower one at ISO 1600. In these comparison illustrations I've cranked the chroma all the way up to "11" to make the noise readily visible; it's nowhere as obvious in the original photographs.

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ISO 800

ISO 1600 (click on either image to see it larger)

The increase in truly random noise between ISO 800 and 1600 wouldn't make the higher-speed photograph unusable, especially if I ran it through good noise reduction software. The color banding that you can see in the ISO 1600 shot does. That's a manifestation of noise that isn't reported in the published tests, and it's a real killer. At ISO 800, the nonrandom noise isn't a showstopper. At ISO 1600, it is unacceptably distracting to the viewer in the correctly-printed photograph, and it's not something I can filter with software.

Now, keep in mind that this is the kind of subject which is most likely to bring out such noise—broad uniform areas of low saturation in the dark part of the tonal scale. A more variegated scene would disguise this noise. What it means, though, is that I can't really count on this camera for quality results above ISO 800. That's about a half a stop faster than quality results out of the Fuji S100. The thing is, based on the simple noise data, I should get nearly two stops more usable speed out of the Olympus. Clearly, not gonna happen. That's a disappointment, and it's a failure of the testing protocols. The data being reported is technically, but not visually, accurate.

Tests. They don't always tell you what you need to know.

Ctein

Ctein's regular weekly column appears on TOP every Thursday morning.

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Harald Mante's 'Photography Unplugged'

A week and a day ago now, we published Jim Hughes' article "Fugitive Color," a meditation around Kodachrome. In the article, Jim talked about Harald Mante's new book from Rocky Nook, Photography Unplugged, which was published last September.

Here's the U.K. link. And of course it's available from Amazon Germany—it was originally published by dpunkt Verlag in Germany.

I was in the bookstore a couple of months ago and had just picked up, flipped through, and put back down yet another of those agglutinations of purty scenics, thinking sarcastically to myself (I'm often sarcastic with myself), "Sorry, but I need photographs to have a little more substance than that." Just as I was thinking that, I picked up Harald's book and thought, "Whoops! Well, maybe I don't, after all."

I flipped through it, then sat down and looked through the whole thing carefully, then came back the next day and looked through it again.

And then bought it.

The simple, straightforward layout serves the work.

It's true that Harald casts the book (in a brief note in the front matter) as a "Goodbye to Kodachrome," since most of the pictures were taken with Minolta cameras (as he told me in an email recently) and the famous Kodak film. But I really think that this book will appeal to anyone who works in color, whether film or digital.

Harald works in bold, elemental compositions, a strong and vivid sense of geometry and design, and, most of all, vivid and coordinated palettes of colors. This ain't Deep Stuff—the work really doesn't have a lot of "meaning" past the exaggerated sense it imparts of the joy of looking and seeing. There's a sense of playfulness, almost of fun. But I'm fascinated by the fact that the book doesn't seem to have any weak spots, and that, despite the photographer's relatively simple project, he doesn't repeat himself (much) or fall back on worn-out tricks and tropes. You won't come away thinking you've seen anything new, yet there's a lot of invention here and a surprising variety. It's consistent and strong.

The reproduction and book design are outstanding—I frankly wouldn't mind if every photographic book were laid out in a such a no-nonsense manner, one picture per page, no distractions; it simply serves the pictures. In fact, the only criticism I can muster of the book is its cover, which is somber and featureless. So many book covers are bright and inviting and promise more than the contents deliver. This cover is the opposite.

Harald Mante with his new book. Photo by Ralph Bodemer, derwesten.de

All in all, this is joyful and enjoyable. Harald Mante was unknown to me before I saw this—apparently he's well-known as a teacher and writer on photography in Germany. It's distinctive, individual, and just very, very well done (I'm avoiding the term "eye candy," but I can see how this would get to be a guilty pleasure for many). I suspect 90% of the people who read TOP would truly enjoy at least a single trip through this tour of Harald's work, and a strong majority would get a lot of enjoyment out of repeat visits. I have. Whatever kind of equipment you use, if you like strong design and clear, vibrant colors—and you don't mind optimism and an affirmative outlook—a sparkling surf without the undertow—you'll like this.

Mike

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Featured Comment by Chris Lucianu: "Harald Mante has arguably been one of the most influential public teachers on color, composition, and photography design in German-speaking countries for nearly forty years. His monthly contributions in popular photography magazines were a fixture: eagerly awaited, often dreaded. His terse style and luscious palette were often sensed as a silent rebuff: 'less is more.' A study of the width and depth of his influence would be rather revealing."

Peter Turnley: Saturday

I'm very pleased to announce that, this coming Saturday, TOP will present another new portfolio by our friend the photojournalist Peter Turnley. The subject is an extensive body of work from Rio's Carnaval. Like Peter's last portfolio on TOP, this will be the photographer's own edit of mostly new work, seen in its entirety for the first time.

Check back on Saturday!

Mike

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Vapor No More! The Pentax 645D Debuts in Japan

One of the most famous of vaporware products is vaporware no more. Originally announced in 2005, then again in 2007—failing to materialize on both occasions—the Pentax 645D is about to become a reality in Japan.

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Sample image by Tanji Toshiaki (from a reduced-size original)

The MSRP will initially be ¥850,000, which is currently less than $10k. The BJP is reporting that there are no plans to export the camera to other markets.

Based on the venerable Pentax 645, which was first a manual-focus and then an AF film camera, the 645D has a 40-megapixel Kodak-made CCD sensor that is 33x44 millimeters in size, or 1.7X what is called "full-frame" (i.e., 35mm film size), which allows for a still-generous 6 micron pixel pitch. Like most medium-format digital cameras and backs, the sensor will reportedly be optimized for extended dynamic range rather than high ISOs, and will have no anti-aliasing filters (the Leica M9's trick for increasing image sharpness).

The camera is weatherproof, and so is the initial offering in the new Pentax-D FA 645 lens line, a 55mm ƒ/2.8. This is the equivalent on the new format of Pentax's justly famous 43mm Limited lens on a 35mm. The newly-designed lens pulls out all the stops—it's a 9-element aspherical, with ultrasonic, internal focusing, and Pentax says, "all lens characteristics are optimized for digital photography." That means, among other things, that the rear elements will be coated like the front ones, a crucial modification for best performance with digital sensors, which reflect considerably more light back at the lens than film does.

The lensmount is called the 645 AF2 bayonet mount, which will accept 645AF2 (the new 55mm), 645AF (all older autofocus lenses for the 645N and 645NII), and 645A (wayback manual-focus) lenses.

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Sample image by Siratori Sintarou (from a reduced-size original)

I personally haven't used a Pentax 645 since the "N" version of the AF camera came out, but I found that one to be ergonomically a honey, with very sensible and intuitive control configurations and a satisfyingly grippy shape.

A few more high points from the press release (which I assume you're capable of reading for yourself if you're interested): 14-bit A/D conversion; dual card slots (it takes SD/SDHC cards); tempered glass protecting both viewing screens; a newly-designed 11-point AF system; an ISO-priority exposure mode; 77-segment multi-pattern metering; and a 98% finder with a huge –3.5 to +2 diopter correction range.

There's going to be a special website, but it's mostly still under construction and I assume it will be in Japanese.

Despite the Digital 645's longtime Lucy-with-the-football tease, this might well be the best time for this camera to come along. It would have been too primitive in 2005, and too expensive in 2007. It even makes sense—well, a little sense—for it to be Japan-only, since "645" (shouldn't it be called 3344?) was always much more popular in Japan than it was in the rest of the world even in the days of film, and the film versions always sold much better in the home market than anywhere else.

Anyway, it's probably a good thing for me they're not bringing this to the States. If they ever do, tie me to the mast, boys, tie me to the mast.

Mike

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ADDENDUM: ¥939,000 pre-order from Japan Exposures. Note: Might not have English menus and definitely not supported by Pentax in your not-Japanese country!

Featured Comment by David: "'No burned highlights,' they coo. 'Look deep into the shadows,' they purr. The sirens are calling. Calling. Calling."

Featured Comment by Ned Bunnell, President of Pentax USA: "The 645D will initially be available only in Japan. Right now, we have no firm plans to bring this camera to the U.S. However, we are evaluating the type of sales and support program that would be required to ensure the 645D’s success in our market."

Featured Comment by Cateto/Jose: "Yesterday I did a quick search to compare the price of the new Pentax 645D to other peers in a similar league. Thus I found a recent comparison of medium format cameras, posted by The Luminous Landscape. Then I payed special attention to their 'Pricing' paragraph. Based on that information, and also after visiting some online photography stores, here you have a quick price comparison:

Hasselblad H4D (60 MP): $42,000
Phase One DF + P65 back (60 MP) + 80mm lens: $42,000
Leica S2 (37.5 MP) + 35 mm lens: $28,300
Pentax 645D (40 MP) + 55 mm lens: $10,500

Of course this is a very rough comparison, and the respective qualities/capabilities of each model are quite different. But going to the core reason to jump onto medium format (i.e., huge increase in resolution compared to full format), it seems that the 645D is starting its career at a very advantageous position. To oversimplify things, you can buy four 645D for the price of one Hasselblad H4D or one PhaseOne DF, or three 645D for the price of a Leica S2.

My budget will never reach those levels, but if I seriously considered that range of products, I think the conclusion is quite clear.

Featured Comment by Lindy: "Here's a link from the CP+ Show in Japan showing a see-through 645D and a  cutaway 645D."

Apropos of Nothing

I was originally going to include in the previous post a few paragraphs about Studebaker, a maker of carriages and wagons founded in the 1850s that eventually made a successful transition to making automobiles (the company lasted more than a century, until 1966). Although I let one reference in the last paragraph stand, I ultimately decided to cut the Studebaker bits from the post. However, there was one thing I came across in my research that's just too cool not to show you:

From Google Maps

This is a satellite picture of a public park called Bendix Woods in New Carlisle, Indiana, near South Bend. (The top of the picture is oriented west.) Built in 1926, it has the distinction of being the first* dedicated automobile test track in the world built and maintained by a car company. One of the features of the track is a "sign" composed of 5,000 pine trees spelling out the name of the company, which can be seen to the upper right of the track; while the South Bend automaker still existed, this was known as one of the largest advertisements in the world. Here's an aerial view, date unknown. Evidently the "sign" was damaged by a severe storm in 2004, so both pictures probably predate that.

And a detail.

Apropos of nothing—I just thought this was interesting.

Mike

*An assertion which has been disputed in our comments, for which see.

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