The Online Photographer

Ah, Youth

I mentioned yesterday the occasion (the ice cream walk) when, at the age of about 42, I accepted the diminished role photographing actually played in my real life. At the time I was no longer a professional and I had made not much if any headway toward a career as an art photographer. I was a single parent and working as editor-in-chief of Photo Techniques magazine, and between them those two things soaked up most of my energy. I still regularly developed film at the kitchen sink every two or three nights.

But what a change that was from my earlier youth! I had a boundless enthusiasm for photography when I was younger. I first realized it could be a job for me when, as a college dropout, I went into the darkroom in the evening and, before I knew it, saw dawn out the window of the basement laundry room where I washed my prints—I had worked hard the whole night and hardly felt the effort. I immersed myself in the culture and literature of the medium, experimented with techniques, haunted used bookstores for good books, saved my money for gear. "Obsessed" is the usual term—"ate, slept, and breathed photography" is another way of putting it. Working during the day as a carpenter and handyman, I took a second job at a frame shop just to learn how to mat and frame my work. Do I wish I had pictures of the odd and very distinctive world I lived in as a handyman, and all the quirky characters who populated it? I'd give a lot for that.

At the frame shop I heard about the Corcoran's photography program and applied. The advantage of art school was mainly that I could concentrate on photography all day long and yet still be doing what I was supposed to be doing! That was heaven for me. I took advantage of it. Although a slob in "real life," I kept everything at school fastidiously neat; although lazy in most things, I decided to work my hardest at school, and I did. I ended up teaching Summer courses, being a stand-in lab manager in for the school darkrooms, and frequently working in the darkroom till midnight before walking the several miles home to my apartment in Georgetown. I kept my camera with me at all times; I made regular circuits of all the museums and galleries in D.C. to look at work. One of my prouder moments was when a guard at the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division saw me leaving and blurted out, "Jesus Christ, do you live here?" They let me call up portfolios of master prints from throughout photography's past and look at them up close and personal, sitting at a table, without glass (although for the really valuable old work, you weren't allowed to touch—at first, a member of the museum staff had to stand there and shuffle through the prints for me. It was only a short time before they learned I was reliable and could be trusted, so they dispensed with that requirement). I looked through all of the original FSA prints on file from the '30s—a formidable task, as there are thousands and thousands of them. Of course I saw all of the exhibits at the Corcoran itself and went to all the lectures, and got to meet all sorts of people, from Emmet Gowin's wife Edith (the main subject of his famous first monograph) to August Sander's grandson Gerd, half a generation older than I. Do I have photographs that simply document the people and places of the long-gone Corcoran darkrooms and all the people I knew then? A few, but only randomly. Do I wish I had made a more coherent visual record? Boy, do I ever. All those pictures I made back then, and I don't have the ones I really want.

When I realized it was impossible to go to graduate school, which I really should have done to continue the career trajectory on which I was embarked, I made an ambitious list of 11 things that a photography teacher should ideally know—I figured if I couldn't get a Masters degree, I could at least "master" the subject on my own by working hard independently. A few of those goals proved impossible. One was to work at a photography museum for six months. I tried several times, until the formidable Smithsonian curator Eugene Ostroff explained to me that it was an insolent goal because supplicants worked very hard for access to the positions that I proposed to experience as a dilettante. But I think I actually eventually accomplished nine of the 11. I actually did curate a public show, and publish a book, and assist for a top-level commercial studio pro for six months, and so forth. Alas, the "piece of paper" turned out to be just as important, if not more so, than the actual knowledge.

Anyway, I just wanted to mention my ambitious and engaged younger years in photography as a counterpoint to my admission of yesterday. I don't want younger readers to think I'm just an old fuddy-duddy whose ambition goes no further than making casual family snapshots on an evening walk. I mean, that is what I am, but that's what I've become...because with age comes hard reality. It wasn't always that way.

About photographing

And here's a question I'll ask myself and answer just for fun. If I had anything to do differently, what would it be, looking back from the vantage point of traditional "retirement age"*? First I should say, emphatically, that I don't regret anything about my current situation. It's an honor and a privilege to write TOP, and it suits me just fine. I've worked very hard at it—one year in the early 2010s I worked ten hours a day, seven days a week, and took fewer than 10 days off in the entire year—but it's always been a pleasure.

I really should have gotten an MFA, though. The lack of it stunted my career in ways I can only guess. In the '90s, A.D. Coleman and I hatched a plan that each of us was going to be the other's graduate advisor, and we were both going to get MFA's under Bill Jay at Arizona, working independently. Bill was amenable to our plan. But then Bill retired soon afterward. I guess it was too late by then anyway—it turned out to be one of those great ideas that got floated but then floats off like a helium balloon you let go of. You need to do things in the proper order in life, each in their sensible sequence.

But, specifically about photographing—my actual practice as a photographer making photographs—I do wish I had been able to do differently, looking back. This might sound rather odd, but what I wish I had done was to continue to shoot 35mm Tri-X my whole life, and make simple 8x10 RC prints myself, and document the times and the people in my life in the quirky, idiosyncratic, go-my-own-way, follow-my-own-muse fashion that I wanted to. I used to call it my "Photo 101 technique." That's what I loved doing the most. I actually have a very short essay or artist's statement I wrote way back in the very beginning of my adult involvement with photography that sets out almost exactly that course. All I needed to do was follow it. I wanted to be like Atget...keep shooting the same way persistently as the technique of my youth got obsolescent and then obsolete, true to the same muse all the way to the inn. Ah, well.

In the '80s, when I was teaching full time, a mentor convinced me I needed make bigger, more imposing prints if I wanted to have any success in the art world, and that I needed to move from one coherent, definable, project to another that was distinct from the last. I did that for a while, dutifully. Then came magazine work and reviewing, which obliged me to switch from camera to camera and technique to technique. And then came the (disruptive!) transition to digital, which shook everything up.

But little did I know then that a) I wasn't going to have any art-world success anyway, and b) 8x10 RC prints would have carried me through the transition to the digital era just fine: add an ordinary letter-sized flat-bed scanner and I would have stepped over the divide into the online era as neatly as you please, but entirely on my own chosen terms.

You don't really need to do any particular thing in your work, except exactly what you are driven to do. It will actually serve, as long as you commit.

I'm happy enough anyway. Things worked out. No complaints. Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans**.

I think that's enough of these discursive reminiscences! Time to move on to other topics, starting tomorrow. Is there anything you'd like to read an "Open Mike" about?

Mike

*I'm not retiring. Standard joke: "my retirement plan is to keep working."

**The quote is by Allen Saunders, the American writer, journalist and cartoonist who wrote the comic strips "Steve Roper and Mike Nomad," "Mary Worth." and "Kerry Drake." The quote first appeared in a 1957 Reader's Digest article. It was made famous by ex-Beatle John Lennon, who used it in the lyrics of the song "Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)" dedicated to his son Sean.

Book of interest* this week:

A Better Life for their Children by Andrew Feiler, University of Georgia Press, published last month. Read the description at the link—fascinating. It's the story of one of the earliest philanthropic collaborations between Jews and African Americans, one that drove dramatic improvement in black education. The story's told visually. *"Book of Interest" means I haven't seen it, but would like to.

The following image is also a link: 

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Energy and Appetite

Tom Burke said yesterday: "Here's another thought to add: is it possible that when you stop feeling that you're learning new skills and gaining new knowledge but are instead just garnering experience, the passion for (whatever it is) just drops? Not just photography, but lots of endeavours? The 'Do I really want to do this for the rest of my life?' moment?"

A few thoughts about that. First, golf, exhibits 1, 2, and 3 (I'm going somewhere with this, so bear with me):

1. An old commercial: the professional golfer Tom Kite, then at the top of the game, and another golfer are seen getting massages. The other guy asks Kite if he's going to play in an upcoming tournament in Hawaii. They discuss it, sounding glum. Kite, in a resigned tone of voice, concedes that he's being paid an appearance fee to go and he's getting the trip for free, so he sighs and says something like, "I suppose I have to." The joke, of course, was that most weekend warriors would kill to get a free trip to Hawaii to play golf. To me, however, the advertisers' message backfired and an alternate moral was more clear: if you have to do something too much, even a thing that to most people is a special pleasure can become a chore.

2. Once I was out on a golf course with my brothers, playing 18 holes on a regulation course (as opposed to the adjacent par-three course which was more my speed). As the hands on my watch wore past three hours, I suddenly realized I'd had quite enough of golf: I was thoroughly tired of laboring against my own swing and would have quit for the day right then and there if it were easy and polite to do. Had to grind through two or three more holes after that, though.

3. After Vijay Singh won his Masters, tales were told of his epic appetite for practice. Legend had it that after his win, he went to the range and striped the tee until dark. Wikipedia says, "he is known for his meticulous preparation, often arriving hours before, and staying long after, his tournament rounds to work on his game on the driving range and putting greens."

All these things had a decisive effect on me: I never wanted to be a professional golfer. No, let me re-word that: I wanted to never be a professional golfer! Not that I ever could have been—I have slightly more talent for golf than an armadillo has for hacky-sack. But I never had the slightest desire, even in daydreams. No, thank you: I decided I was perfectly happy to blither my way around a par-three course a handful of times a year. That matched my appetite for the game. (I don't even do that any more, although I miss the camaraderie with my bros.) Sink to your level and embrace it!

It's the same way with pool, if the truth be told. I love pool, and I think it's a fascinating game and I'm better at it than most armadillos. But do I have the discipline and patience to run through my "daily" practice routine every single morning? No, sir, I do not. And I know lots of drills, but an hour spent drilling is fifteen minutes too long for me. Would I have wanted to be a pro pool player? Well, the level of skill of Jayson Shaw or Alexandros Kazakis would be great fun to possess, and it's thrilling to watch. (For me anyway.) But even if I were young I would never have the patience to put in the time it takes to get to that level. And I know it.

Be an amateur
I think I first applied this realization to photography following an after-dinner walk with my son, who was then about six, to get ice cream, back when we lived in the town where Groundhog Day was filmed, Woodstock, Illinois. I had along a Contax Aria camera and a Zeiss Contax 35mm ƒ/2.8 lens (still have the lens) and two rolls of Kodak Tri-X. The evening was beautiful and the light was particularly nice. When I got home I developed the film at the kitchen sink and the next day I proofed the two rolls and in my makeshift basement darkroom and made eight or ten nice prints on 8x10 paper using my amateur-level enlarger*. The handful of prints were a highly competent documentary of that particular walk, but beyond that, nothing particularly special.

I decided at the time that that was about the perfect level of involvement in photographing for me.

I like to photograph—it's an essential part of our medium's culture, and the culture of photography is one of my three or four main interests. But do I have the will and the desire to do it every day, all day? I've always been pretty clear that I don't. Note that there are critics who aren't photographers at all—A.D. Coleman comes to mind—so it's not essential to be a photographer to be immersed in its culture or to write about it.

After that, though, when parents would contact me asking if I thought photography school was a sensible investment for their children, it put me in a quandary. I loved photography school: I feel toward the Corcoran School of Art all the sentimental attachment alums are supposed to feel for their beloved alma mater. It was a great privilege to attend for three years and I enjoyed it intensely. Virtually all my experiences there and all of my many memories are good ones. But no, when viewed without rose-tinted glasses, actually art school is probably a particularly poor allotment of resources if what you're trying to do is equip your progeny to deal with the task of making their way in the world. I felt disloyal to the Corcoran in advising against all it had offered me, and I especially didn't want to pour cold water on any kid's dreams, so I avoided the question when it was possible; but on the other hand I didn't want to lie to parents. A genuine dilemma.

My recommendation to anyone who asks is that one simply should have a thick, tough skin in evaluating and appraising what to do for a living. Photography is more likely to be rewarding—and more pleasurable—if one's practice of it is somewhere in the range between dabbling and a dedicated long-term avocation. We all have to come to terms with where our photography fits in our lives.

Chase the dream
And if someone really wants to do it "all in," full-time, front line, do or die, the first questions to ask, and ask comprehensively, would be about a.) their energy level, and b.) their appetite for work. Those are the two essentials that must be present if you ask me. If both those things are genuinely high, they have a chance. In which case, I tip my hat to them.

Mike

*Which did however have a top-flight lens. I still have not one but two, one for each fist when they bury me I guess!

Book of interest* this week:

A Better Life for their Children by Andrew Feiler, University of Georgia Press, published last month. Read the description at the link—fascinating. It's the story of one of the earliest philanthropic collaborations between Jews and African Americans, one that drove dramatic improvement in black education. The story's told visually. *"Book of Interest" means I haven't seen it, but would like to.

The following image is also a link: 

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Richard Skoonberg: "Mike, thank you for promoting Andrew Feiler's wonderful book, A Better Life for Their Children. The story and images describing the legacy of the Rosenwald Schools are both fascinating and deeply moving. Rosenwald was the CEO of Sears in the early twentieth century. He and Dr. Booker T. Washington created a plan to build schools in the rural South so black school children could attend school in the Jim Crow era. To build the schools, the black community put up a third of the money, the local school board put up a third of the money, and Rosenwald put in the final third. These were often one and two-room schoolhouses with one or two teachers with a K-12 curriculum. These schools helped to create a generation that provided the leaders for the Civil Rights movement. Andrew Feiler's book is the first photographic survey of these schools.

"As a side note, Andrew is a member of our local photo-crit group, so we were able to watch this book project from its inception. Currently, many of the images from the book are one display at the National Center for Civil and Human Rights in downtown Atlanta."

Mike replies: Thanks for sending me the PDF sample pages from the book, Richard (downloadable here). I enjoyed that.

Sunday Support Group: Dippers

One thing I've noticed, and suspect is true, but can't support with statistics or facts...

It seems to me that a largish number of photographers are those who dip in for a while and then depart. You know the types I mean? Someone who was around for a while, seemed promising or made a splash or who you seemed to be hearing about everywhere, and then, a few years to a decade later, is gone again. "Rises above the waves" is an expression that might fit. The phrase implies the possibility of sinking below the waves again.

One person (I initially wrote "guy," but they're not all guys) might spend a year or two working on a cohesive body of work that's internally very successful...and then that's it; there's not a follow-up body of work and another one after that. Another might publish a book—a very good book—and then that's...their book. There's not a second one five or ten years later, nor one after that. A commercial pro might be hot for a while, and have a distinctive style, pull in the big bucks for a time, then seem to fall out of fashion and disappear. You might know of somebody locally who was cobbling together a career by doing many things, teaching a course here, giving a gallery talk there, having a show at a local gallery or frame shop or restaurant, adding to a resumé bit by bit...and then, ten years later—remember so-and-so? Where'd they go? Whatever happened to that guy?

I think an explanation in some cases is that it's hard work to be a photographer, and there often isn't a lot of return for it. When people find they don't get sufficient reward or attention in return for hard work, they very sensibly stop working so hard. They go do something else, or maybe modify their practice to make it fit into a more balanced life—turn their intended vocation into an avocation, say. Who wants to work for nothing?

And it takes a lot of work and dedication to be a full-time photographer, regardless of whether you want to make a living at it as a pro or create art and market yourself that way. One art photographer I knew said his life was 25% photography and 75% marketing. A husband-and-wife art-photographer duo, both accomplished artists with multiple monograph books to their credit, split the year up evenly: six months for photography, six months for marketing and sales. They weren't shrinking violets about the latter. They crisscrossed the country meeting up with established collectors and museum curators, trying to sell the work they made during the other half of the year.

-

It's hard work to be a

photographer, and there

often isn't a lot of

return for it.

-

Is it any wonder that there are a lot of photographers who work hard at it for a while and then fade away? It's not based entirely on just the vagaries of their skills. We all tend to believe that everyone is trying his or her hardest all the time, and that however they're doing is the best they can do. I don't think so. It takes tremendous dedication to go all-in as a full-time photographer. When someone comes on strong and then fades away, my guess is that, at least in some cases, they just got tired of working hard for nothing, so they went out and got a real job, one that would actually pay the bills, and dialed back their photography.

The time is past when just putting yourself out there is enough to get you noticed. I used to joke that being a professional photographer was like being a professional eater. A whole lot of people eat; but, amazingly, some people actually do earn a good living at it. They travel the world, eating and then telling about it. But those professional eaters are only a tiny fragment of all the eaters in the world. And you can't just decide that you're really good at eating and automatically start getting rewarded for it.

It's hardly a mystery. People do what they get rewarded for. If they're not getting enough money or attention in return for the work they have to put in, is it any wonder they dial back and go do something else? And then some time goes by, and by and by we're saying, hey, remember her? Wonder whatever happened to her.

She was a dipper, is all. Gave full-tilt, full-speed-ahead photography a shot for a while, then sensibly and intelligently reappraised and redirected. I think it happens all the time.

Mike

Book of interest* this week:

A Better Life for their Children by Andrew Feiler, University of Georgia Press, published last month. Read the description at the link—fascinating. It's the story of one of the earliest philanthropic collaborations between Jews and African Americans, one that drove dramatic improvement in black education. The story's told visually. *"Book of Interest" means I haven't seen it, but would like to.

The following image is also a link: 

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Edward Taylor: "This is exactly what happened to me. Back in the late '60s to early '70s I was a very successful photographer and made really good money too. I was in demand.

"But I noticed that the people who were in demand a few years earlier were the people I was replacing. I started to think it was just a question of time before I was no longer the 'go to' photographer. I felt a little like I was on a treadmill having to keep moving to stay relevant and knowing that I couldn't go on forever like that.

"One of those photographers that I replaced (at a newspaper) was particularly annoyed with my success and made that fact clear in a number of ways. One day he asked if I would get lunch with him. I thought he was going to apologize for his bad attitude and ask me what my secrets to success were. But he didn't. He wanted to warn me. I could sense that he actually wanted to be helpful, so I listened. He said that what he had learned during his years in photography was that photographers were like rock bands. The vast majority have limited lifespan. One-hit wonders at worst, or an album or two, and they are no longer relevant or able to sell their new stuff to anyone. He said, 'Few bands can be The Beatles, and few photographers can be Ansel Adams.' I had two kids at the time, so I made photography a hobby and went to med school."

scott kirkpatrick: "Bill Owens had a hit with Suburbia. It fell out of a job photographing for a South Bay newspaper (remember local newspapers?) He did one more book, but then started a chain of microbreweries, which was just as much fun and paid much better."

Ed. note: Here's the link to the reprint. The out-of-print reprint. A book that I wasn't attracted to when it came out, but that seems to get richer and deeper as the years go by.

Mike Chisholm: "When I first got seriously interested in photography, around 1984, after a decade or so just 'taking photos,' I fell in with a guy I happened to meet, Richard, who was simply the best, most painstaking darkroom worker I have ever known. His selenium toned prints on the old Agfa Record Rapid were truly outstanding: the blacks were so rich they looked edible. He won various competitions, and once exhibited alongside Fay Godwin. Then Rich simply seemed to fall out of love with photography. It may or may not be a coincidence that around that time he met and married a woman who was into more athletic outdoor pursuits, and the next thing I knew he was a dedicated windsurfer, and had sold off his cameras and darkroom kit to finance the new hobby. Last thing I heard, he had become a serious aquarium enthusiast. I have similar stories about, for example, Andrew, the hippie smallholder who became a skilled carpenter, moved to New Zealand, became a financier (!), took up photography, then painting, then [insert various other phases]. Last heard of leading groups in some intense Sufi-style dance meditation.... Luckily these people leave a trail of top-class used kit in their wake!"

Ken: "My wife was a successful photographer and made a decent living for about a decade and change. Eventually, she got burned out from a mix of the hassles of running a business and dealing with unreasonable customer demands; having to always be on top of your game at every shoot; the 'good enough' attitude that spread alongside iPhones; and, not least, the desire to have predictable hours and a steady paycheck with benefits. Plus, if someone isn't self-employed, they might be surprised at how many jurisdictions (municipal, city, county, state, federal, etc.) want to tax a slice of your earnings...add in insurance, advertising, gear, software, and equipment costs (e.g. lights), and it is not easy to make a living at photography. And that's before you even get to maintaining a website and keeping your skills up-to-date.

"My wife went back to school to get her master's degree and is now much happier—and rarely even picks up a camera anymore. Me, I've always been a hobbyist. Good enough to occasionally wow family and a few friends, and anonymous outside that small circle. And that is good enough. I enjoy shooting and looking back at pictures from the receding decades, and will keep doing that as long as I continue to enjoy it."

Bryan: "I remember (dimly) reading about the results of an interesting study a few years ago. It revolved around the consequences of paying someone for making, in this studies case, a nice painting. The study involved children (or teenagers?) but I don’t recall the actual ages. They tested three groups and in all three groups the children already liked painting pictures in class before the study began. With the first group, the researchers started paying the children for every painting. The second group got praise for every painting. The third group were basically left on their own. After a time period the researchers withheld payment and praise for the two groups getting both. In almost every case the children stopped painting when payment or praise ceased. The third group continued happily smearing paint on craft paper without a pause.

"Of course life is more complicated than the study suggests but we as artists aren’t that different from children, after all we are the same species. So perhaps this study may in part explain these disappearances over time."

Nigel Voak: "I suppose I fall squarely into to this category.

"A move to another country and language at the age of 28 gave me the opportunity to try to make photography my profession. I had been passionate about photography since my late teens.

"I managed, with luck, good contacts, and hard work, to make a go of it for a while. I worked mainly with one of Italy's leading opera houses and a leading national dance company. It was an enjoyable period of my life. I even had two or three exhibitions of my work and I was published at a national level.

"But slowly things changed. I was working in an area that depended on subsidies from the national and local government. Slowly public funding was reduced, which meant less work.

"At the same time I had learned the language well, and my skills as a structural engineer became interesting to employers. Family pressures to lead a 'normal life' were also mounting; performing arts photography means working strange hours. Also, I earned far more as an engineer.

"For ten years I combined my engineering job with photography, until seismic changes at the theatre where I mostly picked up photographic work saw me cast out. First the head of the press office was replaced, and the new chief brought in a 'big' local photographer who demanded exclusivity. Then, a month later, the artistic director of the dance company was ousted in favor of a more 'edgy' director. A change of photographer ensued and I lost this gig too, as a fresh photographic vision was required.

"I became totally disillusioned with photography, but also, if I am truthful with myself, I had reached the point where I felt I was going through the motions. I could produce a good competent set of pictures from any performing arts scenario without the tension and curiosity I once had. I suppose I had nothing more to say photographically. I think this might account for the fact that lots of people in the artistic professions shine for a while and then disappear. They just get bored with the whole thing.

"Photography has been a lifelong passion, but I just do it for my own pleasure now. It takes me to some interesting places and I have had some interesting encounters with people thanks to photography."

Followup

I think I found the place I mentioned Mark Brautigam before, the photographer who did the series "On Wisconsin" that I linked to the other day. It was in 2011, in a post called "A Few Examples of Naturalism in Photography." Some of the links in that post are broken now.

Do you actually read old posts on TOP? I often wonder how many people do.

Hope you're having a good Saturday.

Mike

Product of Interest this week:

As Porsche does with the 911, Fujifilm just keeps refining its perfect pocket camera and making it better and better. Also available from Amazon.

As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

'Burning Monk' by Malcolm Browne

Malcolm Browne, Burning Monk

Today is the anniversary of one of the most well-known pictures ever taken, known as "Burning Monk," taken on this day 58 years ago.

It's a picture of the death by suicide of Thich Quang Duc, a Buddhist monk, as a staged protest against government repression of the majority Buddhist religion in South Vietnam. The picture was taken by Malcolm Wilde Browne, who had become the AP's first permanent correspondent in Saigon when he was stationed there in November of 1961. He might have been the only Western journalist there on that day in 1963.

President Ngo Dinh Diem had "won" a rigged referendum and proclaimed himself President of the new Republic of Vietnam in 1955. A Catholic, he repressed Buddhists with escalating brutality, which in turn inspired escalating protest. At the time of Thich Quang Duc's death by immolation, Diem himself had only a few months to live. He fled a U.S.-backed military coup in November of 1963, initially embarrassing his pursuers by eluding them through subterfuge. After believing he had negotiated safe passage to exile for himself and his brother, Diem was executed in the back of an armored personnel carrier by ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) officers.

The AP has an informative page about the famous photograph as part of its "Explore" series. "In a pre-digital world," the AP relates, "it took a remarkable 15 hours over 9,000 miles of AP WirePhoto cable for Malcolm Browne's Burning Monk to become breaking news." And the picture the papers broke on June 12th was not this one—initially, a different frame, now mostly forgotten, was the most widely published image. It was that picture, not this one, which had such a visceral impact on then-U.S. President John F. Kennedy.

Malcolm Browne was an accomplished photojournalist and a skilled photographer who filed many stories and would go on to win the Pulitzer Prize for International Reporting in 1964. Talking about his most famous photograph, Browne remembered that "the monks were telephoning the foreign correspondents in Saigon to warn them that something big was going to happen. Most of the correspondents were kind of bored with that threat after a while and tended to ignore it. I felt that they were certainly going to do something, that they were not just bluffing, so it came to be that I was really the only Western correspondent that covered the fatal day." After a long and distinguished career—and a memoir, called Muddy Boots and Red Socks: A Reporter's Life—Malcolm Browne died in New Hampshire in 2012, at the age of 81.

Malcolm Browne in 1964. Photographer unknown.

Greg Myre of NPR's All Things Considered wrote, "In a war that would produce many shocks to the American public, Browne's photo was one of the first and remains an iconic image of the war a half-century later." You can see a larger version of the image here.

Mike

Product of Interest this week:

As Porsche does with the 911, Fujifilm just keeps refining its perfect pocket camera and making it better and better. Also available from Amazon.

As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Cliff McMann: "This picture is four years older than me, it wasn’t until years later at history of photography course at NOVA Community College that I saw it for the first time. I remember the visceral reaction, mine and the class’s. Beyond the power of images, some images possess power."

Mike replies: Hey, I used to teach at NOVA!

Two Bodies of Work

It's possible my affection for the 41 pictures in Mark Brautigam's "On Wisconsin" is in part due to the fact that I used to live in Wisconsin and am familiar with the State, and have tried to take similar pictures myself. He's caught the distinctive landscapes of rural Wisconsin, some typical activites—the deer hunters, the tubers—and I love the guy with the big old "snow-thrower" in the trunk of his car. I knew some of these types. It's a nicely balanced set, and that style—the half documentary, half art photography on 4x5 color film (I'm only assuming—could be 8x10, could be 6x7) was a typical look fifteen or twenty years ago.

If "On Wisconsin" has got some years behind it now (I first wrote about it on my old Blogger blog, NLA), Brad Walls' "Pools, from Above" is brand new, coming to my attention not even two weeks ago. (If you can't see the Times, here's the set at his website.) It's an interesting strategy, devised as a project that would allow the photographer to work despite COVID-19. He "scouted" the pictures using Google Earth, and shot with a drone, once making as many as 50 attempts before he got what he was looking for.

Neither of these are what I'd call portfolios—they're projects or "bodies of work," single sets in pursuit of a unified idea. Very different from each other, each of them successful in my opinion. Do you like either of these? Do you agree with me that they're successful projects?

Mark is a former Marine educated at MIAD, the Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design, and Brad is an aerial photographer who lives in Sydney, Australia.

Mike

Product of Interest this week:

As Porsche does with the 911, Fujifilm just keeps refining its perfect pocket camera and making it better and better. Also available from Amazon.

As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Open Mike: Rebellion

["Open Mike" is the Editorial page of TOP. It appears on Wednesdays assuming Yr. Hmbl. Ed. is feeling compliant and not rebellious.]

-

In my 12-step program, which doubles as my spiritual program, we have a concept we talk about called "rebellion." Stripped to basics, rebellion is when we stop doing what we're supposed to do and rationalize picking up that first drink or drug: "why can't I have an occasional glass of wine like normal people? Just one glass every now and then can't hurt."

When I was getting sober, after a period of about three months of sobriety, I got rebellious and decided to drink just one beer—just one. Amazingly, that one single beer kept me drunk for eight months.

Ha ha, but that's the way it works for us. Being a rebel, an idea to which our society likes to pay lip-service, is dangerous for us. I once heard a story about an alcoholic who, after years of sobriety, decided it was totally unreasonable that he should be deprived of enjoying that occasional glass of vintage wine at genteel lakeside gatherings with sophisticated friends—he spoke the words quoted above. Three weeks later, his sister found him dressed in nothing but his underwear, crouched in a dark clothes closet with the door closed, clutching a half-gallon bottle of vodka to his chest and weeping. So much for one glass of wine. Keep coming back.

Please, no
Well, I think May was a month of rebellion for me. I stopped following my diet, I stopped doing housework, skipped meetings, even stopped doing some of the things I had decided I want to do...I was being noncompliant with my own desires, in other words, which makes no sense. In a way, rebellion is refusing to be an adult. Another term for it is "protest behavior." You're saying, no! I was upset about my brother being sick, and my rebellion was in essence a fight against accepting "life on life's terms." Adults know you have to accept what life throws at you—and at least, be humbly compliant with what you know you have to do for your own good and the good of others in your life.

Photographer David Vestal had a blunt motto that encapsulated that adult attitude: "Do your work."

Taped to my computer

I'm back on my diet now, back to doing housework, back to work on my projects. I stopped rebelling. And I've lost the 10 pounds I gained during my travels. Life is life.

Tip for travelers
In case you're on a whole-food plant-based diet and have trouble eating out, I discovered a fast-food restaurant called Fresh City Express on the Massachusetts Turnpike. It was in a Service Plaza right next to the McDonalds. I had a Thai bowl that I wouldn't mind having again. Another tip, courtesy of my son Xander: Chipotle! Without much trouble you can construct a vegan burrito or bowl that's healthy enough, and delicious. Go easy on the guac.

COVID-19
I was happy to see on the COVID-19 dashboard this morning that Yates County now has 0 active cases and 0 people hospitalized, and only two people in quarantine. This is very good news. And I had three friends over to play pool last night, the first time I've had a group over to play. In fact I saw a record number of friends yesterday, and it was nice.

Meanwhile, the meaning of mask-wearing has flipped. Formerly, you wore a mask to be a good citizen and do your social duty to others, and if you refused to wear one you were showing...well, rebellion. Now if you don't wear a mask it means you've been dutifully vaccinated, and if you wear a mask it shows you're the rebel because you refuse the vaccine! Because of course the vaccinations contain Martian listening devices (or whatever, I don't keep up).

I got the vaccine more or less as soon as I was eligible. I still wear a mask anyway. As rebellion against—?

Shaving, I guess.   :-)

PayPal and eBay
I haven't used PayPal and eBay much in recent years, so I was shocked when I started selling cameras and lenses in my latest closet-dump. The fees have become astronomical. I sold one lens and had to pay a fee of $119! Worse, eBay now insists on direct access to my bank account. I don't mind direct deposit, but—call me old-fashioned—I need approval of outgo. I learned to my consternation that eBay decided I owed it more than $200 and they just dipped into my bank account and took it, without so much as a by-your-leave. It feels like handing your wallet to a pickpocket to hold. I just don't like it.

I don't make you contribute to Patreon. I ask you. If you don't want to, you don't have to.

I'm planning to set up a separate account for eBay in which I'll keep limited funds, and if I can't, I'll just have to stop using eBay...after 432 feedbacks over approximately 24 years. I'll miss it.

But then, how else do you discover new things?

Mike

Product of Interest this week:

As Porsche does with the 911, Fujifilm just keeps refining its perfect pocket camera and making it better and better. Also available from Amazon.

As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Woo-Hoo! New OM Digital Solutions Lens

This is more interesting than your average lens introduction. OM Digital Solutions (catchy name), the company that used to be the Olympus camera division, has introduced a new product...the very existence of which reinforces the notion that it's going to remain viable as a producer going forward.

The new lens is a zoom in the high-end "PRO" (catchy name) series (man, I can see why the companies don't like me), an 8–25mm (16–50mm-e) ƒ/4. A rundown of some of its features, which include most everything that's de rigeur in today's top lenses:

• Usable wide open; specifically marketed as appropriate for astrophotography
• Near-macro close focusing
• Standard screw-on filters still usable (not always true on ultrawides)
• Switchable from AF to manual focus on the fly
• Splashproof, freezeproof, dustproof
• Front element has fluorine coating to repel dirt and moisture
• 16 elements in 10 groups, with various alphabet-soup high-performance glass types including a "dual super aspherical" (DSA) element
• Not a feature per se, but note that the front element extends in use
• Reasonably compact and light at 3.5 inches long and 14.5 oz. (411g).

Looks nice. Looks...practical. Perfect candidate for a high-end two-lens zoom kit. Costs $1,100, which isn't crazy by today's rather crazy standards. The new lens is labeled "Olympus," which OM Digital Solutions has said will continue to be the brand name of its photographic products.

Available for pre-order now.

Micro 4/3 lives!

Mike

Product of Interest this week:

As Porsche does with the 911, Fujifilm just keeps refining its perfect pocket camera and making it better and better. Also available from Amazon.

As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

The Future of Information in Two Images

Here's the future of the internet in two screenshots. (I ran across these looking at an archived NYT article about Dorothea Lange.)

(Photograph replaced by ad)

(Photograph replaced by nothing)

A joke of sorts, this. But with an unhappy truth underlying it. If information is printed in books, the information exists independently in many duplications. It takes a set form and cannot be excised or changed or lost at one stroke. If it exists as a file on a server, then it becomes subject to all the vagaries of maintenance, and has no "master reference": changes that are either visible and trackable, or that leave no trace, can occur either as the result of casual error or deliberate intent. 

It took culture a very long time to develop the system of reduplicated publication on paper along with the archiving of that printed matter, and the system was never perfect and is still imperfect. And I assume culture will catch up to the new realities eventually, and that enlightened societies will put corrective measures in place someday. But, until then, we will be in a new sort of digital Dark Age in which shared information tends to be at risk rather than tending to be stable and persistent.

Mike

Product of Interest this week:

As Porsche does with the 911, Fujifilm just keeps refining its perfect pocket camera and making it better and better. Also available from Amazon.

As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Gaspar Heurtley: "I work as an editor/publisher (those are the same position in Argentina) of social sciences and research papers. A few years back, when you quoted someone else's work you wrote down his/her name and the publishing house. That's it, no one ever needed anything else. But these days most papers end up on the web only, even those published by big companies/universities, etc. A lot of those papers sort of 'evolve' as time goes by, and the message they carry can be really different from the original. Now, when you quote someone you write down the name and publishing house and add 'available at www.etc., last checked on [hour.minutes.seconds].' Things change so fast that a you have to state the second you checked. It's insane."

Benjamin Marks: "Ugh. I couldn't agree more. Digital seems very ephemeral to me. When you think that it's all one and zeros sitting on remote servers, in various formats that will be unreadable in 100 years, it feels about as permanent as a spider web on a breezy morning.

"I have heard all the arguments about infinite digital copies and the easy dissemination of digital information. The problem is the specialization of the technology needed to interpret what's on the servers. When you think about the innovation of writing, but how accessible the printed word is, compared to all those ones and zeros. We have cuneiform tablets from 5,000 years ago, and Shakespeare's folios from 500 years ago, and first editions of Catch-22 from 50 years ago. And those objects have survived the rise and fall of civilizations. Well, not exactly true, as I think we are still in Joe Heller's world, more or less. But there isn't anything on a server that will survive the fall of this civilization. Even if there is no interregnum in our future—no dark age before reason and rationality rise again—I doubt there will many digital documents from the 1980s that will be readable in the 2080s.

"Of course, I won't be around to see whether I am right or not. I'll just leave my kids a digital archive of the terabytes of data my cameras have created and they...wait, they probably won't care a whit.  :-)  "

Leicas Are Forever? (The Bohemians)

Followup from Scott Kirkpatrick: "I had some spare time yesterday and downloaded the Kindle edition of The Bohemians [the book I mentioned on Saturday —Ed.]

"Imogen and Ansel put in much more than cameo appearances. And I learned more backstory about Consuelo Kanaga than I had seen before. The story-telling is engaging and straightforward. It might be hard to disentangle actual history from plausible filling-in of the gaps.

"Of course, one technical failing helps to keep me from believing it all—'Dorrie' has put her Graflex in hock to survive, but is able to produce some portraits for the Camera Club, where she meets Imogen, Ansel, some wealthy future clients, and a business partner, by taking pictures with 'an old Leica,' in what seems to be about 1918. (The Leica I hit the market in 1925, but I guess Leicas are forever.)

"The book seems to be stimulated by the incongruous vision of the Transamerica Pyramid sitting on the site of the old Monkey Block, where numerous SF literary and arts figures once figured (e.g. Kenneth Rexroth, whose stuff I used to read in the '60s). And recent anti-immigrant incitement rooted back into the West Coast anti-Chinese hostility which became law in the 1920s. Senator Pharrel and his son, with a slight name change to satisfy the lawyers, are probably where the plot construction started. Finally, the mysterious Ah Yi, Lange's Chinese assistant, about whom almost nothing seems to be known, provides the link to what I agree are pretty much 'cameo' appearances. Kanaga provides a stock tough activist PJ character; Imogen Cunningham and Ansel Adams don't do much, although I'm surprised that the affinities that eventually led to Lange and Cunningham having an essentially merged family didn't show up during the time of this story. And I hadn't known how badly Adams suffered during the Spanish Flu pandemic. The book works hard to set up and tie up all of its plot wrinkles, but I found it affecting, except for the coda in Paris.

"If you care about Group f/64 and all that, and if you are as disgusted by current political themes as I am, it is worth reading. But not to learn about photography—more to imagine that these known photographers absorbed and lived through all that. It formed them. What are today's equivalents doing to us?"

Scott

Product of Interest this week:

As Porsche does with the 911, Fujifilm just keeps refining its perfect pocket camera and making it better and better. Also available from Amazon.

As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Joel F Bartlett: "I was not impressed by The Bohemians. Its description of her on her arrival to San Francisco, I would describe as 'ditzy.' She was not. She did not arrive in San Francisco by herself, nor was she robbed on the Ferry and saved by society ladies. She arrived with her friend Fronsie, they were robbed, but they quickly got back on their feet by their own wits. If you want a novel that is much truer to the historical record, may I suggest Learning to See by Elise Hooper. And even better, the biography Dorothea Lange: A Life Beyond Limits, by Linda Gordon. She was a fascinating woman and I hope your introduction to her is not The Bohemians."

Mark Sampson: "I'm currently reading Dorothea Lange: A Life Beyond Limits, written by Linda Gordon...a highly-praised biography published in 2009. It's well-researched, thorough, and quite readable. So I can't imagine being interested in any author's fantasia about what it was like back then...sorry. Lange, Adams, Cunningham, et al. were clear-eyed realists, dealing directly with the subjects in front of their lenses, and they (and their contributions) deserve the same respect that they showed their subjects. There's a quote from someone to the effect of 'The contemplation of things as they are is a far nobler pursuit than a whole harvest of invention.' I've butchered that quote but I think the meaning comes through...."

[Ed. note: The quote appears to be from the English philosopher Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam, 1561–1626, a leading figure in early scientific methodology: "The contemplation of things as they are, without error or confusion, without substitution or imposture, is in itself a nobler thing than a whole harvest of invention." (Source: NYT)

Links to books mentioned in the above comments: Learning to See by Elise Hooper (fiction); Dorothea Lange: A Life Beyond Limits by Linda Gordon (biography).

A weakness of the web is that there isn't an authoritative database of quotations that have been sourced and fact-checked. We are at the mercy of what amounts to casual hearsay, wherein a quotation and its source might be repeated uncritically until it's difficult to untangle good sources from bad. Snopes does verify some common quotation memes, such as this one, but only in their course of its regular work, which is fact-checking rumors and widespread claims.] [UPDATE: Quote Investigator is a good  and useful site as well. Thanks to Mike S. for the reminder.]

Sunday Support Group: Do You Have a Portfolio?

Lots has changed in photography since I entered the culture as a boy. It used to be that photographers communicated mainly through books—other publications as well, but the published book was the ultimate final form of accomplishment, and you needed to see a photographer's book or books before you could have any claim to know what they were up to. That's changed. The camera used to have some authority, commanding respect or at least attention wherever it appeared. Anyone remember what a big day it was when the photographer came to do your school pictures? And if the newspaper sent a photographer, it meant the story, whatever it was, was being accorded a certain respect and importance. No more. Nowadays, some guy with a big DSLR isn't even a potential terrorist or a scummy Princess-killing paparazzi any more! (To name two of the slanders against us that pertained in recent decades and thankfully seem to have subsided.) Photography used to be a specialized skill that took some effort to master, which had the effect of elevating the status of those versed in the art—and of keeping the hordes at bay. Those days might not quite be gone, but they seem to be going.

Book or box
In those days, your main calling card was your portfolio, an idea that seems to have become...quaint, let's say. The portfolio, which took the form of a box or book of prints (in fact it was called your "book" in several branches of the craft), was the well-arranged and carefully judged shop window of your expertise—it showed people not only the best of what you could do, your skills and competencies, but also who you were...your concerns, your way of looking at things, your style, your chosen subjects.

This was as true for art photographers as for pros of all sorts. Editors called to see your book if they got interested by your mailings or heard of you some other way. Engaged couples were shown the photographer's book in a carefully orchestrated meeting while deciding on a wedding photographer. Artists dropped their boxes off at museums for review, picking them up a week later, so the curators would learn their names, see what they were up to, and consider their work for purchase or exhibition.

Great care and attention was lavished on what form the portfolio should take. In art circles it was often a deluxe solander case with beautifully matted fine prints inside—sometimes you'd find a pair of cotton gloves carelessly tossed in on top of the pictures as a convenience for whomever would be handling the pictures (replacing dirty mats was an inconvenience for the photographer, expensive or at least time-consuming). In professional circles the form of the book was endlessly discussed, and part of the creativity of the, er, "Creative" (an unfortunate shorthand name I never did like). One guy I remember had his pictures laminated by an outfit that made paper art into placemats! As in, for the dining table. The resulting mats were rigid and had a soft felt backing. Unfortunately the hard plastic covering was not quite transparent, so his pictures had a soft matte sheen to the surface that didn't suite every image. He did think the presentation was distinctive, but he did it mainly because they wore like iron, as serviceable placemats must, so he didn't have to re-do them so often.

Of course amateurs, wannabes, students and hobbyists often imitated the pros and artists in this aspect of the practice of the art, as in others. So they, too, were encouraged to create portfolios. How else could anyone see a formal and considered presentation of your pictures?

Well, that's over, clearly. Slap a JPEG on the web. One picture can be exchanged for another with a few clicks, and the whole pile can be accessed by anyone the world over at any time (as long as they have a desire to go see it, which turns out to be the hardest part), and it never wears out from handling. And you can have five portfolios, or ten. Even though the limits of a physical portfolio were a great help in staying focused and keeping it all on point.

Doldrums
I wonder, though, if the portfolio might not be a key learning experience for many of us still. I heard from a reader the other day who finds her creativity in the doldrums. "I feel quite stuck and uninspired," she writes. "I keep asking myself questions about photography, but I just don't have a vision about it (pun intended). The state of the internet these days sure does not help: you know better than me how depressed to the bottom the landscape is, and how gear-driven and content-empty. I'm convinced that if it was not for TOP, I would not be into photography any more and with young kids and little spare time, I just can't engage in classes or activities...."

She was looking to me as if I'd have some answers, but, actually, my first reaction was to think, I know how you feel! I'm in a similar boat, I guess.

The art of the portfolio
It did kindle a glimmer of memory, though—a memory of how deeply satisfying it was to work on a portfolio. From the photographer's vantage point, a portfolio wasn't just a motley collection of the best snaps they had managed in the past. It was a hopeful statement for the future: this is who I want to be, it said; this is what I really love. This is me, in short.

Because, really, a portfolio had to be composed of things you had done in the past, but what it really was was a projection of the work you wanted to do in the future. If you were a wedding photographer but you wanted to do commercial product photography, you showed a portfolio of the latter. If you were a jobber photographer-for-hire doing grip-and-grins but you wanted to be a wedding photographer, you shot a few weddings for friends and relatives and put that work in your portfolio. For pros, as much as possible you made the portfolio show the kind of work you wanted to be hired for going forward. I remember reading stories of hardworking assistants, eager to strike out on their own and make a name for themselves, holing up for months in the studio to create a portfolio of new work in a new style, hoping to transform themselves.

I suspect the same relationship translates to a personal artistic portfolio as well. You can reinvent yourself, reimagine yourself. Start with a core of a few shots you've taken that intrigue you and work outward; pare away everything that's not what you do best. Keep questioning the work: what are you doing? Who are you?

Don't pander. No clichés, no "likes-bait," no conventional "I'm-supposed-to-do-it-this-way" kind of stuff. Maybe even head the other way. Challenge the viewer; find your depth. Use your online communities to help edit; make online versions so you can see, visually, how each picture works with its neighbors; carry a miniature version made of tiny prints so you can show willing friends and acquaintances, and watch their reactions as they look through it.

To put together a group of pictures that shows who and what you are as a photographer: it's a tougher task than it might seem at a glance.

Does it sing?
In a recent book review, Charles Yu writes: "In his craft memoir, On Writing, Stephen King describes a moment in his process when he asks himself the 'Big Questions.' The biggest of which are: 'Is this story coherent? And if it is, what will turn coherence into a song?'" Good questions for a portfolio, too.

When you find the right work, it flows. Sings is a good word too, because what's a song but notes in the context of others? A picture in a portfolio has to be in balance and harmony with the others.

Just a thought, really. I don't have a portfolio now and it's been a long time since I've put one together. And I know many of you already do practice what I'm preaching—I've seen great portfolios by readers who've come to visit. Thoughtful and coherent sets of pictures in self-published books and calendars and many other forms have crossed my desk. But I wanted to say this anyway: I guess one thing I have left over from the old culture is a faith in the powers of the portfolio and a faith in the creative rejuvenation of portfolio-crafting. As a curative, and a restorative, a way to rekindle and reinvent. A tangible stakepost in the ground that says "here's me, now." And as a way to forge forward, a way to get out of the doldrums, and get wind in your sails again.

Mike
(Thanks to Daniele)

Product of Interest this week:

As Porsche does with the 911, Fujifilm just keeps refining its perfect pocket camera and making it better and better. Also available from Amazon.

As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Kenneth Tanaka: "I suspect that the days of assembling a portfolio of work as an aid in soliciting photo work are long past for many TOP readers, if they ever occurred at all. I also suspect that the traditional portfolio—i.e. a large, heavy book of plastic-covered prints—is itself a bit of a relic.

"However, this statement at the end of your essay is as valid now as it ever was: '...the powers of the portfolio and a faith in the creative rejuvenation of portfolio-crafting. As a curative, and a restorative, a way to rekindle and reinvent. A tangible stakepost in the ground that says "here's me, now." And as a way to forge forward, a way to get out of the doldrums, and get wind in your sails again.'

"More to the moment, the act of building books or magazines of one’s work is a powerful medium for self-realization, creative expression, preservation of work, and, yes, representation of one’s work. It’s something that nearly everyone can do today through desktop tools that you may already have. Even if you never print a single copy of your book or magazine you will be stronger and rejuvenated just by the act of curating some of your work into a cohesive collection. Guaranteed.

"I have made four self-published books of my own work and have plans for three more. I’ve just come to treat it as part of the creative photographic cycle."

John Camp (partial comment): "I know this post was about portfolios, but: Too many people think they have to go to some grand vision of 'art' to be a real photographer. To the woman who feels uninspired, and believes she doesn't have time to do serious photography, I'd say (from the perspective of 77 years and two kids and three grandchildren) DO THE KIDS. No matter whatever else you do in photography, or how great it turns out to be, when you finally get old, that's what you'll come back to, time after time."

[Full texts of "partial" Featured Comments are published in the full Comments section. Click on "Comments (#)" in the footer of the post. —Ed.]

Bob Rosinsky: "The thing about physical portfolios is most galleries choose to look at websites instead. It's like trying to pull teeth to get a curator to view actual prints. I am greatly chagrined by the lack of interest to view prints...I've spent 45 years devoted to the craft of printing, both analog and digital."

DavidB: "Just the other day, while looking for something else on my crowded shelves, I came across my portfolio album. Putting aside my immediate task, I sat down and flipped through it looking at the prints I had made at a time when I was considering becoming a full-time photographer. I never took that path but looking back at the portfolio was an opportunity to think 'What if?' The portfolio did its job. I showed it to many business owners and was granted the opportunity to display and sell prints in local businesses as well as one art gallery. The gallery showing was so much fun!"

Gordon Haddow: "I often aspired to having a portfolio, but procrastination always seemed to get in the way. I managed to produce a website for a show but this site is now woefully behind my photographic production (procrastination again). For my annual performance review at work, I had a long-running joke with my boss that my one of my three goals was to work on my procrastination 'but it was taking longer than thought' or 'I have not managed to start.'

"I gave up on the portfolio but always wanted to show my family and friends what I was working on. Then in 2007 I hit on the idea of giving them a calendar of photographs as a Christmas gift. The rule was that I had to print and produce it myself. They are archivally printed on matte paper. Only the binding could be done in a shop. Usually, they were photographs taken the previous year, or a particular subject, or a particular location. That year I printed 20. Last year (a calendar of San Miguel De Allende) the gift list had grown to 100. Some years are better than others, but it has revived my interest in photography, gave me an ongoing project and lots of feedback. It has given me much joy to see them hanging in the homes of my family, friends and colleagues. Many tell me that they still have all of them and treasure them.

"Maybe next year when I will be retired, I will work on a portfolio (and my website) but the calendar will come first."

Richard Skoonberg: "I have had the opportunity to share my 'book,' a portfolio box of large, curated prints, in face-to-face meetings with gallery owners, museum curators, and directors of photography centers. They like to see large, finished prints, 13x19", without plastic sleeves, unless, of course, you have a clear reason why they should be smaller. The print is the final artifact; the item to valued, exhibited, and sold. Your book should contain no more than 20 of your best prints and you should be able to talk about each one."

Mim: "My local photo club runs an annual portfolio process for all members who wish to participate. At your own level, you put together a coherent set of photos on one subject. Continuous support and feedback is available from specified volunteers in the club, and also in several structured meetings during the year from the membership as a whole. It culminates in a show at the end of the year. I've found it to be a really worthwhile process that stretches my abilities and challenges how I think about my photography. It's been great to think about how images fit together, and not just whether I've got one good (lucky?) shot."

Mike replies: I remember trying to collate and group together all my own "one good (lucky?) shots." The effect was rather disconcerting...they didn't work together very well, and each one seemed to be a little diminished in the presence of the others. I guess that's what happens when the whole is less than the sum of its parts, rather than more.

Sharon: "Well, we all should be making prints of our work. We may not need them to lug them around as much but the physical print is a different cat than looking on the web. There is a deep, deep satisfaction in holding a beautiful print. I put ours in archival boxes. I love the documentary The B Side, about Elsa Dorfman. She pulls print after print out of boxes and flat files and talks about them. That would have been a lousy movie without the prints."

Adam Lanigan: "I tried a few times over the years to put together a portfolio as it just seemed like the thing to do, but it flopped every time.

"I've totally fallen in love, though, with putting projects into book form via online self-publishing tools. As you said, pulling together the notes and stringing them from page to page to sing together is hugely satisfying. It's really helped me focus the work, but also shifted my perspective away from always just showing the very best shots (the melody) and elevated marginal ones (the harmony) that lay the foundation, build out the context, and let the melody photos sing louder. (Apologies for any metaphor abuse.)

"I've got three separate books on the go right now and it's great to push back and forth between them depending on what I'm feeling when I sit down at the computer to move them forward. I may print them all, I may not. (I've fallen in love with the possibilities offered by layflat books, which, of course, are far more expensive.)

"For me, these project books have replaced the need and function for a traditional portfolio, helping me get shows in the past, showing various aspects of what I do, putting that focused vision on a subject, etc. In fact, for the last show I did at the central library, they purchased a copy of the book and it now sits on their shelves, which is still the coolest damn thing to me. I'm currently working on reorienting my website around this project/book focus."

Thomas Walsh: "I would like to second what John Camp wrote about doing the kids. If one is blessed with grandchildren, the possibilities of building portfolios of their growing up are infinite. Who cares if my wife and I are the only ones who see them? The happy memories that they bring are worth far more than any accolade that may (more probably may not in my case) come from any photographic merit they possess."

Tom Duffy: "I endorse John Camp's advice. 'DO THE KIDS.' I was an early adopter of COVID, getting it in March of 2020. While recovering, I realized that if I didn't print my countless sheets of B&W negatives of my kids growing up, these pictures would essentially be lost forever. For every negative worth printing I make three 5x7s, one for each of my daughters, whether they are in the picture or not. They'll each get the same complete set of about 400 pictures. I'm objectively a mediocre photographer, but the number of really good pictures is pretty impressive when all is said and done. This will be my only photographic legacy but it turns out I'm happy with it and hopefully my kids will be too, come Christmas."

The Picture on the Penny

(I know. It's a cent, not a penny. The U.S. does not have any currency called a penny. But cent does not alliterate with picture.)

(Only I would start out a post with a parenthetical, right?)

On Fridays I usually try to leave you with something fun to see or visit for the weekend, but I just couldn't get to work yesterday. It's been a heckuva week. And I'm fried.

Summer reading
So here you go—two things. First of all, the Times* published a nice list of Summer Reading books. Of course they recommended as "Summer" reading more books than I read in an entire year, but never mind. The authors of the article did a nice thing—instead of putting each book under its own subhead, they wove the discussion of one book into the next, which caused me to read far more of them than I would have if I were scanning subtitles.

So in the Historical Fiction segment of the list I discovered a novel called The Bohemians by Jasmin Darznik. It's fiction, but is narrated in the first person by Dorothea Lange! I'm way too conservative about, you know, reality to be comfortable with this as a literary strategy, but apparently it's a thing that's now done. (I did read Grendel by John Gardner after reading Beowulf, but as "the real" Grendel was mythical, that's a bit different. Although Dorothea is a "monster" in the sense of being huge as a celebrity among Photo-Dawgs.) Anyway the author imagines what Dorothea is saying and thinking and that's the basis of the book. Ansel Adams and Imogen Cunningham, among other luminaries of Old San Francisco, put in cameo appearances.

Interesting. If you read the book, I'd love to know what you think.

The picture in your pocket
Second thing: "Pawn Stars" is not the place I'd expect to encounter a drop-dead great photograph, but the picture in this little video segment is just way, way cool—the photographer, the subject, the signature, the format (first time I've ever heard the term "parlor card," by the way—all such things were always cartes de visite in my reading) and what the picture was the basis for. The appraiser says it's "the top of the pyramid," and I can sure see why. I wouldn't want the responsibility of owning this, but it really does have it all as they say. Wow.

Enjoy.

Mike

*I live in New York. I know "The Times" = "...of London" in the UK, but to a New Yorker "the Times" is The New York Times. As a New Yorker I also read The New Yorker, come to that. Have a nice weekend!

Book of Interest this week:

Ralph Eugene Meatyard: American Mystic (Fraenkel Gallery, 2017). An excellent introduction to Meatyard's quirky, spooky worlds. "Photography is a dream of awaking to a world still dewed in sleep." And Fraenkel Gallery's productions are always a cut above. The link is a doorway to Amazon.

Also sponsored by...

Original contents copyright 2021 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from: