The Online Photographer

Another Modern Digital Internet Falseism

I read it on the Internet again: "It's no use using older lenses on digital cameras. With today's best digital sensors, you must use the very best, very latest lenses."

I must? Why?

This is another IF (Internet Falseism, a "falseism" being a truism that isn't true). You have doubtless read it a hundred times in one form or another.

What if you want to use a soft-focus lens on a digital sensor? Will the sky fall? The world explode? Will you be arrested?

Must be true, though, because I've read it on the Internet so many times.

Actually, you can use any lens you want to on a digital sensor, no matter what its potential resolution. If it's a good sensor, it will merely capture whatever the look and properties of the lens happen to be.

Optimizers do it best
The only reason to use a high-resolution lens on a high-resolution sensor is if you want a high-resolution picture. But if you have an interchangeable-lens camera, you can switch that high-res lens for a low-res lens and back again, and no hostages are taken and no one gets hurt. You remain free to roam about on your own recognizance and the sky stays where it belongs.

It's a lot of fun to use old lenses on new sensors.

If you "optimize" your camera for high resolution, all you have is a camera that takes pictures with good resolution. You still have the exact same problem every other photographer has with every other camera: what to do with it. How to put it to good use. How to make the dumb equipment make a smart picture. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, or for ninety-nine out of a hundred photographers, incrementally better resolution makes zero difference in the aesthetic and expressive success of any particular picture.

And if you "optimize" your camera for high resolution, all you have is a camera that takes pictures with resolution that is good for this point in history and with today's particular technology. In olden days, John B. Williams wrote a book called Image Clarity that was all about his investigations into how to optimize photography for high resolution. He covered everything. Of course, none of it is relevant to digital photographers today because the technology has changed (and film photographers certainly aren't using film in order to achieve optimal image resolution). That's what will happen to your attempts to "optimize" resolution now, too. Only faster.

Flatware applications
Besides, very generally speaking, optimizing for resolution, these days, is akin to saying Warren Buffett needs more money. I see more pictures spoiled by too much resolution as I see spoiled by too little (just as I see more pictures spoiled by too much out-of-focus blur as I see spoiled by too little).

If it's what you want to do—optimize resolution, starting with the best sensors and the ideal lenses for them, a sturdy tripod, and some way to show your results meaningfully—well all right then. By all means go ahead. It's one thing you can do. It's one look. It's one kind of photograph to take.

And, of course, there might be a few specialty applications which require extreme resolution. A Zeiss spokesman, at a presentation in the '90s, used this example: what if you see a person holding up a table utensil several hundred yards away, and you want to know whether it's a fork or a spoon? ...And you have time to set up your surveyor's tripod, which he recommended and used? John Williams used a slightly more plausible example: what if you're doing surveillance photography and you want to be able to read a license plate from a long distance away? But he had to add as a caveat: ...and you can't switch to a longer telephoto lens? Or words to that effect. Well. There are some pictures that might work better with higher resolution than you can get normally. A few.

I'd own both. Old, bad lenses and new, super-sharp, hyper-clinical ones. One for fun. The other for fun.

Nowadays, we might add a third imperative: what if you want to win arguments on Internet forums about the superiority of your gear choices by showing little snippets of pictures at 100%?

Well now, that's important, as we all know. Just as important as showing whether it's a fork or a spoon, or for reading license plates when you left your 600mm at home even though you're doing surveillance.

...But mine are better!
I hate to break it to the Internet, but there's actually no law that says you get extra life points for a tiny bit more resolution in all your photographs. You get no credit for it. Most pictures will not be better for it. Most people will not care. Even the ones who do care won't care for very long.

Use any lens you want to on your digital camera. You stand just as good a chance of making a good picture with the most highly corrected lens it's possible to buy today as you do with an ancient screw-mount lens with low contrast and poor edge definition. It's just that the artistic problem will be different, that's all.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2018 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.

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

James Weekes: "Hear, hear. Some of my favorite pictures of the last few years are taken with my Holga lens on a Micro 4/3 body. I love the color, and am surprised by the resolution, which is better than my old Holga cameras with TX.

"The biggest advance in my world has been the 20-megapixel sensor on my Lumixes. The color is just lovely and the resolution is really adequate."

Andrew Lamb: "A few years ago, I did some stills on a film set where the DOP was John Mathieson (Gladiator, Logan, X-Men: First Class, etc). He was using a state-of-the-art Red camera but the lens was a Cooke zoom from the early '70s. I asked his assistant about this combination and was told that using an older lens was to stop the image from looking too clinical. Anything goes."

Phil Stiles: "I've played a lot with vintage glass on modern sensors. I would add that the modern sensor can reveal that those old lenses are better than one remembers. My 105mm ƒ/2.5 AIS Nikkor produces great images on my Sony A7rIII. After comparing a Contax C/Y 85mm ƒ/2.8 with a Batis 85mm ƒ/1.8, I sold the Batis. Focus peaking and magnification have changed the ways we can use vintage glass. Since we're viewing on the web, you probably can't point to a shot 'spoiled by too much resolution,' although my guess would be that it's a portrait where the camera sees so much more than the eye that the hyper-realism becomes surrealism."

Huw Morgan: "I have a crazy-sharp 85mm portrait lens that causes me nothing but grief. Every subject looks at the pictures and freaks out over wrinkles and skin flaws that seem to leap out of the screen. I need to apply copious amounts of Photoshop 'wrinkle cream' to make clients happy, eating into my time and profit. I'm looking for an 85mm slightly blurry lens. Anyone have any suggestions?"

Mark Roberts: "Anyone interested in photography would do well to see the movie "Mr. Turner" (about the painter J.M.W. Turner). Director Mike Leigh had hoped to shoot on film to get the look he wanted but didn't have the budget necessary. So he shot digital but used the oldest, least-corrected lenses he could scrounge up. Can't argue with the results." Rob L.: "There's one little bit of 'maybe' here, though—I've had several older lenses that did weird things on digital bodies—reflections off the back elements, or the way they light hit the sensor—so it's worth testing things a bit. But as I age, it's AF, not optical purity, that's driving me to current glass. :-) "

Jim: "In my work (fiber optics) I've been exposed to a lot of recent systems for surveillance and the technology is getting spooky. Only part is due to camera resolution; the rest is digital post-processing. I've seen fisheye cameras over traffic intersections that can read every license plate and are starting to use facial recognition. Did you read about how the British identified the Russians accused of poisoning in the UK—they found many images of the guys and could easily track their movement. Drive across the Golden Gate Bridge and a camera will read your license plate and send you a bill for the toll. I parked in a parking garage recently and the ticket was printed with my license plate ID and used it to help locate my parked car.

"Of course this processing is not intended to create attractive images. But if you want that, you can find lots of software that will manipulate images to make them look 'better,' whatever that means to you. Did you see the New York Times Magazine portfolio a couple of weeks ago with the weird images manipulated by Cindy Sherman?

"The point is that we are reaching a point near where PCs were 20 years ago, where advances are becoming less hardware and more software."

James M: "Just what I need to help me relax about my gear. Can you please post this article once a month, so that the effect doesn't wear off?"

scott kirkpatrick: "'Falseism?' Better is the expression that physicist Wolfgang Pauli made famous: 'Not even false!'" [Link —Ed.]

George Feucht: "Absolutely true about the demand for vintage less-than-perfect lenses for cinematography. Here's a great example. This is the Cooke company re-manufacturing their old, flawed classic lens set due to the demand of the original sets from the '60s/'70s. Things just look too hyper-clean when you use perfect optic on a perfect sensor. Modern, sharp lenses look great on film. As for our new, perfect cinema sensors, they look best with flawed lenses."

Photo of John Lennon (And Double Appeal)

Speaking of the John Lennon stamp, this is a photograph of Lennon I've always liked:

It's a Polaroid by Andy Warhol. It's descriptive, but not grandiose or glorifying: the subject is wearing a T-shirt and hasn't bothered to arrange his hair, although Warhol might have liked the shape his hair makes. And the photo is plainspoken and small in size. Lennon's expression doesn't tell you what to think of him either way: he's not doing a star turn, not trying to make himself look appealing to the viewer with a conventional Murricun grimace/grin, but neither is he showing the darker side that his personality was reputed to have, anger or superciliousness or arrogance. To me, all this makes it more engaging; I find myself searching the picture for clues, as if to ask: what kind of person was this? The eyes seem simultaneously brightened (by the specular reflection of the flash) and obscured (by the glasses). And of course there's something slightly macabre about the portrait, because you're looking at a murder victim, too. And you're looking into history, at a man who died almost forty years ago now. Whatever you see in the eyes is changed by the fact that you know his fate.

And the photographer—who, like all great portraitists, is partly revealed, reflected, by the aspect his sitter presents to us—is dead too. The transaction we're voyeuristically witnessing is one of viewer and viewed, seer and the seen, both famous still, but both long gone.

Double appeal
And by the way, this picture contains what you might call double appeal. It's a lesson I learned in the magazine business from Outdoor Photographer magazine back in the '90s—that you increase your chances of success if you appeal to two different markets or audiences with the same artwork or product. (That presumes you don't limit the extent of  the appeal to either group by including the other.) In this case, the picture appeals to Beatles, Lennon, and "classic rock" music fans on the one hand, and it also appeals to people interested in Andy Warhol, pop art, and modern art on the other. OP appeals to both the photo-hobbyist audience and to outdoor-activity audiences. The key with a magazine was that you could sell advertisements in two separate categories, greatly increasing your chances of selling enough ads. My magazine at the time was a darkroom magazine, which, I recognized, meant that we were trying to appeal not just to one audience but a subset of one audience. (I left in 2000; the magazine folded in 2013.)

The movie industry has codified this down to a rather crude basic level—movies are designed to sell to one of four types of audience—older females, older males, younger males, or younger females. Producers are always on the lookout for movies that appeal to two of the four groups, and one that appeals to three of the groups or (this is rare) all four groups can be a bonanza. Movies are seldom made to appeal to older males exclusively, because, statistically, older males don't go to the movies. Usually, movies targeted to them are also targeted to older females or younger males at the same time. Old fashioned "auteur" movies, categorized as "dramas" now, are the motion picture equivalent of "literary" novels—potentially prestigious, but sales lightweights.

In photography, O. Winston Link is a prime example of double appeal—he appealed to photographers and photography collectors, and also to railfans and steam train enthusiasts. Scott Schumann's "Sartorialist" blog appeals to street photography fans and people interested in fashion; Brandon Stanton's "Humans of New York" appeals to people who like environmental portraits, people who like human interest stories, and people who are interested in New York City.

I realized the appeal of "The Simpsons" years ago while watching it with my then-five-year-old son—he and I would both laugh at it, but at completely different parts. He liked the cartoon slapstick and the in-your-face jokes, I liked the cultural references and sardonic asides. (I think we both rather liked Bart's part wise, part wiseass Bugs Bunnyesque take-it-all-in-stride attitude.)

Any time you can appeal to two (or more) constituencies without limiting the appeal to one of them, you increase your audience as well as your odds of success.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2018 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.

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hugh crawford: "And a dead medium as well. Warhol used a Polaroid BigShot fixed focus camera (with the amazing chemical mechanical lighting of the Magicubes, also extinct). The Polaroid peel-apart 669 film is long gone and the Fuji is in the outdated and expensive category. A great camera that looked like a toy. With 655 positive negative film I could make 40x50 inch prints. I still have a pack of 655 in my RB Graflex but it's 'too special to use.'"

Eolake: "I have just watched "How The Beatles Changed The World" (I think it was Netflix). It was excellent. Being from 1963, I didn’t know that much about it. They weren’t just the most successful band in history. Warhol’s book From A To B And Back Again is interesting. Like all his work, very abstract."

Mike replies: Relative to the movie you mentioned, I can recommend Revolution in the Head by Ian MacDonald (Ian MacCormick), the British music critic who committed suicide in 2003. He's a Lennon partisan, but then so am I. And he has an inexplicable antipathy to George Harrison, which I definitely don't share. But it's a fascinating book, and had me going back to many of the old songs to listen to them intently with "new ears."

Doug Thacker: "Warhol must have made thousands of Polaroid portraits over the years, and almost all of them were strong in the way that only the best photographic portraits are. I've always found this fascinating, and instructive. Because he was using rudimentary equipment, with a fixed lens and on-camera flash, the extraordinary character of his portraits comes down to his connection with his subjects, however fleeting, his trust in his own intuition, and his timing with the shutter button.

"As you point out vis a vis the Lennon photo, both the subject and the photographer are now dead. Each of them was among the most influential figures of the century, and each of them was shot by an assassin, or, in Warhol's case, a would-be assassin, Valerie Solanas.

"When Warhol was shot, in Manhattan in 1968, he was rushed to nearby New York Hospital, where his life was saved only by the heroic efforts of a team of surgeons. In all the years following, he would refuse to even walk past that hospital, because whenever he did so, he said, he could see and feel his own death.

"When Warhol fell ill and required emergency gallbladder surgery in 1997, it was this same hospital he was taken to. And it was here that he died, shortly after a routine gallbladder removal.

"It would be easy to look at this portrait of John Lennon by Andy Warhol and see prefigured in it somehow their fatal victimization, but that's not what strikes me. What strikes me in this portrait is their strength and their defiance and their victory. I don't know what more you could ask of a portrait, or of an artist."

Tom Burke: "I can’t comment on the image—pictures of the Beatles (as a group or as individuals) have been around my life since forever.

"But, as an aside, and seeing as this is as much about the Beatles as anything, I’ve come to realise that I was incredibly lucky to be the right age at the right time and in the right place. I remember buying 'She Loves You' in the late summer or early autumn of 1963. I was 13, and it was the most exciting thing I’d ever heard. From then I bought every Beatles single up to 'Lady Madonna' on the day it was released, apart from 'Help!'—I was out of the country that summer. It’s difficult to comprehend now just how significant The Beatles were in the UK in those years. Britain in the early '60s was so traditional—the post-war era had seen a determined attempt to re-assert the normality of the pre war years, but by the '60s that was breaking down. There were parallel changes in other areas—theatre, TV, literature—but pop music reached a greater proportion of the population than anything else, and The Beatles were the first and best of a whole new thing. Much as I enjoyed Cliff Richard in the years before, he was a British copy of US originals. The Beatles rewrote the rule book. And as I got a little bit older and started wanting more than just 'Moon in June' songs, they were moving the same way at the same time. There’d never been a song like 'Paperback Writer,' for instance, or 'Penny Lane,' or the lyricism of 'Eleanor Rigby.' Amazing years. And I think that their significance is demonstrated by the fact that a couple of very old images of John Lennon still considered worthy of note and comment."

The Light's the Thing

Two pictures to illustrate a point:

Before sundown

After sundown

Same camera, same lens, same scene, same framing (or close). The Celestial Assistant suggested a setup change and kindly moved the main light a little—just 15 or 20 degrees, not a huge change. But not subtle either—in the second picture there's a planetary gobo impinging and all the light is ambient.

I've always loved watching how different light changes things. Whether I take a picture of it or not.

It begs a more subtle conceptual problem: is a photograph a picture of the thing in the picture, or the light on the thing? Mostly, I think good pictures are usually of light, whether "what the picture is of" is important or not. Learning how to pay attention to light instead of sorting everything in your field of view into its solid structure is a crucial step in photography if you ask me. In one sense, this didn't need to be a pickup truck...the pickup truck just serves to clarify what the light looked like. Light creates the composition, the mood, the structure of the picture, the color of the picture, on and on.

You can have a perfectly serviceable photograph without good light, of course. Many photographs just show things—places, objects, people, animals. Most of the important aspects of a good photograph, however, a successful photograph, are created by what the light's doing. It's at least half the battle.

You could look at it the other way around as well, of course. That the meaning of the picture is usually in the things it shows, and the light is just a means of revealing it. In the work of Bernd and Hilla Becher, for instance, they insisted on flat, overcast light for every picture, specifically to remove the light from being part of the subject and concentrate visual attention more completely on the structures they were photographing.

It fascinates me how pictures come and go. I took a picture of a farmland scene once that I put up on the blog a couple of years ago. (I didn't do a very good job of capturing it. Wrong equipment.) Since then I've passed that place perhaps as many as forty times and I've never again seen it look like anything. I look at it every time I go by. The light was just right that one time, that's all. There's never been a photograph there since then.

One of the ways to improve your photography is to give yourself an idea. Identical views in very different light would be an idea the right photographer could build a project on, I think, if they had the visual chops and sensitivity.

Back soon
As I do every Monday morning, I'm off to the Moose now to play pool with the guys—Loyle, Jerry, Lyle, Norm, and Tom. Back later to hear what you have to say. I might sneak over early to get a little practice in, too...Jerry's been coming outta nowhere lately and tearing up the joint, and I can't hit the broad side of a barn with buckshot.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2018 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.

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

Walter Glover: "This post of yours brings two axioms to mind for me, Mike: 1.) My commercial days of making photographs of things are well and truly behind me and, in my personal work the pursuit is to make photographs about things. All the qualities of varying light form a huge component in the vocabulary and grammar of conveying the spirit or essence of a motif. 2.) To achieve such ends the notion that light reveals and shadow gives form is forever emblazoned in my photo consciousness."

Mark Sampson: "Subject and lighting are inextricably linked. In the best photographs they combine to make a 'good' photograph a 'great' one. Chicken or egg?"

Kenneth Tanaka (partial comment): "Light, and its strategic conceptual usage is the tool that hobbyists tend to overlook or misuse most in their photography. Light sculpts form. Light sculpts mood. Light manages the focus of attention. Light, not the camera, is the photographer’s tool."

Mike replies: Couldn't have said it better myself (and, in fact, I didn't).

Ernest Zarate: "John Szarkowski wrote a terrific book, The Photographer’s Eye. In it, he detailed the specific choices photographers make, consciously or accidentally, each time they press the shutter button: the frame, vantage point, time, the thing itself (i.e., raw material), and the detail. Great primer and one of my foundation books. Yet, brilliant though Szarkowski was, I’ve always felt the book missed a big one: light. It’s true most photographers can’t choose their light. It is as you say the Celestial Assistant in control. Give that, though, the photographer has the choice whether to use the light being offered. Your point about the farm lit in glory that one time, and never again (the fickle Photo Gods at their devilish best) illustrates the point exactly."

Mike replies: Excellent insight into the great Szarkowski title and one I've never heard or thought of before. But I think you're right.

Jan Kwarnmark: "Henri Cartier-Bresson: 'I go for form, much more than light. Form First. Light is like a perfume to me.'"

Arg: "Lighten up, Mike!"

Limitations Aren't

Photo by Mark Hobson, from "iPhone Made"

Yesterday, David Comdico wrote of Mark Hobson (who has a category on his website called "iPhone Made"):

I admit to being a bit prejudiced against the iPhone-as-camera, but his square iPhone shots are really great. Bravo.

I've noticed over the years that pros (especially studio pros) who are used to using whatever tools are appropriate for any given job—up to and including bleeding-edge high-tech, high-cost ones—often have little prejudice against low-status cameras. They'll cheerfully do projects with toy cameras, cellphones, and pinhole cameras if they feel like it and if it suits the look they want. Mark is a big enthusiast of the smartphone.

What's unusual about Mark is that he's not a chameleon aesthetically. Lots of pros are; they have to be, providing radically different "looks" for different clients and different jobs. I imagine Mark, who has a list of Fortune 500 clients, can do that too. But with the work on his website he works more like an artist.

My observation has always been that artists tend to adjust to the properties of whatever tools you give them to work with. Amateurs hanker for gear that will "do everything," and tend to spend a lot of time thinking about what they can't do and how to equip themselves to remedy whatever the perceived shortcoming might be. But artists work the other way around: they see what the equipment will do and then go out into the visual world and apply it to good advantage, or whatever they consider to be good advantage. So it's difficult for an artist to have "the wrong camera," or lens, or whatever. Whatever you give them to play with, they'll figure out what it's good for (for their own personal definition of "good for") and then use it for that kind of thing. Give the latter kind of photographer a "bad" camera and he or she will come back with "good" shots.

So over the years we've seen great photographs made under all kinds of severe limitations: cross-processed transparency film, Polaroid transfers, Diana and Holga cameras with single-element plastic lenses, pinhole cameras, you name it.

These days, is it possible that the limitation might be that there isn't enough limitation? Cameras have all gotten so "good" that what's starting to emerge is a certain tyranny of sharp, clear, detailed, correct-color, adequate-DR digital images. It's not all the same equipment, but more and more it's the same, or a similar, aesthetic look. Yes, individual practitioners can depart from it deliberately, but then they can get slammed for being "fake" and "contrived" and so forth—even if the picture's just black and white!

One of the interesting things about Mark is that he has such a consistent way of seeing, and it comes through in all his artwork.

Mike
(Thanks to David Comdico)

Original contents copyright 2018 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.

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Kenneth Tanaka: "My own shortcut expression to summarize what you've said is, Wherever you go, there you are! [...Jon Kabat-Zinn —Ed.] The work Mark shows on his site has a frank right-in-front-of-your-face quality that would be, if not necessarily distinctive, certainly very apparent in any photographic format. It's how he sees the opportunity (no pun), how he organizes his frames. It hardly matters what camera he uses.

"If I could offer any bit of advice to Mark it would be to drop the 'iPhone Made' distinction. It's dated to anyone younger than, say, early middle age. It's like saying 'color TV.' Just take the photos and merge them into the crowd according to the moments or concepts that propelled them.

"Last year while moving my site to a new host I counted over 30 camera models employed over the 13 years spanned by the images. Fun fact to know...but irrelevant for considering the work."

David Stone: "Very nicely stated. I teach iPhone workshops and one of my main goals is to have the students stop thinking of their iPhone as a phone with a camera, but as a camera with a really useful accessory. Think like a photographer and it will deliver."

Dan Homan: "As an amateur, I think part of our obsession with having the right gear to 'do everything' is a fear of photographic opportunity loss. For me this manifests itself both in individual photo outings and for my kit more broadly. With finite resources, the decision of what to bring on a trip or buy for your kits locks you in place (at least for the time being) in terms of what you can do, so we wring our hands a bit more than we should.

"I've tried in recent years not to worry about it as much and follow the advice I've read here and elsewhere to embrace limitations. On most outings, I bring just one or two lenses and commit to making the most of those choices. I do think this approach has helped me learn to see more clearly and have more fun with my photography."

Frank Figlozzi: "Re 'But artists work the other way around: they see what the equipment will do and then go out into the visual world and apply it to good advantage, or whatever they consider to be good advantage.' Isn't that exactly the way it's supposed to be? I've been photographing since I was 10 and now I'm 77 (do the math). My first camera was an old postwar Reflekta TLR and now I'm shooting digital Fujis. But every camera I've ever used has had limitations. Our job is simply to understand those limitations, work within them and make meaningful photographs. What a beautiful post—it hits the nail on the head."

robert e: "I wonder if future hobbyists will wax nostalgic about the 'look' of vintage sensors and firmware in the likes of, say, Canon's 5D or Nikon's D40? Perhaps there will be apps and filters to simulate the look. Only half joking."

Comments About the 'Yellow' Pictures

Photo by David Stock

I want to thank everybody who participated in the latest "Baker's Dozen" call for work—we received a large-ish number of submissions (about a hundred and sixty) and there were a lot more good ones than were included in the final set.

As usual I could have gone any number of ways with the edit. For example, the three most common subjects among the submissions were road stripes and markings (a number of great ones, but David Stock's simple and whimsical design above won by a whisker for me), flowers, and...little yellow rubber duckie bath toys. At first I thought I would pick a "winner" in all three of those subject-matter categories, but ended up jettisoning that idea in the end as being too programmatic.

The reason was that I was paying attention to sequence. To my mind, the yellows either needed to harmonize or contrast from image to image as you scroll down. The Pressman-Vincent-Poole-Smith sequence (3–6) was decided on pretty early on because they make such a nice progression to the eye, and they're all such super examples of mainstream strategies* that I thought people would identify with. From there we segue to Rich Reusser's picture of daughter Molly—she was a beautiful child and you can almost feel the fatherly adoration emanating from Rich behind the camera, but to me the punctum of that picture is the alarming whatever-you'd-call-it blue of those garish clashing gloves—it took me a long time to acclimate to that! (Additive secondary cyan or aqua is as close as I can come to naming it; the color manages to clash with both Molly's raincoat and Molly.) In Kurt's bathroom picture below Molly, there's a subtle echo of the blue gloves in the not-quite-matching blue of the towel on the rack. I don't think you see that consciously, but try to unsee it now that I've mentioned it.  :-)

As always in editing a set, the problem is flow vs. variety. The cop-out temptation is to pick a set of pictures that are all stylistically similar, but that's almost an affront to the great variety of approaches and subjects you get in any randomly-gathered "group show" (which is really what this amounts to).

And related to that heading, just so you know how much I care about your experience (and my responsibilities), let me just mention as an aside that I received exactly 13 of the aforementioned rubber ducky pictures. [Inset photo by James Hengst.] Do you even know how tempted I was to present all 13 rubber ducky pictures as the entirety of the final 'Yellow' set—as a joke? A joke that would have appealed greatly to the devilish part of my subversive B&W-maven heart. I thought about that idea for three days before I was able to get rid of it. Still kinda makes me chuckle.

Anyway, sequence, and the eye's pleasure in going from one picture to the next with minimal interruption, is why I put the emailed comments from the photographers (if there were any) at the end. I like looking at pictures next to each other, seeing how they play off their neighbors, and to me that's worth the modest inconvenience of separating the texts from the pictures.

Thanks again to everyone who sent work. Honorable mentions include, but are not limited to, Larry Angler, Mike Peters, Bob Gary, Craig Stocks, Marcelo Guarini (loved that one), Scott Campbell, Steve Goldenberg, Cathal Gantly (liked that too), Ricardo Cordeiro, Rod Locket, John Tellaisha, Al DaValle, Douglas Houk, Collin Orthner, Mark E. Johnson, Chris Kern, Ron Mayhew (don't think bringing Ernest Withers into it didn't catch my attention, Ron), Anurag Agnihotri, Animesh Ray, B.D. Parks, Terry Burnes, Randall Teasley, Richard Fox, and Harry Weide. All of their pictures were in the running to the end. There were many more nice ones than that, too.

All much fun for me, so thank you for that.

Finally, in David Stock's picture at the top of this page, do you see the faint faded remnant of an earlier yellow line on the manhole cover? Photographs often show us details we would not have thought to invent.

Mike

* Faux abstract, centered subject, woodsy landscape, critter pic

Original contents copyright 2018 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.

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Featured Comments from:

Lois Elling: "I was a kid when I saw my first manhole cover with the painted stripe in the wrong position and got such a kick out of it. I still do!"

Matthew O'Brien: "First of all I am not a pixel peeper. I like the Bakers Dozen concept…other than I lose interest between its inception and realisation.

"Aside from that I am curious. I was about to admire the subtle extra line (1<–>1) when I suddenly noticed. The main yellow paint on the manhole cover has a remarkable physical property. It is capable of painting the empty spaces within the grating as well as the cast iron structure. The only elements which should be yellow in the white box below should be cast iron. The gaps should be dark and may contain a few splashes, but should not be the full colour. Maybe there is an interesting explanation. I never would have noticed this if I had not first spotted the 1<–>1 diagonal."

Mike replies: I thought about that too at first (wondering with my reflexive suspicion if there might have been a little Photoshop going on there) but I've observed a road-striping machine in action, and the line, which according to Wikipedia is a sort of thermoplastic resin that has to be pre-heated, goes down onto the road in a thick sort of ribbon, sort of like wet tape. Having seen it, it makes sense to me that it might have enough body when it's new to span small gaps in a grate. If the manhole cover actually is a grate, which I suppose the photo doesn't actually prove. We're getting very geeky here!

Another phil: "Re the manhole, it is unlikely to be a grate, more likely to be indentations to provide a bit of grip for tyres, rather than flat metal which is very slippery when wet. The yellow paint is (as you say) a resin which arrives in blocks and is melted, poured into a 'box' on wheels with a slot on the underside through which the resin flows.(I was a highways civil engineering tech). Longer lines are normally nowadays done with a vehicle which does all the above in one operation. That's also why the original paint still shows in the indentations."

Richard Gonet: "I really enjoyed viewing this collection. Thank you for initiating this project and curating it. Since we all have different tastes in art, I suspect there are some hidden gems in the ones that were not selected. Is there a way to present the 'runners up' so we can see more of the entries? Even a collection of stripes and rubber duckies would be fun to see."

Mike replies: Here are the submissions by Marcelo and Cathal that I mentioned above.

By Marcelo Guarini

By Cathal Gantly

Philomaphos: "Thank you, Mike, for the Baker's Dozen and for your commentary on how you arranged your final choices. I now can't unsee the blue gloves in Richard Reusser's photograph, and I agree with the comments praising Melissa O'Shaughnessy's photograph. I really like the bonus picture by Marcelo Guarini for its quiet, contemplative colour and the mystery it suggests. I agree with Dave Jenkins' comment regarding the photograph by Darren Livingston—it is a striking, unsettling picture. It's been a pleasure to see them all."

The DIGITAL Glow

Jack W. asked: "Can 'the glow' be obtained with digital cameras and digital papers?"

[If you just happened across this post, we've just been talking about B&W printmaking, and, just previous to that, the aesthetics of B&W tonality as seen in old-timey Hollywood movies.]

My answer: naturally, yes. As I said, I think it's actually easier now. As I said in 2002 in the previous post, 'the glow' is just a look.

There are slight differences, of course. "Long scale" platinum/palladium prints are difficult to reproduce even in ink, still less online, which is why we've had several Pt/Pd print sales in the past. But even fiber-base silver gelatin papers have a subtle depth that is difficult to reproduce exactly.

Color digital inkjet prints are potentially more beautiful than any color printing method in photography's history, although many different techniques have their charms. I say "potentially" because relatively few printmakers* have the gear, the skills, and the taste to produce top-quality prints; but it can certainly be done and it is done, widely. Professional printmakers have a little advantage in that they can spend more on equipment and they practice all day; amateur printmakers have a little advantage in that they can take their time over a single print—even days or weeks—and keep "spending" paper and ink until they get it exactly right. Who's best? Both pros and amateurs have about an equal chance at expressive success if you ask me. Depends on the individual.

Black-and-white has had a much spottier history in the digital age. It's more difficult than color to print well, and (thus) fewer people do it well. Personally I think the materials were getting problematic at the end of the film era, with the new "straight line" films that were problematic matches to certain papers. In the Digital Transition period, equipment and materials for taking and printing B&W digital images lagged behind all the tech and effort that was poured into color printing materials and methods.

Now, I think, we're over that. According to my definitions, we're seven years into the digital era of still photography, and now a.) the sensors are good enough, b.) the printers* are good enough, c.) the inks are good enough, and d.) the papers are good enough.

Actually several of those things are better than good enough. Especially the papers.

So how to you get a B&W print to sing when printmaking digitally? As ever, it's a question of skill and judgment.

In my view, the problem with printing is the same as with cameras: burgeoning complexity. Of course, some people like that...they're tech mavens, and they like being experts, and they get motivated by challenges. Which is all fine. But in general, my feeling with printing is that what keeps people away is that at the beginning of the learning curve you step into a rabbit hole, and the rabbit hole leads to a forbidding underworld of not knowing what to do, and things going mystifyingly wrong, and of not being able to find the information you need to figure out what to do next. Even if you do make it back out of the rabbit hole again, you just have to spend too much time "at a loss." It's not the time and effort to come up to speed that discourages people, as that so much of that time is spent feeling thwarted...just being frustrated and confused. So people get turned off of printing.

Really, the time should be spent "learning the music of tonality," rather than learning to play the instruments, right?

There's no one right way to print. In the spirit of the 2002 post, however, I'll mention a few specifics that might help you get there with B&W digital printing.

• Start with a small printer. When you can make an exquisite small print you're perfectly satisfied with, that's the time to get ambitious and start hankering after the big warships that need an entire small room or a big corner of a large one. There's always time for that.

• Use the best OEM (original equipment manufacturer) pigment/carbon inksets.

• Stick with the OEM's papers at first so you can use their profiles.

• If you want to have fun, once you get going—or better yet as you get going—invest in ImagePrint. ColorByte is just about to switch to new product names—there will be two: R.E.D., which means "runs every device," an easy-to-use interface for OEM drivers and OEM profiles. For B&W, you will need ImagePrint Black, which is the new name for the old full-version ImagePrint v.10; Black will be the name of v.11. (If you buy v.10 you'll receive a free upgrade to Black when it's released.) Yes, you need v.10/Black if you want to do B&W. No, it's not cheap—but you'll get an easy, ironclad interface with which to use custom drivers, plus custom profiles for almost literally every photo and fine-art paper made anywhere in the world. I haven't used this yet, but I keep hearing good things about it, and I admit I yearn for a simpler, more accurate method of printing. If you want to know more about ImagePrint, check out Kevin Raber's article and videos about it at The Luminous-Landscape. Tellingly, the L-L page is titled "Making Printing Easier."

• I use Photoshop CS6 with Nik Silver Efex 2 as a plugin, but whatever you use, I wouldn't necessarily become a converter "nomad," wandering from one to the next in search of the Holy Grail**. Just as with film and enlargers, it's easy to get sidetracked on minute differences in programs, but most of them will do what you need to do; learning what you want done is more important than slight differences in how it's accomplished.

• Forget the old saw that "every good print has a pure black and a pure white." An hour on Shorpy is the sentence for anyone convicted of this superstitious belief! Shadow (dark-tone) and highlight (light-tone) separation is what is wanted. For that, aim for a black just on the gray side of Dmax (maximum density) and a white just on the gray side of paper white.

Detail of a 1939 Russell Lee photo that recently appeared on Shorpy

• Look at the image as if it's real light. That is, look at it holistically. It's easy to get wrapped up in tones for tones' sake—try to relate the tones to what you know about what light on the surface of planet Earth looks like.

• Don't exaggerate. Gentle, gentle with that axe, Eugene.

• If you have ImagePrint, then experiment with abandon and try all the truly wonderful papers we have today! It's getting late on this Tuesday, so maybe papers is a post for a different day. 

I guess the most important point is that learning how tones sing (or "glow," I guess I should say in this context) is a lifelong learning process, a happy and satisfying journey for me for sure. We gradually come to find the expressive tonality we each prefer, and it becomes part of the "signature" of our work in B&W. Peter Turnley told me that when he sits down with Voja Mitrovic to show him a stack of B&W prints, Voja will cast his expert eye on the tones and indicate slight changes that to him would be improvements. Consider that when Walter Rosenblum was exposed for passing off his own later prints as vintage Lewis Hine originals, the original tipoff was that they seemed to betray the characteristic tonality of Rosenblum prints. Look at a book of Ralph Gibson's B&W photos after a book of Lee Friedlander's B&W photos after a book of Roy de Carava's B&W photos after a book of Sally Mann's B&W photos; you will see in each a different and distinctive approach to tonality. If you're a sensitive worker with a sense of what looks right to you in your own work, this will emerge just as surely in digital printmaking as it would have from the darkroom.

Mike
(Several fine printmakers and manufacturer's representatives
contributed to this post. My thanks to all.)

*I use the term "printmaker" for a human maker of prints, and "printer" for a mechanical device device used to produce prints. An Epson P800 is a printer; Charlie Cramer is a printmaker.

**Remember, the point of the search for the Holy Grail is that there was no Holy Grail.

Original contents copyright 2018 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.

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

James Weekes: "Just to add to the chorus. I have used Image Print for years, through two printers, Epson 3800 and now P800. A magical program. The hidden gem of the company is their free tutorials. Almost any problem solved in minutes."

Tex Andrews: "Very, very helpful. Have bookmarked ImagePrint. But there's one I think very important thing I'd like to toss in as a visual artist of traditional media who also does photography now. Digital ink printing is different than chemical printing, and should be judged that way. Japanese whisky is excellent, but needs to be judged on its own terms, not in a constant comparison to Scotch whisky. Same with printing. Printing digitally involves ink, so the real comparison is with ink prints, such as etchings or fine art lithographs. I always hated matte paper and prints until digital; now I adore them, and am having problems with digital gloss paper. It's because I see in the inkjet print the quality of ink on paper that I see in traditional fine art ink prints."

Joe: "I believe that one of the keys to becoming a really good printmaker, whether B&W or color, is to get out and look at great prints—in galleries, museums, etc.—as often as you can. Not computer screens, magazines, or even most books. Look at really good silver and inkjet prints, printed by the masters. One thing I learned from studying great prints is how often the best printmakers are not obsessed with the things we've been taught to do so easily in Photoshop. Like? Pulling all the detail out of the shadows. Sometimes a shadow should just be a shadow."

Mike replies: Looking at prints in museums used to be good advice, but now that museums are saving money by keeping their light levels too low (and that's why they do it—don't believe their hooey about lights fading), looking at prints in museums is just as often a frustration as a pleasure these days. It's a deplorable fad I hope passes ASAP.

Charles Cramer: "I remember you posting a link to Shorpy years ago, and I just love the tonality there. Gorgeous, and so full of light! In my digital printing classes I find that most people's prints are the opposite—too dark. Many detailed shadow areas are almost black. Perhaps this dark style of printing reflects a more modern, bleak view of the world? (Also, the webmaster of Shorpy does a great job at opening shadows and restoring highlight detail. See http://www.shorpy.com/node/451 for before and after examples).

"With digital capture and processing, we can achieve a more linear rendering of tones, without the characteristic curve of film that wonderfully separates mid-tones, but at the expense of compressed highlights and shadows. And in most of the Shorpy images, I see clouds that are pretty compressed—but with just enough detail so they don’t look washed out. The clouds are certainly not 'fluffy,' a la Ansel Adams. Tonality is a series of compromises, and if you want the Shorpy tonality, I think you have to give up some of the highlight separation now possible with digital.

"Another problem that contributes to dark-looking prints are monitors, which I believe can be very deceptive, even when carefully calibrated. I talked about ways to make monitors more perceptually accurate in a talk I did for OnLandscape, (found at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-d8zxB4zMAg, around the 28 minute mark). Monitors always 'glow' since they are basically lit from behind. Prints have to exist in the real world, and are at a disadvantage. But, it still is very possible to make glowing prints. Just see some Adams, Weston, or Sexton original prints. One very obvious thing I tell classes about making a print glow is: darken the edges, and lighten the middle. I think that deserves a 'Duh!,' but it’s a good starting point."

[Charlie is one of the leading printmaking teachers in the USA. —Ed.]

TOP Classic: Ten Best B&W Movies (and Then Some)

Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman in Alfred Hitchcock's Notorious. None other than the great war reporter Robert Capa was the uncredited still photographer for this film, although of course there's no way of knowing if he took this particular picture. But he might have.

[2018 note: Watching B&W movies and paying attention to the visuals is an excellent way to improve your feel for B&W tonality—those old cinematographers were masters of lighting and of their filmstocks. You might also want to read this fascinating exchange about Roger Deakins' cinematography for the Coen brothers' The Man Who Wasn't There from the DVD commentary. And may I just add that I would love to see a coffee-table book of beautiful B&W stills from old movies, including a few of the masterful promo shots and actor portraits done as stills. There are a few more comments and a good example in this post. That would be a beautiful book...but maybe only in my head.  —MJ]

A question I posed on TOP in December of 2006 about readers' favorite black-and-white movies quickly racked up a near-record number of comments.

I tallied the results (no trivial task, either—see what I do for you?) which are presented below. Note that readers made what they wished of the question; I'm sure some people nominated great films, some people nominated favorites, and others paid more attention to the actual cinematography and the use of monotone. It's all good.

I've arranged the results in order of the number of mentions a film got, and then, within each category, alphabetically. In some cases I added the year of release to avoid confusion with remakes or other films of the same title, and for consistency I've generally listed the titles in their original languages with the common English-language title, if it's known by one, in parentheses. For simplicity's sake I haven't italicized all the titles in the main list. You should be able to find all of the titles on the Internet Movie Database (www.imdb.com).

Of special mention are Sunrise, a silent film that got two votes, and In Cold Blood, which is B&W but also in Cinemascope. A few "finds" among little-known films may be Eric von Stroheim's Greed (although it's not available on DVD yet [2018 note: it is now, under the original title]), Alphaville, and The Battle of Algiers. For obvious reasons I disallowed movies shot partly—or all!—in color; however, the runaway runner-up not on the list is no doubt Jean-Pierre Melville's Le Samouraï, which got a whopping three votes despite the fact that it was shot in very subdued Eastmancolor. And, finally, the Special Lifetime Achievement Award goes to Louis Malle's Ascenseur pour l'échafaud (Elevator to the Gallows) which is not only in B&W, but has music by Miles Davis, a plot that turns on a B&W photograph, and the movie includes a scene in a darkroom! Can't beat that.

My only personal comment is that I see a subscription to Netflix in my future—I've seen nine of the top ten (gotta go rent The Third Man) and I consider myself fairly cinematically "literate," at least with older classics, but haven't seen anywhere close to half these films.

Thanks to everyone who participated. And if you see any mistakes in the list, please let me know.

[2018 notes: An old film that deserves special mention for particularly lush B&W tonality, although it's a truly weird movie, is Jean Cocteau's 1946 Beauty and the Beast (La Belle et la bête) with cinematography by Henri Alekan.

One film I particularly liked that I discovered from this list is Vittorio De Sica's The Bicycle Thief (Ladri di biciclette).

A sentimental favorite that, improbably, combines slapstick comedy with nostalgic wistfulness for bygone summertimes is Jacques Tati's lovely M. Hulot's Holiday (Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot)—I feel like I spent many childhood summers at that place, and I don't even know where it is.

Peter Bogdanovitch's Paper Moon also didn't make our list (although his The Last Picture Show did), but I love László Kovács' B&W cinematography for that one.

And if you've never seen Akiro Kurosawa's Seven Samurai (Shichinin no samurai), for heaven's sake run, don't walk. A bucket-list movie without question. I'm not a "repeat watcher" of movies, but I've seen Seven Samurai three times.

And looking forward to the fourth. —MJ]

-

TOP Readers List of Great Black-and-White Films

Citizen Kane (14)

The Third Man (13)

Casablanca (7)

Dr. Strangelove (7)

Breathless (6)

Raging Bull (6)

Shichinin no samurai (The Seven Samurai) (6)

Schindler’s List (5)

Der Himmel über Berlin (Wings of Desire) (4)

Manhattan (4)

Nosferatu (4)

Touch of Evil (4)

La Dolce Vita (3)

Eraserhead (3)

Good Night and Good Luck (3)

M (3)

The Maltese Falcon (3)

Paths of Glory (3)

Psycho (3)

Rashomon (3)

Le Salaire de la Peur (Wages of Fear) (3)

Sin City (3)

Stagecoach (3)

Stranger than Paradise (3)

Throne of Blood (3)

Alphaville (2)

Ascenseur pour l'échafaud (2)

The Battle of Algiers (2)

La Belle et la bête (Beauty and the Beast) (2)

Creature from the Black Lagoon (2)

The Day the Earth Stood Still (2)

Double Indemnity (2)

Down By Law (2)

Ed Wood (2)

Elephant Man (2)

High and Low (2)

High Noon (2)

Hud (2)

Ikiru (2)

Jules et Jim (2)

Ladri di biciclette (The Bicycle Thief, Bicycle Thieves) (2)

Metropolis (2)

Night of the Hunter (2)

Nóz w wodzie (Knife in the Water) (2)

One, Two, Three (2)

To Kill a Mockingbird (2)

Pather Panchali (2)

pi (2)

Rebecca (2)

Some Like It Hot (2)

Sunrise (2)

Them (2)

12 Angry Men (2)

Yojimbo (2)

Young Frankenstein (2)

Angel-A

El Ángel exterminador (The Exterminating Angel)

Angels with Dirty Faces

Aparajito

Az Én XX. századom (My Twentieth Century)

Battleship Potemkin

The Big Sleep

The Blob

Bob le Flambeur

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

C'est arrivé près de chez vous (Man Bites Dog)

Charulata

Dead Man

D.O.A. (1950)

Double Indemnity

8 1/2

Les Enfants du paradis

Fort Apache (cited for innovative IR photography)

Frankenstein (1931)

The Grapes of Wrath

The Great Dictator

Greed

La Haine

A Hard Day’s Night

Hidden Fortress

Hiroshima Mon Amour

The Hustler

Ibun Sarutobi Sasuke (Samurai Spy)

In Cold Blood (cited for being in Cinemascope)

Jalsaghar

Key Largo

The Killing

King Kong (1933)

Kiss Me Deadly

Kurutta kajitsu (Crazed Fruit)

The Lady from Shanghai

The Ladykillers (1955)

The Last Picture Show

Laura

Lolita

The Long Voyage Home

Lord of the Flies (1963)

Lost Horizon

The Magnificant Ambersons

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance

The Man Who Wasn’t There

The Manchurian Candidate

Meshes in the Afternoon (short)

Mighty Joe Young (1949)

Misummer Night's Dream (1935)

Modern Times

My Darling Clementine

Night of the Living Dead Night

Mail (1936)

Notorious

Of Mice and Men

On the Waterfront

Orpheus

Ostre sledované vlaky (Closely Watched Trains)

Persona

Les Quatre cents coups (The 400 Blows)

Rocco e i suoi fratelli (Rocco and His Brothers)

Såsom i en spegel (Through a Glass Darkly)

The Scarlet Empress

Scrooge (1951)

Seppuku

Soy Cuba / Ya Kuba

La Strada

The Stranger

Stray Dog

A Streetcar named Desire

Sunset Boulevard

Sweet Smell of Success

Tokyo Monogatari (Tokyo Story)

Tsubaki Sanjûrô (Sanjuro)

The Wrong Man

Have fun!

Mike
(Thanks to all the readers in 2007 who contributed to this)

Original contents copyright 2018 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.

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

bruce alan greene: "All good films in the list. As an aside, watching digital reproductions of B&W films often give a very different impression than that was produced in the the cinema when the movies were new. I have been lucky enough (and old enough) to see some studio prints of some of the classic films on the list. A studio print is generally fewer generations down from the original negative than the copies that appeared in cinemas. Sometimes it is struck from the original camera negative. And if you really want to see the tonality of these films, seeing these prints projected is certainly the way to see them. I have yet to see any digital reproduction of a B&W film that comes close to reproducing the dynamic range and tonalities of the original prints projected in a theater. And, the digital reproductions have also been re-interpreted as well.

"Sad to say that one of my favorite B&W films, To Kill a Mockingbird, is available today only as a restoration from damaged release prints as I believe the negative was destroyed in a fire at the studio. And this restoration doesn't look anything like the beautiful imagery that audiences originally viewed and that I saw in the 1980s. So, if you ever get a chance to see an original print of any of the films on the list, in a theater, do it!!!"

[Bruce is a Hollywood cinematographer. —Ed.]

Bob Rosinsky: "Having seen 95% of the films on the list, it's hard to rate the best of the best black and white cinematography (my personal favorite is The Third Man). A few more: Ashes and Diamonds, Director Andrzej Wajda; Diabolique, Director Henri-Georges Clouzot; Wages of Fear, Director Henri-Georges Clouzot; The Triumph of the Will, Director Leni Riefenstahl (scary content, innovative cinematography); Double Indemnity, Director Billy Wilder; Nebraska, Director Alexander Payne; Repulsion, Director Roman Polanski; Jules and Jim, Director Francois Truffaut; Stalker (B&W and color), Director Andrei Tarkovsky."

Rob: "One of my all time favorite films, never mind just B&W, is The White Ribbon (2009). It is a German masterpiece by Michael Haneke. The cinematography is splendid. Also Ida (2013), a Polish film by Pawlikowski. This is one of those films that you can watch for the visual beauty alone. Finally, anyone who is serious about independent, classic and foreign films has got to check out Filmstruck, which is a streaming service put out by TCM that you can get bundled with the Criterion Collection. It is my favorite streaming service. My wife and I watched a restored version of Chaplin's Modern Times that looked like it was made in 2016, not 1936."

Mike replies: Several readers have mentioned Ida privately to me. It hadn't been made when this list was first published.

Max Cottrell: ""Ida" was made in 2014 by Polish director Paweł Pawlikowski. Netflix: 'Raised in a Catholic orphanage during the Nazi occupation of Poland, Anna is poised to join the order when she learns she has a surviving aunt. But visiting the woman before taking her vows uncovers some inconvenient truths about her heritage.' The cinematographer must surely also be a B&W photographer. Stunningly well shot. I have watched it at least six times, shared it with non-photog friends, and purchased a copy. Not that easy to watch, but very rewarding, especially if you are engaged in spiritual practice."

[Here is the Amazon link for Ida. —Ed.]

Aaron C Greenman: "Hands down the most beautifully filmed black-and-white film I’ve ever seen is Ida—every frame is a beautiful still photograph. I recommend to everyone to watch it today—a wonderful film."

Andrew Lamb: "What? Did none us vote for Rules of the Game directed by Jean Renoir, which features Hank Carter as a butler (he was also assistant director)? ['Hank Carter' = Henri Cartier-Bresson —Ed.] From a photographic point of view, the film is noteworthy for its use of extreme depth of field, aided by special wide-angle lenses made by Kinoptik (think they're still going). This technique pre-dates Citizen Kane by a couple of years. Renoir also made a short film, based on a Maupassant short story, One Partie de Compagne, which has some of the most lyrical B&W imagery I've seen in a film."

Paul De Zan: "The current Blu-ray release (2011) of Citizen Kane is an absolute revelation, the finest transfer of a classic film I've seen. It gives the movie a stunning immediacy I've never felt seeing it in a theater, which I have many times. Highest possible recommendation. Use the TOP Amazon link now!"

Mike replies: Is this the one you mean?

Paul De Zan replies: " I have this set (which includes the very good documentary 'The Battle Over Citizen Kane'), but the disc is the same in both the release you reference and the newer '75th Anniversary' packaging; if it were not, Amazon reviewers would scream bloody murder."

Rex Harrison and Gene Tierney in The Ghost and Mrs. Muir from 1947,
an allegory of impossible pairings

Peggy C.: "I did not know of your blog until only a few years ago or your list would have included the 1947 film, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz. The cinematography was by the great Charles Lang. I re-watch it several times a year now that I have the DVD. The lighting and tonality are just amazing. This film is the single most important reason for my love of B&W photos and films."

Mike replies: I started watching it on Amazon Prime last night, Peggy, thanks to your recommendation—just the sort of antique movie I like to look at for the cinematography. I have dim memories of the TV series. Lang's B&W tonalities are classic.

Richard Newman: "I am amazed that neither of Ingmar Bergman's great B&W films, Wild Strawberries and The Seventh Seal were even mentiobed, or, even more, Sergei Eisenstein and Ivan the Great. Three movies with great cinematography by two great directors."

[There are many more good recommendations in the Comments section. —Ed.]

Richard S.: "Glad to see Grapes of Wrath on the list. I starting watching that on TV during a boring Sunday afternoon's channel hopping and ended up completely transfixed.

"Some years ago I knew someone who worked for the British Film Institute, and that year they did a Film Noir calendar; I framed and hung around half of the B&W stills they'd used in the calendar, they were so good."

Grizzlymarmot: "Somehow the list is missing an impressive number of great comedies. Perhaps in their recollections your readers stereotype B&W as menacing or dramatic. The patterns in 42nd Street are mesmerizing. Chiaroscuro makes It's a Wonderful Life wonderful. Mirror scene in Duck Soup; falling buildings by Buster Keaton; stunts by Harold Lloyd—comedy demands the most precise work. B&W is also the most glamorous—Some Like it Hot is in the list but where is Greta Garbo or Jean Harlow—B&W is perfect for creating glamor."

Still Life: Found vs. Constructed

Of the many, many identifiable genres of photography (I'm sure there are more than you think, and the work of some people is beyond category), the ones that most naturally appeal to me are portraiture, candids and "environmental portraiture" (meaning people in their surroundings), and still life.

Regarding the last, there are two basic kinds—constructed and found. Constructed still life ranges all the way from creating amazing ephemeral artwork just for the camera, to the happy activity of arranging objects to be photographed...a great many people get huge pleasure from this, and many people are amazingly good at it. Anything that empowers their practice is something I'm in favor of.

But what I really like is "found" still life...happening upon objects and their settings in the course of ordinary life and stopping to make a careful photograph of them, perhaps rearranging them somewhat but sometimes not. I have on my wall in the kitchen a giant print of an apple that Paul Butzi made for me. It gets a lot of comments, almost all positive, but a professional once criticized it because the background, he said, isn't perfect. True, but it happened to be a just-washed apple I saw sitting on an old army jacket in a kitchen, and I photographed it just as it was. No perfecting involved. In fact, no anything involved, except looking carefully and using the right focus and aperture.

I've never done enough still-life photography to make anything of it...no special concerns have ever emerged, no personal style. But I love it and always have. It was one of the first things I explored when I got the first camera I ever bought for myself.

If you do still life, do you prefer constructed or found?

And, do you have a go-to lens for it or do you just use whatever you have on the camera? I tend to do the latter.

Mike

P.S. To add pictures to the comments, the original must have a URL and be no more than 800 pixels wide, saved in sRGB. Then use the following code in the comment box to load the image:

If and when I find the picture I wanted to use as an illustration to this post, I'll add it.

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David Francis: "Now that I'm in my mid-seventies, I quite like the idea of subjects that don't move and don't object to being photographed, Apart from that, I like the opportunity that still life photography provides for developing my lighting skills. Most of my subjects are of the found variety—things that are interesting as a whole or that have interesting visual details. But there is almost always an element of construction in these photographs as well, largely in terms of selecting the background, setting up the object, and arranging the lighting. As for equipment, I often use my Nikon D7000 with a Tokina 100mm macro lens, but I have also used my Panasonic GX7 with a 20mm lens, and a Canon G10 in macro mode. All great fun, and every now and then you get some really interesting results."

Mike adds: David sent me a beautiful "found" still life as a printed card (along with a donation to TOP, for which many thanks, David), and it's a beautiful little print. I've left it out where I can see it since it arrived.

Dennis (partial comment): "As with other subject matter, the answer to this is that what I like to look at and what I like to do aren't necessarily the same."

Ken James: "I think that still lifes [the correct plural BTW —Mike the Ed.] are my favorite also. Just this morning walking the dogs my friend and I were talking about this very thing, even about found and constructed. I have always really been a studio photographer, so I tend to constructed, but I am working on found. My current undertaking is to find some way to make my constructed more creative and appealing. I like to do simple things, but they are of limited appeal, meaning only to me. For me, a very timely post. Thanks. You are working that wrist quite a bit seems to me." [And paying for it —M.]

Yellow Over Dark Blue

As I said yesterday, the deadline for the Baker's Dozen "It Must Be Color" feature is Tuesday night at 11:59 p.m. I've already received enough submissions to build the feature.

I'm having a bit of a conceptual mindlock about the concept, though. Many people are simply sending in pictures that are of strong colors. I'm not sure that's the same thing as a picture that needs to be in color in order to work.

Pictures that are purely of colors or a color are descendants of things like Eggleston's seminal "Red Ceiling," simplistic advertising and photo-magazine clichés, and the American hard edge / color field painter Ellsworth Kelly. Of course they "must be in color," though, because the color is the point and without the color they lose all trace of meaning or attractiveness. So I will include some photographs of that type in the set. But you're unlikely to do it better than people who have committed their creative lives to it, such as Pete Turner or Harald Mante.

But consider the difference between Ellsworth Kelly and Mark Rothko:

Ellsworth Kelly, Yellow over Dark Blue, 1964–5

Mark Rothko, Untitled (yellow and blue), 1954

Very similar motifs, but to me, the Rothko painting is art and the Kelly print is just colors. (I've never cared for Kelly. I hope his fans will pardon me.)

I'm aware that color affects people differently, and although I'm sensitive to it, I have suspicions of it and misgivings about it. There's something knee-jerk about it, a potential toward some base animal instinctual trigger that I don't trust.

Consider what the English composer Benjamin Britten said of Beethoven, in an interview:

A certain rot, if that isn't too strong a word, set in with Beethoven. Before Beethoven, music served things greater than itself. For example, the glory of God, the greatest glory of all. Or the glory of the state. Or the composer's social environment. After Beethoven the composer became the center of his own universe. Hence the Romantic school.

I think you could say the same thing about Eggleston's "The Red Ceiling." A great deal of reverent verbiage has been piled up at the foot of that photograph, but really, the idea became debased, morphing into the cliché that if you want to be sure of appealing to viewers, "make it big and make it red."

And then consider (in light of the Rothko and the Kelly) this photograph by John Crowley of Clonmel, Ireland:

Photo by John Crowley

Human beings are intensely sensitive to hierarchies of status, and I'm well aware that all Rothkos and most Kellys are "better" or "worth more" than any photograph and you're not supposed to (perhaps not even allowed to) think otherwise. (Ve haff experts.) But I think it's instructive to try to set aside received hierarchies of status and received assumptions about value once in a while, just as a mental exercise; and in that sense I'd say John Crowley's photograph is better and worth more than either the Kelly or the Rothko, as outrageous and contrary as such a claim might be. (At least when all three are democratized to small JPEGs—Rothkos have real presence in person that almost no photograph can match. You can't make a one-of-a-kind photograph, even if you do.) It's just that there's a certain rot in modern art's addiction to color for its own sake. Yeah, yeah, blue and yellow are opposites, wow, and putting them next to each other strikes a certain emotional chord down in the lizard-brain, the amygdala down by the brain stem. We geddit. The Crowley has blue and yellow too, but does more with it, plays with it more, certainly than that simplistic thought-free Kelly print. It gives you a real sense of place and light, and isn't even less lovely.

I've no doubt that most people are going to love the next Baker's Dozen. The submission count is up to 205, approximately. That's going to make it a whole lot easier to edit than the black-and-white set was!

Although I don't think I've received one single "bad" photograph yet.

Mike

P.S. Here's a great photo of Ellsworth Kelly by Sebastian Kim. (Heh.)

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scott kirkpatrick: "That's a powerful Ellsworth Kelly picture. It didn't need color."

Ellsworth Kelly, Yellow over Dark Blue, 1964–5 (original in color)

Tex Andrews: "I kinda felt the same way about Kelly (although I loved his drawings), until I saw a works on paper show of his at the National Gallery sometime back in the late '80s or early '90s. It was revelatory—and he was doing it in the '40s, which surprised the heck out of me. I've thought a lot more of him since. That said, I can see why you seem...'suspicious'? But there really is a zen to his work. The challenge to the viewer is sort of seeing beyond that first smack of color."

Eolake: "Funny, I had the opposite reaction to the two paintings. I love the Ellsworth Kelly one, it really moves me. But of course art is subjective, and the more abstract it is, the more subjective it is, surely."

Mark: "Here’s a true story. Husband and wife buy a Rothko painting many years ago and loan it to a museum. I won’t identify it precisely as I was an ancillary part of the litigation later surrounding it. Husband takes ill and dies. Widow discovers soon thereafter their liquid cash for living was nowhere near what she thought it was and needed money. Gets the Rothko back from the museum to sell. But being embarrassed about her financial position, does this on the QT. She’s advised auction will bring the best return, but she just can’t allow her high society friends to know she’s in difficult straits requiring this sale. So she contacts the art dealer they originally bought it from. He finds a buyer who signs a non-disclosure agreement and an agreement not to resell, all of which is probably not worth the paper it’s printed on, so it turned out. He paid her $9 million for it. Within a year or two he places it up for auction and it sells for $29 million. She then sues the art dealer and the buyer/seller. That was my intro to Rothko, never having heard or seen anything of his before. The photo you display above is much nicer. The fact anyone feels a square or rectangle or two can possibly be worth that kind of dough boggles my simple mind."

Mike relies: What happened with the suit? Seems to me like it was her own fault; she could have put it up for auction herself. It was her own desire to keep it quiet that cost her the extra $20 million. If you want the best price for something, you have to make the product available to the greatest number of potential buyers. Or was she just angry that by having it put up for auction, her own financial position was advertised to her social connections, despite her intentions?

As for the agreement not to resell, I think it's difficult to a.) control events from beyond the grave, b.) control events past your own ownership. I have an acquaintance, a childhood friend who is very wealthy, who bought a large farm property north of Milwaukee on which to build a house and use as a private estate. The farmer had been having a bitter battle as he wished to keep the land out of the grasp of developers. She apparently made him some assurance that she would not resell the land for some period of time—under what exact conditions I do not know; or else he just assumed she would not. I don't know the details. She then found a nicer piece of property not far away, bought that, and sold the first. The farmer was apoplectic. My feeling at the time is, if he wanted to control the land, he shouldn't have sold it. Once it belongs to someone else, he and his demands are out of the picture.

Robin Dreyer: "Although I love representational art as much as anyone (I'm a photographer, after all), it was a room full of Rothkos at the National Gallery that produced one of the strongest emotional responses I've ever had in the presence of art. No JPEG on a screen or even a well-printed image in a large-format book can reproduce the effect of being in the presence of those paintings—especially if they are arranged and lit as well as the were in that room."

Mike replies: I'll second that. I find Rothko's best work very moving in person, almost ineffably so.

William Langford: "To me Art is never a thing hanging on a wall. Art is what happens between the thing and the viewer. As seen in reproductions a Rothko painting is not very interesting. The real thing, seen under the prescribed lighting, with limited seating, and cordoned off for a personal experience...now that is when Art can happen."

Mike replies: I agree with that, but for devil's advocacy, there is John Berger's Marxist critique of the "aura" of the original object in his four-part documentary "Ways of Seeing." "If Sister Wendy Beckett is the kindly grandmother who takes you by the hand, and leads you, beatifically, through the wonders of art history," writes Carolina A. Miranda, "John Berger was the hippie-Marxist uncle who gave you the red pill and told you it was all a mirage." ("Art's red pill: An appreciation of critic John Berger," L.A. Times, Jan. 5, 2017.)

There is No Such Thing as Image Quality

There is no such thing as "image quality" in expressive photography. There are only properties.

This might seem counter-intuitive, or argumentative, or even subversive. Many people who are happily engaged in the discussion about technical properties have fully integrated the term "image quality" and know what they mean by it.

But quality is subjective. Only by first agreeing which properties to value can something be said to have quality. Even if that agreement is implicit or assumed...as it very often is.

Quality is easier to assign when the task at hand is merely technical: to use an example John B. Williams used in his 1989 book (which he titled Image Clarity, not "image quality"), if a surveillance camera needs to resolve the numbers on a license plate at a great distance, then resolution is a desirable property. The more specific the task, the easier it is to reach agreement as to which properties are important. By common agreement, the photography world has come to assume that things like extreme clarity, high resolution, vivid colors, and "corner sharpness" represent "quality."

But who says so? These are just conventions. And such conventions change all the time: for example, Group ƒ/64, formed in 1932 in opposition to Pictorialism (Willard Van Dyke's 683 vs. Alfred Stieglitz's 291, San Francisco vs. New York)  had as one of its aesthetic principles "pan focus," or sharp focus front to back within the represented scene; they liked their pictures sharp. Pictorialists such as Alvin Langdon Coburn and Gertrude Käsebier insisted on exaggerated blur everywhere; they liked their pictures soft. Recently, forum denizens routinely extol greater amounts of out-of-D.o.F. blur as a "quality" rationale for owning larger sensors and expensive faster lenses. Apparently they like their pictures extremely sharp and extremely soft. But that's not always best either. Macro photographers are finding that tiny sensors work well because they give more D.o.F. for tiny subjects.

In expressive photography, all bets are off, because any property can potentially be a "quality" if it's sensitively and appropriately applied—and any property can be a detriment to certain pictures, no matter how universally those properties are conventionally agreed to constitute "good" image quality. Forensic, analytical hyper-resolution might work for some pictures; but other pictures it might work against. Vivid color might be appealing in some pictures; other pictures are better served by soft, muted colors. Some people love to search for the very "best" lens (again, a subjective term), meaning the clearest, the sharpest—even when they can't visually distinguish the results in pictures from the next-best lens...but many people do great work with ancient Petzvals, toy cameras, Holgas and Lensbabies.

As a lens fanatic, lens aficionado, and recovering lens addict, I learned long ago that "all lenses yield their gifts." No matter how "bad" the lens, you can take a good picture with it. No matter how "good" the lens, it's certainly easy to take bad pictures with it.

All properties have their gifts to give, too, in expressive photography. That is, all properties have the potential to become qualities.

So it's meaningless to say things like "One-inch sensor cameras are as good as medium-format film cameras" as I said yesterday. They're different. Each one has its gifts to give. Use it wisely and well and you stand a chance of creating a few pictures that truly do have image quality.

I got a bit addicted to the look of the new 20-MP Micro 4/3 sensor because it has properties I particularly like. Used with the Panasonic 12–35mm, it often had the look of high lens contrast, coupled with a certain coarseness, that looks vivid to me without actually having what I'd call "too much" resolution. The typical D.o.F. looked right to me. It didn't look too smooth or too "gassy." It had a bit of tooth.

...Highly subjective terms! Sorry. But maybe you can sense what I'm saying. The important point is merely that, personally, just for myself, I liked its properties better than cameras and lenses that are conventionally thought to have "better" image quality. I enjoyed making pictures with it just because I enjoyed the look.

I'm hardly alone. I know many people who use equipment that offers supposedly less than the "best image quality" precisely because they prefer its image quality. It suits their expressive purposes better.

When we look at this old advertising photograph, we just look at the picture—we don't care how much Rudolph Hermann spent for the lens he used.

Whatever we choose to think of as "quality" tends to be status-related, and it also tends to disappear over time. I've been in this game long enough that I've witnessed many people who take the search for "image quality" to extremes—and I've heard about many others who did the same before my time. What does that matter now? Almost nothing. "PhotoDes" said yesterday: "Many of the famous Baroque era artists experimented extensively with different pigments for their paintings—Prussian Blue, zinc white, etc. were valued for their intensity and were regarded as a characteristic of high-quality work." Does anyone but art experts even recognize that when looking at Baroque paintings today? I'd say not. We just look at the paintings. We're not aware that the shade of the blue is a status-marker, or that Piet van der Flooj (I just made that name up) was cooler than the rest of the kids because he used it. Similarly, let's hypothesize about a photographer who went to the greatest extreme to make the absolute best quality digital image—spent huge sums of money for the best equipment, exhaustively compared editing software, etc., etc., optimized everything...but did it in, say, 2003.

Who cares now? No one, probably, except as an historical curiosity. And that's assuming we even know how that old image was made. That former "ultimate perfection" has long since been eclipsed by ordinary equipment and materials.

It takes courage these days to stand up to the conventional wisdom and not care about conventionally agreed-upon "image quality," but to go with what you like and what suits your work. And you're justified in doing that. Because strange as it is to say, there really is no such thing as image quality. There are only image properties—and almost all properties potentially have their gifts to give. It's up to us to impart the quality.

Mike
(Thanks to many of the commenters from yesterday)

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Bahi: "Beautifully expressed and insightful. It’s still a hard lesson to really take to heart, though."

Michael: "Thanks for that, Mike. Right on! I've just met a really telling example of your argument by a landscape photographer, Thomas Heaton, who lives near me in the Northeast of England. He had received a comment on YouTube sympathizing/complaining about some blobs of water on the lens when taking a photo on the Northern Irish coast as Hurricane Ophelia hit. This is Thomas's rejoinder, with vivid illustrations of image quality, not picture quality."

Wes Pittman: "I wish you had published this about $20,000 ago."

hugh crawford: "I'm generally in the choir you are preaching to, but...painters obsess over paint in a way that photographers can't even imagine. Paint is complicated. Paint is expensive. Blue paint particularly so.

"Who's Rudolph Hermann? looks like Paul Wolff, but kind of faded. I love his automobile photos but I've lusted after his Zeppelin photos for years. Also Dr. Wolff was rather obsessed with the technical details of photography and wrote several fine books on the subject, which is where I recognized the photo from. Too bad about the whole Nazi thing but his photos are beautiful."

Mike replies: I found it on a blog post about Paul Wolff, who is the person I was searching for. Sorry but I cannot locate the page again. It was a good blog, I thought, from what I scanned there. The author thought the photo was by Rudolph Hermann, so I repeated that...that's the kind of secondary detail that Mike Johnston of the Fact-Checking Department doesn't quite have enough pep to drill down on.

Gary Nylander: "This is a great blog post and thought provoking. Coincidentally, just before I read this article I was looking through some 35mm color negatives that I had just got back from the lab. I made the pictures with a 1936 Leica III with a 50mm Summar ƒ/2 lens—uncoated. Yes it has bad lens flare when pointed toward the sun, but even though the flare might be considered undesirable for some photographers, it has its own unique kind of beauty that could not be achieved otherwise. With the sun behind me and illuminating the subject straight on, I doubt if anyone would be able see that much difference between a modern day lens of the same focal length. So as you say 'all lenses yield their gifts.'"

s. wolters: "Elementary my dear Johnston! During the three decades that I worked as a designer I presented all kinds of artwork to clients, almost on a daily basis. Image quality was hardly ever an issue in the discussions. Words like quality, taste and beauty should effectively be avoided anyway. As soon as they come up you probably made a bad proposal. That does not mean that they are unimportant. It's semantics, and English is not my mother's tongue, but I would use 'image quality' internally during the product development a lot, in many different ways:

1. How good or bad an image is, especially in relation to the function of it, the condition: ‘This image quality is bad, you cannot even recognize who is who.’
2. Good characteristics: ‘This image has a lot of qualities, but color genuineness [i.e., accuracy —Ed.] isn’t one of them.’
3. Representing value, dignity, worth: ‘This image looks cheap, we need more quality, more grandeur.’
4. When comparing the impact of images: ‘We will lose quality when we replace image X by image Y.’

"Measuring things has become very important these days. However, quality is very hard to measure. Maybe that is why there is such a strong focus on quantitative values. More, faster, cheaper, more profitable and so on. Most of the times this means: Money! That’s why managing processes sometimes become more important than the end result. Quantity has become the new quality."

Mike replies: ...Which is funny because look at the comment that happened to come in immediately after yours:

Colin Work: "The way it is generally bandied about, IQ makes more sense if you think of it as meaning 'Image Quantity.'"

1" Sensors as Good as Medium-Format Film

Shopping is fun but....
Right. I shouldn't be saying this. Things used to be easier; now, competition has gotten fierce—even The Huffington Post (fer Pete's sake!) is publishing camera reviews and posting affiliate links to Amazon and B&H Photo. It's getting a lot tougher out there for cool old dudes who actually like to write words down such as, um, moi. And who at least sometimes provide content that goes more than just a little way past exactly what the marketing departments of the corporations we serve that serve us want us to say to shift product.

This is my competition now too. (The link is to the pretty young woman above vlogging* about the Sony RX100V as a vlogging camera. She doesn't write; but then, I don't shoot video.)

I shouldn't be discouraging anyone from shopping, is what I'm trying to say.

But I just want you to look at something amazing, and take a second, placidly amid the noise and the haste**, to fully appreciate where we are and what is happening.

Just look at this. It's a photograph. The photograph is of an unidentified woman, and it was taken by a photographer I've never heard of before named Andreas Jordan (to whom thanks, at a couple of removes). Enlarge it by clicking on it, then contemplate it, and then evaluate it visually from a holistic standpoint, i.e., without drilling down into picayune specifics.

Given that most photographers now look at most photographs on screens now***, ain't that good enough? I'm just sayin'.

Granted, it's not the ultimate in detail, by today's standard, but doesn't it give you pretty much all the detail—all the information—your actual human eyes could, at a distance where you'd be seeing that woman, the subject, in about the same way? Doesn't it get the idea across about as well as anybody needs?

And that's a picture from a one-inch sensor. It was taken with a Sony RX100V, the fifth iteration of a tiny digicam that has a 1" (8.8x13.2mm) sensor. The sensor in the V iteration has a BSI (back side illuminated) sensor that gives it 315 focus points and the ability to capture AF in .05 seconds. Phil Hall at TechRadar (no link because the page imposes sound on you unwillingly, a new trend I happen to detest): "Using the same stacked Exmor R back-illuminated CMOS sensor technology that we first saw in the RX100IV, Sony says it has tweaked the chip, while the clever stacked sensor design means it has memory chips built right onto the back of the sensor. This means data doesn't have to flood out to the edge of the sensor, and, coupled with a new LSI chip, it means the sensor can deliver incredibly fast readout speeds."

My readout, from my brain I mean, is that while there are differences, 1" sensors are now virtually as good as medium-format film was in 1991.

Back then, my friend Jim Sherwood, an art photographer who did a lot of shooting of major storm damage in 6x7, switched from a ISO 100 speed film (Kodak Vericolor 100, I think it was, a low-contrast negative film beloved of 1980s art photographers who shot in color) to an ISO 400 speed film, which had just gotten good enough. While RX100V captures might not be quite as enlargeable in prints as Jim's 6x7 cm negatives were, it certainly beats the pants off it for color correctability and low light sensitivity, and for detail and image quality as long as you're looking at it on a screen. Of course, it does cost $998—but then, that was about $560 in 1991.

It's da bomb, as people who were that vlogger's age ten years ago used to say.

Where I'm going with all this...
...Is a question. At what point are we going to learn to stop worrying and love da bomb?**** At what point are we just going to start making pictures again?

When digital cameras came along for most of us in the late '90s and early 2000s, digital just wasn't good enough. But we all wanted to use it anyway because it was so liberating and so much fun. The first one I used, an Agfa—there's a name not everyone knows now—was not even close to one megapixel, and I remember thinking: too bad you can't get decent images from this thing, because using it is like being a kid let loose in a candy shop. Wheee.

So we started this endless roundel of trying, comparing, shooting "test shots," making the most fanatically minute comparisons, and of course upgrading, always interested in the latest and the next. "Neomania," I called it back then. We became maniacs for the newest thing.

But at some point, I just assumed, things would settle down and we'd go back to just...well, making, and looking at, pictures. You know, without caring how the pictures were made. Are we there yet?

That still hasn't quite happened, I don't think. And now I'm wondering if maybe it never will.

Oh, and speaking of 1" sensors...
...If image quality is all you're after, and not that wicked new processor and the last soupçon of AF speed, you can get the same image quality from the RX100IV for $100 less. Or, for that matter, from your iPhone, as long as you attach a DxO One to it.

The iPhone as a 1" camera

(Oh, right, right: DxO One: B&H, Amazon.)

One-inch digicam / 8.8x13.2mm sensor = MF of only 26 years ago = who'd a' thunk?

Mike

*Vlog, n., video log, a weblog in which most of the postings are in video form.

**The reference of course is to the "Desiderata" (desired things), a 1927 prose poem by American writer Max Ehrmann. Largely unknown in its author's lifetime, it became popular through several spoken-word recordings in the 1970s. It was not written in 1692, a fatuous but oft-repeated claim based on the fact that the rector of St. Paul's Church in Batimore, Maryland, included it in a compilation of devotional readings for his congregation, which is apparently where the creators of the spoken-word recordings found it—and the church was founded in 1692. "Editors needed everywhere," as Yr. Hmbl. Ed. always says.

Here's a book jacket photo of Max Ehrmann, who was born of Bavarian immigrant parents in Terre Haute, Indiana, in 1872, and died in 1945 before his poem became famous. He was educated at DePauw University in Greencastle and later received an honorary Doctor of Letters from the University.

And here's the poem, just to cover the faint possibility that you've never encountered it before—

DESIDERATA

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

It's contained in a largely unread compilation of his poems, and there are various letterpress and calligraphic presentations of the poem available intended for framing.

Some of the poem's ideas might have been "in the air" in the 1920s. I hear strains in it of the ideas espoused by the Oxford Group (founded 1921 as "A First Century Christian Fellowship"); of Schweitzer, whose The Mysticism of Paul the Apostle was published in 1931; and of the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous (1935) as represented in "The Big Book."

Although it may be sappy, and beloved of sappy sorts, and thus easy to dismiss, the poem's advice, one must admit, is uncommonly sound, not to mention beautiful.

There...now, you're not gonna get all that in a vlog, are ya? (Quiet, you in the back.)

***Even though more people are printing more photographs now than ever before, it's still a small fraction of the photographs viewed on screens. I can't substantiate any of that, but I believe it's true.

****The reference is to the subtitle of Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove, a black comedic farce about how deranged leaders could needlessly trigger nuclear war—which obviously can't happen because our leaders are so sagacious, cautious, probitious, contemplative, policy-savvy, humane, empathic, steeped in culture, and wise.

...On second thought, better re-watch Dr. Strangelove.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2017 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.

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Dave Wilson: "Among far too many others, I have both (all three? iPhone as well) modern devices you mention above. Frankly, for 90% of use cases, they're all you need: but this approach does mean that, when I pick up my FF camera, the reasons I still own it come flooding back. But I'm not going to chuck it in my work bag and take it to London daily, something I don't need to think about with either the DxO or RX100V."

Mike replies: You'll note that our vlogger astutely says at one point that the smaller the camera, the more she'll use it. Struck me as both true and also honest.

Andrew Molitor: "I dunno, hasn't there been a 'nerd' community for a long time? I distinctly recall in the 1980s spending a lot of time dorking around with lenses and films and testing this and that. Photographers, culturally, seem to have a terrible problem with looking for technical solutions to creative problems. I don't know how far back in time this goes, but I assume there were fistfights about how what percentage of silver nitrate to use in this solution or that. Or maybe it really arose with the internet forum? I don't know. But it's been around as long as I have been aware of these things, which is a few decades now."

Mike replies: I've read enough in the old literature to suspect that distracting disputations about image quality have been going on at least since the Daguerreotype went away. Maybe it's essentially social—part of how we keep each other's company—given that the creative side of photography is so solitary? As I've lived only half of my photographic life in the age of the Internet, I can say with some confidence that the Internet did supercharge the tendency, no question.

Bill Tyler: Along with the other footnotes, you might want to include the definition of 'probitious.' The most recent uses I've found are both 18th century, one in Congreve's Judgement of Paris, and one in 'An ESSAY On The Scheme and Conduct, Procedure and Extent of MAN's [typography sic(!) —Ed.] REDEMPTION. Wherein is shewn from the Holy Scriptures, that This great Work is to be accomplished....' Title pages in the 1700s did tend to run a little long. Anyhow, a definition, please!"

Mike replies: Found that....

Love the scrawled owner's commentary. And the library stamp, which to a book collector would amount to vandalism.

I think I did read around in the 18th century too heavily when I was but a lad, although I never encountered the worthy William Worthington. Re "probitous," which is what I originally wrote, I think I made it up, on account of I have always wanted there to be an adjectival form of the noun "probity."

When I started writing for magazines I fetched up against the uncomfortable fact that I had made up a lot of words and was in the habit of using them. I had to stop that.

I guess I should go change it...probably to "upright," which to my ear doesn't have the same brawn or antique burnish or Latinate depth, alas. Or maybe I shall leave it as it is, and count on our exchange here to redress the error.

cdembrey: "With the rapid decline of the middle class's discretionary funds, expect more competition for those few remaining dollars. Small bloggers will be squeezed just like small brick-and-mortar stores were in the past. Unique products will become more important. In many cases podcasts are both easier to consume (politics, literary criticism) and videos are more understandable (technical subjects—don't tell me, show me). For me, I'm listening to more podcasts, and have cut back to only TOP and Eric Kim's blog. Speaking of Eric Kim, he said in his Review of the Pentax 645Z and Digital Medium Format Photography: 'My idea of the future of photography: either buy a digital medium format camera, or just use your phone.' I'm not impressed with gear-geekish-gobbledygook, so g-g-g goes in-one-ear...."

Mike replies: Funnily enough (is "funnily" a real adverb? If it is, then "probity" should have an adjectival form, dang it. I'm going to stick my head in the sand on funnily), about half a year ago I decided to use my iPhone as one of my two main cameras, and since then have been trying to decide what the other one should be. And the logical answer keeps coming up, "go medium format." But I can't, because I can't afford it. So, one for Eric Kim.

Life is full of frustrations! ...But I'm learning to look on the bright side, which is that I'm being geeky and I don't actually "need" any particular camera or kind of camera. I'll keep working on actually believing that.

Michael Kay: "I agree with your comments about 1" sensors. I have the original Mark I version of the RX100 and it is remarkably good. But they are not cheap. Here is a cheap camera which produces a surprisingly high level of detail with its 86x56mm sensor. It only cost £15.49 (about $20). Read the text and click the link for the enlargement. You will be surprised."

David Dyer-Bennet (partial comment): "'Deteriorata' may almost justify the existence of 'Desiderata.' Maybe." [Link added, and thanks to Steve for it. —Ed.]

Jim: "I have an RX100, and plenty of medium format cameras. The RX100 does not even come close to 35mm film, to say nothing of medium format. If your standards are that low that you cannot tell the difference, it might be time to reevaluate your sensibilities. Digital is still not good enough."

Mike replies: This post twisted the tails of several medium-format film photographers—among which, Jim's comment was the mildest. One old friend came close to removing TOP from his RSS feed. All I can say is, wait till tomorrow.

PhotoDes: "'Twas ever so. Many of the famous Baroque era artists experimented extensively with different pigments for their paintings—Prussian Blue, zinc white, etc. were valued for their intensity and were regarded as a characteristic of high-quality work."

The Diptych (But Not Really)

Image pair. iPhone 7 Plus, taken last Tuesday. This one's still in progress, no pun intended.

Although it masquerades as being altrusitic and exalted, the Art World (cap-cap) is a lot about status. That's why we call pictures "images" now—because photo-based artworks that were not strictly straight photographs were called images to differentiate them, and the practice spread from there to all photographs presented as art in museums, and then soon, because it was clearly a marker of status, to all photographs. (I personally still prefer picture, a more specific and actually more dignified word. It will come back into fashion someday.)

Image pair. Pictures in the frame taken with a Contax 139Q and Carl Zeiss 35mm ƒ/2.8 lens on Kodak Plus-X and printed on Ilford Galerie, 1980s.

"Diptych" (dip-tick) simply means any two flat surfaces hinged in the middle. In the medieval world the format was common for many things, including decorated screens, wax writing tablets, and ecclesiastical devotional paintings. Because the word (and less frequently triptych, meaning three hinged panels) was frequently seen in museums, it came to be applied, for status-indicating purposes, to any discrete pair of, yes, images presented side by side. Unfortunately for the status-mongers, the proper word for two separate pictures presented together is really just the plain, unadorned word "pair."

I've always liked working with image pairs, I think because I love photobooks so much. I know Ralph Gibson works very hard to find the right image pairs for facing pages, and one of the reasons I love Paul Caponigro's The Wise Silence so much is the way pictures on facing pages in that book work together—something Paul and his then-wife, the distinguished book designer Eleanor Morris Caponigro, worked on very deliberately.

Mike Johnston, Berkeley, 2015. Fuji X-T1 and XF 14mm ƒ/2.8.

It's both an easier and a more difficult way to work—easier because sometimes pictures which aren't quite enough alone can inform and enrich each other and become more than the sum of the two, and more difficult because sometimes the proper pairing can be elusive.

One thing I've found over the years is that it's visual work. That is, you might have an idea about which two pictures will work together as a pair, but it's not until you simply see them together that you really know. And then, as with all pictures, it takes living with them for a few days to know if you've got something or not. So it's best to work with small workprints. You could also work out a way of doing it on the computer, of course. However you do it, don't do it in your head—the work is done with the eyes.

John Paul Caponigro, Uyuni, Bolivia, 2012, an iPhone image, and Paul Caponigro, Frosted Window, Revere, Massachusetts, 1957, a view camera film photograph, printed together on one 17x22" sheet. A TOP Print Offer from 2013. (Pairing by Paul.)

As with all editing, sometimes things you really want to work just don't, and sometimes visual combinations you don't suspect will work, do. It's fun. And very satisfying, when it works.

Try it!

Mike

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hugh crawford: "I once bought a half frame camera specifically to make diptychs.

"Currently I'm on a nonatych binge (if that's Greek to you it just means nine images or whatever). Since I'm laying out over 750 of them for the Jamie Livingston book.

"This one just blows me away."

Are Classic Photographs Still Relevant?

A nice "idle question" for a sunny Tuesday in the Finger Lakes...are classic photos and photobooks still relevant as references, inspiration, and instruction for today's photographers?

I'm not sure.

Granted, I love the history of photography; I love learning about the great practitioners as well as the excellent-but-little-known ones; and I certainly love looking at old photographs, from Shorpy to snapshots, and everything from the greatest of classic photobooks to ancient, musty photo annuals and antique instruction manuals.

But I'm wondering how relevant it is in today's world, or whether the great pre-digital-era work of the second half of the 20th century has become...well, history.

A few of the changes: today most photographers work in color. That's a big change from when I got into photography in 1980, when most serious photography was still B&W*. Cameras see very differently now—many of the problems that were with us for well over a century have melted away in the era of super-duper sensors and computer-controlled electronics, such that the better cameras nowadays see conspicuously better than most humans do**. While photographs were historically quite difficult to modify or fake, and it was possible to spot it in many cases when they were, today they can be heavily edited and modified with great ease, and the changes are often completely invisible, if the creator wants them to be. Furthermore, the formal culture of photography is changing***, in ways that aren't quite understood yet; even the cultural uses of photography seem to be morphing from one state to another, in at least as major an upheaval as the Kodak and the hand camera craze in the 1890s changed the way photography was used and conceived of.

I recall that when I mentioned one of the formative books of my photographic education—John Szarkowski's Looking at Photographs—one commenter said he thought all the examples were old-fashioned and didn't help him much with what he himself was doing. Another shock was seeing an exhibit of contemporary photography at the Art Institute of Chicago and noticing how out of place, how plain and old-fashioned, two 35mm B&W 11x14s looked amid all the altered and concocted and variably colored wall art.

I don't know. Maybe photographs recognized from life and taken at once with a single release of the shutter-button aren't entirely "relateable" any more. Maybe, some time in the recent past when I wasn't watching, they left the realm of the relevant and entered the musty catalogs of the merely historical.

Mike

*It's a revisionist commonplace for pontificators to claim that color has always been important, trotting out autochromes and Kodachrome and Sergey Prokudin-Gorsky and hand-coloring and yadda yadda yadda in support of the argument. That's largely fatuous: until at least the 1960s and '70s, "the colors of photography [were] black and white," to quote Robert Frank's famous dictum. Color was for amateur snapshots, advertising, magazines, illustrations, and pornography, and only slowly and weakly made inroads into fine art and documentary and newspaper photography starting, slowly, in the '60s and '70s. An interesting process, to be sure, and one that's fun to chart; but that's no reason to overlook the fact that most serious, artistic, ambitious photography was B&W and more serious photographers by far worked in B&W than color until at least the 1980s. Of course important color photographers existed, but color was a "poor stepchild," quietly looked down upon, and the occasional color photographer was usually either a token or an exception. B&W was the baseline standard of that era in serious photography—the basic assumption, the fallback.

**In human vision terms, the best cameras now have about 20/2 vision in terms of resolution, and far better dark vision than the human eye. They don't quite have better color discrimination, thanks to the handicap of the Bayer array, but they're getting there.

***If you don't think it is, quick, name the three leading photographers of the 21st century in your country. Then name a famous show or book that everyone has heard of.

Mike

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Michael Poster: "At least with respect to art: all art of the past can be useful (and informative) to the current generation of artists. Photography, for sure. But I’d argue that painting, drawing, literature, and music are useful too. At the museum, I spend as much time with Caravaggio, Sargent, and Hopper as I do with Cartier-Bresson, Arbus, and Friedlander."

Jamie Pillers: "Mike, I suspect you've opened a can of worms here...or maybe opened an old wound. Excellent! I for one believe that photography today is welcoming to everything...from the classically crafted-in-a-darkroom B&W image to all the craziness offered up by all the digital bells and whistles we have today. I've been at it for many years, starting from hours and hours breathing fixer fumes back in the '80s and '90s. I miss those creative and calming times in the dark. But that amount of time pursuing a beautiful print is seriously unavailable to me anymore, given the piling on of life's other responsibilities.

"Thankfully the digital era arrived and I could still pursue that beautiful image here in my office. But I know there a lot of people are still enjoying the joys of film photography. A friend has just started a film-based community photo group and it's growing like mad. And I must say, I'm truly glad that I can't name the three leading photographers of today. The digital era has, to a huge extent, democratized the world of photographic art. There's so much to look at these days, so much impressive photography available to inspire us!"

Marvin Van Drunen: "Books of photographs from well respected, not to mention famous photographers are important to me...but I'm a 67-year-old man with adequate funds to purchase any and all of the photo books that interest me. I've taken pictures for at least 55 years and that history in my life has created an interest in what has gone before. But, I'm quite sure my children are not interested, at this stage of their lives. They are a the stage of life when their major focus is the care, feeding, and future college education of my grandchildren. They may, in the future, be interested in looking at the work of historically important photographers. But not now. My kids don't have the funds or the time or the inclination to study the history of photography.They are, at this time, interested in snapping hundreds of pictures with their iPhones. My job is to encourage them to a least get the pix off their phones and in some way backed up! And, some day they will inherit my collection of photo books. I hope they will at least look at them!"

Robert Gordon: "Two weeks ago I saw the Irving Penn retrospective in Paris. Breathtaking in terms of variety of content and print quality. Immediately ordered the catalog, which is exceptionally well printed."

Stan B.: "Hard to gauge the extent and relevancy of this transition while actually immersed within it, since the changes are still ongoing and the outcome in flux. No doubt the B&W print era is over. More relevant—is the print era over altogether? Photography has sacrificed its primary raison d'etre (preserving the moment for history) for the immediacy that modern technology has now bequeathed it. More compartmentalized than ever, photography is definitely expanding as far as what it is, how it's used and what it means to all concerned...individuals are free to pick those facets that most interest them, and make of it what they will. If you're going to be seriously involved, it helps to be familiar with the history of your medium, and for those more attuned with its past, to at least try to appreciate what is current.

"P.S. That said, unless it's a topical, just published, news photo, nothing surpasses the power and eloquence of a printed photograph on a gallery wall. Many a time, I've thought I've seen a photograph online—only to really discover the photograph for the first time upon viewing it in print form."

Benjamin Marks: "The most important skill that a good photographer has is the ability to see rather than simply look. So yes: this will never go out of fashion. Or, to mangle Hillel: The importance of photography is seeing; all else is commentary."

Paul: "William Eggleston's work seems to be as popular and relevant as ever. Just go on Instagram, you will see his hashtag is happily alive and kicking with daily updates by people of all ages. I wonder if Eggleston would choose an iPhone camera instead of a Leica in 2017 if he was to begin shooting images for his Guide."

Edward Taylor: "Every few months, more photos are uploaded to the Internet than were taken in the entire 150 or so year history of black and white film. Searching for an hour, even on Instagram, I can find many unknown photos that are arguably as good as anything that has come before.

"Even more surprising to me is that I actually dislike many classic photos that I used to really admire, if not love. Now they look technically weak and perhaps even a bit trite. I look at them and think, 'what's the big deal.' An awful lot of art is emperor's clothing and I am beginning to see that in classic photos as well.

"Of course, there are still many that I love, but all together, they represent a tiny fraction of the photographs I admire today. It's hard to say where photography is going, but it will become harder and harder for any photograph or any artist to truly stand out. In every small corner of the world, in almost every amateur or pro's hard drive, website, or portfolio there is amazing work. In several lifetimes, we could only take a brief glance at a microscopic percentage of it all."

Steve Jacob: "Despite probably being median age for this blog-site, I am and have always been a fan of the colour image, and I have thumbed my bargain copy of Herzog's Modern Colour a hundred times since I received it (thanks Mike!).

"I have books by Walker Evans, Elliot Erwitt and others, but that's not because their images are black and white, but because they transcend the technology. If they had been taken with an iPhone they would be just as good.

"Photography is an art based on science, and idealised representational photography will age faster than humour or humanity. All I see when I look at an Ansel Adams image in the flesh is how dated it looks. I can admire the craft in the context of its time, but I have seen so much breathtaking landscape photography in the last 20 years than I am numb to the whole genre.

"Far too much old photography was admired for the craft, not the content. This is largely because it was difficult. Digital has removed the constraints. They key to the craft now it to make it convincingly invisible, which in its own way is no less difficult.

"Even so, digital is as liberating as the 35mm camera was in the 1930s. It demands more of us because it allows us to do more, yet so many demean that very aspect of it.

"It is ironic, because now, content is everything. Copying what is in front of us is no longer worthy of applause. It requires a new perspective in which, I believe, the iPhone has as much of a role to play as the dedicated camera, if not more so. Life is just getting interesting, I think."

Are Images Getting More or Less Real?

You know how a thought can sometimes hit you between the eyes? Like a small blob of something softish moving at a velocity sufficient to keep it airborne. It arrives with a wettish splat and jerks your head back. Ouch!

The thought that hit me yesterday was this: as camera technology, lenses, and processing have gotten so much better, are images becoming more realistic, or less?

I mean more like the reporting or recording of subjects that might be seen by our own eyes, "in the flesh" as the expression is. I was looking at A6300 examples on Flickr and my eye fell on a complicated B&W picture of a woman looking up at the camera amid a scene. The light looked like nothing I have ever witnessed in the world, impossibly dark with areas here and there that glowed like light sources; the detail was so extreme that every micro-feature on the topography of her skin could be charted by a dermatologist; the local contrast made every slight change of value pop into high relief. Her skin looked as hard as obsidian, glowing from within. It looked like a scene from some distant planet, under some different sun. Then a little while later I was at a review site and idly clicked on a picture the site offered up, and was met with a fantastical cityscape that looked like a poster for a science-fiction movie. Cars made long blurs, their headlights streaked bars of white, on tangled curlicues of expressways against a candy-coated sky, while the skyscrapers of the city-center rose in the distance like a fantastical Oz. High DR had banished every shadow and lighted every shaded crack and crevice. The colors were lightened and brightened to a remorseless unceasing cheerfulness. I kept staring at it and realized I could not make it transport my mind to an actual scene, something that I myself might see, somewhere, anywhere, here on Earth.

Both pictures were appealing; neither could have been captured, or not very easily, on film; both exhibited the pictorial conventions of our present window in history—that is, they looked like we collectively seem to think pictures are supposed to look. And both dutifully exhibited in different ways the technical virtuosity of today's equipment. Both pictures were good by most conventional measures. It's just that—splat!—neither one looked, well, very real.

I'm not drawing any conclusions about this because...how could you? Two pictures out of billions don't tell us anything. And I'd show you the pictures, but I try desperately not to use negative examples on TOP. It's just not friendly, to dangle one artwork by a specific individual before a crowd for the purpose of picking on it. Anyone could expose to unfriendly fire nearly any photograph that any one of us ever made. It's not what people want when they share their work. Work shown to others is both a gift as well as an unspoken appeal for affirmation.

But I do wish I could unthink that thought.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2017 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.

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Neil Partridge: "Oh my word you've just crystalised a thought of mine that's been lurking for years. I've never been that keen on anything posed, artificially lit or obviously photoshopped. I much prefer something that looks like a momentary grab of something real and untouched. So yes I agree...We need more reality (for those who prefer it)."

Rob de Loe: "There's definitely an emerging aesthetic that I think of as hyper-realism (or in the second example you used, hyper-unrealism!) As sensors and lenses allow us to record more detail, I'm seeing more and more images that I can only describe as 'clinically sharp and detailed.' This development will be a boon to people doing forensic photography, where the ability to see the smallest detail in a crime scene photograph is a huge advantage. But I don't think it's necessarily improving photography. I see portraits now where I can count every pore on the person's nose, and that's not very appealing. Similarly, there are countless super-detailed, super-sharp landscape images that, to me, are also super lifeless and clinical.

"I realize I'm just defining my own tastes here. However, I think it's worth raising the topic because we've already reached the stage in the development of the technology where for many people current possible digital image quality is 'too good.' I think this fact explains why there's a small resurgence in film, alternative printing techniques, and interest in 'alt' lenses. On the plus side, we are in a golden age of photography where we all can have almost exactly what we want."

bongo: "To 'make you look' was/is the goal, not to accurately represent the scene."

Bill Wheeler: "I know exactly what you mean, and you describe a 'not-very-real' picture well—at least, as I would describe it. A few weeks ago, I photographed a mountain view with my DSLR, and while the photograph had its own appeal, it didn't look real to me. I emailed the image to a long-time friend with whom I share photographs, and he liked it a lot. It wasn't as 'all-out' as the photograph described in your piece, but still it did not look real to me. This past summer, I attended, twice, an exhibit of Ansel Adam's photography. It also didn't look 'real' to me, but it was gorgeous to behold!"

Mark Hobson: "Welcome to the world of Pictorialism Redux, Digital Edition.

cdembrey: "Same as it ever was. Way back in the 19th century they were doing double exposures to put the same person in a photo multiple times. Get it right in camera is not a modern concept. At the turn of the 19th/20th centuries the pictorialists were distorting reality. A little later Man Ray, Ansel Adams and others were changing reality to suit their tastes. In the past image manipulation required a dollop of creativity. Nowadays just a couple of clicks will do you. 8-D  "

John McMillin: "The other night I spent a few hours on Zillow researching the local market. The groaning sounds I made had nothing to do with the crazy prices or ugly houses I found. My reaction was to the repulsive, overcooked HDR photography that showed up in three-quarters of the listings. I saw lurid colors never seen in nature, while other photos were so brightened that colors washed out almost completely. Window views showed strong halos, adding unreality, and white walls were marred by exaggerated shadows that made them look dirty and greasy. This look has more to do with fashion photography and hobbit-fantasy movies. It's unattractive and unappealing to me. If I saw such scenes with my own eyes, I'd head for the closest eye doc!

"I also work in this field. I work to give my clients realistic images with true colors. When I use HDR—usually outdoors—I use it so mildly that it's not obvious. Indoors, by mixing natural light and direct and fill flash, I aim for honest, naturalistic images. This took time and practice to achieve. My competition seems to do no lighting, but simply to shoot a wide bracket, and then fiddle with the results until it meets their standard 'imagery.'

"IMHO, overuse of HDR is a common mistake that is spreading way beyond its wise use."

Roel Kramer: "My thoughts: Too realistic...maybe often a loss of atmosphere. Human eye (at least mine) do no see all the details that are shown in many current cameras/lenses, certainly not in dim light. Something unexpected, seen in a short flash, will give you an impression of what is going on, without details. You will not reproduce this image/feeling with a supersharp picture.

"I only shoot B&W film and even I have this problem with the current lenses. My test for your question would be: take classic B&W pictures (a Koudelka shot from Gypsies; HCB, for example 'Boy carrying a wine bottle'; 'Migrant Mother'...) and ask yourself: how would this shot have looked when it would have been shot with current technique. Would this have been an improvement or would it have lost its appeal? More of these questions!"

Photography Isn't Getting Any Easier

Photography isn't getting any easier mainly because the hard parts are still hard. Seeing and recognizing photographs (both while shooting and while editing) and understanding their meaning and their appeal have never been common skills, and still aren't.

Some things are much easier c. 2017—for instance, getting a sharp, clear, well-exposed, in-focus shot with accurate color in low light with a minimum of labor. But for everything that's easier there are other things that are harder—for example, cutting through the noise and getting attention for your work in a field that's global, overcrowded, atomized, and Balkanized. Much harder now.

Much easier to send a snapshot to a friend far away. Much harder to get someone to pay you a nice living for your pictures.

Maybe people take billions of smartphone shots now, and more power to 'em, but great smartphone photographs are as rare as great photographs ever were. Maybe more so, because you could argue that great photographs are beside the point for most happy snappers today—they're doing something fundamentally different. Like texting, but with pictures. Those kinds of pictures don't have to be "great" to be just fine.

It all kinda balances out, I'd say. How you judge the balance might depend on your viewpoint. But the fact remains: the core of this art was never easy. Finding great photographs is like panning for gold—lots of rock and dirt and water, every now and then a bright flake of gold half-hidden in the slurry. Same now as it ever was.

Mike

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Geoff Wittig: "Spot-on, Mike. This reminds me of something Brooks Jensen wrote a couple of years ago, about how technology has basically solved the technical issues (exposure, focus, dynamic range) that were so difficult back in slide-film days, so the actual content of your photographs could become your goal. And that is indeed the hard part! I just attended Rochester's yearly Clothesline Art Festival, and there were probably a dozen photographers with booths. Almost all of them presented hypersaturated, perfectly exposed, HDR'd images of iconic locations or quaint Italian villages. Meh. One guy (James Hoggard) showed beautifully crafted, subtle, meticulously composed black and white images of forests that were on a totally different level. So dang it, I had to buy three of them. Wish I exposed and printed something that beautiful."

Mike replies: An actual print buyer, spotted in the wild! This should reassure people who feel that print buyers are like unicorns or mermaids.

David Dyer-Bennet: "The technology used to be more of a filter for who took photography up seriously. I'm relatively confident that people got driven away by the tech a lot more in the film era; the new digital era makes it so easy to take technically competent photos in most cases, so I think some people who would have given up twenty years ago stick around now. Which means we're actually competing with a larger pool, which includes some people who didn't have the tech chops (or, more likely, the attitude to learn them) in the old days. It doesn't seem unlikely to me that some portion of the people previously kept out by technical difficulties have more natural talent for some of the artistic side. So...possibly...in terms of competing with the mass of photographers, things may have gotten significantly harder. If so, that should mean that the best of the photos are getting significantly better. Or maybe the actual 'best' level is so rarified that we won't really see the difference up there, but perhaps the solid core of professional work (or maybe that, too, is the wrong group to judge) will be improved."

The Mysterious "Legs" Phenomenon

An Aussie reader, Mim, found a link I couldn't find yesterday, to the picture I labeled "Hands" in an old post. Mim also said this about it:

I went looking because I remembered it, but I also remembered that it didn't grab me the first time. And yet it does this time around. Is it my mood is different? or the white border? I don't know but I really like it now!

Therein lies a mystery...one of the bigger mysteries about how photographs work, in my opinion. It's that some photographs—I think we can widen that outward and say "artworks," of any kind—elicit an enduring response, whereas others don't.

Again, I think a musical analogy is helpful. The way pop songs grab me has always interested me. Why do I like certain songs instantly, whereas others require repeated hearings over time before I start to like them? And a slightly different question: given two songs I like more or less equally well at a certain point, why might my liking for one of them intensify and deepen into love through time and repeated hearings, whereas the appeal of the other fades until I no longer even care for it or want to listen to it again? The analogy to photography is pretty easy.

Way back in art school, hanging around the Photo Department, I was musing about the fact that I liked a certain famous picture more and more as time passed, and an influential teacher of mine, Frank DiPerna, overheard me and said, "Yeah. That one's got legs."

Why this has relevance for photographers is that it's crucial to editing. You at least need to try to understand which pictures have superficial appeal but no depth, and which ones don't grab you right away but might have legs.

The term comes from footraces, I guess. When runners tire at the end of a grueling race they're said to have "no legs left." An athlete with legs still has strength and ability after being depleted.

We learn early on that some photographs are designed to have immediate appeal. Their "grab quotient" is high, you might say. They're meant to immediately arrest your attention as you're turning the pages of a magazine for example. But hang one of those pictures on the wall, and very soon it has nothing further to offer. It's easily depleted. Other pictures might be invisible to you at first—no grab quotient—but could grow on you over time.

Others just get into your heart and stay there, never losing their richness. They might be slow to yield their gifts, but then they give and keep giving.

Doglegs. Another of my lasting favorites.

Those aren't the only options. There's an infinite number of shadings in the way we could dissect how pictures appeal to us, and the "arc" of that appeal plotted against time and familiarity. But it's not easy. It's complicated. And of course it's not the same for everybody, as I mentioned yesterday.

I would guess that the ways people in the broader culture these days mostly share digital pictures tends to strongly emphasize a superficial level of appeal, much like the classic advertising photograph. With the audience's attention atomized and elusive, you can't count on people making much of an effort to understand your work, so it's tough to put yourself out there with work that isn't slick and shiny and immediately appealing...

...Even if a few of the pictures that aren't such grabbers are the ones that will prove to have "legs."

Mike
(Thanks to Mim)

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Sean: "I've just started reading The Art of Loving, by Erich Fromm. It begins with this quote. 'He who knows nothing, loves nothing. He who can do nothing understands nothing. He who understands nothing is worthless. But he who understands also loves, notices, sees…. The more knowledge is inherent in a thing, the greater the love.… Anyone who imagines that all fruits ripen at the same time as the strawberries knows nothing about grapes.' —Paracelsus. There's an art to loving pictures.

Love It / Don't Get It

I had another visitor yesterday—longtime reader and not-infrequent commenter Nikhil Ramkarran came all the way from Georgetown, Guyana. Via New York City, where he was visiting old friends in Queens. He's a lawyer in Guyana, the only country in South America where English is the native language. His name is culturally Indian, but his family has been in Guyana for generations.

He wouldn't admit how many cameras he owns, but I asked him to send me a picture of his camera shelves. Plural. (Now if we could just get a picture of Ken Tanaka's.) He made me laugh because he admitted he has a thing for Mamiya TLRs and keeps buying more because each one he buys isn't quite right. I did that with several kinds of old cameras back in the '90s when eBay first got going. I soon had an embarrassing number of old cameras around the house. I wonder how many camera fans enjoy the hunt, not just for used cameras, but for just the right used camera?

Mike and Nikhil at lunch. (Do you like my hat?*)
That's a Rollei 35 Nikhil is clutching in his left hand.

Nikhil is erudite and philosophical about many things, insightful about photography, and great fun to talk to. One of his many observations touched a spark: we were talking about TOP print sale prints, and he mentioned that he has my print "Hands" hanging in his office and that it gets a lot of comments. It's one of my all-time favorite pictures, so I asked him what they think, and he said, "Many people love it. And some people don't get it at all."

That seemed very familiar, and I wonder if it isn't true of a lot of work by many photographers. Photography is a lot like music, and that's one more way it is—it seems to me that with a lot of excellent, well-known music—songs, entire genres, artists—there will be people who love them unreservedly, yet also those who don't get it. Over the years, I've noticed that when I put up a specific picture for discussion, no matter how many people love it, there will usually be one or two who just aren't touched by it at all. In recent days this has been true of Gordon's "Precipitation," Boubat's "Lella," and "The Stewart Sisters" by Judith Joy Ross.

I would expound on this at greater length, but I am having a tooth pulled in about an hour and although I am fine, it seems my inner big baby is just a tiny bit freaked out. Wish me luck, and if I do not return, send a search party.

Mike

*The only proper answer is "I do not like that hat."

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Oh, crap.
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JF: "Embarrassed to say but I need a link to 'Hands.' I searched the site but could not find it. Thanks."

Mike replies: I don't blame you, because I searched and searched using every keyword I could think of and I couldn't find it either. Here it is:

 

Aravind Nair: "Guyana! A place I had always wanted to visit, but beyond my means. May I cheekily recommend a book to you that made me want to visit the place after reading it during my school days? Three Singles to Adventure by Gerald Durrell."

Mike replies: Thank you for the recommendation! Reading it now. I can't believe I had never heard of Gerald Durrell. What a character.

Another Function of a Portfolio

In the "How I Practiced Portraiture" post, Steve Caddy wrote:

So many of these problems boil down to a difference between what the customer thinks they're buying and what the photographer thinks they're selling.

Amen, and my experience was a vivid illustration of that.

Steve was probably talking mainly about the business dealings between the photographer and the customer, but it applies equally well to the aesthetic side of the transaction as well. When I started doing portraiture, in Washington D.C. in the late '80s, I took out a text-only ad in the Yellow Pages. I got a number of jobs from it, but a certain peculiar problem popped up—I had a difficult time determining what people wanted. I quickly realized that, when they say "portrait," everyone has a different thing in mind.

Sometimes the differences were subtle, but sometimes they were flagrant. For instance, one woman, it turned out, had in mind a romanticized, idealized, hand-colored B&W picture of her beribboned and well-coiffed pair of poodles, whereas another woman wanted what amounted to a softcore "boudoir" photo of himself as a gift for her husband (their marriage later failed, sadly). Neither one of those things is quite what "portrait" means to me.

Another rather vain gentleman of late middle age had a pile of example photos of himself that supposedly illustrated what he wanted. The only trouble was, the photos he showed me were a complete motley—I was mystified as to what they had in common (and I'm pretty good at that sort of thing). After considerable discussion and a lot of thought, it finally dawned on me—in all the various pictures he showed me, he had a certain "boyish" look. What he wanted was a picture of himself looking younger! (I was not able to satisfy that client, I'm afraid. In all my pictures of him, he looked about the age he, well, looked. He rejected all the proofs. Now you could satisfy a guy like that, but that was before Photoshop.)

So the first task with every client I got from the Yellow Pages was to interrogate them as to what "portrait" meant to them so I could figure out how to come up with what they wanted. In some cases this was easy, but in others it was not. Some people are remarkably inarticulate about all things aesthetic—all they could tell me was something along the lines of, "you know, a portrait." In many cases it was simply that people had a set idea of the style they preferred, and they were picturing it in their mind's eye, thinking that's what "portrait" meant—without realizing that their idea of "portrait" was only one kind of portrait.

Portrait

Portrait

Portrait

The solution to the problem worked extremely well. My friend who owned the frame shop in Georgetown invited me to exhibit about 14 of my portraits in her store. I was able to show not only exactly what I did best, but the kind of work I wanted to do—which turned out to be a great boon for my marketing. People would see my portraits, and if they wanted that kind of portrait I did, they would call me.

Those clients knew exactly what they wanted—they wanted exactly what I did. And, apropos Steve's comment, when either of us said "portrait" we both had the same thing in mind.

So I went from chasing a hodgepodge of wildly different ideas, never quite knowing if I was going to get what the client really wanted, to getting just exactly the sort of work I wanted to do.

It was a powerful demonstration of the purpose of a portfolio. Ever since then, I've been careful to explain to students that there are two purposes for your portfolio—one is to show what you can do and how good you are, of course, but the other is to attract the kind of work you want to do in the future. 

Mike
(Portrait 1: Henry VIII by Hans Holbein the Younger, oil painting; Portrait 2: Audrey Hepburn by Yosuf Karsh, B&W film photograph; Portrait 3: Kevin Rollins, Former CEO of Dell by Kirk Tuck, color digital image)

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What else did you have in mind?
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bt: "I am in a somewhat unrelated field, architecture. One thing is for sure in the 'creative' professions. The work that you have previously done well is what leads to new work, usually of a similar character. Quite literally one thing tends to leads to the next. The old saying about this is: 'Be careful about what you get good at.' Because that's what you're going to be doing. You can try to change tracks, if you want, but it can take a lot of effort and, as you point out, there's a lot of motion and energy spent trying to define or even understand the (new) client and how you might deal with their needs, which you may not relate to or be a good fit with at all."

Bob Curtis: "'A good portraitist would be unlikely to admit it, but on a very basic level one might say that a portrait is a battle between two wills for the control of the sitter’s soul. The best portraits, then, would not be those where the artist wins too easy a battle (as with John Sargent) but the contests that end in hard-won ties: and the greatest of those would be between two champions, e.g,. Velazquez vs. Innocent X, or Rembrandt vs. himself.' —John Szarkowski, from the Introduction to Still Life by Irving Penn."

Ed Hawco: "All this talk of commercial portraits reminds me of my own short and horrific career shooting high school grad portraits. I will spare you the sordid details. But the mention of 'boudoir' reminds me of a friend who doesn't own a camera, has never owned a camera, and doesn't have a scrap of interest in photography. Yet he spent the better part of a year touring the Australian outback doing 'boudoir portraits' under contract from some Sydney-based studio that spent about 15 minutes showing him how to set up and focus the camera and trip the shutter. All else was up to him to figure out. When we get together and lament the woes of our lives he always trumps my short-lived and disastrous portrait career story with his own."

Look at Tone as Light

...So to pick up where I left off yesterday...I was railing with good-natured hyperbole about the general run of digital B&W. And on that point I need to begin by making a short digression to emphasize two points:

1. I wasn't necessarily talking about the B&W of devoted practitioners—experts—many of whom know more about conversion than I do, and do splendid work (at least, they do the work they want to be doing).
2. It's not a matter of film v. digital with one or the other being better or worse. I always used to gadfly at length about the normal run of poor printing with film on photo paper, too. Ninety-five percent of digital B&W might be crap (present company not included in that), but 95% of film B&W was crap. It's not a status thing we're on about here: it's about improving our perception, vision, taste, and technique, whichever medium we use.

...So then. As I mentioned, earlier this week I was agonizing over the Sony A7II vs. the A6500, and happened to run across this photo by a guy who shoots the A6500 and Sony 16–70mm ƒ/4 zoom, Paul Grubb. It perfectly illustrated what I was saying about modern digital tending to depress the middle values, so it provides an opportunity for discussion. Paul gave me his permission to use his picture for that, for which our thanks to him.

[For emphasis: Check out the photo on Flickr first.]

And I need to add—yet more qualifying, but it will come up in the comments otherwise—that there's nothing wrong with his picture or the way he's presented it, as I see it on my monitor. Insofar as it was deliberate I have utterly no problem with it; people own their own pictures and should do with them whatever they want to do. In critiquing, I'm not criticizing, necessarily. Paul for instance can take my comments and reject them all and that's perfectly okay with me. It's his picture.

But this should show what I mean by the way digital tends to shift the middle values downward:

Original on top, modified version on the bottom. They may look quite close to you at first, but before we go on, let your eyes go back and forth between specific areas of the two until you start to get a handle on the differences.

What I did was take a quick screenshot of a portion of Paul's picture—so I'm working with far less information than would be in the original file—and add an inverted S-curve to it:

At the risk of muddying the waters, I also added a touch of sepia color. But really, most of the effects you see are tonal.

Start with the man's and the woman's faces. Notice how the change in tone seems almost to change their expressions—in the top version their eyes are hooded, their features more sharp. The man looks a little angry, even, like he is scowling, and seems to have his mouth in a slightly different position—seems a bit more closed in the top version and a bit more open in the bottom picture, do you see that?  In the top version, the bridge of the woman's nose is bright and her facial planes are emphasized.

Next look at her hair. In the top version it almost seems unnaturally streaked; in the bottom version it just looks like soft blonde hair.

I'm probably exaggerating just in order to put these things into words. But do you see how the top version feels just a little stormy, a little harsh? The bottom version just looks like people in a crowd enjoying themselves on an overcast day when the weather wasn't the best. This is the stuff interpretation is made of in black-and-white.

Note that this has nothing to do with "contrast" in the conventional understanding of it*. With the curve modification the black and white points stay in exactly the same places. It's merely the distribution of tones in between.

You might not agree that the change is an improvement, and that's okay, of course. The point I was trying to make is that the default conversion processing—across the tens if not hundreds of thousands of digital B&W representations I've looked at online, and far fewer (but still lots) in prints—tends to depress the middle values. In Paul's picture it's noticeable but moderate; sometimes it's much more extreme.

Flip over
I'd also encourage you to try to learn the trick of backing away from the technical observations and paying attention to the emotional representation. How do the expressions on faces look? What is the overall "feel" of what you're seeing? At the risk of more hyperbole—I'm emphasizing slight differences too much here—the top version imparts just a touch of dread and brooding, of severity, while the bottom version is more relaxed, more harmonious with the meaning of the scene we're looking at—a family strolling in a relaxed way in a crowded city.

It's a matter of learning to flip over from looking at the representation to looking at what's being represented.

The same mental trick can be learned with the light. We look at tone as a technical matter, and we see grays, contrasts, edges; but it's also possible to learn to look at it as light. Look at the representation and try to see the light of the day. What was the sky like? What time was it? To me anyway, the subtle change from the top version to the bottom version makes the light become real.

Please do grant me a bit of leeway here, in trying to put subtle visual effects into words! And also for the fact that the critical tones might appear too light or too dark on your monitor or device.

In any event, I think if you start looking for depressed midtones and learn how to recognize the "look," it will start to pop out at you, and you'll see it everywhere in online B&W.

Anyway, have a nice weekend! TOP will return on Monday, "same as it ever was." IF you happen to go shopping yourself and you're not in York, please start here!

Mike
(Thanks to Paul)

*[UPDATE: By "conventional understanding of it" I meant macro/overall/global contrast, i.e., pushing or pulling more or less information into or out of pure black or pure white. This short phrase has caused a lot of consternation in the comments. It's impossible to stop to define every term and qualify every phrase when writing a short, basic article. Please grant me that leeway I asked for.... —MJ]

Original contents copyright 2017 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.

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Ed Hawco (partial comment): "I'm following this with interest, because I do a bit of digital B&W and I come from a B&W film/print background. The standout item for me was the comparison of high end and low end. But I'm not 100% convinced on the middle values part. Mike, you said '...the way digital tends to shift the middle values downward.' My question—and I hope this doesn't sound flippant—is this: is it digital that shifts the middle values downward, or is it digital photographers who shift the middle values downward? By that I mean I wonder if it's primarily an aesthetic trend."

Mike replies: Various people have complained about this, including privately. But as I took some care to explain, it's not a film vs. digital status thing and I made no attempt to pinpoint the root causes. I'm just characterizing what I often see done, typically or usually. There's no time in a short, basic article to go into every ramification of every phrase.

I think your insight that it's partly an aesthetic trend is wise, however.

Paul Grubb: "Mike, thanks for the critique, they are always welcome, it's how I grow as a photographer by understanding how others view my photos. For me B&W post processing is one of the hardest, as pictures can change significantly with the smallest of tweaks to a lightroom slider. I do like the idea of the emotional approach to post production as it separates out some of the hard science and allows you to focus on what you are trying to portray. That said what I have learned is that the tone curve can totally transform the emotion of a photograph. Looking at the photo again, that guy's brow does trouble me, a little shiny and as you say a tad 'angry.'  :-) 

"Thanks again for the critique, it's given me some good food for thought and a desire to revisit this pic."

Michael: "Thanks a tremendous amount for this, Mike. (And thanks to Paul, whose photo from York reminds me vividly of the, ah, heightened experience when we first went there with two small children on a swarming Saturday and lost track of each other and the kids.) This illustration is a perfect teaching example and I will look for these effects much more carefully now that you have made the effort to tune my eye. I can certainly understand liking Paul's original, because it captures the moodiness of a winter's day in northern England. (It was on such a moody day that we misplaced each other and the kids.) But the raised mid-tones do, to my eye, reveal both a kinder side, and probably a more faithful interpretation, of people in in The Shambles (which, during the missing kids episode, seemed so ominous because it means the medieval slaughterhouses and butcher's shops of the city)."

Al C.: "Technically, your curve is not an 'S' (cyma recta), but a cyma reversa. Don't you always apply a cyma reversa in post, whether B&W or color? I do, for all the reasons you noted."

Henry Rinne: "I tend to agree with you about the basic B&W conversions in most software. I always find these defaults to be rather muddy and poorly defined. I have been using the Nik Silver Efex II for quite sometime and have created my own recipes for conversion that largely do what you suggest. I also like SEII's ability to indicate the ten step tonal range, which I have used to help understand the tonal relations in the image especially the mid and high tone values. I also agree that stepping back from the image and removing the technical aspect from your assessment is very important. After all it is an expressive work that should communicate something and not just enthrall another photographer because of its technical proficiency."

Lynn: "My starting point for B&W conversions of digital images is:

1. What are the existing light conditions—is it bright/sunny with high natural contrast and deep shadows, is it overcast with a flatter tonal curve and more nuanced transitions from light to shade?
2. What is the overall mood of the picture I visualize?

"When processing I prioritize maintaining the natural tonal relationships in 1. so the image retains a natural credibility rather than looking over-processed. Any tone re-mapping with curves to tweak the mood have to be done within the constraint of retaining credibility. The failure of most B&W conversions is when the natural tonal relationships in the picture for the existing lighting conditions are destroyed, and the image looks manipulated and fake. Most HDR (unless done subtly) falls into this category. The eyeball test is 'does this look credible?' Low contrast on a bright sunny day or high contrast in open shade or an overcast day usually fails the test."

Andrew: "This is an interesting discussion, with the crossing threads between technique, aesthetic, and technology.

"I recently went to see a Georgia O'Keeffe exhibit, and to provide context they included photography from her partner Alfred Stieglitz, and her friend Ansel Adams.

"I was very curious to see Stieglitz's work, as he is one of the giants in early American photography. But I was truly underwhelmed by the prints I saw there! Whether it was the medium, or the age of the prints, or his exposure, I noticed precisely this phenomenon you're talking about—the midtones were just wrong. Everything about the images seemed a bit too drab, and they felt underexposed, especially in contrast with the bright white matting of their frames.

"Perhaps I wouldn't have noticed it quite so acutely if I hadn't been able to juxtapose Stieglitz's work with Ansel Adams's. The Adams photos just had so much more depth and nuance in them—while there is no denying the talents of his eye, his mastery in exposure and printing was what truly stood out to me.

"A bit of a rambling story, especially placed against the very neat visual comparison you have up there, but all this to say that I wholeheartedly agree.

"Now, to load a roll of T-Max in my old Koni Omega 6x7. (Ugly camera, as your other post illustrates, but fantastic results that come out the other end....)"

William Schneider: "About strong opinions regarding 'right' and 'wrong' renderings of tonality...

"In 1995, I was hired to teach darkroom photography at the same time a Pulitzer Prize winning newspaper photographer was hired in our department. She preferred a much higher print contrast than I did. I had used large format film and the zone system extensively, and preferred that softer kind of rendering.

"To me, her B&W photos approached a kind of 'soot-and-chalk' appearance that Adams complained about. In pondering why, I thought of her experience. Newspaper printing destroyed subtle pictures, and couldn't reproduce all the shades of gray apparent in an original darkroom print. She preferred a print suitable for the inevitable shifting of tones when on press and strong graphics in the content. That's what she was used to. It was right for her, and she had a Pulitzer Prize.

"We still poke fun of each other about our printing preferences but we both understand that it's a decision born of taste, experience, and circumstances. It's not a 'right' or 'wrong' decision.

"By the way, I would have gone further than Mike did. But that's my preference, not his."

Mike replies: Something similar happened to Carl Weese and myself, but with the opposite result. When we (first?) met in the '90s, he was in D.C. to photograph some athletic events on the Mall. We argued spiritedly over print contrast, with me advocating softer, gentler contrast and he advocating stronger, livelier contrast. But some time later, we each realized our arguments had had an effect on the other—he had begun exploring soft, gentle contrast, and I had moved to "punch up" my printing style to make it stronger and more lively.  :-)

Peter Wright: "This discussion had me pulling out my copy of Peter Turnley's French Kiss which was a TOP book offer some time back. Peter doesn't include technical details, but I believe that the pictures are split fairly evenly between film and digital using a film Leica and a digital M-Monochrom Leica respectively, each with a 35mm ƒ/1.4 lens. If you want to study good, consistent tonality across both mediums this is a great place to start. Most photographers would be able to tell which was which, but the tonality alone gives no clues. In my case, I also took advantage of the associated print offer, and bought one of the pictures which happened to be printed by Voja Mitrovic (who printed for Henry Cartier Bresson). Seeing examples like these has helped me know why and where to move that pesky tone curve! Time for another book/B&W print offer!"

Ken Tanaka: "Re 'I'd also encourage you to try to learn the trick of backing away from the technical observations and paying attention to the emotional representation.' That's actually the most important message here. Learning how to use color and tone to implicitly communicate from within an explicit scene should be the goal. Rightness can only be judged against communication intentions, not against technical standards."

Doug Thacker: "I think this suppression of the midtones in B&W photography pre-dates digital. I think it represents a change in the collective eye.

"When I got into photography as a high school student in the early 1970s, it didn't take long to realize I detested the middle gray of most black and white photography. To me, it looked bland and boring and old fashioned. Shortly after I learned to print, I started using a higher contrast paper and printing for deep, rich blacks, and luscious, pristine whites, with only enough tonality in-between to hold up both ends. I also wanted to know why art photography couldn't be shot in color, and proceeded to do just that.

"Life then intervened and I got sidetracked for a while, but when I next looked up, sometime in the '90s, I noticed color photography had gained wide acceptance in art, and lots of people were printing black and white the way I used to—lots of advertising and magazine photography reflected this trend, as well.

"So that's when I concluded that this must be a generational shift of some sort, a change in the collective eye. Maybe being inundated with advertising all our lives had something to do with it, who knows? Or maybe it was the influence of electronic media—bright colors and high contrast B&W being the visual equivalent of sugar and fat.

"Then digital came along and made a necessity of preference, if not a virtue, and here we are. Even still, I hate the way digital typically renders highlights, but this may be changing. I've noticed that some current cameras seem to retain info even in the brightest highlights, and no longer just fall off a cliff the way digital used to. These seem to be the ISO-invariant sensors, such as the Nikon D7200."

How to Cure the Digital B&W Nasties

The biggest change in film > digital from a visual, artistic, results standpoint* is the wholesale changeover from B&W to color. When I got into photography in 1980, almost all serious photography was B&W. Color was considered "literal" and "decorative" and widely denigrated as being the province of commercial photography on the one hand and amateur snapshooters with their machine-made 31/2 x 5-inch prints on the other. There were a few serious color photographers, but they were token. When serious photographers began committing to color in the '80s, it took some courage.

That's been turned on its head. Carl Weese opined way back in the 1990s that "digital is the coming of age of color photography," and the years since then have borne out the truth of his words. Cameras shoot color now. People shoot color now. Color is ubiquitous. B&W has become as quaint as an old-fashioned wooden boat.

(...Also as beautiful, but if you don't feel that, you don't, and if you do, you already know what I mean. This is a 1941 Chris-Craft barrel back, photographer unknown.)

And here's one reason why: most digital B&W is nasty. I mean NASTY. I'm going to give you the simplest recipe to cure that.

There are two reasons why almost all digital B&W is like drinking rotten pond scum:

1. The first is that B&W film is biased toward richness and detail in the highlights and lacks information in the shadows (hence the old adage "expose for the shadows and develop for the highlights," because if you didn't get the shadows right in camera you weren't going to be able to get them by prestidigitation later), and this happens to match how our eyes see. Digital does the opposite: it has a low amount of detail in the highlights and has vast reserves of information in the shadows. Ever taken a raw file with a camera high in DR and tried to dig the shadows in a good raw converter? It's amazing. This does not match how our eyes see. Bad highlight detail isn't just a problem with digital B&W: it plagues all digital. We're getting used to digital highlights now, thanks to the habituation of constant bombardment, but that's like learning to love an ugly dog. It still doesn't make it pretty.

2. The second reason why almost all digital B&W is slathered with pasty poodle excrement is that digital depresses the middle values. Compared to a scale of theoretically ideal tones, Zone VII is rendered as Zone VI if not Zone V, Zone V is rendered as Zone IV if not Zone III. It looks terrible. Rodinal used to have this effect on film. Mildly, not as bad as a lot of digital. Okay, okay, granted, it's a "look," and a few photographers have done it on purpose and can make it look aesthetically coherent. Emphasis on "few." Especially if their subjects are dark and airless. But most digital B&W is that way by default and it looks awful.

The combination is a one-two punch of harsh grating ickyness. Vacant highlights as stupid as a lobotomized lobster, and all the grays crushed toward black like the Devil's own fog of depression. Shoot me now!

It's no wonder most people prefer digital color.

(May I just point out here in passing that most scanned film also looks terrible? It's because the film's characteristic curve was designed to be counteracted by the paper curve. Virtually everyone scans film and reproduces the film tones exactly—literally—which is why scanned negatives also look harsh and tonally wrong, and nothing like the same negative printed on an appropriate photo paper. Here's the best way to scan B&W film: 1. Take the negative. 2. Make an 8x10 print on a suitable photo paper. 3. Scan that.)

So here are three simple steps if you want to make oh-so-nice black-and-white in digital:

1. NOT MANDATORY: Use a Fuji X-Trans sensor. They just yield better B&W. I won't go in to the reasons why here.
2. Underexpose everything by 2/3rds of a stop for headroom. You'll want to be be able to place your highlights "just so" in post, and this will give you more information to work with. If you are using a high-DR camera (look at DxOMark Sensor and click "landscape" for a ranked list of these, if you don't use a Fuji. They don't rank Fuji). Shadows? You don't hafta worry about no steenkeeng shadows. Digital will let you dig out dark-value information to your heart's content in B&W.
3. Correct the tonality by lifting the midtones.

Here's how to lift the midtones: in whatever editing program or you use for post processing or conversion, find the curves function. Grab the middle and move it up, to taste. Viz.:

That's the simplest formula. However you do it, a) get enough highlight detail and b) restore the midtones to their proper values and relieve them of their horrible depression, and you'll be way ahead of 94% of the digital B&W out there.

DISCLAIMER: I know there are dedicated practitioners out there who do very nice digital B&W and I don't mean to "damn them by generalization" with my playful rhetorical hyperbole about pond scum and poodle poop. I'm just slagging the typical desultory, rote B&W conversions you run across here, there and all over everywhere. Nothing personal, fellow B&W mavens. I don't mean you.

Most digital B&W is never going to quite match film B&W, for the simple reason that it is no longer the era of the classic wooden boat. But that doesn't mean dedicated workers can't make perfectly nice, non-atrocious B&W files and prints in this, the Era of Color.

Mike

P.S. Two hot equipment tips: the original Sony A7, now available used for $700–$1,000, is a great camera for B&W because of its very high DR. And the new Fuji 23mm ƒ/2 lens is well matched to B&W because it's biased toward high lens contrast like a classic Leica or Kodak Commercial Ektar lens.

*The changes to the industry and in convenience might be larger but are already well parsed.

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It's a gray area
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Bill Wheeler: "Thanks for the informative article, Mike. As a rule, I prefer black-and-white photography, so I have been working on improving my digital technique. Thanks again for the tips. By the way, I love hyperbole."

greg brophy: "Ha, that's funny. I once asked Carl to help me with a B&W photo and he basically lifted the midtones."

Andre Y: "Interesting thoughts. A while back, wasn't there going to be a post with annotated examples of good B&W photos? I might have missed it though...

"Two random thoughts:

1. I just started reading Keith A. Smith's Structure of the Visual Book, and he rails against color photography as it was practiced when the book was written (maybe 20 years before digital became popular), by saying, among other things, that people think it's literal, when that's the worse thing color does.
2. And underexposing to save highlights is an interesting topic, which on the face of it seems to contradict ETTR practices (it doesn't), but there are a few cameras which do that automatically now, including your Fujis with their DR modes, and the current Hasselblad and Fuji medium format digital cameras.

"What they do is that above a certain ISO (1600 is common), they no longer brighten the images in the camera, i.e., apply digital gain. Instead the files are exposed for metering at ISO 1600, even if you're using IS0 6400, and as a consequence they get increased dynamic range at high ISOs. You can see the measurements on photonstophotos.net, for example, of how the dynamic range curve flattens out above ISO1600 for the two mirrorless medium format cameras instead of decreasing like say on a Nikon D810.

"The RAW converter on your computer then automatically applies the correct brightening when the RAW conversion is done so that the photos appear to have been exposed at the intended ISO. The noise in the raised photo is basically identical to a shot that was metered and exposed at the intended ISO because of the way the sensor works. It's too complicated to explain here, but look up on DPreview, for example, ISO-invariant or ISO-less sensors. Basically for those types of sensors, there is no difference between exposing at ISO 6400, or using ISO 1600 and raising the brightness two stops afterwards: the noise is identical.

"There are cameras without these kinds of sensors, and some sensors have regions of ISO-invariance separated by sensor gain bumps at some ISOs. The Nikon D5 is sort of an example of the first kind, and some of the Sonys have a dual-gain structure that are an example of the second kind. So do your research first, and experiment!

"What you gain is an increase in dynamic range at high ISOs, which is especially useful for situations where you might like to use high ISOs in the first place, like night shooting or theater stage shooting where the brightness range of the scene can be huge due to individual lights being very bright against a dark background, and it's easy to blow out your highlights.

"The great thing about this practice is that it can be applied, somewhat inconveniently, to any camera that has an ISO-invariant sensor, like the Nikon D810 and D500 that I use. Of course, my camera previews will be dark (unlike the Fuji and Hassie images), and I need to manually raise the exposure slider in Lightroom, but it's more than compensated by the fact that I now have at least three more stops of dynamic range in my camera at high ISO than before (my ISO is set to 200 and I expose as if I was shooting at 1600), and that helps quite a bit with post-processing. I was also going to get a D4S, and I don't think that's necessary anymore, at least for high ISO dynamic range reasons when I use this trick."

Andrew McFaul: "Any experience or comments regarding the use/benefits of using Foveon sensors (either Merrill or Quattro) for B&W photography?"

Mike replies: My experiments with the Merrill were extremely lovely but I found the camera I tried (not a current one) and its workflow pretty difficult to use.

Al C.: "Agree: most digital B&Ws are ugly, unless their 'digital hardness' serves an artistic purpose. But Merrill Foveon B&Ws are gorgeous. The transparency and smooth tonality cannot be achieved by any amount of post of a Bayer file. Have not used the Monochrom, but people I trust say the Merrill is almost as good."

mike: "I'm going to have nightmares about that dog. And maybe the Omega too!"

Stan B.: "Sorry, Sternfield's American Prospects was published in '87 (could've sworn sooner), Meyerowitz's Cape Light in '78, and Shore's Uncommon Places in '82. Soon photojournalists like Paul Graham got into the color mix with smaller formats in essays like Beyond Caring [the link is to Jeff Ladd's book on the book —Ed.] and the incredible Troubled Land, and the rest as they say is...."

Ken Ford: "Very timely post for me, Mike—I have a new X-Pro2 and 23mm ƒ/2 and have been starting to create a B&W workflow for them. Thank you! "

Douglas Chadwick: "I would advise one modification from your advice, 'the best way to scan B&W film: 1. Take the negative. 2. Make an 8x10 print on a suitable photo paper. 3. Scan that.' Change step 3 to 'match that.' And match it from a scan of the negative, not the print. I spend a lot of time matching digital files to darkroom prints and have learned a lot from doing that."

Mike replies: That's a great idea. Wish I'd thought of it.

Jeff: "On the other hand, I've seen a lot of mediocre silver prints, and a fair amount of gorgeous inkjet prints. While tools, techniques and materials help (e.g., large sensors, all B&W inksets, fine papers. etc), the most important tools remain between the ears. Nothing substitutes for a good eye and good judgment, film or digital."

Oskar Ojala (partial comment): "I'm not 100% sure what exactly is referred to in this article; examples would help a lot to clarify!"

Mike replies: It's a problem. Probably the biggest problem, historically, with this website, as a format. I could find hundreds of examples of what I consider "bad" B&W, easily, but how could I present them? If another person's  picture is used as a subject of a critique, it's legal under Fair Use (probably—Fair Use is never 100% certain), but I'd have to be taking someone's work and holding it up as a negative example. As a normally courteous person I have trouble with that idea. I certainly wouldn't like it if it were done to me, so how can I do it to someone else? What if I were to use as an example of "bad" tonality something someone did very deliberately, because they like it that way?

Over the years I would have loved it if I could have put up pictures I find on the Web to discuss—many pictures of many kinds, to discuss in all kinds of ways. But I just don't think it's polite to do that to the people the pictures belong to.

It's a big difference between the Web and a classroom. In the privacy of a classroom you can use specific pictures as examples, easily. But I have a problem with doing the same thing here.