The Online Photographer

Open Mike: Square

I really need to work on comments this morning. I'm fast getting far behind again. I've had a couple of less-than-productive days, although I seem to have found time for exercise and for typing practice.

I confess I didn't know that I could set my Fujis to shoot square. I know why—it's because when I got them I looked for a 4:3 ratio, which I prefer most, and they don't have that, so I just left them set to 3:2 and forgot about it. They also have a selection for a longer, skinnier aspect ratio—16:9 I think? The camera isn't handy at the moment—and I never use that either.

I've never been attracted to the square aspect ratio per se. Most times I've shot with square cameras, I crop. It's only attractive to me on the iPhone because it makes the "camera" more natural to handle, removing some of its inherent awkwardness.

I did come across these recently:

They're my aunt and uncle. Mary Polk, my mother's younger sister, with Sailor the standard poodle whom I remember as an uncommonly good dog, and her husband, my uncle Smokie Polk. They had a farm south of Lexington, Kentucky, where Smokie bred and raised thoroughbred racehorses for a number of decades. He was at some point the President of the Kentucky Thoroughbred Breeders' Association. I was always very attached to both of them; Mary is a wonderful soul, and I admired, and sought to emulate, Uncle Smokie (who was always called Al or Dr. Polk at Keeneland Racetrack. Smokie was a vet as well). They're in their eighties now, and long since retired from the horse business. Mary never worked that I know of, but she's very accomplished all the same: she's an outdoorswoman and canoeist, who I recall went on Outward Bound wilderness treks in her 40s with people half her age, and she's an artist as well—she learned woodworking in midlife and built beautiful furniture. She not only designed the exquisite lake cottage they live in now, but she built most of the furniture in it. They raised four kids, and raised them well, and now the house is full of happy grandchildren every summer. They also own an island way, way up in the Boundary Waters of Canada where they have a small cabin—the trip in is so arduous that they've outfitted their skiff with survivalist supplies. Smokie is also an accomplished sailor, which is no doubt how the dog got its name. He's owned at least three boats since I've known him, not counting "stinkpots" (motor boats). Mary's canoes are the best of the best of the best.

In short, they've always been two of the coolest people I even know; that they're related to me is just an extra bonus. Uncle Smokie bred mainly middle-level racehorses, not the big-time names of the marquee races, but he did have a Triple Crown winner once—he was the breeder (not the owner or trainer) of Temperance Hill, who went off at 54.3-to-1 odds in the 1980 Belmont Stakes to beat Derby winner Genuine Risk and Preakness champion Codex to become one of the greatest long-shot winners in Belmont history. Temperance Hill was subsequently named Champion Three-year-old Colt of 1980 (all the Triple Crown races are for three-year-olds). The three Champion Three-year-olds preceding him were Spectacular Bid in 1979, Affirmed in 1978, and Seattle Slew in 1977, all names to conjure with; it was a golden age of American horse racing.

I took these portraits when I was ten. I think I was actually a pretty good portraitist when I was ten! Portraits are what I've always been best at. I had my first photo show in the dining room of my prep school when I was in ninth grade, and they were all portraits, of classmates and faculty members. Most were nabbed by the yearbook staff and used in the yearbook (without so much as a by-your-leave, which didn't seem unusual at the time), so I no longer have them.

These Instamatic prints are tiny, only 3 1/2 inches square including the borders, taken with a Kodak Instamatic on Verichrome Pan film. The film was 126 size, in a one-piece cassette that dropped into the back of the camera. The resolution is very low—the lens is probably a doublet or triplet. I don't actually know. And I don't know its speed or focal length, either. (It was an Instamatic 104.) [UPDATE: it was a plastic 43mm, f/11, single-element meniscus! Take that, Olympus 25mm PRO with your 19 elements! Thanks to several readers for this.] The Instamatic was the brainchild of Dean M. Peterson, one of the greatest unsung inventors in the history of American photography. It was designed in response to research that exposed the fact that loading film was one of the things consumers felt most insecure about. It shot in square format only, and the pictures came back from the drugstore printed square.  

I find I'm much more sympathetic to Kodak's whole program now than I was then—the advertising campaigns about "memories" and the little packets you'd get back from the drugstore with a neat stack of square prints with white borders, with the month and year stamped in the margin of each. Turns out that was a very robust and useful program. It has that sort of confident, plainspoken mid-century vigor about it. By the time I became an art student it was conventional to denigrate Kodak's resolutely middlebrow approach to photography—we were awtists, after all—but as aging has scraped away some vanity and ambition I've come to realize that Kodak was more right than wrong. I'm thankful I have these prints now, and thankful I can so easily place the date to April of 1967.

I'm not sure if there would be anything to be gained by "trying out" the square format of my Fujis. But it does have some of the appeal of simplicity, the square—a reminder that the real challenge of technique is to get past it, so that, once past, we can get down to work.

Mike

Book o' the Week:

ArtCurious: Stories of the Unexpected, Slightly Odd, and Strangely Wonderful in Art History by Jennifer Dasal (Penguin, 2020. Adapted from the popular podcast.)

This link above is a portal to Amazon, through which most anything you purchase will be credited to TOP. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

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

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

KC: "Thanks for weaving such a nice story into this discussion of aspect ratio. I hope your aunt and uncle have a chance to see this post. As a former Lexingtonian I have to point out that the local racetrack is actually called 'Keeneland.'"

Mike replies: Thanks! Fixed now. My cousins reminded me of this when they saw the post.

Michael J. Perini: "Charming Pictures to be sure, and I couldn't agree more that as you say that Kodak 'was more right than wrong.' A company that realized and was willing to pay for pure research. Some great scientists and engineers there—they even invented digital. They were a supertanker and in the end, just couldn't turn the wheel fast enough.

"Like many TOP readers I shot with almost every format out there but mostly 35mm, 6x6, 4x5, and 8x10. The film camera I loved most was the Hasselblad. I did some good work with that camera. When I picked it up I 'saw square.' But when I was shooting 35mm or 4x5, I never missed the square format. I just shot what I shot.

"But even though I haven't shot a square camera in years, I often find nice square compositions hiding in my 2:3 files. Occasionally I will see a composition that is begging to be square and compose it that way on the 2x3 sensor. I've never felt the need for a square camera viewfinder to 'see' square or any other shape. I usually think—get the picture in whatever shape you can get it with whatever camera you have—if it is a strong picture, it will survive. If it is not, its shape doesn't matter."

Dan Khong: "One does not need many elements to shoot good pictures. The Instamatic lenses were like magnifying glasses but they made a lot of folks happy. The Tessar lenses stood their ground over many decades. They still produce astounding pictures in Rolleiflex TLRs. One might conclude: An average camera in good hands is better than a good camera in average hands."

Steve Belanger: "Great post, Mike! Thank you. I too had an Instamatic 104, given to me by my older brother as a birthday gift. My introduction to photography at age 12. My family and I took a trip to Montreal in 1968 to see the 'Man and His World' exposition. I still have a handful of great photos and memories of that trip."

Crabby Umbo: "By the way, I consider the 126 cartridge to be another of the great 'lost formats.' Manufacturers not only made rangefinder bodies with quality glass, but Kodak made a reflex with interchangeable lenses. The whole 'chink' in the armor was the cartridges' inability to hold the film flat, and in an exact enough plane to really get quality out of the image. My Mom had a high quality version with a glass lens and a wind-up motor drive, which I loved to use, but was always frustrated with the blurriness! A simple concentration on fixing that cartridge, and it would have had real legs. Can't believe Kodak made the decision to go with increasingly worse formats like 110 and Disc, all while the consumers were abandoning their models to go with the image superior autofocus, autoload, point-and-shoot 35mms. Sheesh!"

Mike replies: I believe the origin of the idea that eventually became the Disc was to solve the film flatness problem.

Peter Croft: "I find square format frustrating. I can never work out whether to hold the camera horizontally or vertically.  :-) "

Mike replies: Here's the trick: neither!

Actually, though, I had a photo school classmate who did a project shooting a square camera in the diamond format. 

SteveW: "'It's hip to be square!' —Huey Lewis & the News."

Frank Field: "Square format is not easy to shoot, I think. I see Michael Kenna as a contemporary master of square format. Study his compositions and your square format images are bound to improve."

I Like Small Prints

I've always been very interested in size and proportion.

With "my critic's hat on" of course, I try to remain as open-minded as possible. I try to extend as much credit and sympathy to creators as I can. What's important in that case is what they're trying to do, not what I prefer to see.

But for myself, I like small prints best. 

What is "small"? I'd say any size you might see printed in a book. Not counting double-page spreads running across gutters, which generally are their own sort of travesty, in a minor way.

Many decades ago, large got popular in paintings, and, naturally, "little brother" photography had to try to follow suit, and large photographic prints got popular too. I spent a lot of time in my youth dutifully trying to make bigger prints, because real photographers made big prints. 

Now I wish I hadn't. I've come almost to a contrarian position on this, similar to Robert Frank's "black and white are the colors of photography": photographs are small. 

Of course that's ridiculous as a position, but, for myself, I actually prefer small photos. Again and again I'd come away from museum shows thinking, those prints didn't need to be so big.

There's obviously such a thing as too small, however. Most pictures are uncomfortable to look at as thumbnails, and many are uncomfortable to look at on Instagram. How big do they need to be? Big enough to see; as long as the details can "breath," it's big enough. As to how I define that...well, I can't define that; it's a feeling.

It definitely depends on the picture, too. I had a discussion with Michael A. Smith about this once, agreeing with his decision to reproduce Edward Weston's pictures at their original 8x10 size in his books of Weston's work. I believe Weston visualized his pictures taking into account their 8x10 print size, because almost all his picture work well—one might even say "best"—at the size he contact-printed.

Some of my favorite prints of my own are small. Only a few are big, or "biggish"—one is 16x20" and one is a large panorama. One hangs above my dining room table and I have several others in a large portfolio case that's slumbering in the attic of the barn. But I can think of only a handful, or a few handfuls.

With the benefit of hindsight, I think now I would have been better off over my career as a photographer if I had embraced printing small, and not had my head turned by the dictates of fashion. Most of us are slaves to fashion, though, because we think it represents the desires of others, and we wish to please.

Mike

Gear o' the Week:

If I could shoot with any 50mm focal-length-equivalent lens, it would not be unobtanium: it would be the relatively modest, relatively older HD Pentax 35mm ƒ/2.8 DA Macro Limited on APS-C (it has recently been revised with new coatings). I don't know how it measures and couldn't care less. If you care first and foremost about pictures, especially prints, it is one beautiful lens. Luverly. As a normal too. This link is a portal to Amazon, through which most anything you purchase will be credited to TOP. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

B&H Photo also has the Magic Macro, naturally.

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

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

Cecelia: "Print size preference for me is entirely related to viewing distance. Instagram is good for an image a few inches from my face, and I love standing 20 feet from a big enveloping painting.

"Once, I had a chance to purchase original art for a corporate space, and prints that were 3–5 feet on an edge were successful in modest interior spaces. 8x10 or book-sized prints need to be viewed pretty close as when reading a book, or standing a foot or two from the image. In other words, for me the size of the image is so tied to the viewing experience that I don't like or dislike any particular size without the context of how to experience the image. (Back in the day when I was working in a darkroom, I loved 8x10 because that size was the most comfortable to handle in the enlargers, trays, dryers etc. and the viewing distances in the darkroom were similar to looking at a book.)"

Geoff Wittig: "There is a fascinating interaction between size, viewing distance, composition, and the actual techniques used in creating a photographic print. But it's even more important when it comes to painting. I came to recognize that my landscape photographs almost always need to be relatively large to convey what I'm trying to say. My best photos really do work better as carefully presented 24x36" prints than as 8x11" or so, because I'm aiming for an immersive experience. I want a viewer to be able to walk into the image.

"Oddly enough, my oil paintings tend to run much smaller. I'm a fairly 'tight' realist painter, but even my broader landscapes seem to breathe more comfortably at about 12x16" or occasionally 16x20" than larger sizes. And lately I've been doing little 5x7" moody gems that really don't work as large paintings."

Steve Rosenblum: "I generally agree with you about print size, although we have a large framed copy of your beautiful still life of the apple up in our kitchen and it works beautifully."

Chris Kern: "Some years ago, Michael Reichmann argued that the intrinsic characteristics of an image determine how it should be cropped. ('My feeling is that cropping isn’t something that we do to an image. It does it itself—demanding to be constrained in certain ways. Sometimes there’s more than one way, but it eventually becomes obvious what the photograph itself wants.') I would make a similar point about print size. Some images 'want' to be printed large; others work better when they’re printed small. That’s the only formula I’ve found which works consistently for me."

Bruce Bordner: "Usually I print large as I shoot wide-angle shots with lots of detail (and D800 shows it well). However, I had a lot of fun printing a few hundred different 2x3" wallet cards as handouts. I picked out 192 images and had a set of 8x12" prints made (16 cards/sheet) and bought a paper cutter. Tedious but cheap. (Margins are hard) So now I have sets of my best shots that I can put into a jewelry box. Fun to play with but it will ruin your eyes...."

robert e: "Thank you Mike—what you said was kind of liberating. And thank you as well for provoking some very insightful comments, which you helpfully featured. To state the obvious, if one wishes to properly regard a small print, one must take it inside what many people would consider 'personal space,' making the interaction a relatively intimate one. (This is made obvious when two people try to look at a small print together.) Larger prints tend to end up in social spaces, or perhaps personal environments, but they are generally not meant to be taken inside that zone of physical and sensory intimacy. Of course we can and do interact with pictures at various distances, but for intended viewing distance, I believe there is a significant psychological or emotional threshold right around where we'd label a print 'small.'"

Geoff Smith: "I find it interesting that the great Michael Kenna normally prints at only about 8x8" because he prefers the 'intimacy' of them compared with larger prints. I typically print at home at 18x12", but sometimes yearn for a 24x16" or even a 36x24" if it's an interesting aerial image."

Howard: "I couldn't disagree with you more, Mike, at least for landscape images. What got me entirely fascinated with landscape photography 25 years ago was seeing big prints, larger than 16x20", especially color prints (Cibachrome at the time). For portraits, I prefer 8x10" but often also like larger prints."

A Picture With Promise

This is a spread from the book Elements that I'm attracted to. I've never seen the book. The picture looks like it might have a certain magic. It has the promise of it anyway—I can't really see because the JPEG is too small (I can't find a larger one). The village up high on the cliff (I think it's a village—can't really quite see), the seabirds wheeling in the air below—. The feeling of depth created by the outcropping on the lower right and the massif in the background. The strong central slash of the white waterfall. Of course who knows how the reproduction quality is, or whether the picture holds up when you can really see it.

This might sounds weird, but although I am not a photography collector, I do tend to collect images...and I have since I was a very small boy. I have lots of favorite images in books and there are even a few cases where I bought a specific book to get a really nice reproduction of a certain photograph. I used to sometimes "visit" favorite images by pulling out a succession of books from the bookcase and turning to the pictures I wanted to see. There are always treats in a good book.

I guess you could say TOP is a sort of photograph collecting mechanism. I love to trawl through old TOP images. I seem to sort of naturally collect images, without giving it much thought on a "meta" level; I just like to go back and look at things again. That might be why I take pictures at all, actually—to be able to study, at leisure and at length, a scene I enjoy seeing. To see what a longer look might reveal. To contemplate. Video doesn't scratch the itch for me very well, although I've watched many movies more than once. I'm very devoted to still pictures.

Mike

UPDATE: Well, I certainly know more about the picture now, thanks to Dori and several other readers. The picture features Múlafossur Waterfall, said to be the top tourist attraction in the Faroe Islands. The Faroes, a part of the Kingdom of Denmark, are situated in the Atlantic Ocean between Norway and Iceland. The tiny village is Gásadalur on the Western island of Vágar.

The picture was taken by Fran Mart, a wedding photographer from Spain who lives and works in Scotland. I reached out to Fran to see if he'd like to say anything about his picture for us but haven't heard back yet. The picture is on Instagram and it's available as a stock image from Adobe Stock.

A travel website I alighted upon referred to the waterfall as a "photographic destination." Jan-Peter commented that the locals are getting a little exasperated with all the photographers.

As for the locale, there are certainly a lot of pictures of it on the Internet, although many are from a somewhat different viewpoint than Fran's. Tony McLean sent me his picture of it taken with a Leica M240 and 21mm Super Elmar:

And there's a video showing several moods of the wind and the waves here.

Thanks to all!

UPDATE #2: After it occurred to me that I would not like to live in Gasadalur for one peculiar reason in particular, on Christmas morning I Googled "do people ever fall off cliffs in the Faroe islands?" and was led serendipitously to this nice post by Justine Kibler, a photographer and traveler from the UK, of the Lost in the Midlands blog. Reading it was like taking a virtual hike in the Faroes! With a little peril along the way.

Original contents copyright 2020 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. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Book of interest this week:

Elements: In Pursuit of the Wild, Rucksack magazine
(clicking on the links above takes you to Amazon)

Elements from The Book Depository (free shipping worldwide)

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

David Mackenzie: "To the comment on the local citizens getting tired of all the photographers...they have learned well from the ongoing visitor-caused disaster in Iceland. Now in the Faroes they are requiring photographers to buy permits and hire guides. That will certainly help keep the hordes down a bit."

kwesi Budu-Arthur: "A beautiful image that perhaps achieves too much. For me, the inclusion of the three perfectly placed birds is what turns this fine work of art into a stock photo. Sometimes leaving a little something to the imagination can be a very good thing."

B&W Is Expressive

Regarding the intended-to-be humorous re-post yesterday, obviously I was simulating the various "looks" through the years, and of course I was over-exaggerating most of the "looks" so each would be a little more evident 'n' obvious in little JPEGs. The original digital shot of the crows over the field was taken with a Panasonic GF1 and Panasonic 20mm lens. Here's another shot that shows the raptor more clearly, whatever he was—the crows would appear to get after him and then he would get after them. Seemed like sparring, with neither side clearly the aggressor.

Here's the other photo as an Instagram (thanks to blork).

In the wake of the original post in 2012, I invited readers to make their own interpretation of the file. Here's the post that shows some of their efforts. It's rather embarrassing that it's labeled "Part I"—I had enough submissions for a Part II, but apparently I never got around to putting them up. Mea culpa.

When you look at it, try exercising your delectation—decide which one suits your taste. (I notice a number of people did that with the first post.)

The takeaway here? "Black and white" doesn't mean just one thing. There are many, many different interpretations that you can make of any given file, just like there were many different styles you could (and still can) apply to FDP (film, development, print). B&W is actually very expressive and individual, if you develop your own taste in the way you like your prints to look and learn to apply it consistently.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2020 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. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Thanks to all our Patreon contributors!

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

Rory O'Toole: "Lovely to see this post again. Can't believe it was back in 2012!"

Brian Stewart: "You may have meant that 'B&W Styles Through the Years' post as satire, but it's actually quite useful. I'm currently editing a largish set of landscape images in B&W, and many of them as shot start out fairly flat. I have to decide in which direction to take them to make them tonally interesting. What is my artistic intent? And when have I taken it too far in that direction? A catalogue of radically different interpretations of an image, even exaggerated ones, is useful as a reference point and reality check, perhaps because they are exaggerated. More please."

B&W Styles Through the Years

SA*

[Illustrations and captions simulated. Hope that's obvious. —Ed.]

-

1940: Graflex Speed Graphic, 127mm Ektar, Wratten K-2 filter, Kodak Super XX Film, D-23 developer (scratch mixed).

1965: Pentax Spotmatic, 55mm Takumar ƒ/1.8 lens, stop-down averaging metering, Ilford HP3 ASA 400 film, Omega D2 enlarger with filed-out negative carrier.

1987: Hasselblad 500 C/M with Acute-Matte, 80mm ƒ/2.8 Zeiss Planar, Tri-X 320, HC-110 dilution B, orange filter. Shadows placed on Zone II. Oriental Seagull, lightly selenium toned.

2001: 3.1 megapixel Minolta DiMAGE 5, converted in Photoshop 5.5. Unsharp masked, uprezzed, and uploaded to PhotoSIG.

2012: Panasonic GF1, OIS zoom, RAW, Lightroom 3, Nik SilverEfex Pro. "Haloing? What haloing?"

Mike
(Originally published February 2012. Thanks to Grant for a correction.)

*Satire Alert.

Original contents copyright 2020 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. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Thanks to all our Patreon contributors!

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

JOHN B GILLOOLY: "Ha, ha, would love to have see that Monochrom added! But of that grouping, I'll take the 1987 Hasselblad 'look.' It still seems that the defining quality is not the hardware, but rather taste. To a large degree, you can simulate these 'looks' rather accurately using today's raw files as the starting point."

Mike replies: I've exaggerated them (coarsely) here, of course. I'm not certain how close you can really get if you're being subtle. My sense is it's probably better to let digital look like digital.

Christopher May: "Nice to see this one back from the archives. I hope that 'Great Photographers on the Internet' can make a comeback someday, too.

"I'll still take the Speed Graphic image. If we're going with Super XX, though, the only proper thing to do is match it up with some Azo and make a delightful little contact print. I seem to remember someone (Michael Kadillak, if I recall correctly) discussing Super XX's unique ability to build density 'to the moon' at the largeformatphotography.info forum. That characteristic made it a lovely match for alt processes and contact printing on Azo."

Eolake Stobblehouse: "Either you are making most of this up (impressive), or you have a downright unhealthy amount of knowledge of history and B&W...."

Mike replies: I started another one of these as if it were taken with a Diana toy camera in the style of Nancy Rexroth and then I thought, no, I'd better pretend I have a life....

hugh crawford: "Tri-X Pro should open up distant foliage more than that with its green bump—oh wait—orange filter? I don’t know but it seems like one of the more compensating dilutions and a bit more development might open things up. Hell I’d go to diluted D-19 but that’s just me, and I’d avoid Tri-X Pro like the plague anyway unless the alternative was T-Max. Looks you forgot the compendium, that might as some snap too.

"If I were going full grad school I’d be asking what’s hiding under the trees and why is it so scary, but that’s outside the scope here.

"The best thing that I ever did on my 500C was get a Rollie screen with a microprism in the center installed, never figured out that Acute-Matte popularity. I think the only time I used Tri-X Pro was with a Press 23 in high school, so maybe that association (and the whole male portrait thing) has biased my opinion."

Mike replies: Yes, you used the orange filter to counteract the green bump. And, I agree with you about TXP. I remember my confusion when I first shot a roll of TXP thinking it was TX. And, the crows were chasing a raptor around and vice-versa. And, I never did like the Acute-Matte either! That was the very first time I ever had trouble focusing a camera. Not the last. Sure could see the frame, just couldn't see the focus. Autofocus came around perfectly on schedule for my eyes.

Crabby Umbo: "I forgot all about Super XX, now that was a film! So full of silver, the box weighed twice as much as weaker, puny films!"

Mike replies: And you know this, but others might not: what comes after two X's? Answer: Three, AKA the mighty "Tri-" X, the best-known single B&W film name in photo history.

Wasn't Super XX ASA 200? I only used it once.

Crabby Umbo: "You are correct sir, Super XX was ASA 200, but it changed with 'tungsten' exposure and was much slower (people forget that 'strobe' wasn't the ubiquitous method of exposure for studio, especially product, until well into the '70s). It really was silver rich, very long 'scale,' and, at least when I was a pup, was the film of choice for making the color separation inter-negs from transparences when doing dye transfer prints!

"As others have stated, I never understood why TXP and TX were so different. I usually had to go looking for 120 Tri-X (individually boxed), or order it in from Kodak; while my local pro dealer was always trying to make me buy the Tri-X Pro 5-packs, which, on processing, just did not look 'right.'

"By the way, long forgotten film lore: does anyone remember Ektapan? Since I started in high-school in portrait studios, I knew all about it, it was an ASA 100 film that was specifically formulated by Kodak to function well under strobe. This was back when a lot of films had reciprocity failure both in long exposures, but short 'strobe' exposures as well!

"Available in 4x5 sheets (and a bunch of those weird formats like 46mm long rolls for portrait cameras), it was my personal 'go to' film for shooting product when we all converted to strobe for everything. Everyone used to compliment me on the scale of my black-and-white studio product shots, thinking I was doing some kind of ASA change and processing push/pull on Tri-X, when all I was doing was using Ektapan. A great strobe film long forgotten!"

Richard Man: "They made TXP 320 in 120 format? [Yes —MJ.] TX 400 is the King, the Godzilla of all B&W films. TXP 320 is a...mutant lizard."

Mike replies: I used to joke that Ansel's best virtuoso trick was that he could actually make TXP look good. Har!

Gijs Langelaan: "On the Hasselblad interpretation, I'm missing seeing the black border with the 'V' notches at the edge to show it was really made with a 'blad. Or did that style show up a few years later?"

Mike replies: Ah, I wanted to try, but my Photoshopping skills just aren't good enough.

Anton Wilhelm Stolzing: "This is a great post. Ansel Adams changed his way of printing considerably over the years. When you see early original prints, you are shocked how 'flat' they appear in comparison with the calendar editions. And haloing is a real problem, but less so in digital age than in the analogue years. You possibly know these Jean-Loup Sieff-prints where the dodging of the trees is so painfully evident...."

Sunday Support Group: B&W Camera

Wow! I came in from a hard day's work Friday evening to find more than the usual number of comments on the "Deficiencies" post—as of now there are 115 of them, to be exact. I just finished moderating them, so there's lots of new stuff there.

I'm going to try to aim toward getting a Sony camera converted to monochrome by Daniel at MonochromeImaging (MI). Warm thanks to brian and Tullio Emanuele and a couple of others whose comments led me to that site.

The MI site makes an excellent demonstration of the benefits of a B&W-only sensor. Their process will also demonstrate to those interested that it would not be expensive or involved for a cameramaker to implement a B&W-only variant of an existing camera. They lack the will, not the means. Of course we're no longer in a flush market and cameramakers have much bigger problems to worry about, but that's a whole 'nuther issue.

Unfortunately, there's going to be a considerable delay before I can get this goal accomplished. The...

...has sucked up a lot of my moolah recently, which my friend Jack scolded me for in the "Deficiencies" Featured Comments. (I just bought this cool metal sign for above the door. Funky, huh? One of those fake-vintage reproductions. Fitting for a shed I think.)

I guess I have the personal-finance equivalent of "donor fatigue," which is when charities ask for big special donations and then find that their regular donors feel "tapped out" and donations for smaller, more everyday causes drop. (I understand this is what happened in Milwaukee when they built the Calatrava addition to the Milwaukee Art Museum—local institutions and organizations that depend on charitable giving found themselves starved for a few years afterwards.) Anyway I'm feeling poor because of the cost overruns of the pool shed / photo gallery. I took out a bank loan to finance it—it's about the same as maybe half of an average car payment—but, as often happens, I was too optimistic and didn't borrow quite enough.

Back to the subject: MI's conversions (and others such as MaxMax) come with some practical problems for the buyer. First, I'm pretty sure it will void any warranty on the camera and also cause the donor camera's resale value to plummet. On the other hand, you wouldn't want to get an expensive conversion done on a camera that already has a lot of shutter actuations on its odometer.

Daniel only does conversions on Sony cameras and I'm not in that system so I don't have any lenses. (Well, one—I still have a leftover Sigma 60mm DN). The one lens I would need, the Zeiss 24mm, has always been priced at about 2X what it should be for no earthly reason that I can discern, and so adds heavily to the projected expense.

More importantly, though, a.) you can't try before you buy and b.) you're stuck with what you get. And of course, getting an existing camera modified is much more expensive than the camera would need to sell for if a manufacturer were mass producing it.

I don't know yet how to proceed. I thought I had an old Sony NEX-6 around here somewhere, which would have been perfect as a donor camera for the project, but I can't find it and I can't recall what became of it; it's possible I sold it or gave it away and just don't remember. (I periodically get hypochondriacal about Alzheimer's, but I've been doing that for years. Part of the curse of being absentminded. I'll find myself searching high and low for some bit of equipment or other and only gradually remember that I sold it years earlier, or whatever. You know what they say: Oh well.)

Yo-yo
Back off topic again: the pool hall sign will go well with the style of the pool table I bought. I don't have a good picture of the pool table, but here's one of the seller's photos of it from Facebook Marketplace where I bought it:

It's a Golden West "Vintage" model (that's the model name) made in Los Angeles before the company moved to Portland, Oregon. It's entirely made in America (unlike Brunswicks, which are Chinese now). The model is still in the GW catalog at $6,250, but I got this for $1,500—the seller was about to close on his house, and had promised his buyer that the pool table would be gone before the closing. I think we beat the deadline by two days. Or maybe it was one!

$1,500 is high for a used pool table—they've been in uncommonly strong demand during COVID-19, but you should still be able to find perfectly good ones for under a grand, some well under. But the nice woodwork on this one makes it worth the price premium I think. I hope.

Unless it plays poorly. It's always a risk to buy a pig in a poke, but with pool tables you don't have much choice.

We'll see.

Mike Johnston, Malaysian Dinner, Fuji X-T1, 2014

And back to the topic again (I'm yo-yo-ing back and forth today): It's not mission-critical to have a B&W-only camera. It's not like I can't work with anything. I've made many B&W pictures with my current cameras and have shown many of them here on TOP, such as my personal favorite, "Malaysian Dinner." I don't actually care to see B&W in the viewfinder, though—my experience is that a number of the cameras that show B&W in the EVF aren't showing very good B&W. When I shot B&W, I looked through an SLR viewfinder at the full-color world through a K2 yellow filter, which doesn't look like either B&W or color. In any case, I want to do the conversion in my brain. I'm fully able to look at the world even without a camera in my hand and know how it would look as a B&W photograph...small, frozen, bounded within a rectangle, luminances only.

When I know I've got the means to record a color picture, I will evaluate everything in terms of whether it would be best in B&W or best in color. You've got to shoot for one or the other. Deciding in post is for chumps. It's a whole different mental process, a much different approach. Out photographing with a digital camera, resolutely determined to shoot only B&W, I start getting distracted by color, and start seeing color pictures. I mean in my head, not through a viewfinder. It doesn't matter to me what the viewfinder shows. What matters is how I'm visualizing what I'm looking at. When all I can do is record B&W, then I see B&W without any trouble. When I have the ability to shoot color or B&W—when it's either/or—then I visualize color pictures and B&W pictures, but color dominates, because, as numerous readers have helpfully pointed out over the years, we see the world in color. I can't go out into the world with a camera that records both color and B&W and ignore the fact that it can record color. It's a different thought process and a different experience. Of course you can work around it, and I do, but it's not very satisfying.

Driving the pharmacy crazy
I like color; I love black and white. I respond viscerally—emotionally—to tones—value—and I don't respond that way to colors. Show me a page of Google image search results, all in color save one, and my eye will go right to that sole B&W image. If I'm standing between two rooms at a museum and one is full of color pictures and the other is full of black-and-white pictures, there's no question which one I'll head to. Don't even have to think about it. It's not that I hate color; I don't at all. I enjoy it. I certainly don't only look at the kind of photographs I like to make; no critic could afford that. It's not that I don't "get it." I have a pretty good color sense, and I can "see" color casts in color pictures easily. I'm good at color correction.

But colors don't move me. Tones do. Tones...luminances, transliterated to values of gray. I know plenty of people who are the opposite. We are all who we are. Ansel Adams sucked at color, in life as well as photography.

When I was quite young I first shot Kodachrome color slides in my father's Zeiss camera. But when I discovered that the local pharmacy would develop and print black-and-white, I immediately switched over. But I'm afraid I drove the pharmacy (and the lab it used) crazy, because I would constantly return prints to be redone—more contrast! Less contrast! Lighter! Darker! This area is too light! This area is too dark! Crop it here! I must have been insufferable. I was, like, twelve. But I knew exactly how it should be, and couldn't the guy who made the print see that? It frustrated me. I got fatalistic about it. So when I found out that I could have my own darkroom and do it myself, it was like being set free...suddenly I had control of all those things, and I had the freedom to keep making prints until all the tones were just right and the prints sang. Glorious.

Having the freedom to ignore color pictures in the world was something similar to that for me. It made me smug, and happy. I didn't have to worry about seeing color pictures. I was free to pay no attention to them. I never got distracted by flowers and sunsets and brightly painted merry-go-rounds. Digital cameras don't give me that freedom. They consign me to color. I get resigned to it. Okay, all right, all right: I'll do color if that's what the devices give me. Ya gotta go with the flow. But I'd love the option, the opportunity, to be set free again.

It's not that big a deal, really. A dedicated B&W camera is not something I "need"—and I can work around it like we all do.

Still, I wish I could find that dratted NEX-6. I would love to have that little thing converted to B&W.

Mike

UPDATE: Found it!

I finally remembered that I sent the NEX-6 to Xander (my son, for those of you who don't know) to make YouTube videos with. Immediately afterward he was promoted at work to a position that required 50–60 hours a week, and then he and his girlfriend moved to Bloomington and COVID-19 hit. So he's not making videos, and he readily agreed to send the little Sony back to me.

Various kind readers have very generously donated equipment to me over the years, and I keep a sort of mental accounting in my head—I try to remember that those donations are intended not to enrich my coffers (or pay for pool tables and sushi dinners) but to nourish and encourage TOP. So I'm going to apply some of that donated plenitude toward getting that NEX-6 converted to a B&W-only camera!

Because, really, shopping on paper is fine, but you gotta try these things.

This was cool: I wanted to figure out what the shutter-count was on the camera. I figured I'd have to look up how you do it, then hang on the phone with Xander after he got the camera out of the closet, giving him instructions. But no. I was able to do it from here, remotely. Apotelyt.com has a page where you can just drop a picture into that will read all the metadata and up pops the number you need. Since Xander hasn't shot with the camera much, I just found the last picture I took with the NEX-6 and popped it onto the page...which revealed that there are 5,642 actuations of the shutter, plus the few Xander might have added. Sony's spec is for 150,000 shutter cycles. So there should be still enough life left in that NEX-6 shutter to protect the expense of the conversion.

Not only will I be able to actually experience a B&W-only digital camera, I'll be able to make a direct head-to-head comparison of the results with a converted X-T1 file like the one above. Should be fun...for a Mike-value of "fun."

Oh, and that picture I dropped into the Apotelyt page to get the shutter count? It was a sunset. No kidding. No more catnip color for you when we get done with your sensor, little Sony!

Mike

Original contents copyright 2020 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. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

Thanks to all our Patreon contributors!

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

Wozcraft: "I have a friend who could solve your problem. He sees colour in one eye and B&W in the other."

John Camp: "After an evening's research into your goofy idea about converting a camera to B&W, I've decided it's not as goofy as I thought. It is, however, expensive—the conversion of my unused Nikon D800 would cost three or four times what the camera is currently worth on eBay. On those grounds, I'm resisting the conversion, but I can feel its tug, like gravity."

John Krumm: One way to keep yourself only shooting black and white: set your camera to JPEG and leave it there. I'm slowly, very slowly coming around to using more and more Fuji JPEGs with my X-T4. The files have more latitude than I expect for JPEGs when adjusting in post, but also have that stubborn contrast curve that can be both good and bad. I've been really enjoying some of the 'film' presets at the Fuji-X weekly website. They don't really look like film to me, but they are fun.

"This is supposed to be Tri-X 400. It relies on a big white balance shift to get the general look."

Dale: "I think a better B&W sensor would be Ilford Delta 100. Or Kodak Tri-X. Loaded in a readily available Nikon FE or Mamiya 645. You could set up a darkroom in the new structure. Just sayin'...."

Jack: "I love your pool table! While I regularly get called out on TOP for chiding you on your expenditures, this one was well worth the extra money."

PaulW: "I can't decide if I should thank you or curse you for turning me on to Monochrome Imaging. A Leica Monochrom was never in the cards for me, but now...."

Print Crit: Jim Arthur's Owl

Jim Arthur's owl

Are you one of those who feel that cards—greeting cards, Christmas cards, etc.—are not suitable or prestigious enough as a medium for fine prints? If so I'm pretty sure I don't agree. I like photographs, and I like them whether I see them in books or magazines, prints on the wall, or even—gasp!—on the internet. I think I like nicely printed books and nicely printed prints the best. Into that select company I might also admit handmade greeting cards. More demotic, more democratic, sure, but that's nothing against them.

Jim Arthur didn't mean this as a "Print Crit" submission when he sent it to me—I had to ask him after the fact if he minded me writing about it. He graciously consented. Inside the card, he had tried to convince me to not throw it away for two days by repeating an exchange from "Seinfeld":

Jerry: It was a 'thank you' card from Kristin because I'm doing the PBS drive. I mean, how long am I supposed to keep it?
George: The rule is a minimum of two days.
Jerry: You making that up or do you know what you're talking about?
George: I'm making it up.

On the contrary, I actually wish I had a box full of the best cards I've gotten over the years. There have been some beauts. Sally Mann used to write letters in pencil on the back of 8x10 contact prints that she would then fold and stuff into an envelope. David Vestal made Christmas card prints every year, tiny three-inch enlargements from 35mm negatives on gelatin silver paper inside a folder of translucent tissue paper; Oren Grad followed David's lead and did the same for a number of years. Kent Phelan used to send beautiful cards, and Nick Hartmann did too. Ansel Adams and Helen Levitt wrote on printed postcards made of their own photographs. I've gotten so many nice cards from readers over the years. Many of them are extremely nice homemade prints.

Not all images work small, and here I think Jim has excelled—his detail of an owlish scowling visage is perfect for a card, giving a "big" impression in a small space. That, at least, is something you can see perfectly well in the snap of it above. The image is beautifully printed, with strong detail and great clarity and no artifacts. It's maybe a bit more contrasty than you might make it as a more sober wall piece, but that just makes it jump out at you properly as a card.

I think the things I like best about it are the implied humor—those startling owl eyes glaring at you in apparent fury—and that trick of seeming big even though it's small. It was taken with a Canon 6D and EF 100–400mm ƒ/4.5–5.6L IS II lens at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum, "a 98-acre zoo, aquarium, botanical garden, natural history museum, publisher, and art gallery founded in 1952. Located just west of Tucson, Arizona, it features two miles of walking paths traversing 21 acres of desert landscape" (Wikipedia). It's a Great Horned Owl. Jim didn't supply any of the printing details.

A well-judged image choice for a card, and perfectly nicely printed for purposes. Strong job all in. George Costanza was wrong—I'll probably keep it a minimum of six months, just to enjoy, and it might hang around here for two years before it goes the way of all cards and gets lost in the shuffle.

I like cards!

Mike
(Thanks to Jim)

ADDENDUM Thursday a.m. (it's October!) from Jim Arthur: After a long and stressful day preparing my Dad for a move to memory care I plopped down at the computer looking for a distraction and found your kind words. Thanks Mike, you really made my day.

The card was printed on a PRO-100 which uses Canon’s ChromaLife 100+ inks. The paper is Canon's inexpensive MP-101 matte paper. While I like the look of the prints, the 45 lbs. weight of this paper is a little thin for anything but greeting cards.

I never pass up an opportunity to make a greeting card. It's quick and fun and the recipients always appreciate finding a handmade treat among the bills and advertising choking their mailbox.

Original contents copyright 2020 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.

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

Frank Gorga: "Jim's owl photo is great! After having read, here at TOP some years ago, about David Vestal's tradition of sending small prints to friends at the holidays, I began a similar tradition. This year will make the ninth year I have done this, so I think it really has become a tradition! The recipients are always appreciative and there are at least two mini-galleries of my photos out there in the world. One friend has all of the prints pinned up on a cork board in his home office. A neighbor keeps three or four of the prints on a shelf in her kitchen. It is gratifying to know that a few people like them enough to want to keep looking at them. In years past, I have sent a 5x7 inkjet print, usually black and white, printed on half of a letter-sized sheet of paper. These fit in a readily-available 6x9-inch envelope with a piece of cardboard for stiffening. This year, having pandemic-induced time on my hands, I have taken to making cyanotypes again after a twelve year hiatus. Thus, I am toying with the idea of sending 4x5 inch cyanotypes this December. I'll need to get my you-know-what in gear soon if that is going to happen!"

John: "I maintain the David Vestal tradition, which he got from Sid Grossman at the Photo League. Four small analogue prints on an 8x10 sheet, then whack 'em through the guillotine. Many end up stuck to fridge doors or on pinboards for surprisingly long periods. What is really interesting is how many get carefully kept for years. Last year, at a motorway service station, I noticed a stranger intently peering at me for no apparent reason. Once past the a newly grown beard, I recognised someone not seen for seventeen years. After the catch-up stuff, he and his wife told me they have box reserved for the accumulating cards, as do others. Confirming the German phrase, 'Papier ist geduldig,' paper is patient. (Has an alternative meaning, paper doesn’t blush.)"

John Krumm: "I've long used greeting card photo paper from Red River. It's good quality and comes with a crease for easy folding. They also have printing templates for Lightroom (and I think Photoshop) that makes for easy printing."

Kristine Hinrichs: "Over the years I’ve made a few $$ selling my photo cards. What has really been fun is printing a card for birthday, wedding, sympathy that I hope will have special meaning to the recipient. About a month into the pandemic lock-down I looked at my substantial card inventory and decided to send a card, with a personal message, to every single person in my contact list for whom I had an address—friends, An old boyfriend, ex-husband, business associates—everyone. In the end I sent 96 cards. I had no expectations. I was overwhelmed by the response, many cards in return. Several said that theirs arrived at a particularly lonely time, a friend’s son sent me a letter on origami paper, several were framed. It was quite an experience."

Jamie Pillers: "Over at the Rangefinder Forum website, there's a bunch of us that do a card exchange roughly once a year (I think we're about to embark on the 12th exchange). There are usually 30 to 40 participants. Everyone picks a favorite photo for their card and sends one to all the other participants. Its great fun then to wait for cards arriving over the next couple of months from all over the world."

Thoughts on 4x5 and Full-Frame

It was kind of Joe Kashi, from Alaska, to share his Nagaoka with us. For those in the balcony, Nagaokas were always relatively rare; Tachiharas and Wistas were far more common as sort of the "standard" Japanese 4x5s of the view camera revival period. I hope Oren will correct me if I'm wrong. There were others—Horseman made one, I seem to recall—but those two, the Tachihara and Wista, were the Toyota and Honda.

Meaning, they were the affordable ones for "Everyman." (Or woman.) There were many others, of course—American versions such as those made by Ron Wisner (the Zone VI camera, which many people are familiar with because of the success of their catalog, was, successively, a Wista, then a Wisner, then one they made themselves). Bespoke Gandolfis were made in England, and Ebony was the high-end Japanese offering. Of course there were many metal field view cameras, and many other view cameras that weren't of the flatbed folding field type. But they're not what we're talking about here.

The wooden-and-metal 4x5 field view camera to buy today would be the Shen-Hao (Amazon files it under "Electronics," which is funny) or the Chamonix. Both are made in China. They've chased the Japanese out of the business, Nagaoka-san notwithstanding.

'There's no substitute for square inches'
Joe sent nine pictures of his Nagaoka. Normally I would have picked perhaps three for the post. But I opted to use all nine, thinking that there would be those in the audience who aren't familiar with view cameras. Joe's pictures are worth 9,000 words of description as to how folding view cameras work.

MJ, Gas Station. I take iPhone pictures wherever I am. What got my attention here was the Milk Bone on the concrete, and the light, the evening of a particularly clear day.

View cameras were common when I came up. Art photographers in the 1970s began using cast-off Deardorff 8x10s that were easily available secondhand. Nobody wanted them; my studio partner bought a nice one for $300. It created a Revival for the field view camera that has never entirely died. By the '80s, when I was in photography school, the school owned several monorails that students could sign out. Which I did, just to try it. That was the beginning of my own "large-format period," at the end of which I bought the Wista of sainted memory. Much as I adore large-format photography, though, I wasn't very good at it, and I quickly learned it wasn't my thing. Honestly, an iPhone suits the way I like to photograph better than a view camera. It's like a field notebook on which I can jot quick notes.

Bathing beauties in 1921, from Shorpy. My grandmother would have been 20 that year. Don't you like the dude in the upper left? He's into the whole thing.

If you're unfamiliar with large-format photography and curious as to what all those square inches bought you, you can get a real feel for it at Shorpy—some of the old pictures they reproduce are from sheet-film and glass-plate negatives that would have been shot with cameras broadly similar to Joe's Nagaoka and the others of its ilk. Velvety smoothness, gobs of detail that didn't call attention to itself, and, usually, a long, gentle tonal scale: all those felicities of big negs are visible in many of the JPEGs at Shorpy (although sometimes from medium format, too).

Big digi
I should preface this next bit with a caveat and a confession. The caveat is that I have nothing against fans of full-frame. Don't accuse me otherwise, because it's a false ack! I want photographers to have the gear they want, and that's an end on it. If full-frame's for you, power to you, period.

The confession is that I might be being iconoclastic here...a tendency I have. I've a bit of a contrarian streak. If the world goes to SUVs, I'll champion little British-style roadsters. If the world moves to streaming audio, I'll talk up vinyl. If the world is inundated by a tsunami of video games, I'll play pool, a physical game that requires an expensive half-ton to one-ton game-board that's a headache and a half to move, store, set up, knock down, and buy or sell. The fad for "open concept" house plans (pushed relentlessly for decades because they leave more money in builders' pockets, I'm convinced) made me appreciate walls. Hey, I'm a photographer...we need walls! The more walls the better.

Anyway...my main reaction to the Sony a7C is that it's the wrong format. I know the format is the point. But to me, one of the great advantages of digital is small sensors. Thirty-five millimeter was the practical minimum for film, but digital lets us go a good deal smaller. It's one of the good things about digital! Why give it up?

If I were going to go big...well, let me put it this way. A friend of mine, a distinguished photographer and educator, recently privately made the case in an email for medium-format digital. He was reacting to seeing and working on many files of different kinds from students. Quoth he, "When the files are from a medium format sensor...the resolution and clarity and dynamic range just jump out at you. My impression, reinforced several times with different medium format digital files, is that 4/3s and FF are closely paired, with FF in front but not by all that much, while the MF files leap out in front of the FF. That doesn’t jibe with the arithmetic. Four-thirds to FF is a bigger jump in sensor area, but FF to MF shows a strikingly bigger improvement."

Anyway, if I were going to go big—turning my back on what I consider one of digital's main advantages—I'd want to go all the way and dive into "medium" format. (Remember, it's digital's large format—the word "medium" being merely legacy terminology). Honestly—and I know this is a minority opinion—I like small sensors better. You get more depth-of-field with wider apertures, which is a good thing, and everything's smaller and handier. APS-C is the largest I'd go, everything considered; I wouldn't turn down the opportunity to try a SotA 1"-sensor camera, and I do like that I can carry a camera in my pocket for visual note-taking.

So that's the downside of the a7C for me—wrong sensor size.

But like I say, that could be my iconoclastic side stubbornly surfacing. "Popular taste is always wrong."

Bless you an' yourn
TOP is off tomorrow. Have a wonderful weekend—be grateful to be alive, relish any good weather you might get to enjoy, and taste your food. And as always, good light to thee.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2020 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.

Help TOP keep on keepin' on via Patreon

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

Rob de Loe: "A wonderful mentor named Bob McNair introduced me to large format when I was a student. He ran the photo lab and let me use it for questionably 'academic' purposes. Maintaining my sanity struck me as a legitimate academic purpose. He got me into 4x5. Meanwhile, he was getting into 11x14 using a camera he built himself. I went from a Kardan Super Color, which I carried into the field in a homemade case, to a Wisner Technical Field. Eventually I sold it all, including my darkroom.

"I had a revival in 2018-19 and re-bought both a monorail and a field 4x5 camera with all the trimmings. Alas, it didn't last. The transaction costs of shooting film were simply too high. Too much time, too much money, too slow. Then I found a digital view camera (thanks Jeffrey) and it was game over for film. It seems what I wanted was movements. I now have all the movements I had on my 4x5 monorail, but with a digital medium format camera. It's wonderful."

Khürt Louis Williams: I’ve seen images from a Fujifilm GFX 50 and I’m convinced I want to go bigger."

Dennis Ng: "There is a UK-based large format camera I am targeted on to replace my old Tachiharas 4x5 and Deardorff 8x10."

James: "I actually own a Panasonic GX8, Fuji X-Pro3, Fuji X100V, Nikon D810, and Fuji GFX 50R. Your friend is correct. There is absolutely no comparison between the 50R and the D810 in terms of rendering and dynamic range. I am 60 years old and it's easily the same as the difference between a photo on my F5 vs. a photo on my Rolleiflex. It just looks different. The 63mm ƒ/2.8 lens is staggeringly good. I would say the difference is extremely marginal between the Nikon and the Pro3 or X100V. You would never see it in a print at 20 x 30 at ISO 1600. The only big difference between the Micro 4/3 and the Nikon is the dynamic range, but it's really not that significant. Yes, you can recover some highlights with the Nikon that the Panasonic wouldn't be able to, but now it's at a point where it looks artificial and maybe the better option is just letting them go as opposed to creating a phony-looking photo. I am selling the Nikon gear. No way I would ever part with the Fuji cameras. As for the GX8, it's just a great little camera. I often wonder why it didn't sell better."

Michael J. Perini: "I really agree with you about the latest Sony camera. Full frame sensors require large lenses if you want fast primes and zooms. Sony's A7 series are already quite compact, and full featured. They have had to reduce ergonomics and features in order to make the a7C more compact, making the mismatch between camera size and available lens size even more apparent. The real issue I think is that Sony, Canon, and Nikon have given up on high quality APS-C lenses, which could be more compact. They have helped Fujifilm along in that regard. One of the things I notice about Fujifilm cameras is that they all seem 'well proportioned,' neither body-heavy nor lens-heavy. I think that is part of good design. They are all capable cameras so it becomes more a matter of taste."

jean pierre (pete) guaron: "I had great-great-uncles on both my father's and my mother's side of my family, who amused themselves in the 19th century moving around the state, taking gigantic collodion wet plate glass plate shots, with wood framed field cameras, poised on monstrous wooden tripods. They made the plates themselves, in the field—and processed them in the field. Returning home to make contact prints. When the state Archives saw the collection of one of them, they all but fainted, on the spot—they'd never imagined such an incredible record of the state's history existed. And no digi beats a 10x12 or 12x16 contact print! You could practically use the bottom of a bottle as a lens, and still get a sharp image!"

Movie Tone

Edward G. Robinson in The Red House, 1947. Although an outdoor scene, note the rimlight even though the main light is high right. (Another lucky thing about film was that you often had to light it.)

I watched another old potboiler the other night, The Red House from 1947—I'm kind of on an Edward G. Robinson kick. That guy was an amazing actor. One reviewer called The Red House "country farmhouse noir" which about pegs it. Robinson plays a character that has to be simultaneously sympathetic and monstrous, a tough line for an actor to walk. What a pleasure to watch him pull it off. The ingenue is played by Allene Roberts, who died only last year at 90.

As I was searching for cast pictures—I do a lot of image searches because they encompass a nice mix of directedness and serendipity—I ran across this:

The Wikipedia caption is "Photo of Marcia Strassman from the television program Welcome Back, Kotter. Strassman played Julie Kotter, the wife of teacher Gabe Kotter," and the picture is in the public domain. Here's a link to the picture on Wikipedia, which may look better for you than it does here.

The best bet is that this was taken with a Hasselblad on Kodak Tri-X Professional (code letters TXP), using a strobe with an umbrella, high center. It's possible that's wrong, but it is, as I say, a good bet. I just looked, and TXP appears to be available only in sheet film now.

So how can we guess this is TXP? Two ways: 1.) it looks like it; and 2.) that was what most professionals shot back then when they shot B&W. And why a Hasselblad? Because in 1975 when this publicity still was taken it was the camera brand used by a majority of the higher-level professionals in America. Could have been a Mamiya, though. Pros who specialized in portraits also used those a lot. Why an umbrella center high? Because that's what the light looks like, and you can see it reflected in her eyes. Well, sort of—the resolution of the JPEG isn't good enough to be definitive.

Anyway, none of that is what I want to talk about.

Skilled pros
The point I want to make is, when you're learning about B&W tonality, it makes a lot of sense to look at old movies and old professional studio pictures. The reason is that both of those were usually consciously lit, by seasoned professionals who really knew what they were doing, and then exposed properly for the lighting and the balance of tones desired. So you're seeing a report of conscious, skilled work that was the result of deliberate intent.

A significant caveat with old movies is that you need to be looking at a good print. With so many old noirs having been kicking around in the public domain for a long time, that's far from a given. It can be worthwhile, if you enjoy that sort of thing, to dig for the best versions of old movies—many review sites provide information about that. For example, I watched Scarlet Street the other night—a very early slasher film with Edward G. Robinson inhabiting a very different kind of character than the one he plays in The Red House—and Amazon's print is lousy, whereas one I found on YouTube is much better from a B&W tonality standpoint. Even if you do have to put up with interruptions.

Of course, many old movies will never exist in a great print again, just as many old musical masterpieces can never be remastered from the originals...Google "Universal Fire" and you'll see what I mean. Actually, don't Google "Universal Fire"—it's far too depressing to read about.

Naturally, you can find beautiful B&W tonality almost anywhere if you look hard enough. I've seen it in snapshots, documentary photographs taken as records, in old magazines, in museums and historical societies and antique shops. And of course in expressive artwork. Even (gasp!) online. But I wouldn't say it's common under any circumstances—excellence is always a small percentage of all the examples that exist, in anything I guess. And of course different pictures look best with different kinds of tonality...it's hardly a one-size-fits-all-kind of thing.

As you develop a taste in tonality, you'll probably notice that although you have your own preferences, you can also appreciate good examples of other kinds. That's the case with this portrait. There isn't a lot of shadow separation in the hair, and the contrast is bold and clear, and it's not the kind of spectral response I like best. TXP has a sort of dirty, gritty look in the mid-tones, which you can see best here in the area of her blouse and necklace at the bottom of the picture. But overall this works. It's vivid and pretty, and balanced, and the highlight modulation in the skin tones is lovely...something that survives even in the JPEG. (Do click the link to study it more carefully.)

Think of a musical analogy—even though your basic preference might be for a particular genre, classic rock or '70s Brit-pop or '90s grunge or contemporary drums 'n' bass or whatever—you can still appreciate well-done songs or pieces in wildly different genres, even ones you generally dislike.

Of course—back to today's example—tonality doesn't make the picture. It's the personality the actress projects with her lively eyes and nice smile that does that. Marcia Strassman, who played "Nurse Margie Cutler" on some early episodes the TV series M*A*S*H among other roles, died in 2014, of breast cancer. She wrote a memoir before she left us.

A lovely old picture of a person in her prime. Too bad we all don't need to get headshots made at a few points along the paths of our lives.

I'll try to put up other examples of excellent B&W tonality from time to time, for those who are trying to calibrate an eye for it.

Mike

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Maynard Switzer: "Actually TXP was not used that much in the studio with powerful studio strobe lighting. Richard Avedon used nothing but Panatomic-X in his Rolleiflex in the studio. ISO 32. How do I know? I was his assistant for a year."

Stephen Cowdery: "Looking at old movies for lighting inspirations is a great idea. I recently watched the Criterion set of Marlene Dietrich/Josef von Sternberg films from the early 1930s and the lighting, especially on Dietrich, was spectacular. It was obvious that von Sternberg (who did most of his lighting) was working on some other level."

Huw Morgan: "We were once stranded for a day in New York after our flight was canceled. Rather than go back into Manhattan, we stayed in an airport hotel near LaGuardia. The next morning, we had time to kill and visited the Museum of the Moving Image, a remarkable collection of movie-related materials. They have an excellent collection of publicity portraits of famous movie stars, taken by the studio photographers of the day. The collection is a lesson in lighting techniques and beautiful black-and-white printing. The tones in these photos are to die for and just can't be reproduced with inkjet printers. If you have a few hours to kill, I'd heartily recommend this museum."

Reminder!

If you have some time this weekend, you might want to treat yourself to Bill Jay's famous essay "The Thing Itself." We mentioned it the other day.

The phrase was Edward Weston's. Edward, behind the formidable veil of his artistry and mastery, was essentially a still-life photographer. Few kinds of photographers care more about things themselves.

Bill was an iconoclast, always a little outside the art-world mainstream despite his numerous publications and academic positions. He thought for himself, followed his path, went his own way. He was also a photographer. His primary subject was other photographers. He made a great many fine portraits. I've seen very few less than good.

I think it's probably unlikely that you'll agree with everything he claims and says in this essay. But I also think it's likely that you'll find it thoughtful and thought-provoking—and a constructive, rewarding way to pass time on a lazy Summer weekend.

And if you don't want to read it now, put it on your virtual bedstand for some future day.

Mike

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Ricardo Hernandez: "Thank you so much for linking this Mike. I was not aware of it and it sure is making me think about my photographic journey, what I want to do, and though a big part of me already knew it - how petty are all these tribal sports like fights in forums about camera brands. I really like in particular the example he gave of the violinist on the TV interview, the very pragmatic "if you have filtered subjects of interest and you remain with equal subjects, pick the one people are interested the most at that point (but only at that point)" (I am paraphrasing) - the pick a subject that you are passionate about because it's how you will carry on examining it over and over again. Great, great read. Thank you so much!"

Animesh Ray: "Written with unusual clarity...what a difference from Sontag's On Photography. While trying to read the latter I couldn't go beyond what it is not to get to what it is. Here Bill Jay gets to the heart in a few short strokes of his pen. He writes like the best of the journalists, which he was for a long time. I agree with him on the primacy of the subject in photography. The surprise was his opinion on a personal style, that one cannot make it consciously, that it is an unconscious by-product of passion and work (and, may I add, of talent)."

Awful Tones for Awful Times?

Every time I talk about what digital B&W "looks like," I get a cascade of blowback—people saying things like you can make it look any way you want it to look.

Right, and a lot of people these days seem to want it to look bad.

And anyway, I'm just looking around me at what's typically being done—I'm not talking about best cases, or exceptions—I'm talking about what are emerging as shared cultural defaults, the styles and fashions that are emerging as prevalent.

As a brief case in point, take a look at Todd Heisler's portfolio entitled "What New York Looks Like Now: A Photo Journey" in the New York Times, especially the lead picture and the picture titled "Brooklyn Hospital."

The photographer is very accomplished, and the Times shows some of the best photojournalism being done these days, so this isn't meant as a general disparagement of either. But the tonality in this particular portfolio is too far over the top. A number of these pictures are obviously taken in daytime sunlight and yet much of the tonal range is rendered as...well, black. Not sunlit, unlit. And I get it—the topic is hospital tents and other makeshift temporary emergency shelters at New York hospitals, so the mood is meant to be grim and threatened. Hence the use of the extremely dark, depressed tones. Awful times, awful tones.

But this goes too far. It's as bad in its way as extreme HDR or "slider slamming" with color and saturation, or any other species of digital extremism. You can call it "expressive interpretation" if you like, and doubtless that's how it is meant. In my opinion, though, it's not expressive, just excessive. The question about whether manipulation (of the pictures, and of the viewers) to this degree goes too far for photojournalistic objectivity is one I won't raise. To me it's a question of taste rather than appropriateness. Exaggeration like this gives black and white a bad name.

Mike

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Omer (partial comment): "My guess is that there is a photo editorial processing concoction in place across the board meant to dramatize or infer seriousness for the sole purpose of attention. Not unlike the designs of supermarket tabloid cover pages. It probably works, unfortunately, meaning the public at large is acclimatized to that look and then won't consider a more subtle finish as worthy."

Eliott James: "While I think this was a creative choice reflecting the horror of what's going on in NYC right now, I agree with you. Being objective (FWIW,) I think it's overdone. I think it might have had even a greater impact if it weren't so dark. I favor creative choice over set traditions but in the end it's a matter of opinion."

Rob de Loe: "OK, so it's not just me. I saw that series before reading this article and had the same reaction."

Alan: "Personally, I like it! It's deep, dark, and moody. Basically, the way I feel today! Perhaps the lack of shadow detail is a metaphor; can't see into them...can't see the light at the end of the tunnel either."

Kye Wood: "I saw these too. And thought the exact same thing. A bit like music. It should be broadcast 'flat.' Then if you want, adjust the treble or mids or whatever, to taste. Season as required. But showing the images as they have, you're not free to interpret them using your own mind—which is like a movie that has overbearing music to push the emotions the scene is aiming for. Hey people! If you do it right, you don't need crunch the tones in the image, or deafen us with violin swells at the movies."

Mike replies: One of the great demonstrations of that I saw was during a lecture by the great photographer Ralph Steiner. He presented four short films consisting of various views of agricultural sprinklers in action, set to four very different pieces of music. He then asked the audience which film was the longest and which the shortest. Great argument ensued. I myself was certain that the piece with the slow music was about twice as long as the one with the bombastic Wagnerian music. Well, you probably can guess the upshot—in the great reveal, Steiner admitted that all four segments of film had been exactly the same. The only thing that was different at all was the music. I was amazed. Even knowing what he had done, it was clear that the music seemed to bring out, or emphasize, very different aspects of the visual presentation. Thinking of the slow music, I felt the slow-motion cascades of water were prominent; whereas the fast music seemed to emphasize the cuts from one camera angle to another.  

A Confession

I find photographs in all sorts of places. And I'm almost radically egalitarian in how I'll prioritize their status.

I used to love "antiques" (junk) stores that had large collections of old snapshots. I loved to look through them and muse about what they showed, always aware that I could at any turn happen across that chance perfectly-imperfect one-in-a-thousand shot.

I seldom bought even those, though. I'm not a collector. I'd love to be, but I move around, I'm disorganized, and I'm not really a good steward of the objects I own. This pains me, but you're got to know your weaknesses.

This is what kind of collector I'd be. Extra credit:
know who this is? Hover over the image for a hint.

I've written a few times how fascinated I am by the "good" pictures people have on their smartphones—meaning, the ones that mean something to them and show things they want to show other people, and preserve. I like old postcards, Shorpy, collections of Kodachromes*, and so forth and so on. I especially like curated collections of ephemera...as an aside, I believe that editing and curation have recently become much more important in the culture of imagemaking. Our apprehension of this hasn't begun to catch up to the reality, but I think a lot of the creativity of the future might shift from the making of images to the collection and arrangement of them. There is just so much now, and it all gets lost in a sea of more and ever more.

Virtual tours
But I digress. Anyway, here's my confession...I love poking around on Zillow and on Google Street View. For the pictures. On Zillow you get to see inside peoples' houses—spit-shined and made presentable, mostly, but it's fascinating the way people can't quite entirely erase the traces of their lives and the way they lived inside their spaces. And I love interiors, as a genre of photography. Sometimes—not often, I'll admit—I come across an interior that looks as formally beautiful as a Vermeer. Of course, somebody photographed that, and that somebody might have self-described as a photographer or even been a professional. But just as often it was an anonymous realtor, or the owner, and the picture was meant to be utilitarian. Show off the nice garage.

On Google Street View you can virtually "walk" neighborhoods all over America—seeing what there is to see, and again getting a sense of how the (mostly absent) people occupy the spaces that are familiar to them. And just as with the old snapshot tables at junk stores, occasionally the random photograph taken automatically from the top of a moving vehicle magically arranges itself into a real photograph. It "arrests" me, that's the word—I stop, stilled, and stare. How did that happen?

I don't screen-grab it, though. My hard drive is already junky enough.

It's as close to the real magic in photography as the stuff I see in museums, the stuff that's presented with such great deference toward the status of the auteur, the curator, and the institution. Often, though, all that ego just gets in the way. The magic of photography is radically egalitarian—never plentiful, never easy to access, but open to all, anywhere, everywhere. Sometimes where you least expect it.

Mike

*I love how, at that link, the writeup has to start by explaining to people that "50 years ago, people used 35mm cameras like we use smartphones in the age of Instagram." Ha! I'm older now, and I'm a-living in the future....

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Marco Maroccolo: "The great Josef Sudek!"

Dennis: "A neat thing about Google Street View is that the view changes. Same with satellite views. They get updated every so often. A couple of years ago, three co-workers and I were walking to lunch from work and crossing a street single file when a Google truck photographed us. For a while, if you checked out the Street View, there we were doing an unintentional impression of the Beatles' Abbey Road cover. But that's been replaced by a newer set."

Francisco Cubas: "I couldn't agree more with your last paragraph. I see poetry exactly the same way. Borges wrote that poetry can appear in any simple conversation—it's not a prerogative of great books or great poets. As you say, its magic is radically egalitarian. Maybe all those institutions and powers just get in the way and make people think they're not worthy of art.

"About the shift from making to collecting images you may be interested in the late work and essays of Joan Foncuberta."

Ulrich Fraaß: "This is the famous photographer Josef Sudek (1896–1976) in his small studio in Praha. Unfortunately he lost his right arm during World War I."

Mike adds: If anyone out there reading this ever gets a chance to see Sudek prints in person, jump at it.

Mike Plews: "Sudek by Sonja Bullaty belongs on every photographer's bookshelf. Magic on every page."

Mike replies: I agree.

JG: "One other great thing about Google's Street View is that serves as a convenient, always and easily accessible time capsule. My father died in February 2017, yet no matter where I am, I can always log into Google Street View, scroll back to May, 2011, and see a photo of him in his car waiting at the stop sign a block from his house for the Google Street View car to pass."

Greg Heins: "The example of Sudek is especially pertinent now, in our shelter-in-place era. You could mount multiple exhibitions from the still-lifes he made in his tiny studio and then some more from the photographs he took of the window into his little garden with its solitary tree. Additionally, he lived from 1939 until his death in 1976 under either the Nazi or Soviet totalitarian regime. Many of his prints were made on whatever papers admirers in the West sent him. We are fortunate here in Boston to have a very choice selection of Sudeks available for viewing."

Martin D: "About a year ago you asked your readers to list their five favourite photographers. My list included Sudek. He is the odd one out in my photographic pantheon: the quiet voice of pure poetry amongst the prose of Hine, Evans, Abbott."

Test Shots

A commenter mentioned that yesterday's post was about life rather than about photography.

Apropos of that, I just wanted to mention that my position for years has been that "Photography is not about photography. It's about life."

What does that mean though?

I guess it means that I tend to prefer photography that has significance related to what's being photographed. What do the photographs mean? What is the photographer attempting to communicate? ...Or just show? Is there a purpose for which the photograph was made? If so, what is that?

Doesn't matter what it is. Well, it does, but there's no one thing it has to be.

This value seems to have been in retreat in recent years. I don't see any conspiracy in this or even any deliberate trend—more like, it's just a consequence of cultural forces at play. Digital imaging made photography much easier and, on a per-frame basis, less expensive, and the web and phone sharing made it much easier to see much larger numbers of photographs by others—especially the rejects and seconds, the thoughtless random effluvia of shooting. The waste-product of getting that occasional "hit."

The stuff we never used to see. (Of course, the same filters that kept us from seeing a lot of junk in traditional photo culture also choked off a lot of good work from being seen. I won't argue there.) And, there's no longer any final product. There's just the pixels on a screen, a transient representation of another transient representation of a thing that isn't even a thing. Re-representations.

Something that I've long disliked are pictures that attempt to be generic scenes or objects "known to be pretty." More recently, this has widened considerably into what might uncharitably be called "my sh*t that looks a lot like other peoples' sh*t." In other words, people new to photography look around and see everyone else posting random approximate empty meaningless snapshots, so they post random approximate empty meaningless snapshots that look like everybody else's and they're in the club and everyone's happy.

The worst of these that I see—and it's probably my own fault, because of what I have to look at—is the dreaded "test shot." Any photograph labeled "test shot" comes pre-loaded with an excuse for its own lameness. I'm deathly tired of looking at test shots.

Of course, I post a lot of test shots. But it's my job. Part of my job, anyway.

That's my excuse. Ha!

The opposite of the test shot—IMNSHO—is the personal phone pic. Everybody has some. Pictures that exist for no other reason than the very thing I value, namely the meaning of what they show. It's seldom put into words—well, into more than a few words anyway—but everyone who has such a picture knows why that picture is meaningful to them. They know the significance of the pictures they love.

I'd much rather look at normal peoples' best phone shots than yet more test shots.

I suppose the most telling question I would ask of a photograph is, why should I look at this? Why should this picture interest me? Or, to put it the correct way 'round: why should anyone else look at this? Why should this picture interest someone else?

I've noticed that a lot of photobooks these days are filled with pictures that are just devoid of meaning, feeling, specificity, or any interest in the subject matter whatsoever. They're stylish, or highly stylized. They're going for a sort of attenuated implication of significance. But there's no there there. There seems to be a meaning but there isn't.

And that gets us to the flip side of the generic pretty picture—the opposite side of the same coin, the other end of the same stick—which is when people show me a picture that might interest me, but they haven't even bothered to take any interest in what their own photograph shows! If the photographer wasn't even curious about what he or she was seeing, why should they expect me or anyone else to be?

I see numberless photographs that don't answer my first, most basic question: what am I seeing here? Much less the next question, why am I being shown this?

It doesn't really matter what the answer to the question is. I just wish there was an answer. It's not enough that it just be a photograph. Anybody can take an image, these days.

Mike
(Inset: Long Story Short)

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Another Comparison

I mentioned a comparison in passing the other day about the same lens showing different kinds of bokeh in different situations. Here's another comparison...two examples of B&W tonality.

The first example might be considered to be "typical," very broadly, of fashionable digital B&W tonality. There's nothing wrong with the picture—but note the range of tones, the lack of grays, the overall balance between the predominant light tones and the predominant dark tones, the way the highlights tend to wash to sameness (lots of fashion photographers like that, and have for many years—they used to overexpose transparency film to get that effect).

The second example, to my eye at least, is more typical of film tonality. Take a look at that. Nothing special about it—not a famous lens, and the film is one that's actually not known for good tonality. But I doubt any informed photographer would not realize that this tonality is more typical of film. Note especially the rich midtones and the subtle gradations of the skin tone.

There's nothing wrong with either aesthetic. They're just different. But they do look different.

Juxtapose
I often enjoy looking through Flickr search pages because of these comparisons, and the accidental juxtapositions that happen. I had one all prepped to show you, but alas, I haven't been able to get in touch with the photographers for their permission. Can't wait forever. Suffice it to say that there are often pair of images that show up next to each other that are thought-provoking or effective in some way, or funny or just delightful (the one I prepped shows one picture of an old peasant woman with a cow next to a picture of a young woman in scanty workout clothes hanging from the netting of a soccer goal, both with remarkably similar expressions on their faces as they regard the camera).

Look again and the images have been shuffled and the combinations are different.

Mike

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Bokeh Is Not a Stable Characteristic of a Lens

I ran across a nice example yesterday of the same lens exhibiting both "good" and "bad" bokeh. I was looking through pictures taken with the old Olympus OM-Zuiko 50mm ƒ/1.8, a fine little lens (identical in design to an earlier generation of Leica Summicron, by the way) which is widely available for very little dosh. Take a look first at this lovely portrait by Konstantin Konduktorov, taken with the old lens adapted to a digital DSLR. Although there isn't "lots" of bokeh evident in the picture (I've always considered that a bit of a harebrained concept anyway, cf. "The Dog's Nose"), the blur is very smooth and gentle and provides just enough contrast with the sharper image of the woman's face.

Konstantin Konduktorov, detail. Soft blur and not too much
of it, with good coherence.

In general the old Oly "nifty fifty" renders bokeh quite nicely, among its other attributes. Fifty millimeter lenses are problematic in terms of their rendering away of the plane of best focus; not very many of them are always free of ugliness. While we're at it, note how smooth and subdued the in-focus image is, too, in this picture, despite being very sharp.

It's a nice old lens, and although prices are going up—I bought one for $10 in the '90s—you can have one for anywhere from $30 for a beater to $100 for one "new in box" when you can find it. And you can have it in single-coated or multi-coated flavors, too*—Japanese lens mavens prefer single-coated lenses for B&W film work. Note that this lens isn't good wide open. It cleans up nicely by ƒ/2.8, and is as sharp as it gets by ƒ/5.6, but I'd never shoot it wide open unless I really needed the speed.

This "new in box" sample of the Olympus OM-Zuiko 50mm ƒ/1.8
sold for $99 on February 16th

Now on to the negative example. Here's another shot by the same photographer with the same type of lens—probably the same exact lens unless Konstantin owns two samples. That ugly mess at the top, where the bright light comes through the trees, is very distracting. I might have cropped that out. 

Konstantin Konduktorov, detail. Ouch! That's not getting out of the way
like good blur should.

I should note also that you can "fix" bad bokeh in Photoshop to a certain extent, by reducing contrast and adding Gaussian blur, blending it into the picture with a layer mask. This would "step back" a little better, and draw less attention away from the subject.

Without correction past whatever the photographer applied, though, the two pictures are a nice demonstration that "bokeh" is not a stable characteristic of any lens. It can change with aperture, focus distance, whether the blurred object are in front of or behind the plane of focus, how much blurriness there is, and, especially, with what's being imaged. So we can't really talk about "the" bokeh of a particular lens, except generally.

Mike

*Here's how to tell. Older Zuikos had a letter code for the number of elements in the lens that preceded the word "Zuiko" (then and now Olympus's name for its lenses) with a letter and a period. For instance, "F," being the sixth letter in the alphabet, denoted six elements. When you find one of these 50mm ƒ/1.8's marked "F.Zuiko," that's a single-coated lens. Lenses marked "MC" are always multi-coated. Some have neither marking, but when you see the words "made in Japan" on the ring around the outermost element, that's also a multi-coated lens. (Those were later lenses after they stopped single-coating altogether, and the letters "MC" denoting multi-coating were deemed to be superfluous and were dropped.)

A "made in Japan" sample

Mike

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Michael Fewster [responding to another commenter, not the post —Ed.] wrote: "It always amuses me when people talk about 'natural bokeh.' There is no natural bokeh. It is an effect created by the lens and varies from lens to lens. Bokeh created 'artificially' by software in computational images as done in some camera phones or with post-processing software is every bit as natural.

"Of course, we might find some bokeh more pleasing than other bokeh but that is a question of aesthetics, not 'naturalness.' Computationally applied bokeh is not artificial. It is every bit as valid as that created by a lens."

Andy F (replying to Michael) wrote: "I don't think I've ever seen people talking about 'natural' bokeh, but I've certainly seen mention of neutral bokeh—that is, blur discs with neither overly hard nor overly soft edges.

"Incidentally, there is natural bokeh—your eyes are simple lenses, after all, so by focusing on something close up, things far away go blurry, and you can examine your eyes' natural bokeh. Mine isn't that pretty to be honest."

Mike J. replies: I think we can use any adjective we like to apply to bokeh, since they're just descriptive words. So you could call it "businesslike" or "prissy" or "craven" if you imagine those words will communicate your meaning. When trying to describe something, the words you choose are up to you.

Behind that, though, is our understanding of how the overall image communicates. Anything about bokeh (and everything else, really) relates to the effect it has on how the viewer understands and responds to the picture. As an extreme counterexample, take those attempts at pleasant portraiture that happen to catch two animals humping in the out-of-focus background. The humor comes from the dissonance between the putative subject and what the photograph accidentally shows. Also from the fact that the photographer failed miserably to put the viewer's attention or emphasis where he or she intended to put it.

You'll notice that several times in the post I did apply value judgements, though. I said that bad bokeh doesn't "get out of the way" and that it draws attention away from the subject, when it should "step back." This acknowledges that the child on the log is the subject of the second picture, and you want the rest of the picture—the "setting"—to set that off. With many good photographs of all kinds, many different elements of the picture contribute to the overall impression it makes. I've always been of the opinion that "bad" bokeh isn't a technical matter; it's just a question of how the out-of-d.o.f. areas contribute to or distract from the overall impression. The softest and most technically appealing bokeh in the world doesn't matter if the dog's nose isn't in focus—the picture is spoiled anyway. (That dog could be the brother of my Lulu, by the way. And any dog person would know instantly that that poor fellow is uncomfortable!)

Matt Kallio (partial comment): "Just as there are different qualities of bokeh, there are qualities of sharp too. The portrait is so sharp it takes me aback— yet it is pleasing in a way that my own over-sharpened images are not. Maybe Mike is reveling in his new eyesight and seeing everything that sharp, so he doesn't notice it. In normal life I never see anyone that sharply, particularly from the distance we're at in Mr. Konduktorov's portrait. Every hair...."

Peter Wright: "How I enjoyed this post! In a world seemingly obsessed with world stock market decline, virus outbreaks, climate threat, and of course, certifiably insane politicians of every stripe, it is so refreshing to come to a site on the Internet where the topic of discussion is the out-of-focus characteristics of a popular lens from last century! And I do mean that with total sincerity. Of course we need to consider the above problems (that we probably have little control over), but we need to leave room for that class of 'issues' that pose no threat, but seem to feed the soul, if we think about them."

Mike replies: That's TOP—incisive, insightful, irrelevant.  :-)

Stephen Scharf: "Andrew of the 'Danae & Andrew' YouTube channel did a really nice video back in October, 2018 of how viewers felt about different photographs shot wide open with fast lenses, or somewhat stopped down, say, ƒ/4 to ƒ/5.6. The link is below, but the bottom line is that viewers are much more concerned with the sharpness of the subject of the photograph than how out of focus the background is, and many viewers prefer to see some of the background behind the subject that helps tell the story, or provides a sense of place or context. Of note is his comments, 'what is in focus is always more important than what is not in focus,' and 'the average person cannot tell the difference between photos taken at difference of couple of aperture stops, even when looking for differences....' Link here (very insightful survey)."

Mike replies: His conclusions line up with my beliefs very well. Of course, it's mainly because I grew up in the era of lenses that performed more poorly wide open than today's lenses tend to do, but I've always recommended stopping down two or three stops for best optical quality.

Bazooka Joe

Still working on that book roundup. Sorry, I've been "sick-ish" this week (sort of skating above it, merely in danger of falling through) and short of energy. Taking naps. And of course such projects can be expanded to fill any available time. I don't work as fast as I used to.

In the meantime, I wanted to address an issue that came up under this post, the one about my resolution not to resort to my phone camera so often.

Two reader comments—

SteveW wrote: "I'm loving reader comments on this one. Ah, good ol' TOP! I think I can channel some MJ here: the camera you have fun shooting with is the one to be shooting."

Julian Behrisch Elce wrote: "My goodness, everyone—the condescension here is very unpleasant, not to mention that not one of you knows what the people you’ve granted your approval do in their spare time or use in their artistic efforts. I really hope that this space will be more generous in the coming year."

The two comments came in right next to each other, and I'm always amused when two diametrically opposing reactions are coincidentally juxtaposed like that.

And I usually don't publish comments like Julian's in this case (he's written many valuable comments otherwise) simply because I don't allow readers to judge each other—that's how disputation gets kindled, and on this site I discourage what were called, in the '90s, "flame wars."

But I do want make something clear, again. What you want to carry is the camera that makes the files, negatives, or transparencies that fit the way you're visualizing your pictures. Condescend? I don't view gear in terms of status. Didn't I recently recommend a classic book of pictures taken with a toy Diana, a camera made of plastic, with a plastic lens, that cost (if I recall correctly) less than $20 when the pictures were taken? For Camera & Darkroom magazine I wrote a feature—a cover feature, at that—on a Massachusetts photographer who did an entire body of work with a "Sun-Pet," an even cheaper plastic toy camera—the only way to get one was to mail in ten "Bazooka Joe" bubblegum comics and 70¢! (For those of you who don't know or don't remember, those little slabs of pink bubblegum came with a tiny printed comic inside the wrapper, and you could send in various numbers of the comics as "proof of purchase" along with small amounts of money to claim various prizes.) Mary Kocol, who worked in a color lab at the time and printed her own negatives when the lab was closed, would take color Sun-Pet negatives and blow them up to huge sizes such that they fell apart in interesting ways. Here are some of Mary's more recent toy camera pictures.

The point in that post was not that the smartphone camera is not an adequate camera. It's just not the camera that gives me what I happen to want at the present time, that's all. Any camera can be not only an adequate camera, but the perfect camera, if it's what the photographer wants and needs for his or her work! What you want is the right camera in your hand, not the wrong one, for any value you choose to assign to "wrong" and "right." My friend Christopher Bailey did some wonderful work with a Nikon that had a stuck shutter—only the "B" setting worked—and a lens with a giant crack through the middle of one element. He was devastated when it was stolen, because it was irreplaceable. Sally Mann did some work with very old uncoated lenses that flared badly—she got in touch with me wanting to know if any films that had no anti-halation backing (she wanted halation!). Daido Moriyama's signature look was created with both film and digital point-and-shoots. And of course a number of photographers produced artistically successful books of pictures made with funky early cellphone cameras. I've written about some of them too.

Henry Wessel photographed until his death with a 1950s Canon screwmount lens on a Leica. Why wouldn't he switch to a more modern lens? Because the old lens gave him the look he wanted. Was it a "worse" lens than a modern lens? Not for him. Or for his pictures.

The main blindness in modern amateur enthusiast photography as it is expressed and discussed online, in my opinion, is the conflation of "image quality" with good photographs. Enthusiasts have chased analytical perfection to a point of diminishing returns, while seeming utterly oblivious of the almost nonexistent relationship between technical imaging perfection and visual expressiveness. I've always been of the opinion that anyone can do anything he or she wants with his or her photography, as long as no laws are broken and no one gets hurt; so obviously I can't blast anyone for wanting the biggest and greatest, the most expensive, the supposed "best"—it's their business, not mine. But neither have I ever despised anyone who uses what some would consider a "bad" or "cheap" camera such as a toy Diana, a homemade pinhole camera, an early, poor-quality cellphone, or anything else they can make work for their work.

Power to them. Power to us all. When it comes to expressiveness, excellence is available to anyone. And yet cannot be bought.

Have a good weekend! Good light.

Mike
(Thanks to Steve and Julian)

Original contents copyright 2020 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.

Please help support The Online Photographer through Patreon

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

David Littlejohn: "Best post in a while! Thanks!"

Fer: "Your post about the phone camera resonated with me so much. After being laid off in 2015, I took a trip of several months across Southeast Asia to figure out a new direction for my life. At the time I didn't know I'd end up deciding to give photography a try as a profession, simply because I thought it was too hard to even contemplate it. My main goal for the trip was to relax and enjoy the travel experience to the fullest, not taking top-quality photos. So, while I brought my X-E1 and a couple of lenses with me, I ended up taking an inordinate amount of photos with my smartphone, about 40% overall.

"I can't tell you how many times I've regretted this, looking at the questionable quality of many of those files."

Andrew "Thick Skull" Lamb: "Wise words. This is a message I need drummed into my thick skull on an alarmingly regular basis. The weather is improving here, in London; time to take more pictures."

Dan Khong: "My Leitz Summar gives me the looks that I want. On top of that, since it's manufactured between 1932–1939, there is much history that goes with it."

Pictures for Discussion: Figure-Ground Relationship

Introduction: In July 2017, in response to a reader who wrote, "examples would help a lot to clarify!", I answered:

"It's a problem. I could find hundreds of examples of what I consider 'bad' photography, 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 wouldn't like it if that were done to me. 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."

Back to now: I've decided that perhaps I can do that with pictures that the makers have donated to be more or less rights-free on Wikimedia Commons. So from time to time I'll look for pictures there that illustrate various principles we can talk about.

But please, I am NOT ridiculing the photographs and certainly not the photographers! I have made every mistake under the sun, as all of us have. On the contrary, I thank them for letting us use their pictures for discussion.

Here goes.

A quiz: What basic mistake did the shooter make in the following picture? Think about it for a minute before you click through.

Anna Anichkova, "Rolls Royce" (fragment), Vintage Car Rally, Aphrodite Hills Resort, Cyprus (CC BY-SA 3.0)

Common Problems with Digital Black and White

I love B&W—first love, highest loyalty, greatest pleasure—but I don't like most of the digital B&W I see.

Why? Not because it's digital. There's nothing wrong with the tools. The problem is merely in the fashions, styles, or conventions that have taken hold and become current and conventional.

Herewith, a brief rundown of my gripes. Bear in mind that I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about the digital images I see on the Web taken as a whole.

Soot-and-chalk: The term is St. Ansel's. Curious, because he was not known for middle grays! But despite the dramatic appearance of his prints, he went to great lengths to tame contrast and get a full scale in his prints. "Soot-and-chalk" refers to a tonal scale that pushes too many of the lighter tones into pure white and too many of the darker tones into pure black. It can be used as a personal style; Daido Moriyama for example*. The reductio ad absurdum is a picture with almost nothing but black or white in it. Although even that can be used effectively, for instance in the most famous picture by Bill Brandt. However, most digital photographers whose work I see don't have a solid grasp of tonal range, and simply don't know how or why to get detail in the darkest and lightest tones or where to draw the line or what the aesthetic impressions they are imparting might be. As a general rule, the music of tonality is in the mid-tones, and in finding whatever the right amount of detail in the highlights and shadows might be.

Too sharp: Oversharpening is a typical failing of digital in general—and it's worse in B&W. It results in a razory harshness that imparts an acrid or acidic "flavor." (If you will.) B&W film in certain developers had an edge effect—light tones got a bit lighter near a tonal boundary with a dark tone and dark tones got a bit darker near a tonal boundary with a light tone. That could give even prints of gentle tonality a sort of 3-D effect. It's curious that over-the-top sharpening in digital results in "haloing," which is sort of a Devil's version of a similar thing. The general rule is that sharpness should be natural and not etched and harsh.

Depressed mid-tones: This was an effect you could get with Agfa Rodinal in the days of film. It was a developer said to provide "acutance" (I could get more acutance with plain old homemade D-76 [ID-11]: just dilute it 1:3 and stand back while Rodinal gets out-Rodinal'd.) People pursued that effect, seemingly never noticing that all their mid-tones were pressed downward in the tonal scale. That is, without changing 0 and X, what should have been rendered as Zone VI was rendered as Zone V, Zone V as Zone IV, etc.

Well, that's what happens with almost all digital conversions. Don't know why, but all the mid-tones are depressed, which gives me a feeling like the flu, or the fog of despond.

Hyped-up local contrast: There's usually "a slider for that." In Nik Silver Efex 2 it's called "Structure." In Photoshop it's known by the term that came from film, "Unsharp Masking"...except with sheet film, you actually used an unsharp mask, and it required special equipment and about a day's work. Now it takes roughly five seconds to do...and another split-second to overdo, which most people, especially the overanxious, do do. Speaking of doo-doo....

All of the above: And if all four of these shortcomings are found in the same shot—as they all too frequently are—the effect is like punishment. Flee!***

It's worth reminding ourselves that these are not rules. Any effect can be expressive if it's skillfully, tastefully, appropriately, or deliberately applied. Remember when I was bitching about dogs' noses being out of focus**, as a way of complaining about people who reflexively use too wide an aperture? Well, I even managed to find an example of that woeful effect that's delightful—check it out. In that picture the out-of-focus blur only emphasizes the extreme gloss of the ceremonial shoes—and to me gives the picture a tinge of the dizzying feeling of a wedding day. Nicely done.

But for the most part, I don't like looking at digital B&W. In general it's terrible and gives no pleasure. The exceptions mostly prove the rule. My advice: digital is a color medium****, so stick to color. Unless you know what you're doing. [UPDATE: See Sharon's comment in the Featured Comments, below.]

Mike

*James Maher wrote a trenchant brief description of the importance of "Stray Dog": "Moriyama’s most famous photograph is the 1971 Stray Dog, which took on a life as a symbol for post-war Japanese culture. In a culture that had been defined by order and purity, for a photographer to identify himself with, and celebrate the idea of a stray dog, was a profound shift. It brought underlying cultural feelings to the surface of alienation, darkness, self-hatred, and despair. He showed both himself and Japan as a stray dog, roaming for scraps of identity in an uncertain and quickly changing world."

**You see what I did there. "Amused myself, and that's half the battle" —Craig Ferguson.

***No, not the bass player. I mean "RUN AWAAAY!!" —King Arthur.

****Yeah, I know all about how sensors really work; the statement stands.

Original contents copyright 2019 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.

Please help support The Online Photographer through Patreon

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

Christopher Mark Perez: "In the late '70s/early '80s I was a B&W print tech in Hollyweird and know well what you are talking about, but never really knew how to get close to the original effects with digital. You've written several very good columns on how to improve digital B&W images. I've taken your thoughts and ideas and examples closely to heart and am much much happier with my own work in this area as a result. Thank you."

robert e (partial comment): "There are vicious cycles at work. Aspiring photographers see legendary B&W work, but as compressed jpegs on web pages, viewed on uncalibrated laptop screens, and use that as their model. There's also the tendency of our short-attention-span habits to favor graphical impact over nuances requiring sustained attention. Which also suits the compromised gamuts of uncalibrated consumer tools."

Mike replies: I agree with what you say except the part about seeing "legendary B&W work." I suspect most just see lots of random B&W work on their computers. Some good, most not. They mimic what they see as a whole, because they assume what they are seeing constitutes a standard for acceptable work.

Mike Plews: "May I suggest one more? It would be trying to replicate the effects of a red filter by pulling down the blue level until the sky turns black. A little of this can be a good thing but too much and you run the risk of nasty edge effects. I have a couple (ok more than a couple) prints that look like someone outlined the horizon with a sharpie. I didn't notice it at first as I was so tickled with the overwrought fake filter effects I was getting. Out here in the scenic Loess Hills of Western Iowa this could be described as a 'bet you thought you were skinning a fat hog' type of situation."

Mike replies: That is one expression I've never heard before. But then, never been to Iowa, more's the pity.

John Camp: "The critical question you didn't answer: Can this be fixed? Or for people like you, will digital B&W always suck? Is the effect you're looking for confined to chemically developed B&W? Have you tried to match a good print? I have a B&W photo of yours hanging on my workshop wall, an apple nestled in grass, and the whole process was digital right up to the printing...is that a final judgment?

"(The reason I love that photo is because the grass is green and the apple red (I think) but they share the same B&W tonality. In addition to the general aesthetic quality, there's like a subtle color-based tongue-in-cheek joke there...maybe only understood by painters.)"

Sharon: "I agreed with your post until you threw in the towel on digital black and white prints. They are difficult but not impossible. Frankly most photography you see is crummy, just like most art. It doesn't mean it isn't worth the effort to try and get a good black and white pigment print. The process is improving. Every print is no longer green or magenta—the ink is capable of producing a more neutral print now."

Mike replies: Yes, I think you're right, and although I don't often do this, I take it back. Because of course there is good and even great work being done in digital B&W, and I certainly haven't seen much of all that's out there, even though I see more than most people do. After all, the title is merely "Common Problems." It's too easy for people to think I'm damning them, and throwing their babies out with the bathwater, and that's neither good nor fair on a site that's intended to be supportive of photographers of all levels. So I apologize.

Zack Schindler: "Here is some of my B&W work. I would love to know how to make them look better. Have never really been satisfied with how they look. One Two Three Four Five Six."

Mike replies: A small sample, but some of it strikes me as nicely seen work. As to how to make them look better, and only since you asked, let me start by asking you a question. Here's your original:

Does the following look better or worse to you?

Depending on how you like that, I'd use it as a starting point for getting to a rendition of this picture you liked better and by extension, getting you to a point where you're more satisfied with your technique in general.

The above comparison is in part a fool's errand, because B&W is very dependent on subtle differences of tone and density, and trying to convey that with JPEGs on the Web is analogous to trying to convey tone of voice in a short text. I didn't change much here, though. All I did was keep your sky the same but lighten the image overall, and change the curve shape of the lower tones. Your tones are heavy—inky—and look exaggerated, which to me is in conflict with the gentle, pensive mood of the scene. It's just an old man looking out over the water; why kick up the Wagnerian pomp and bombast?

Plus, your light looks like no light I'm familiar with. I'd go for a look like late afternoon light on a clear day with slightly hazy sunlight. I try resist understanding pictures in terms of technical measurements. I try to understand the feeling, the mood, and to relate those things to the feeling and mood of real light I know. What are we looking at here? What are we showing? What did it feel like to be there? There's a point at which the picture will snap into a feeling of "rightness" for you. If that's what you learn to go for, that's how you develop a personal style.

I straightened your lamppost just because I saw the distortion too much, but there's no necessity to do that.

Martin D: "Agreed with all three criticisms, but not with your conclusion. I do only digital these days, and only B&W. Excessive contrast, over-sharpening, depressed mid-tones: I certainly agree on the first two and probably on the third one too. I commit these crimes on a daily basis and try to reshape myself into someone at least does not commit them by default. Over-sharpening is the worst offender. Somehow we seem to be able to detect this immediately in other peoples photographs, but not in our own work. The problem is I think less in the actual nature of the digital image but in the psychology of the digital editing process. Over-sharpening is the weakness inherently associated with digital B&W picture making—the answer is not to give up on B&W, it is to develop the perceptive maturity that allows us to see in our own work what our untrained eye can only see in the work of others. Digital is still fairly recent; it may take us a few decades to become naturals in the new visual world. Let's start now."

Rodolfo Canet Castelló: "This is the kind of post I enjoy the most, those dealing with visual education. In Spanish we say lo que pica, cura (what smarts, cures). This post smarts to those who, like me, love B&W and try to make perfect prints. Let's hope it cures as well, by making us to look for better editing."

Brian Stewart (partial comment): " The relativities have changed. In the film era, I found good B&W easier than good colour. YMMV, but this is my experience. I could develop and print my own B&W. Doing the same for colour was not an option, and having someone else do it for me was either too expensive or resulted in poor quality. In the digital age I find that this has reversed. I can do good colour very easily myself, but good B&W is more challenging. For the vast majority of us without a monochrome sensor, we shoot in colour and convert to B&W. There are just too many options. We have way more control and we need to learn how to master it."

Mike replies: I think you've said that better than I did. That "reversal" you're describing is very pronounced IMHO.

[See the full Comments section for the complete text of partial comments.]

David L: "Unfortunately there is a lot of awful black and white photography, in both film and digital, out there on the web and social media for millions to see and be misled. And then see others try to emulate that awful stuff. There are of course great examples of carefully crafted images with wonderful tonality. But they are the minority. Myself, after shooting large- and medium-format film for decades and knowing its characteristics and strengths, I can generally manipulate a digital file to look fairly good. It's much more than the simple click to monochrome in the software, neither quick nor easy. As in any pursuit, you have to put in the work."

What Is Bokeh? And the Dog's Nose

[Ed. Note: This started out, this morning, as the republication of the article "What Is Bokeh?" from 2009. However, I ended up revising it extensively. This version is based on several of my earlier articles about the subject.]

-

There are three common types of blur in photographs. Two are caused by movement. Moving the camera while the exposure is made, either deliberately or accidentally, is called "camera shake."

Example 1 by Tone

Example 2 Ray Graham

Blur because the subject moved while the exposure was being made is called "subject motion."

Example 1 by Aaron Reed

Example 2 by PhotoJunket

Example 3 by Roberto Rodriguez Adam

When the above two kinds of blur are deliberately combined, usually by trying to follow a moving subject with the camera during the exposure, it's called "panning."

Example of panning by Wanda Scott

The third common kind of blur is when parts or all of a picture are "out of focus" (o-o-f) or not within the depth of field (d-o-f). This is usually called "focus blur."

Example 1 by Zoran Rodic

Example 2 by Patrick Marioné

Example 3 by Reinhard Gruber

(Example 3 under "subject motion" is also an example out-of-d.o.f. blur or bokeh.)

Putting the plane of best focus in the wrong place is called "misfocus." (A fourth kind is software-generated blur such as the "Portrait" setting on my iPhone, but that's beyond the scope of this post.)

Example of misfocus by Meestro

As an aside, note that all three of these types of blur are common causes of less than perfect clarity when they are present in small amounts below the threshhold of conscious recognition. We became much more aware of this when digital came along and we could pixel-peep our files at any magnification. Even now, though, very small amounts of motion blur, camera shake, and misfocus are very common in pictures people assume are "fine." And, indeed, in some cases they don't ruin the picture. People actually have a pretty good ability to look at the image subject when the image isn't perfect.

"Bokeh" simply refers to out-of-focus blur or the parts of a photograph that are out of the depth-of-field, and, especially, the subjective aesthetic quality of out-of-focus blur. It derives from the Japanese word that more or less means "fuzzy," which also sometimes has the sense of "fuzzy in the head," i.e., confused. That works nicely.

Highlights
Bokeh includes, but is not limited to, consideration of out-of-focus specular highlights. Out-of-focus specular highlights (here's an example) are simply where aperture shape will show up most easily in pictures (i.e., spots of bright sky in out-of-focus foliage, for example). The reason the Internet thinks "bokeh" only refers to highlights, and that the shape of the aperture blades are the defining feature, is because that's the most obvious effect.

Section of search results page for "bokeh" on Flickr. The Internet thinks bokeh only means out-of-focus light sources and specular highlights, which is wrong.

The only lens I ever got rid of because of its specular highlight bokeh was a Zeiss 100mm ƒ/3.5 for the Hasselblad. (An extremely sharp lens.) It had five aperture blades, and small, bright out-of-focus spots were perfect pentagons. Specular highlights tend to pick up the shape of the aperture (here's an example—the shape of the out-of-focus highlights are the shape made by the aperture blades). Lenses with rounder aperture shapes avoid rendering specular out-of-dof highlights that way, but rounded aperture blades merely help a little in certain situations—they don't create good bokeh all by themselves. It's much more complicated than that.

A tip, though: if your lens's aperture has a distinct geometric shape that you see in specular o-o-f highlights, remember that it's probably still perfectly circular wide open, so you can sometimes avoid the aperture-shaped "blobs" that way.

The three original articles about bokeh were published in the March/April 1997 issue of Photo Techniques magazine, which I edited at the time. Carl Weese was the one who introduced me to the idea. Oren Grad, who speaks Japanese, clarified the terminology. The articles were written by John Kennerdell, Oren, and Harold Merklinger. Harold's article is online at The Luminous Landscape. Oren and John still write on occasion for The Online Photographer.

The only reason I added the "h" to the end of the Japanese word in the magazine was that English speakers persistently mispronounced "boke," which at one time (but no longer!) was the more common romanization of the Japanese katakana characters. It's properly pronounced in two syllables, "bo" as in "bone" and "ke" as in "Kenneth" with equal stress on each syllable. "Bokeh" simply renders that a little more accurately. At least adding the "h" stopped all the "toke" and "bloke" jokes.

The word or spelling have nothing to do with the word "bouquet," from the French, and is not even pronounced the same (bo-keh versus boo-KAY).

The other nice unintended consequence of the alternative spelling was that it made the term easily searchable on the Internet. In the weeks following the publication of the issue, I was able to watch as the number of LexisNexis search engine hits (1997 was pre-Google) for "bokeh" went from none, to 15, to 90, to 450, to 8,000 and so on. (A Google search just now yielded 70 million results.) It was as if I had tagged a word the better to track it, like a naturalist might put a transmitter collar on a wolf. We literally watched it spread.

Some photographers apparently object to the word. It's been called "pretentious." It's not, any more than the terms "sharpness" or "saturated" are pretentious. It's simply a descriptive word for a property some photographs exhibit and some do not. It's shorter than saying "the way the lens renders out-of-focus blur (or out-of-d.o.f. blur)," which is the equivalent in English. That's all.

In this picture, everything but the screen is out-of-focus blur.

There's also no "good" or "bad" bokeh, at least not per se. As my father likes to say, "If it works, you're right, if it doesn't work, you're wrong." Same for bokeh: if you like it, then it's good. If you don't like it, then it's not so good. That goes for the presence of blur, as well as for its specific properties. Some people just don't like blur in pictures at all. And some pictures have none.

There's some agreement as to what's good and what's bad, but it's very rough. For instance, people seem to dislike "ni-sen" (Japanese for "double-line") bokeh—here's an example—but the late Phil Davis (author of Beyond the Zone System, a book every large-format black-and-white photographer should own) showed me a picture he liked taken with a very odd, very old camera that featured a church steeple way in the distance. The lens had rendered it as two very blurry church steeples, quite widely separated. I've still never seen more egregious ni-sen. Phil liked the effect enough that he framed the picture and hung it on his wall. (See above, under "if you like it....")

It's true that I got very obsessive about it for a long time (which I don't recommend), but my own opinion is simply that the blur should be unobtrusive, and not detract from or call attention away from the in-focus areas of a picture, unless you mean it to.

"Selective focus," another term causing confusion, just means the tactic on the part of the photographer of choosing which part of a picture is in focus and which part isn't—hopefully, photographers know enough to control which is which. (Some photographers don't, sadly. I see a lot of close-up portraits of dogs where the eyes are in focus and the end of the nose isn't, which bugs me like a bad tpyo.) The opposite of selective focus is sometimes called "pan-focus," which just means that everything is sharp from front to back. The term pan-focus has nothing to do with panning, which is a different technique altogether. I know, photographic terminology is a mess and getting worse. Don't blame me.

The King is dead
Then there's the issue of the applied connoisseurship of lens bokeh—specific aesthetic effects, or the adjective preceding the word. The Japanese term for the character of the bokeh (according to Oren) is boke-aji, which translates roughly to "flavor of blur." Typical "flavors" might be harsh, jarring, smooth, fuzzy, gentle, tizzy, confused, soft, etc. Just ordinary descriptive words.

In the early 2000s I created a .PDF download ranking some specific lenses for boke-aji. It's of limited usefulness these days, because all of the rankings are for old film-camera lenses, but here it is if you're curious. Remember, though, the ratings are just my own opinion. There are no agreed-upon standards.

There's also no perfect lens for bokeh. Please don't ask me how I know; I mentioned obsession, and it's very painful to suffer from such a blatant mental infirmity. Well, okay, the correct word is embarrassing, not painful. An acquaintance from Minneapolis once sent me a picture postcard that had an out-of-focus brick wall in the background. I looked at the picture first, and my eyes went right to the brick wall, because such regular but contrasty subjects are good at revealing shortcomings in the blur behavior of a lens. Then I flipped over the card to find that Gary had written, "As Mike's eyes go straight to the brick wall...."

He got me.

And as for "the King of Bokeh," which is what I unfortunately dubbed the Leica Summicron 35mm ƒ/2 version "IV" in a caption in the original articles: well, it's not. It's just not. I had no idea that reputation could adhere so firmly and so persistently to that lens even now, more than 20 years later, due to such an offhand comment! Here's what I should have said, if I could have explained myself better: that lens has nice, tight, coherent background bokeh when you shoot it stopped down and focused on middle distances, say, five feet and farther. "Nice, tight, [and] coherent" is merely the kind of bokeh I happen to like in B&W; and I always stopped that lens down at least one stop and usually two or three—honestly, I don't think I ever shot with it wide open in all the years I owned it; and "focused on middle distances" is how I usually shoot. So I'm sorry; I shouldn't have generalized. Troublemaker, I am.

'All generalizations are wrong'
As a general rule, I've found that bokeh gets progressively more problematic:

• the larger the aperture (meaning, the more aberrations come into play)
• the closer the focus
• the more distant the background from the plane of focus
• the more complex and/or contrasty the background

What these rules of thumb predict, quite naturally, is that you’ll have an easier time avoiding distracting bokeh with most lenses if you stop down a bit, keep the focus at moderate distances, and avoid contrasty backgrounds. With any lens, we discover our own limits for what we’ll tolerate, and then either shoot within those limits or deal with the consequences. The above rules of thumb also predict that “worst case” bokeh is easy to provoke: it’s when you use the lens’s widest aperture, focus as close as the lens can, and include deep background with complex subject matter or harsh contrast.

Front and rear bokeh (meaning in front of, or behind, the plane of best focus) might also differ.

The important thing to realize here is that there's no such thing as "the" bokeh of a lens! As the above indicates, the same lens can render blur differently depending on how a picture was taken and on what it shows; the bokeh can even be quite different in different areas of the same picture.

One thing I've noticed over the years is that if the bokeh is generally better, the in-focus image is generally a little softer and gentler, and not so "hard sharp" or "wire-sharp" as virtually all modern lenses have become. This is just a very rough equivalence and not a hard-and-fast rule. I might have said in 1997 that this was true of Bronica and Minolta film-cameras lenses generally, except I would never have dared to suggest that any brand of lens was less than super-sharp; that would have been the mafioso's kiss. Also, bokeh looks better in B&W.

No one lensmaker makes all its lenses with the same bokeh characteristics, so none can be said to be "best," and, really, no one lens can be better than any other at rendering bokeh because it's a matter of taste! I've seen statements like "this lens has beautiful bokeh" made about bokeh I personally think is atrocious. That doesn't mean they're wrong and I'm right, though. It just means my taste differs from theirs.

In general, digital lenses do better with bokeh than film lenses did. Probably because, post-1997, it started being talked about more and more (you know, from zero hits to 70 million hits), and lens manufacturers haven't got their heads in the sand. I've even seen the word used in lens advertisements. Lots of post-1997 lenses have really nice bokeh. I love the PanaLeica 45mm Macro, for example. (No, not a King. It's not even the Marquis of Bokeh. It just has pretty bokeh that I love. You can see an example in this post.)

One last curmudgeonly grouse on this subject: sometimes I think I helped create a monster. Please, Internet: bokeh isn't necessarily a desirable property all the time, and more of it isn't automatically better! Many beginners and a few ignoramuses on the Internet seem to assert that the greater an area of a picture is out of the depth of field, the better a picture it is. That's nonsense. I've even heard people say that since they paid extra for a fast lens, they're going to shoot it wide open all the time! How wrongheaded can you get? It's like saying a B&W print is better the more black it has in it. (They paid for that silver!) Photographers always try to get the placement of focus right and the depth-of-field right, and that doesn't mean more or less of one or the other—it means the picture should have what it needs according to your best judgement. Photography isn't about all-purpose rules applied rigidly to all circumstances. Get the dog's nose in the depth-of-field, please!*

Learning how your lens renders blur is no different from learning its other characteristics, such as whether it's unsharp at certain apertures or whether it smears the corners or whatever. Some people like that kind of thing, some people don't. It's all good. Want my advice? Don't obsess about it. (I know whereof I speak.) If you want to learn about it so you can attempt to apply it or control it, fine; if you don't, and prefer just to take pictures and let the chips (both the sharp and the blurry chips!) fall where they may, that's fine too. We're all just having fun here, after all.

I'm off till Sunday. Have a nice weekend! Get out and take some nice blurry pictures why don't you....  :-)

Mike

*I love that picture. Love that expression. The joke is, when you want to get the dog's nose in the d-o-f, one way is to photograph a dog with a shorter nose!

Original contents copyright 2019 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:

JH: "Re 'All generalizations are wrong': I use this all the time in the form of 'All generalizations, with the possible exception of this one, are false.' It's a paraphrase of the philosophy of Kurt Gödel who proved mathematically that some things could not be proven, so he switched to philosophy."

Kurt Gödel and Albert Einstein, c. 1933

JG: "I frequently photograph my dog, a white standard poodle, using my Sony RX1, which has a 35mm ƒ/2 lens that renders photos in such a gorgeous way that I happily live with its many quirks and marginal reliability. Her nose is so long (approx. 6"!) that even with the lens stopped down to ƒ/8, it's impossible to get both it and her eyes in focus if I photograph her face straight on. At typical portrait distances, it's even difficult to get her nose and eyes in focus with her head turned 45 degrees, so photographing her well is more of a technical challenge than many people might realize."

marcin wuu: "There's a great read about bokeh and depth of field on Zeiss's website. Easy to understand yet scientifically sound, the best kind of article you can imagine. Funny thing about what's good and what isn't in the context of animal photography—as a cat person and shallow d-o-f fanatic, I suffer greatly because it's so much harder to put cat's nose out of focus with modern tiny sensor cameras—a cat's muzzle is way shorter than a dog's."

Mike replies: An excellent paper...I assume, as much of it is well beyond my own expertise! I particularly liked the sentence, on page 26, "The most important and clearest attribute of blurring is simply the amount of it." True dat.

The paper is a bit ironic for me however. In 1997 I had access to Zeiss's spokesperson. I can't come up with his name just now (my aging brain!) but he was quite an enthusiast (a resolution fanatic) and very intelligent, and perhaps a bit imperious as well. When I asked about Zeiss's position on the issue of "bokeh" (explaining what it meant), he reported back that he had inquired of Zeiss's lens designers but was met with perplexity. Apparently no one then at Zeiss had the habit of considering how the out-of-focus areas were visually rendered in pictures. I was told some version of the same thing we heard all over: you are supposed to look at the stuff that's in focus, not the stuff that's out of focus. Which is fair enough.

By the way, since then, I think Zeiss is one of the companies that has used the word "bokeh" in its advertising, if I'm not mistaken.

Relevant to what I said about small amounts of blurring degrading quality, I had been puzzled by an illustration photo in a then-recent Contax brochure that purported to show the resolution of one of Zeiss's best lenses for that system, but that, to my eye, was clearly slightly degraded by motion blur (and I was seeing just the printed brochure, not the original slide or print). The spokesman knew nothing about it and said that Zeiss had nothing at all to do with Contax's brochure pictures, which was doubtless true. I was curious, however, and at the time I had a practice of occasionally trying hard to get to the bottom of a random selected mystery—a good habit for a journalist, I've always thought—and I chased down the story about that particular factoid. At Photo East the next year I found the guy who knew the story. It turned out that the picture had been taken by one of the PR people tasked with writing the brochure, someone who wasn't even really a photographer. It was these sorts of facts that I learned to keep to myself, though, because in our industry it wasn't very difficult to get blackballed if you embarrassed somebody. I was already on the "outs" with Contax at the time, so I kept my mouth shut about that little point. I hope now that Contax is long out of the camera business, and the camera that brochure was concerned with is selling for peanuts on eBay, I won't get in trouble for saying this! (The Zeiss lens that made the picture is excellent; I actually still have one.)

Speaking of keeping one's mouth shut, my friend Jerry K. (who provided the picture of the soccer ball in the fishing net the other day) told me a joke yesterday. Seems an older gentleman had just passed his 60th anniversary, and was asked what the secret to a long marriage was. He said, "I've learned two things. To do what I'm told and to keep my mouth shut."

The interviewer said, "Oh, really? What if you wanted to tell her something nice, for example, that her figure looks particularly nice in a particular dress?"

The old man considers this thoughtfully for a few beats, and then says, "I wouldn't risk it."

John Krill: "Speaking of the dog's nose this photo was taken in Vietnam. The dog got so close that its nose was out of focus. Sadly the dog was killed by a land mine but his handler survived.

"Follow this link to see the photo and the story."

One More Thought About Sharpness

One more thing about sharpness. It's tempting to think of ourselves as outside of time and unconstrained by the limitations of our era and culture, but the opposite might be more the case. If you were a Greek in Homeric times and there was a storm at sea, it would be difficult not to believe—and perilous to propose to others—that the explanation was something other than that Poseidon was pissed off. I mean, duh—what else could it be?

Tastes change, and we change along with them. Victorian decor and dresses that hide that all-important erogenous zone, the feminine ankle, seem now like they must have been instantly old-fashioned, but they were once new-fashioned—hip, cool, happenin', the latest thing.

Our expectations change along with the changes in style and taste. Sometimes, older men (especially) stick with the styles of their youth, and resist change—I know two gentlemen here of my father's generation (still hirsute, the lucky dogs—I myself am going bald fast) who have never given up 1950s "greaser" hairstyles. Personally, I have trouble with the decline of proper cars and the capturing of the market by cargo-haulers as everyday personal conveyances. Bah humbug; a pox on pickups, etc., etc.

Anyway, all this long, moseying preamble is just coming around to the point that conventional tastes in image sharpness are always changing too. The other day I recommended End of the Caliphate by Ivor Prickett, and it's an excellent example. (Amazon is almost out—here it is from The Book Depository, with free international shipping.) Naturally the first few times you look at a book like that you respond to the content, with emotion; it takes a cold heart indeed to see a picture of a woman wailing by the bloody steps where her son was just killed and think, "they got a nice blue in that dress." So only on my fourth or fifth time through the book did I really consider the technique directly—I looked at it in the light of our sharpness discussion. When I did, it occurred to me that if I had encountered this book thirty years ago or forty years ago, I probably would have considered it to be bizarrely, garishly, intrusively oversharpened; it might have impeded my appreciation of the content of the pictures. As it was, when I took my first pass through the book I just sort of thought, in the back of my mind, that it's a good example of modern photographic style, and got right into the content. It was what I've come to expect. No big deal.

Ivor Prickett, plate from the book End of the Caliphate

In other words, aside from those few of us who are the equivalent of my older acquaintances with their '50s hairstyles, I would assume that most of us have adapted to the current tastes, and now have a much higher tolerance for sharpness than people would have had in 1970 or 1980. I do.

I'm kind of sorry, though, that I did examine End of the Caliphate with such a cold eye for technique...I'm finding it a little difficult to "unsee" that aspect of the pictures now that I've seen them that way. I don't want to see these pictures that way. I want to see "into" them, to the scenes they depict, the emotions on the faces. Like I did when I first looked through the book, and the second time and the third time. Eventually, though, all photographs will look "of their time." Nothing retains permanently the transparency and impartiality it had when it was new.

The upshot is that with any technical property, including what we call "sharpness," it doesn't just depend on the object—the print of the picture or the picture in the printed book; it also has to do with what we are used to—what is normal in our culture now, and what the audience expects and considers usual.

In that way, sharpness (and other aspects of pictures) can be considered to be not entirely under our control, no matter how many sliders we have at our disposal in our image editor applications of choice.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2019 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:

Dan Gorman: "Thanks for highlighting the work of Ivor Prickett. I wasn't planning to comment on the sharpness series, as it's rarely important to me as an attribute in my own pictures. But the image of the Iraqi mother shrieking at the sight of her son's slaughter on the family doorstep struck me to the core.

"In my last job I had the privilege of working with a student who had come to the U.S. straight from Mosul in 2014 - right around the time that ISIS took over the city and incorporated it into the self-proclaimed caliphate. Sana was a bright young woman, preparing for medical school, who was elected president of the student club I served as an advisor. In the two years I worked with Sana, I never had the heart to ask about her family's experience of leaving Mosul, but I enjoyed seeing her grow as a student and a leader—and took solace in seeing her laugh and enjoy goofy, lighthearted moments with her friends. May our country always be a welcoming haven for refugees from the kind of human-made hell-on-earth that Mosul became, circa 2014–18.

"I took a few moments just now to look at several of Ivor Prickett's pictures in Google Images—beautiful, amazing, and deeply affecting work. How lucky are we to live where where we do, and to have brave, talented people like Mr. Prickett who are willing to document the kind of horrors we can only hope our own children will never have to experience?

"Thanks again for sharing, and for all your good work."