The Online Photographer

In It For Love

Darlene wrote, a few days ago: Regarding your sports stories on a predominantly photography blog, let me level with you—some of the photo stuff bores me to tears. I mean, how many times can you read about gear or techniques that were probably chiseled into cave walls by our ancestors? Reading about gear and beginner techniques feels like watching paint dry if you've been in photography for ages or if it was your profession. I don’t mind the other topics, but can we get more imagery? And not just your photos—though they’re lovely—how about showcasing more of your readers' work? Those posts are always enjoyable to read and view, and they stay very well in the context of a photography blog.

I know most of your audience is male, and they may enjoy gear reviews, male hygiene talks (razors anyone? How about Kotex?), sports, etc., but trust me, more women are reading than you think. We’re just generally in the back, quiet and unnoticed—except for me because my background turned me into this delightful commentator.

Made me laugh. Darlene is a friend. "Some of the photo stuff bores me to tears" was not what I expected to be criticized for in a comment that begins "regarding your sports stories...," but there ya go, you never know.

And hey, Darr, some people in the double-edge (DE) razor community are women. They prefer them for shaving their legs. The buyer of one of my DE razors recently was a woman.

And then, a couple of days later, Sergio Bartelsman wrote:

Nowadays I find camera gear the least interesting topic about photography. I use Fujis because it is what I have. I can't care less about brands. If it feels good in hand, and takes the picture in the precise instant you press the shutter, that is all I ask for. There is no longer any big practical difference other than price and Veblen vanity. The days when you could spot any perceivable difference between Leicas and whatever other brand are over.

I can write all I want to about how camera companies like Canon are adjusting to changed circumstances, but what about how I'm adjusting to changed circumstances? I still assume people like reading about gear. Is it time to adjust to changing times? The above are only two data points, but whaddaya think? Is the siren song of camera gear gone? Or going?

Eight lions
I will admit that for me, the combination of high prices, technical sufficiency, and, especially, the fact that increases in capability don't reward me with obvious visual improvements in the result, are making my former happy camera obsessiveness...soften. To give you an example, I've had a loaner Leica Monochrome here for two years (no, the owner is in no hurry to have it back) and haven't been motivated to try it. Granted, part of the reason is superstition. I bought my Sigma FP and had it converted to a B&W sensor, and if the Leica is "better" I don't want to know. I'm afraid it might nag at my mind. I don't need the discouragement. But actually the inescapable conclusion is that I'm just not that interested. He also loaned me an incredibly expensive Leica lens that I once gushed about, in writing, as being the best lens money could buy. In days of old, wild horses, a squadron of Centurions, and eight lions could not have prevented me from enthusiastically running that lens through its paces. I would have had a lot of energy for that at one time. But now, when you can oversharpen any picture with the touch of a button or by dragging a slider, sharpness in a lens...isn't as exciting as it once was, let's put it that way. The lens is not the determinant of the look of the picture nearly as much as it used to be thirty and forty years ago.

As I asked many years ago, when was the last time you looked at any newish picture and thought, "too bad they didn't use a better lens"?

Also, even if the Leica M9 Monochrome is "better," I don't really care. The Sigma FP-m is good enough for me and then some. What I really need is to get out looking for pictures more often. (And stop driving past opportunities.)

Even if times really are changing, and people just aren't interested in new cameras and better specs as much as they used to be, it doesn't really matter that much. Here's the thing: dedicated photographers are outsiders. I've always looked at us that way. We're not attached to the industry; we're not affected by fashions. We're not driven by mass taste. We go our own way. We do our own thing.

Mayflies and cicadas
If you have the patience for one more, here's a great recent comment, this one from Geoff Wittig (whom I would dearly love to visit—I should talk to him about that). I've edited this very lightly.

It's clear to me that we're in the sad twilight of the era of photography as a serious hobby. It's rapidly heading for the same category as ham radio or model railroading: a quirky, shrinking tiny niche, regarded (if at all) with a flicker of tolerant amusement by the masses. I derived immense satisfaction and not a little joy from several decades spent honing my technical skills, learning how to use finicky gear, and teasing the best possible result from large format inkjets, all in service to a goal. That goal was creating the best possible photographic print. I still love a beautiful print, but it has become a niche skill. To the broader culture, photography now means billions of technically competent snapshots captured by increasingly sophisticated smart-phone cameras flooding the Internet every single day, each with the impact and lifespan of a just-hatched Mayfly or cicada. Briefly seen then promptly forgotten. I recall reading Brooks Jensen's prescient comment about this perhaps 20 years ago, when he predicted precisely this situation: a minute-by-minute firehose of images where each was rendered invisible by the colossal volume. And yet, I can't help myself. I still derive some genuine joy from a perfect print of a quietly beautiful morning on the river, made with my own hands.

There it is in a nutshell. We do what we do. Sometimes the public looks on admiringly, sometimes it doesn't; sometimes the practitioners up near the ceiling have status and prestige, sometimes not so much; sometimes hordes of people get excited by the equipment and want to participate by buying and posing, sometimes they collectively shrug their shoulders and say meh. Meanwhile, the people who are in it for "genuine joy" and the rewards of the results keep soldiering on. They can't help themselves. They love it.

Another thing that's interesting is that photography is unlikely to prove to be a generational phenomenon. Younger people aren't showing any diminished interest in photography—quite the opposite in fact—they just won't be practicing it in the way us older enthusiasts accepted as normal when we were young. But then, we practiced it differently than our grandfathers and grandmothers did, and they practiced it differently than their grandfathers and grandmothers did. You can argue that the cultural centrality of music from halfway through the '50s to the end of the '70s was a generational phenomenon; and Harley-Davidsons are generational (Harley is going downhill, with its biggest competition being used Harleys); and just the other day I got "insulted" in a thread on YouTube by a guy who accused me of having a "guitar collection," which I took to be a lightly coded way of saying "boomer," which in turn is a euphemism for those who are old and in the way—that is, entitled but no longer entitled to be entitled. Model railroading is definitely generational, and I know a little about that because I used to work for Model Railroader magazine. The peak demographic is males who were 11 years old in 1950, when an "electric train" was the No. 1 Christmas gift for boys. That cohort is aging out (sadly! Model railroaders are fine folks, with a few exceptions). Photography never ages out, any more than eating, communicating, or traveling will.

The last 30 years have been a roller-coaster ride. But a roller coaster isn't actually a journey. "Real" photographers* aren't in it for cheap thrills. Photographers who go their own way and do their own thing just need what they need to do their work, and if they don't have it, they'll find it, or make it, or see the creative possibilities in whatever is available. And, really, it's always been that way, for the great majority of good and even great photographers. It's like that alternate or etymological definition of "amateur": in it for love.

Mike

*I mean "enthusiast photographer," "dedicated" or "devoted" hobbyist photographer, or "advanced amateur" photographers (which can also include pros, if they also do personal work and use it as an avocation). I used to define that as being someone for whom photography was in their top three avocational interests consistently over time. I don't think most people have time or energy for more than three big, deep interests outside of work, family, and vocation. God knows I've been on many, many "excursions" over the years of my life; currently I am engrossed with the subject of curved manual treadmills, thanks to an email from a reader that I can't even find now. But that will pass. The three I always come back to again and again are photography (and art), writing and books, and home music listening. Not perhaps the greatest list, but that's the list.

P.S. The other issue Darlene raised was more pictures on the website. That deserves a post of its own, though.

Original contents copyright 2024 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. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

Featured Comments from:

Peter (partial comment): "As a lifelong photographer—I’ve worked for studios, publications, and freelance, earning quite a few bucks along the way—at each fork in the road, I have chosen not to go pro and have stayed a committed amateur. Still, the gear itself is important. It is hard to love my contoured partially polycarbonate Canon R6, but I am gaga over the images I get from it. Appreciation of the technology is part of my passion."

Alex Buisse: "I must say that, as a professional photographer, I take what I can only describe as perverse pleasure in taking barely competent product pictures. It feels wonderful to be allowed to not try to be getting great images, just this one time...."

David Haynes: "I find that my interest in 'gear' articles has greatly declined, although I have no objection when you publish one. I just skip over those that don't interest me. I generally find your off topic articles much more interesting and rarely skip those. I think that showcasing photos by your readers is a brilliant idea (go for it, please). I'm sure that you will receive a wide range of views on what content you should publish, and I'm also sure that you have been receiving those opinions for many years. I expect that you will continue to publish articles on a wide range of topics because you have a wide range of interests, as do most of your readers. Well done, Mike."

Wayne: "My two cents…I’ve always enjoyed your off topic posts as much if not more than your photography posts. Would also like to see more images posted, yours or others. Just saying…."

robert e (partial comment): "Maybe the question is not so much 'Should we talk about gear?' as 'How should we talk about gear?' Sure, it's always been 'to each their own' to some extent, but that doesn't explain why it used to be fun to talk about gear and now it isn't. Every incremental advance in picture quality and usability used to be relevant to many of us. But gear has evolved to the point most of us don't need more such gains, so where's the interest?"

Ed. note: These next two comments came in within an hour of each other:

"[name redacted]: "I used to avidly read this blog/site every day but now I almost have to force myself to look every few days and there have been times when I've thought I might as well delete the link and forget about it. 'The Online Photographer' seems to have lost its way. Such a shame."

Bruce Hedge: "TOP is becoming interestinger and interestinger. Thanks for a great last week or so."

John (partial comment): "[Regarding technical developments] It’s actually a relief that things are cooling down."

Sharon: "I have loved to read all my life. I come here for the excellent writing. I have little interest in gear until I have a specific need but it seems a lot of your readers do. Write about what you love. I love photography but mostly I come to follow your journey."

PaulW: "Although gear reviews are not the main reason I visit TOP, I still enjoy your take on new gear, so I hope you'll continue writing about things I'll never have the chance to try."

David Dyer-Bennet: "While they probably aren't the posts that have most frequently moved me to comment, I think actual discussion of photos (with or without specific examples) are the posts I've benefited the most from and probably also taken the most pleasure from."

Stephen S.: "I don't know if it translates to blogs, but on YouTube, where view counts are public, it's very easy to look up any YouTuber who does a mix of camera gear reviews and artistically-oriented videos, or one that started with gear reviews and then tried to switch to covering art and technique, and see that the view count of their gear reviews absolutely clobbers anything with artistic aspirations. At least on YouTube, reviews of specific gear are the only path to success and viewership in the camera/photography space."

Mike replies: Oh yes, I know all about that, believe me. I've been doing this for going on 20 years.

Robert Elswit's B&W Cinematography for 'Ripley'

Andrew Scott as Patricia Highsmith's Tom Ripley in Ripley

SPOILER ALERT: There are no spoilers in this post. I've policed myself. You're welcome.

I might have mentioned once or twice over the years that I like black-and-white. Also that movies can be a great resource for calibrating your feel for tonal qualities, and learning what to look for. So from time to time people alert me to new movies in B&W—Alexander Payne's Nebraska, from 2013; Joel Coen's The Tragedy of MacBeth from 2021; George Clooney's Good Night and Good Luck from 2005, and many more. This week I watched Ripley, an eight-episode made-for-streaming show from Netflix released just this Spring.

It is, to begin with, a terrific work of art. I found it far superior to the 1999 movie The Talented Mr. Ripley, made from the Patricia Highsmith novel of the same name. I found that one because I watched most of Philip Seymour Hoffman's movies after he died of an overdose in 2014. But despite Hoffman's superlative turn in the role of Freddie Miles in the 1999 film, Eliot Sumner (the child of musician Sting and actress Trudie Styler) brings even more to the role in Ripley. Very high praise.

Not that I had an entirely positive first impression. The limited series centers around that beloved darling of pop culture, the murdering sociopath; and there's no relief. We see everything from his perspective, meaning there is almost no one to identify with or root for. I clung to the film's few slim reeds—the businessman father, the French detective—hoping for a hero.

My knee-jerk first reaction to the B&W was that it looks digital, too crisp, with depressed midtones, empty shadows, and, sometimes, those glarey leached-out highlights that we all love in digital. (Sorry about the sarcasm.) I thought the tones wrong for 1961, when the movie was set. But after rewatching clips from Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal from 1957, John Huston's The Misfits from 1961, and Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho from 1960, I decided I was wrong.

I needn't have worried anyway. I wasn't even all the way through the first episode when I realized that the tonal qualities had to be an artistic choice. And sure enough. The cinematographer turned out to be Robert Elswit, a Hollywood heavy hitter with big-time movies to his credit, such as There Will Be Blood as well as many of Paul Thomas Anderson's other films, The Bourne Legacy, TV movies like Steel Magnolias, and the aforementioned Good Night and Good Luck. Elswit worked with the director of Ripley, Steven Zaillian, once before, in 2016, on an episode of the underrated drama The Night Of.

Once I got over my prejudices, I found nothing but enjoyment in the visuals. They're a rich feast. The cinematography is masterly, and it's an integral component of the film's mood, feel, and storytelling. It's virtually as good as another character in the drama. I can't say I wasn't piqued from time to time by some of the choices, but it's worth watching just for the camerawork. If you like film noir, you'll love this, and not just for the macabre, hardboiled, cynical story.

There's a lot online to read about this eight-part limited series. Reviews, explanations of the ending, articles about the cinematography and its look, and about Patricia Highsmith and other movies made from her "Ripliad" books (this is at least the third direct treatment of The Talented Mr. Ripley).

The story is dark, and ends...well, I promised not to say. But worth seeing for the B&W alone, no question.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2024 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. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

Featured Comments from:

Jon Hallberg: "I couldn't agree more! I absolutely loved the cinematography. Every frame was beautifully, thoughtfully composed. (I was tempted to hit pause on multiple occasions, just to admire the compositions.) One of my all-time favorite B&W films is Ida, from 2014. David Denby in The New Yorker rightly called it 'a masterpiece.' It, too, is an absolute visual feast."

Bob Keefer: "One of my favorite reactions to the new Ripley comes from Jerry Saltz, senior art critic at New York magazine. He said on Instagram: 'I know it is great and gorgeous but the story makes me so unnerved I cannot watch it. Watched the first episode jumping out of my skin—yelling at the TV.' Me, I loved it—the photography is incredibly beautiful and the story is wonderfully creepy, living up to Highsmith's original—and I plan to watch it again soon."

aaron c greenman: "I enjoyed the series, but found the camera angles and style a little too self-conscious, to the point where they were sometimes distracting to the storyline. And I agree something filmed in high definition video is too detailed and contrasty to not be distracting.

"My all-time favorite black-and-white movie is still Ida. I used to play a game with myself watching it by making a shutter clicking noise with my mouth every time I thought the moment was a beautiful black-and-white photograph, and it was so often I stopped counting. And for some reason in Ida it really serves the setting and storyline."

Mike replies: I really need to see Ida. I've been meaning to for years.

Open Mike: Colors of the Essence and Other Comments

I thought I'd continue the discussion about color photography by answering a few comments this morning. Or commenting on them.

Tullio Emanuele asked: "What about subjects that are shot in color because COLORS are the essence of the subject? I am thinking about birds, flowers, exotic wildlife...the list could go on forever."

That's very true. In a lot of cases, color is an essential part of the information being conveyed. I'd say this is most true with subject matter in the natural world. Eliot Porter was a pioneer color photographer, and argued that he had to photograph in color because it was an essential aspect of so much in nature. Consider that various birds are essentially identical except for their coloring, or that coloring can be crucial to the identification of birds, insects, or other animals; it wouldn't make much sense to photograph a chameleon in two states of color without photographing in color. Interiors can look fine in B&W but not if you're trying to record the color palette the designer used. Other subjects that need to be shown in color include colored gemstones; flags; and designer clothing most of the time (although Albert Watson and Peter Lindbergh, among others, were fashion photographers who photographed mainly in black and white). There are lots of times you need color just to accurately describe what you're depicting.

Of course, looked at the other way around, this might be just an aspect of photography's humdrum role as a tool in commerce and so many other quotidian purposes. The vast majority of photography isn't expressive, personal, or transformative, it's simply workmanlike: an insurance record, an advertisement, a decoration, a communique, etc. The fact that color is desirable for many of these purposes isn't necessarily relevant to artistic choices.

But what Tullio says is, yes, always a consideration.

No eye for color
I wanted to mention that I recall from long-ago reading that Ansel Adams was apparently notorious among his friends for having a truly awful color sense. He apparently loved showing up at parties in colorful clothing, but he would wear stripes with plaids or extravagantly clashing colors while apparently being blissfully unaware of any problem. It's true that he shot all that Kodachrome (even 8x10, imagine!—as someone mentioned the other day) but he depended on God to take care of the colors. Because, of course, he was out photographing wilderness, as usual. Although I seem to dimly recall that he complained about the never-ending palette of blue and green, blue and green, and more blue and green! That might have been someone else, though, who I'm confusing with Adams. Wish I could remember the sources of these things...but I don't. I "engaged" with Adams in my 20s, and not much since then, although I did read Mary Alinder's 1996 book when it came out.

Original in B&W
My former dj friend Kim (here's a fine mix he made on Wednesday) used to have a pet peeve about coming across B&W reproductions of color pictures in books accompanied by the words "original in color." His bitter argument was that the color was half the point and you can't claim to have reproduced the original at all if it's not in color. He had the last laugh, though, when the "colorization" craze came along—spawning a whole raft of movies and pictures where the rubric could have been "original in black and white"! (Which, by the way, I hated. Vandalism, desecration, and disrespect!)

A big reddish rectangle

Mark wrote: "Here’s a story for you. I was involved in a court case involving The Red Rothko. This was probably 10–15 years ago. I’d never heard of him. It was owned by a high-society couple in Texas who had loaned it to an art museum there. The husband died unexpectedly and the widow soon discovered they were house rich but cash poor. Not wanting her wealthy friends to know, she requested and received the painting back in order to sell it. She contacted the art dealer from whom they purchased it as he specialized in Rothko. He put out feelers and came up with an oligarch willing to pay nine or 10 million, I don’t recall exactly which. She insisted he sign a secrecy agreement and agree not to resell it. I don’t recall if there was a time limit when that agreement would expire. Obviously, she should have put it up for auction, but didn’t want anyone to know she was forced to do this. The sale went through, she was paid, and the dealer got his cut. Within a short time she learned the buyer put it up for auction and so the cat was out of the bag. It sold for $27 million. She sued both the dealer and purchaser/seller along with the auction house.

Mark Rothko, Untitled (1961)

"To this day it boggles my mind that a big reddish rectangle could be worth anywhere near that. Rothko mixed food in his paint, along with other things. Weird but effective."

I remember that case. So it cost her ~$17 million for a failed attempt to hush-up her "poverty" relative to her friends. No wonder she was having money troubles! The funny thing is, half of the "Joneses" she was trying to keep up with were probably having private money worries of their own.

You might enjoy a book that came out 15 years ago: The $12 Million Stuffed Shark: The Curious Economics of Contemporary Art by Don Thompson. I have a feeling we're getting a little off the topic, so here's a delectation conundrum for you: if you could have one or the other to keep and enjoy (i.e., trying to remove the possibility of profit from your answer), would you prefer to own Rothko's Untitled (1961) a.k.a. The Red Rothko, or William Eggleston's Greenwood, Mississippi (Red Ceiling)?

Lucky timing

Dave Levingston wrote: "Black-and-white photography is an accidental product of the limitations of early photographic processes and, later, of the limitations of printing processes, particularly in newspapers, where I started as a photographer. If the inventors of photography had been able to perfect a color process that wasn't very difficult, we would not have black and white photography. The inventors wanted to make color photos, but were unable to because it was just too hard with the processes available to them."

So true, and something I'm so deeply thankful for and always will be. Black-and-white (monochrome, in British) was a great gift, and it was indeed adventitious, as you say. It might never have been. Recall that I've consistently opined, right from the beginning of digital imaging, that digital imaging should not have been called photography but something else; that photography as we knew it was something distinct, something that is becoming vestigial now. It was an incredible accident of history and the evolution of technology that we had photography in a central role in culture for virtually 150 years with relatively few changes in its basic principles, as they were devised by Talbot in the 1830s. I'm also very grateful that my life in photography bestrode the two main currents—I got to see the digital transition and the coming of age of color, the smartphone and the advent of near-instantaneous electronic transmission, Photoshop, the virtual end of the print, AI, and whatever is yet to come, but I also got a solid grounding in the practice, the culture, the history, the accomplishments, and the lore of silver-halide photography as it used to be, while it was still current. It's amazing that the primacy of B&W lasted very strongly even up to my time. When I first worked till dawn making 8x10 prints from Verichrome Pan film on Medalist paper in a primitive darkroom set up in a bathroom under the basement stairs, I was working in a way that was not so different from the way photographers had worked a hundred years earlier. I arrived at the end of a long tradition that had strong ligatures to the past—and got to immerse myself in it before culture and technology changed forever. Lucky timing for sure!

Mike

Original contents copyright 2023 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. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

Featured Comments from:

Dennis Mook: "Back in the 1970s, I was a forensic detective, and we photographed all crime scenes with Pentax Spotmatics, only a 50mm ƒ/1.4 SMC Takumar lens (for normal perspective) and Tri-X film. The courts forbade color film as it was considered too inflammatory for a jury. Curiously, our testimony always had to include the phrase, 'A true and accurate representation of the scene as I found it.' But it wasn’t, as the scenes were captured in black and white! I think if color film had been invented first, black and white never would have been allowed in court.

"Several years ago, I started a project of photographing subject matter 'Just for the Color.' I found looking for compositions 'just for the color' was fun and interesting and caused me to see in a different way. Here is a link to that gallery on my website if anyone is interested."

Albert Smith: "Besides traditional photography, let's not forget another medium that put B&W into the gestalt: television. Those of us of a certain age remember when B&W television, both the hardware and programming, was the norm, and we just accepted that as perfectly natural. I can remember that even when color TVs became available (at a very high cost), networks still initially produced new shows in B&W, only going to color after they were proving their popularity. Then the classic brag, 'In Color' was displayed with the title, I suppose so that people that only still had B&W sets would know."

Mike replies: And then there are those of us who deliberately bought B&W sets until we couldn't find them any more. (Big sh*t-eatin' grin.) I remember once when I was watching the movie Wall Street with about five professional photographer friends when that movie was first out on VHS, probably in the early '90s or thereabouts. The host had provided popcorn. During one of the opening cityscapes, one friend said, "that's a nice shot." I waited a few beats, then said, "yeah, 'cept it's moving." Paused for a beat, then added, "...and it's in color." There were groans all around and they all started throwing popcorn at me. 

No doubt you (or at least some readers) recall our epic Readers' Choice list of The Best B&W films. Three that I like that aren't on the list are The Asphalt Jungle, In a Lonely Place, and The Best Years of Our Lives.

Rob de Loe: "When I became serious about photography several decades ago, I shot colour reversal film for a short while, but switched to black and white very quickly. I shot exclusively black and white when I used film, and when I switched to digital in 2014, I shot exclusively for black and white. I never understood people who made a photograph and then decided on the computer whether it should be black and white or colour. I shot for black and white. I simply didn’t press the shutter button when the image in the viewfinder looked to be a colour photo.

"And then I switched to colour. I don’t mean I started making some colour photographs in addition to black and white. I switched completely over to colour in April, 2022.

"I feel like a person who loved classical music until he had a head injury, and now can’t listen to classical anymore. I’ve tried a couple times to shoot for black and white, but it’s gone. It’s like a switch flipped in my brain. I still enjoy some of my black-and-white work from film and digital, but almost as if it’s someone else’s work.

"Trust me, I find this very strange too!"

Mark Sampson: "When I worked as a guard at the Phillips Collection (2014–17) I often was assigned to the Rothko Room there. Never has it been more true that 'THE REPRODUCTION IS NOT THE ART.' Sorry for shouting, but the 'I don't get it' people (in almost every case) need to experience the art before speaking up. Rothko vs. Eggleston? I've never seen an original Eggleston dye transfer so I won't choose, but remember that 'There's no accounting for taste.'"

Art and Artists Question

Which artists would you think might be useful for photographers to know and study?

That was a question I came up with a few days ago, thinking of topics to write about. Trouble is, my list kind of stalled at...four. I was a little shocked that a cascade of names didn't drown my brain. The first three that I thought of immediately were Edward Hopper, Raphael, and Vermeer.

Then I thought of Caravaggio—Mr. Chiaroscuro—and that seems obvious, although I never liked him all that much. His paintings seem violent to me. When I was young I had this persistent sense that I could glean the artist's personality from their art, and when I didn't like what I sensed of the personality, I tended not to like or trust the work.

If ever a cover should not have a red banner across the
corner, it's this one.

After those three I started to run into one peculiar problem. My high school classmate Caroline's daughter, whose name I don't know, was a prolific drawer as a child. When her mother suggested she copy something, when the daughter was nine, she refused, saying, "never go from flat." I love that.

That is, when you're drawing, look at the three-dimensional real world and don't copy something that's already been reduced down into two dimensions by someone else or by some other means. This is a sensitive point with me, because I have a sense when I look at art of all kinds whether "there's a photograph behind it," meaning, the artists is painting or drawing from a photograph. With some art it's obvious, and with some it's almost like a faint shadow and I'm not sure of it. But I tend to like art better when it doesn't have that shadow of a photograph behind it.

It's a bit odd that Hopper is photographic in his vision, yet there isn't that shadow there. And sure enough, Hopper didn't "go from flat." He looked at the real thing and made sketches (many of them) and took written notes. So he might have been a painter who was influenced by photography, but he wasn't one who used photographs to paint from.

Even Vermeer, who died 164 years before the invention of the Daguerreotype was announced, might have been using the lens image as an aid for his painting, according to the (must-see) movie Tim's Vermeer.

Edgar Degas, Race Horses, 1883–85

The problem I ran into was that many latter-day and recent representational artists do have that shadow behind their work. Winslow Homer does; Eakins does, to my eye, although I don't hold it against him—I used to say that Eakins was actually a multimedia artist whose final works happened to be rendered as paintings. (Kind of half a joke, like a lot of my opinions about art.) It's easier to forgive artists who worked closer to the inception of photography; when Degas used photographic cropping in paintings, it was radical and new. A friend tells me that Norman Rockwell: Behind the Camera is actually a very interesting book for us photographers, regardless of whether you like Rockwell. I love Jordan Casteel, but would someone look at her work purely to inform their photography? It seems odd to suggest that photographers should study artists to improve their photography when the artist might have used photographs to paint from in the first place.

Maybe what I really should do, rather than to compile such a list as I'm proposing, would be to read Secret Knowledge by David Hockney, which I'm rather shocked to find out is from 2006. (I still think of it as "recent.") It's about that very subject: artists who mediate their vision through or with the lens image vs. those who paint from direct observations of three dimensions, from imagination, or abstractly.

The book has always been a little too expensive for me, and I'm flat out of room for more books, sadly. (Half my reference books that I need for this job are already inaccessible in boxes in the attic of the barn. I'm shocked to discover just now (from Amazon's records) that I actually own Norman Rockwell: Behind the Camera. It's in a box somewhere and I can't get to it, and out of sight, out of mind. You know what they say: oh well.)

I do tend to forgive artists who were also photographers, which includes Eakins. I have The Photographs of Thomas Eakins somewhere. And it includes the marvelous artist/photographer Saul Leiter whose photography work I cannot get enough of. And David Hockney himself.

Maybe one of my resolutions for 2024 should be to get Secret Knowledge from the library!

Mike

Original contents copyright 2023 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. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

Featured Comments from:

robert e: "I'm going to sort of sidestep the question and suggest studying the artists that move you (whether positively or negatively); just do it deliberately, i.e., with the goal of learning something applicable to photographs.

"Why? First, I think photographers can learn something from most any flat art, including abstracts. Second, there's a lot of art and your time is limited, so you might as well focus on the stuff that resonates personally, that you want to spend more time with anyway. And third, you might learn something about yourself, too."

David Dyer-Bennet: "My mental model is that the thing I could particularly learn about from non-photographic visual artists is composition. (I can of course also learn about that from photographers.) Not to say there aren't other things to learn; there clearly are, particularly if you start including retouching and restoration in 'photography' (because then lots of painting techniques or at least the understanding behind them become relevant).

"('Cropping' is another area where there should be plenty to learn; it's tightly related to composition, too.)

"And, for composition, whether I approve of their techniques or even of their results doesn't really matter, does it? If an image is widely thought to be first-rate, the composition must be at least 'okay,' and is very probably considerably better than that, right? So my looking to figure out how that works has reasonable chances of being enlightening? There's a certain feeling of superiority to be had from thinking you've learned from art you don't like, anyway  :-)  .

"I've been collecting examples and trying to make time to study them, off and on, for over a decade now I guess. Possibly I might even have learned some things."

Roger Bradbury: "Perhaps you should get rid of that funny looking table in the middle of the 'pool' shed, and fill the space with book shelves....  ;-)  "

Mike replies: Part of the original plan: low bookshelves around the edges that cues would clear the top of. Alas, it's not big enough. The room on the floor is needed for footing. The pool shed is big enough, but barely.

A library is actually a perfect room for a pool table. Shelves on all the walls, pool table in the middle. But the room has to be big enough. Take a look at the basement this house in the town I'm thinking of moving to. Very few small houses have any space that is truly big enough for a full size pool table. You need about 19x15 feet clear of any impediments. It's rare to find. I would deal with the less than ideal kitchen, which is probably what's keeping that house from selling.

Oops, am I talking about pool again? I'm not supposed to do that!

Bob Keefer: "I'm going to sidestep the question slightly and suggest a different way for photographers to learn from the classical art world. When people ask me what's the best class to take on photography, I recommend they sign up for a good drawing class. Learning to draw what's in front of you from a decent instructor develops your ability to see the world carefully and accurately, to see what is actually there as opposed to what you expect to see. You also learn about composition and tonal structure of images. Drawing doesn't require talent—only regular practice—and it can deeply change your view of the world and of art."

Len Salem: "Mischievous me suggests that any book by or about any artist you like is worth studying if your intention as a photographer is to express yourself and how you feel about things. Because what, as photographers, many of us need to think about is our intention in making images. Getting to grips with the thought processes of an artist might be valuable help for understanding this. Learning the technique(s) necessary to express that intention is a separate study, and possibly one about which it is easier to become informed or recommend resources."

Hank: "I ran into a Bonnard exhibition during one of my travels a few years back—I think it was at the Tate—and I was struck at how 'photographic' his paintings were. A little research later showed he was a keen amateur photographer."

Mike replies: One of my favorite books is a book of Bonnard's photography. They are not "good," nor do they look at all like my own photographs, but for some reason they just grab me right at base level. Kind of like Howe Gelb's music. Thanks for mentioning him!

Jim R: "When working in color I tend to think of Maxfield Parrish when taking landscape photos after sunset, and William Turner and Hudson School of Art painters when there's water in a scene."

John: "Picasso was supposedly challenged about his distorted representation of an individual—likely his latest mistress. Picasso then asked his interlocutor whether he was married, and if so, did he perhaps have a photograph of her? Out came a wallet and a small snap handed over. 'She’s very beautiful. Such a shame she’s so small, flat, and grey.'

"To Adam Isler’s list of painters, I would add Durer, especially his Great Piece of Turf (Das große Rasenstück); and, George de La Tour, 'The Cheat with the Ace of Diamonds,' in the Louvre collections."

Tom Burke: "It would have to be 'realistic' painters, I think. So, for example, still life and genre paintings from the Dutch Golden Age, would inform photographers of similar subjects. And portrait paintings, surely—again, Dutch masters, as well as artists such as Lawrence and Gainsborough. And then there's Joseph Wright 'of Derby.' If you want chiaroscuro without the violence, e.g. 'A Philosopher Lecturing on the Orrery'. It would be challenging to tackle a subject with that much dynamic range with a digital camera and try control it...."

AI Imaging is a Pox, a Fraud and a Thief

I woke up this morning thinking I might become a radical—photographically speaking. I am so demoralized by the sudden-seeming advent of this pestiferous "AI" imaging that I'm afraid I've allowed it to begin suffocating my interest in photography altogether. But why should I lay down without a fight? Why should I submit without resistance to becoming literally a fool, by being fooled? Why should I not stand up for what value and believe in? When what you love is attacked, should you not fight back?

In one brutal fait accompli, AI is the apotheosis and the realization of the worst fears I had when digital imaging first appeared. Photography in its most exalted form and practice is a means of investigating and appreciating the visual world, of commemorating what we are privileged to see; and as such it should have some sort of connection to the real, like a bear print in the woods is connected to the bear, or like a fossil had to be formed by an actual ancient trilobite. It has to have a trace of the real, left by the actual. The ligatures that bind it to truth (whether closely or loosely) are an essential and indivisible part of its nature, in the complete absence of which it is not itself. To be "photography," an imaging system, whether analog or digital, either by its nature or by virtue of the way it is deployed by a sentient human being, must respect the lens image, and, through the lens image, report to the viewer of the photograph, in some manner and to some degree, what actually might have existed in the world of appearances.

AI has nothing to do with photography, except as a means of flooding the culture with counterfeits—a flood that is dispiritingly likely to drown once and for all the benefits and the benevolences of the art and the craft we have learned over the years to love. It is a pox, an assault, a body-blow, a curse. It has nothing to do with me and I wish I could choose to have nothing to do with it.

Mike

P.S. Wish I could make TOP an AI-free zone. I guess you can't fight the Borg, though.

Original contents copyright 2023 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. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

Featured Comments from:

Peter Lohnes: "This may be the best, most concise critique of visual AI I’ve come across. I especially like the analogy of the bear track in the woods. Even as I chafe at the inescapable ubiquity of smart phone cameras with their ever increasing computing power, I find myself ignoring my beloved Fuji X-100F and relying on the ease and convenience of my iPhone. Today a friend told me in wonder of his new phone which will allow him to use AI to paste himself into photos of places he’s never been. I felt a bit of my soul die."

Mike replies: I could swear the bear track analogy comes from Walter Benjamin, the great art, culture, and media critic, but I've never been able to find it again. I've mentioned it many times over the years and nobody has come forward with a citation. Sorry I can't be of more help. But I can't take credit for it myself.

Arg: "Brilliant thinking, brilliantly written. This is why I have been following TOP for 15+ years. Thank you Michael."

David Comdico: "Interestingly I posted a comment here several months ago that said something very similar. Don McCullin noted that digital photography’s inherent form gave it a propensity toward dishonesty. He was considered an old fuddy duddy shaking his fist at rain clouds, but he was totally correct. AI is the sound of the other shoe dropping."

Mike replies: Perhaps I subconsciously "absorbed" it from you. I have a different quote from you taped to my computer, after all!

Derek Kemp: "To say 'I couldn’t have said it better myself' is an extreme understatement. You, Mike, are wonderful with words sometimes, especially when needed to be. This was/is one of those occasions for sure. And not one swear word in the whole thing. Just perfect. And...so true!"

Christopher J May: "Re: 'P.S. Wish I could make TOP an AI-free zone. I guess you can't fight the Borg, though.' If there's one thing that the various incarnations of Star Trek have taught us, it's that you can fight the Borg. There's usually a heavy toll and success requires creativity, daring and élan. Resistance, however, is not as futile as they'd like you to believe."

Kye Wood (partial comment): "AI is garbage. In a decade it will still be garbage. Here's the why—at its core, it's not AI. It's SI. Simulated Intelligence. Give it something it hasn't encountered before, and it will fail. Given that this world is defined by endless change, it will fail. There are edge cases where it can accelerate the understanding of epic datasets. But that's it. It will never 'know' the difference between a human hand and a spoon. Every thing is just a 'thing.' Sentience is the purview of the sentient."

calvin amari: "Even without generative AI we are increasingly (and alarmingly) becoming a post-truth, alternative-facts world. AI likely will be the final nail in that coffin. The complete evisceration of photography's generally presumed veracity is a loss to be sure, but that may be the least of it. There are already shelf programs—my firm has access to one—that can target anyone who has as little as a few minutes of voice recordings on the internet and make them say literally anything that you want them to say, however outlandish. This is not merely splicing technology but voice simulation that is instantly recognizable as the target. Not only is it the case that 'facts' can be generated, but actual facts now are quite reasonably subject to plausible deniability. To be sure, AI can be used for good or ill. The problem is that being an asshole, though optional, remains a very popular elective."

egor: "Like anyone who never leaves the house without a camera glued to their hand, I’ve given generative AI a lot of thought. My conclusion is somewhat different. Because generative AI is an entirely different medium, its presence does not affect how I see and experience my surroundings. It does not change my desire to photograph those surroundings (95% of the time on B&W film), nor to print them in all their grainy, murky, low-fidelity greyness. It does not limit my 'audience,' because an A.I. audience would not be interested in my photos anyway.

"I once would frequent a small, traditional, family-owned Italian coffee shop. Perfect roast. Perfect pulls. One day a Starbucks went in across the street, and I asked the proprietor if he was worried. 'Nah,' he said, 'no one who goes there would come here, so it’s not a problem.' Ten years later, that small, traditional, family-owned Italian spot still remains and still thrives.

"As you pointed out (and as I’ve also argued), generative AI is not photography. It is its own thing. I have no doubt I’ll discover exquisite AI works that I love, just as I do with exquisite paintings, or exquisite sculptures. I can have deep appreciation for a Giacometti sculpture, a Rothko painting and a Shomei Tomatsu photo—they do not compete. My issues with A.I. are related entirely to it being an existential threat. But a threat to photography? Nah…'cause it ain’t photography. I wrote more 'elequantly' about this earlier in the year."

Mike replies: That's an excellent essay and beautifully written. And I love the idea of making photographs to deliberately screw up AI's trawling tendrils.

Keith Cartmell: "My writer buddies call AI 'the plagiarism machine.' I have as little to do with it as possible, but it's creeping into Lightroom. Soon it will get to the point where the only way I'll trust an image is is a photograph is if I can also see the actual piece of celluloid with a negative image on it."

How to Enjoy Photography

I wouldn't say there are as many ways to enjoy photography as there are photographers, but there are a lot. I wish I was a list-making kind of guy, who could keep a list going until it reached some sense of completeness. In the last post I mentioned a few. Here are those and a few more off the top of my head:

Camera collecting. A way of exhibiting status in parts of Asia, and the main interest of any number of enthusiasts. You could say you're a collector as soon as you arrange the contents of your "camera closet" (or drawer, or cabinet, or wherever you keep your gear) as a display. Jason Schneider, one of the major editors of the photo magazine era, has always had a strong interest in collecting, and even concocted a list of The 100 Greatest Cameras of All Time.

Photograph collecting. There are a large number of subsets, from Elton John all the way down to people who clip photos they like from magazines. You can collect postcards, or antique-shop portraits, or de-accessioned newspaper file photos, or prints from art fairs. One guy I knew collected photographs by students, most of whom are very grateful to make a sale. Another friend of mine, Jim, decided he couldn't be a photo collector because he didn't have enough money, so he decided simply to buy himself one nice photograph every year, the best he could afford, on his birthday. Forty-odd years later, his home is full of rare photographs, and they've appreciated so much that the sale of just one picture paid for a daughter's college education.

As a way to organize vacations. Michael Reichmann used to lead tours to Antarctica and Iceland, and Peter Turnley gives workshops in Paris and Cuba. You can find workshops in the American West and expeditions by ship up the Alaskan coast, all manner of things, all in the service of photographing.

As tech. Some people love to concentrate on various aspects of the tech; my friend Max knew everything there was to know about print developers at one point (I think he's given that up and moved on now), and one of our readers was an expert on sensors and sensor fabrication.

The industry. With the advent of the internet, some forumers got very interested in the fortunes, workings, and strategies of the camera companies. There used to be other kinds of companies as well, like film and paper companies, accessory manufacturers (some of which are still around), darkroom specialty companies, and so forth, and now there are software companies to get interested in, too, such as Adobe and computer companies that make smartphones such as Apple.

For that matter, as a forumer. People who photograph love to talk to each other, and a few would rather talk about it than do it. There's nothing wrong with any of this, by the way. Suit yourself.

As a family chronicler. A friend of mine, Jerry, was very assiduous in documenting his family and their activities, and now in his retirement he's working to put in all in order so it makes sense to his children and grandchildren.

As personal expression. People who practice art photography might either incorporate photography into art of different kinds, or create unique work that expresses their own vision or concerns distinctively. You don't have to succeed at this from a monetary standpoint to practice it.

As documentary. The opposite of personal expressivity might be subordinating photography to its subject; that is, you're more interested in what the photograph shows than in the photograph in and of itself.

As shopping. Some people get happily immersed in a neverending loop of research, desire, and acquisition, and they really enjoy that.

As a way to get out into nature, from hikes in a local park to mountaineering or hiking the Appalachian Trail with a camera.

As a focus for walks or driving trips. Lee Friedlander's son Erik, a jazz and avant-garde cellist, talked in an interview about the family's epic car trips when he was a boy, during which his father would photograph. Henry Wessel's working method was to go places and walk for many hours each day with his Leica and its old Canon lens.

Printmaking. If you didn't read Clay's Featured Comment on the previous post, you should go back and do that. Photographic fine printmaking is an old and honorable craft that continues to thrive here and there, both in terms of old alterantive processes, traditional analog printmaking, and as fine-art inkjet printing.

-

[To be continued...but if more of these come to your mind, by all means drop a comment.]

The Antidote (Follow-Up to 'Is Photography...Ending?')

Okay, now for the antidote. This follows up on my glum article from last week, "Is Photography...Ending?"

First of all, you can be a photographer with nothing but a smartphone. To me, what I need for satisfaction is a.) a camera that's fun and satisfying to use while taking pictures, and b.) that gives me results that I love and that nourish my enthusiasm. For me—just for me—a smartphone doesn't cut it because it provides only "a." I do love the freedom and fun of the iPhone camera and I use mine a lot. It's...socially acceptable. The last print I had made for me (by an expert custom printmaker, which I used to be) has an image area of ~12x17", and phone cameras can't do that. But smartphone pictures look great on the phone itself and good on the computer or tablet screen, so, if that's your target, you're good to go with the camera that came with the device you already use every day. A large survey by Piper Sandler recently showed that 87% of American teenagers prefer Apple phones, but some of the Android devices have cameras that are just as good and in some cases better. The advent of the smartphone camera is a bad thing for the camera industry, but it just isn't a bad thing for photography, or for people who love pictures.

You only need what you need
Secondly, the camera market might be declining, but so what? Don't you currently own possibly the best camera you've ever had in your entire life? Or something very close to it? I do. Who doesn't? I suppose someone within the sound of my voice is at the end of their camera's life and is ready to go shopping again, or is tired of hauling a big DSLR around, or finds their interest changing to things a different camera would be better suited for. But, for the most part, digital cameras have fulfilled their early promise, and even an older one is plenty good enough to have fun with and yield great results. Perhaps some people don't have a great camera, or the camera they want. I suspect my readers, in general, have the opposite problem—they have more great cameras than they need.

And if you prefer "slow photography" and still shoot film, there's a modest resurgence of interest in film photography happening, lots of encouragement and sharing of knowledge on the internet, and an endless parade of old products still hanging around (well, maybe not enlargers). And contrary to the many dire predictions that were common in the 1990s and early 2000s, film itself is still available.

Competent? Why you, I'll...
On to the notion of photography galleries withering away and museums sort of being lost about digital, leaning on things like historical surveys and the big names from the end of film. (Not that I don't love those. And, art needs objects.) Here's a memory from my faraway youth. Not long out of art school, I prepared a portfolio of smallish (11x14") B&W prints for a then-new gallery in an arty enclave of D.C., which represented a hot "emerging" talent I admired. Two weeks after dropping it off, having not heard anything from them, I wandered back in to see if any progress had been made regarding my portfolio review. Behind the desk .occupied by a distracted young gallerista talking on the phone, I immediately spied my lovingly prepared portfolio on a cluttered side-table, looking neglected under the beginnings of a paper-drift on top of it. I cooled my heels for quite a while as she continued her phone conversation. When I was finally favored with her attention, I asked if Mr. X, owner of the eponymous gallery, had looked at it yet. She said, "no. And I don't think he will." Then she added, "but I have."

I immediately apprehended that she was probably the person who decided which of the walk-in portfolios to pass along to Mr. X—and mine had not made her cut. With my mind rapidly composing the likely conversation between the two of them, in which Mr. X undoubtedly waxed acerbic and stern about her duty to protect him from all the wannabe junk he didn't want to bother with, I said, "what did you think?"

She looked confused and uncomfortable, and finally she said, "well...[long pause]...it's...competent."

Ouch!

My thinking was something along these lines: damn, who are you? You're the same age as me if not younger; you probably live in a cheap, miserable little walkup just like I do, unless you still live at home; you accept help from your parents or you'd be perpetually broke; you try to put on a brave face about your job when actually you're just a glorified receptionist. And the primary asset that got you hired is that you're slinky and gorgeous, not that your taste in photographs is anything special. And so on. I didn't say any of that, of course. In the few remaining words that were actually spoken, we agreed there was no point in my leaving my work there any longer, and I walked out with my portfolio under my arm, my feelings good and hurt.

I got the last laugh, after a fashion. I got asked to curate a show at a Park Service gallery that got ten times the foot traffic of that little downtown art gallery—if not twenty times—and I showed six photographers, one of whom was me, and I showed the work from that portfolio. It got a lot of nice compliments. We were reviewed in The Washington Post (which later asked me to be its photography critic; I declined). Inside the front door of the gallery I put one of my large color view-camera landscapes, mainly because it was already framed. I sold two prints from that show (for $350 each, score! Two months' rent) but both were of the large color landscape that I had included as decoration for the entryway. So maybe the gallerista was right.

I can't say I wouldn't have appreciated a little more encouragement in my early days. And it was certainly a pleasure to make the rounds of galleries and museums when I lived in D.C.—I took a long day once and month and hit everything, and for a while I did the same in New York City. But is it really so bad that no photographers (the number approaches zero, anyway, compared to the number of photographers there are now) get gallery shows any more? I slapped a bunch of test pictures from that converted Sigma on Flickr, and then kept going, and look at the number of views some of the older ones have gotten—4,000, 5,000, 12,500, 67,000. Does a show of photographs at the Metropolitan Museum of Art get a total of 67,000 walk-through visitors? I don't know. Even my newest one, "Combine Near Dark" (which you should look at on your monitor at night, under subdued room light, by the way—I'll go add that to the description) has gotten 1,200 views. I doubt that the gallery that sent me packing, which is long gone now, ever got 1,200 visitors for a one-month show. Or if they did, it was probably only a few times. Granted, I have an advantage, because I have an existing audience through this site, and I've gotten significant boosts from being picked several times for Flickr's "Explore" page, Flickr's brightly-lit shop window for selections from its contents. But that one that got 67,000 views wasn't featured on Explore. Neither was the one that got 77,000 views.

I think you see the point I'm making. Most of us get much more exposure now, or at least have a fair chance to go after it.

There are a lot of advantages to having gatekeepers. One is that curators curate, which is highly useful to the rest of us. I loved photography galleries. Another is that a show of carefully prepared original art is the best way to look at photographs. Or was, until the museums started turning the lighting down. But for most people—we have it better now.

Don't complain
While it's true that photography's culture is changing and we're losing a lot that we once took for granted, this is also true: it's always been that way. Also during my time in D.C. after graduating from the Corcoran, I worked for six months as an assistant to a studio advertising photographer. When I knew him, he liked to complain about how "amateurs" were stealing work from him—I could reconstruct his arguments today, I heard them so often. His idea was that there were all these people out there who thought they were photographers who did professional jobs for nothing, or for very little, just because they wanted to call themselves pros. (I didn't point out that, technically, this included me.) I won't go on about this; suffice to say that I read a lot about photography in my early days, and, if you read around enough in photography's history, you'll soon detect a steady undercurrent of photographers bitching and moaning about how great things used to be and how much worse they are now. Often, right alongside other photographers who are embracing whatever is new and gushing about how great the new thing is! Whether it's that newfangled albumen printing, or the new "fast" ISO 64 Kodachrome, or cameras that have an exposure meter built in. Right up to all the recent hand-wringing about social media changing (Google "social media is dead" and look at some of the articles. Snapchat is changing! Instagram is changing! Social media isn't what it used to be, apparently.)

They're both wrong, really. In some ways the new developments are better; in some ways, it's a shame that we've lost what we've lost. The point is, this isn't a new thing.

Outside in
One last thought and I'll shut up. We—dedicated photographers, enthusiasts of the pastime, those who love photographic images—have always been basically outsiders. We have always gone our own way and done our own thing. The technology has always been in flux; social acceptance has gone up and down; the culture has constantly changed. The meaning of what a photograph does and what it means has actually never been static or stable. None of it matters, really. The fact remains that it's a pleasure to look hard at the world and investigate what we see in our lives. Seeing—and, sometimes, photographing—always is, always was, and always will be a joy.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2023 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. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

Featured Comments from:

John Sullivan: "I am retired from a museum photography job. For many years I created beautiful images of rare priceless objects. I got great satisfaction doing this. In the final years of my job I began doing more of the art photography that I have loved. I get more enjoyment from this than all the work that I did for the museum. Before I retired I got the distinct impression that no matter how excellent my images were, I could be replaced by another technical photographer and not be missed. When people see the images I am making for myself I know they can't be done by anyone else and they cause others to experience joy."

Patrick Murphy: "This is one of the saddest sentences I've ever read: 'We were reviewed in The Washington Post (which later asked me to be its photography critic; I declined).' I have great respect for you, and great respect for the Post. I'm the same age as you and grew up in D.C. during the Post's tremendous Pentagon Papers/Watergate era. My career goal at 20 was to be the Post's Comics Editor. But to be the photography critic?!? Heaven! You must tell us why you turned this down, and your thoughts on it now as you look back."

Mike replies: tl;dr version: The pay wasn't adequate.

I don't recall a lot of the details now, but here's the story as I remember it. I had written for several smaller papers and arts journals in the D.C. area, and became mildly notorious (even in New York, just a little) after I wrote an article that was harshly critical of Richard Avedon's "In the American West." My title was "The Fashion Photographer's Nightmare"; the paper that published it changed the title to "Sniping at Avedon," which I thought was less a title for the article than a critique of it. And I don't think I would have been "the" photography critic...I think there was someone with a name who was writing feature articles. They wanted someone to write short gallery and museum show reviews. At first I was very excited about it. The previous reviewer had just moved on. Because I knew several gallery owners, I knew that that person, and I honestly can't recall the name now, was known to write show reviews based on only a phone call to the gallery owner, without even seeing the work. Well, I would definitely not have done that. I would have visited the work twice, spoken to the artist, and interviewed the gallery owner or someone else who was in some meaningful way connected to the work. I can't recall if they wanted three pieces a week or five, but I figured that the way I would want to do it, it would be about a half-time job, maybe twenty hours a week. And the offer was $105 a week. When I complained, it was sweetened to $130. (Which was considerate of them, I now realize.) It just wasn't enough. I had recently graduated, and had debts, and was trying to make a go of it as a photographer, meaning, I had no job. There were many months when I didn't know how I was going to meet the rent for the very next month. I'm pleased to report that I never did anything illegal*. Well, not for money.

As far as my thoughts looking back, my official position is that I regret everything*. However, the missed Post opportunity is one thing I truly regret. After I had matured just a little, it occurred to me that it would have been a nice line to have on my resumé. But later still, after I had matured even a little bit more, I realized that everyone has to pay their dues...and that I should have done so too.

*That's meant to be a joke!

Alan Whiting: "Mike, I would also emphasize (under the 'now is better' heading) The sheer technical advance of imaging. Pictures are now routinely produced that would have been impossible, or very difficult, a few decades ago. I'm thinking in particular of nightscapes showing the Milky Way and a scenic foreground; and the pictures produced by amateur astronomers in general. There must be other examples. A picture that presented no technical challenges in the old days might not be much improved by present technology, but the range of possible images has been greatly extended."

Mike replies: Great point, Alan, thanks.

Is Photography...Ending?

Okay, clickbait title. At least I hope it is. I try.

But take it as a serious question. Of course "photography" has to mean photography as we once knew it, because virtually everyone in the First World is equipped with a camera as matter of routine nowadays. According to Pew Research and others, almost 90% of Americans now own a smartphone. Another 7–8% own cellphones. (I presume they're counting only adults.) Everyone takes and shares pictures now. Photography certainly isn't ending in that sense; it's taken off like a rocket.

That doesn't mean that photography "as we knew it" can't get functionally obliterated by the ubiquity of smartphones, although that's probably a conversation for a different day. The vast torrent of new pictures—above a billion daily just in the US, by most estimates—has many implications, including a.) that no one person can be familiar with more than a minuscule fraction of all the photographs being made, meaning that no one, not even a professional curator, has a reasonable understanding of the directions and accomplishments of photography as a whole any more; and b.) photographing is fast becoming nothing special or distinctive simply because everyone does it, about like everyone eats, breathes, and poops. It's a part of daily existence and fast becoming nothing at all special. Photographers used to be respected, because, through hard-won skill and knowledge and practice, they could do things ordinary people couldn't. But the status of having specialized knowledge and skill has been evaporating for years now. Paralleling that decline is a decline in the in the need to hire a photographer for a wide array of once-common needs. In the late '80s I was charging $670 for a portrait sitting plus $80 per print. Now, I literally can't give away portrait sittings for free half the time. People take their own portraits now.

Then there's the camera industry. For decades it was a truism that "the mass market" supported the makers of the high-end equipment that art photographers, professionals, and photojournalists wanted. And it did, once upon a time. No longer. Apple, Samsung, Huawei, Lenovo, Xiaomi, Oppo, ZTE, Vivo, LG and Alcatel own the mass market now, and none of them are doing anything to support lower-end consumer ILCs (interchangeable lens cameras), much less helping Nikon produce Z camera lenses or subsidizing Fuji's interchangeable-lens medium-format cameras. Camera companies have been disappearing for years now and there are for all practical purposes only five of them left: according to Statista, Canon, Sony, Nikon, Fuji and Panasonic account for 94% of ILCs sold today, all the other surviving brands sharing the meager remaining six percent. And shipments of digital still cameras declined from 121 million units in 2010 to just eight million in 2021, a decrease of 93%. And nearly all of those eight million are hybrid cameras, video having become a significant driver of both interest and sales to today's buyers, as well as a locus of technological development and innovation for the manufacturers.

Hard-won culture
As far as some of the other features of the old culture of photography, built up so painstakingly from the beginnings through the advent of affordable digital cameras, I don't have facts and figures at my fingertips. These include museum and gallery shows and sales, books, and printmaking, and the art market.

The practice of "art photographers" (usual disclaimer: I use the term as a description, not a claim) building up a CV based around shows, sales to museums and private collections, teaching and lectures, awards and honors, and published articles about the photographer or the work used to be common enough that the nuts-and-bolts of it was part of a class about the business of photography that I took as a senior in art school. So do photographers still strive to advance their work by dropping off portfolios of prints at galleries and museums for review? I'd have to talk to gallerists and museum curators to get a handle on whether this is more or less common than it was forty years ago, but I have my suspicions.

Peer-to-peer and peer-to-public sharing of deliberate bodies of work through books seems less necessary now than it was when photography was on the rise as an art form. I've seen no sign that interest in photobooks has diminished; it's quite possible more are being published now than ever before. But I do get the sense that books are more often considered artworks in themselves, with many of the creators maybe falling into the category of "artist" rather than "photographer" and the individual photographs in them perhaps becoming less primary, and I would guess that printing runs are getting smaller and smaller. I'd have to talk to photobook publishers to take the temperature of this aspect of the culture of photography.

Prints. The vast majority of photographers three-quarters of a century ago shot B&W negative film, meaning that pictures required the making of a physical print just to be viewable. Making a print was required in order to share the picture with others. Prints were what we shown and shared. Now, if a photograph existed only as a paper print, it would virtually be a way of hiding it from view. My most popular picture on Flickr (itself not considered a very prominent site, not like Instagram) has just over 77,000 views. Even if I were honored with a full show of custom exhibition prints at a prominent museum—say, the George Eastman Museum, which is local to me—do you think 7,000 people would see it? I doubt that very much. (Again, I'd have to ask the staff at the museum what they believe the average attendance to be.) And how many enthusiast photographers still make their own fine prints, or have fine prints made? As insufficient as it is to view a picture as an online JPEG rather than as a fine print made by a master printmaker, the percentage of photographers who have good prints made is likely in steep decline, I believe. Again, I haven't done the actual research.

A consideration of the art market—which for all practical purposes requires objects to function—wouldn't be out of place here either, but I don't have time.

That sinister elephant
And then there's the elephant in the room: the recent phenomenon of AI. Digital eroded the essence of photography, because it was so much more easily faked and doctored; but there was at least the potential for it to continue to be a record of the lens image, with its understandable connection to the world of appearances, if the operator was honest and worked in a culture which encouraged honesty, such as traditional, edited photojournalism. But AI is the danger inherent in digital suddenly exploding to a nightmare level, and it could be a disaster for any number of areas of photographic culture that were previously still struggling to survive. Just a week ago, in the post about audio speakers, I showed an example of a real-world advertising pastiche that was based on AI. That's something that a professional photographer would have had to shoot, and be paid for, in times gone by. No more. Before the pandemic I asked a professional I know how he was doing, and he told me he cleared $80k the year before. "That's not so bad," was my comment, to which he said, "Yes, it is, because I used to clear $240k a year." That's about to get worse. Thank goodness it's still easy to recognize AI when you look for it; I hope against hope its flaws are inherent in it and it never gets any better, although that seems very unlikely.

And if digital quietly eroded public support in the veracity of photography, its ability to serve as a witness, AI, if it gets a lot better, will obliterate it.

In sum: the art, craft, and business of photography as we once knew it is in considerable decline, in terms of status and stature, practice, reward, it's place in society, and in its conceptual underpinnings. Things look grim.

Don't despair
I have to break this off, because the insistent needs of the blog format mean I simply have to get something up before breakfast—there hasn't been a new post since Saturday, and there must be. And, um, it's almost 1:00 p.m. and I'm hungry. So I don't have time to finish this now. As I always say, this stuff doesn't write itself, and I watch myself getting slower as I get older. But don't despair just yet—and don't condemn this post for being one-sided until you read the other side. There's good news, too. I'll show you the sunny side of all this, and explain why it's not really a disaster, sometime within the next week.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2023 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. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

Featured Comments from:

Tex Andrews: "Re 'So do photographers still strive to advance their work by dropping off portfolios of prints at galleries and museums for review? I'd have to talk to gallerists and museum curators to get a handle on whether this is more or less common than it was forty years ago, but I have my suspicions.' Got news for you (I work at the Hirshhorn, and my wife at the Baltimore Museum of Art; I'm in the Exhibits Department, she was a registrar and now a curator—a rare bird!): Not only is this not true for art photographers, it's not true for any artists anymore. It's harder now to get your work in front of 'the people that matter' than it has ever been."

Paul Martini: "'The ease with which we can make a superficial image often leads to creative disaster.' —Ansel Adams."

Doug Anderson: "I look forward to reading the good news! My take on the situation is pretty much what you have described so far."

JOHN B GILLOOLY: "The beginning of this post echoes the sentiment I have had this month while photographing two PGA events (professional golf) in Chicago, Illinois, and Greensboro, North Carolina. The layers of redundant coverage of everything is a bit disheartening. Almost any significant moment that you photograph is also being photographed and recorded by multiple others with varying skill and equipment levels. The premium in terms of media distribution is certainly speed. I am almost never shooting for media purposes so I am not part of that, but it still has greatly eroded any sense of capturing something 'special.' That represents the erosion of the personal fulfillment side of this equation.

"On the other hand, my business as a commercial photographer is thriving. Demand is steady and even growing and rates are also steady and/or rising. So I felt the need to buffer my frustration and discontent with the reminder that I am a commercial photographer doing this work for a living. I can, and must, be an artist on my own time."

Paul: "The ever-changing world. Which side of the proverbial fence? It really does not matter as we all have to adapt. This argument could be made about most everything and likely has been made since the beginning of time and evolution. That said, I still prefer much of the "old days" and my view considers both nostalgia and romanticism."

Rob de Loe: "You offer a realistic assessment. I've come to the same conclusion. There are a lot of people who still enjoy cameras and lenses, who like making photographs, and who appreciate good photography. But the number is dwindling. Eventually those of us remaining will be like the folks who still practice large format film photography. There are some young whippersnappers in that community, but mostly I think we're down to people who have been doing it seriously for a long time and simply enjoy the process.

"A related trend, which I think you recognize in your post, is the huge gulf that has opened up between the above crowd (enjoys cameras and lenses, likes making photographs, appreciates good photography) and 'artists who use photographs.' Talk about Mars and Venus. The artists who use photographs will be fine because it doesn't look like they're too fussed about things that excite photographers. So how is this not depressing? I suppose if you're willing to just make photographs for yourself and your own enjoyment, you'll be fine. Mind you, with all the billions of photographs being made every day, that's all we're doing anyway, so it won't be a big adjustment."

Lee Rust: "The internet and digital devices have upset just about every traditional aspect of modern life. Photography is everywhere all the time these days, but 'famous photographers' seem to be a thing of the past. Now that anybody can instantly broadcast their images or videos worldwide with the flick of a finger, who needs a gallery? 'Going viral' seems to be the new 'getting famous.'"

John Krumm: "Your coming 'sunny side' follow-up immediately made me think of Monty Python's 'The Bright Side of Life.' We are indeed in weird camera and photography times. I think the decline of photography as a hobby is related to the decline of all hobbies, to the very idea of hobbies. You have to hope that in 30 years we won't be limited to phones, an ever declining used camera supply, and sad go-fund-me garage-made cameras cobbled together with security camera parts."

psu: "The answer is no."

Sean: "Not according to Betteridge's Law of headlines, which states: 'Any headline that ends in a question mark can be answered by the word 'no.'"

Jim Arthur: "Amateur photography as we knew it is dead because of its cost and complication. A smartphone is easy to use, can be inexpensive, and is incredibly useful. Camera companies are now trying to automate their complex cameras with additional in-camera processors for AI based autofocus and other computational features, but they can’t compete with the convenience of the smartphone. Once we began to network computers, everything changed…everything sped up…and today in 2023 the modern mirrorless camera remains isolated.

"Today, a twenty-year-old with a smart phone in his pocket has no need to buy a still camera, video camera, stereo, calculator, etc., and if a compromise in the quality of these items is needed to gain the incredible convenience of the smartphone, that’s OK because the device will likely be improved next year. Technology and automation won’t be slowing down anytime soon but I expect quality cameras and lenses to remain available for folks like us for as long as they remain viable tools. For example, you can still spend hundreds of dollars on a Starrett dial caliper when cheap digital Bluetooth calipers are also available."

Guns As Lazy Drama

With the Screen Actors Guild and the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (SAG-AFTRA), Hollywood's largest union, representing 160,000 film and television actors, joining the ongoing Writers Guild of America (WGA) strike, perhaps it's a good time to trot out another of my unpedigreed theories. These are thoughts I have that are neither bolstered by expert opinion nor checkable by fact-checkers nor taught in schools nor defended by polling. Here goes: it is my opinion that the greatest, the best, the most meaningful, the most insightful, and the most accurate piece of criticism of television and movies ever created or expressed is this short segment of the TV show "The Office":

I am waaaay, way past being sick to death of the eternal shoot-'em-up. Sure, when it's called for. Sure, now and then. Sure, when it's appropriate. But wall-to-wall, 24-7, never-ending mayhem and gore for all ages and in every situation? We're like gun-aholics. Maybe somebody involved in the strike could negotiate for the improv class teacher's dictum to Michael: "No more guns." Just for a while. Steve Carell's Michael Scott in this scene is Hollywood in a nutshell. Even if you love violence for some reason, you've got to admit it's true.

While we're at it, could we put the same moratorium on video games? I'm just sayin'.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2023 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. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

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Awesome and Brilliant Metrics

As we were alerted to via PetaPixel, there's an interesting and well-done post at a home products and review site called SimpleGhar (what's a ghar?) that breaks down, in all kinds of ways, the kinds of cameras in use on Flickr.

The graphics are awesome. British translation: brilliant. Whatever word you choose, they really are awesome and brilliant. As a former magazine editor, I can tell you I would have killed to be able to publish such detailed and well-presented graphics. Assuming it's good data, of course.

The only thing is, and I'm sure you're already aware of this, that Flickr probably isn't very representative of photographers today as a whole. I can't really summarize its reputation generally, because I'm not familiar with all the sharing sites or their content. But my sense is that it's relatively conservative, slanted toward users who care more than average about image quality in the presentation of the pictures, and, all things considered, small. The most interesting revelation concerns Apple: first, that it did so well on Flickr against dedicated ILCs (interchangeable-lens cameras), and secondly, that it so thoroughly dominated the smartphone category. I would expect it to, but maybe not by so much. The top 24 smartphones on Flickr are all Apple iPhones.

More globally, of course, in terms of numbers of pictures made, Apple would completely clobber all those cameramakers, even Canon, and not by anything like a small margin.

Still, data is always interesting, as the kind reader who sent me the link observed. Check it out.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2023 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. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

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How I Can Know So Little About Photography

Photography resembles something Carl Jung supposedly said about psychology: everyone thinks they understand psychology because they understand their own.

I love to learn, and, to borrow Thomas Jefferson's famous bon mot about reading, for a long time I had a canine appetite for learning everything I could about the science, history, and culture of photography.

I'm not saying I know, or knew, everything. Far from it. Kodak scientists—I knew the developers of the T-Max films, of which I was an early beta-tester—could tell you I know very little about emulsion science. Professional critics would easily detect that I didn't have a truly deep grounding in the fundamentals of art criticism. Master photojournalists would say I wasn't that talented or experienced a shooter. Optical physicists would immediately have reservations about my understanding of lens design. Historians recognize pretty quickly that I'm a dilettante in their field. I've only shot two weddings, ever. I took a job in a frame shop to learn how to frame my own photographs, but, compared to a master frame-maker who used to read TOP, the late Bron Janulis, I know very little about that. Camera repairpeople knew there were many limitations to my knowledge of the innards of cameras. Museum curators could find fault in my education about conservation, and I've only ever curated one show (of the work of six photographers), in the Park Service gallery in Rock Creek Park in D.C. My friend who was one of the world's foremost experts in photographic densitometry teased me because of my willingness to be subjective about tone and not rely sufficiently on sensitometric data (which he wanted me to gather myself. I did, but only once). I'm not that well read in the philosophy of aesthetics. Enthusiasts of alternative processes have been disappointed that I don't know firsthand about their favorite process, whether it be cyanotype or tintype or gum bichromate. (Thinking of specific people there.) I don't know everything there is to know about digital cameras, although I'm met the guy who invented them. I knew one guy who knew more than anyone about paper developers, and sometimes he had to explain things to me like I was a child. Specific friends know much more than I care to about the photography industry and all the companies, major and minor. (Hobbyists on the internet know all there is to know about that, with the caveat that a lot of what they know is wrong.) Any professional worth her salt knows more than I do about running a professional photography business. I can run a critique, though. I can align an enlarger. I can write a syllabus for a photography course. But I can't get an inkjet printer to work. I spent hundreds and hundreds of hours at the Library of Congress and at a local D.C. gallery looking at original prints, and for a long time I would travel up to hundreds of miles to see shows at museums and galleries. I have an unusually good visual memory, and can usually tell if I've ever seen a specific picture before—although I figured out how to test that, and found my memory for specifics isn't quite as good as I imagined it was. I've taught students all the way from rising high school sophomores in the summer program at the Corcoran to grandmothers in the continuing education program at a Virginia community college, but I'm not a career teacher. I was all set to be hired for a teaching position at a college in Ithaca, New York, until they found out I didn't have an MFA. That was the end of that. Q.E.D.: my education is lacking. I don't really know all that much about Apple Macs, even though the first Apple Mac I ever used was "The Apple Macintosh," the very first Apple Mac, in 1984. And I don't know everything there is to know about Photoshop, even though I've been using it since version 2.5 (not CS2, version 2.5—CS2 was version 9) in 1994. Camera collectors think I don't care enough about the ins and outs of what they're up to, although I can talk their language. (One thing I could see that they don't: each of them has a different sub-specialty that they each consider the most important sub-specialty. Or at least the most interesting.) Ditto photograph collectors, whether the collection is demotic or esoteric, small or large, public or private, valuable or not, famous or personal (thinking about specific people again here). I have only one item on my photographic "bucket list": I would dearly love to see Elton John's photography collection. Fat chance. And all this doesn't even mention the world of photo magazines, about which there is a lot I don't know about.

And so on. I could go on. As we all know, I do go on.  :-)

And you call yourself...
But the proof of my ignorance I remember most fondly came from a parent when I taught photography at a prep school. The students provided their own cameras, and one girl showed up with an ancient 1960s Zenit from behind the Iron Curtain. I suggested she was probably going to have more trouble with it in the class than might be good for her. A few days later she appeared sporting a new Pentax K1000, as was suggested in the syllabus.

It wasn't the last I was to see of the Zenit, however. (Or Zorki, or Kiev, or whatever it was.) On Parent Night, a man came up to me, and out came the ancient Soviet-era camera.

"My daughter tells me you don't even know how to work a simple camera."

"I think I do," I answered. Taking the camera, I showed him how to operate it.

"And what's this?" He asked, pointing to a particular button. I told him. "And this button, what does it do?" I took the camera, tried one thing and another, and couldn't get anything to happen. "I don't know," I answered, handing it back to him. Maybe it was broken.

But he had me. His face brightened and grew stern at the same time. Taking the old camera back, he declaimed, in a loud and accusing voice, "And you call yourself a photography teacher!"

And so it goes.

Take my word for this: there are a million ways to know nothing about photography. And I think I know every one of them.   :-)

Mike

Original contents copyright 2023 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. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

Featured Comments from:

Bear.: "Love it and has application to many aspects of my life! May I suggest an expanded and polished version for a certain magazine you've been known to write for?"

Mike replies: The thought occurred to me too late. They don't accept previously published pieces.

David G. Miller: "And that, Mike Johnston, is why I read your blog faithfully. Your ignorance in all things photographic being only slightly less profound than mine, I can usually reach out and pick up the semi-precious gems you scatter so freely. Our opinions differ just enough to add more sparkle to the process."

Ed Otten: "I smiled all the way through this post Mike. You appear, in a tongue-in-cheek manner, to be suffering from a classic case of imposter syndrome. Trust me when I join the thousands who visit you daily, to say that you are very good at whatever it is you do.  :-)  "

James Weekes: "It takes a lot of effort to be as ignorant as you are.  ;-)  "

JoeB: "As I get older I realize how much I don't know. I was much smarter when I was younger.
Or so it seems to me now."

Mike replies: I have certain further complaints along those lines, about the way things are now. For instance, the older it gets, the harder my car is to get into and out of. It is deteriorating in this respect every year. Also, my shirts continue to shrink, despite being, for the most part, more than five years old already. When I was young, shirts shrank only for the first two or three washes, and then stayed the same size thereafter. But these pale beside my judgement of the weightlifting and aerobics equipment at the gym I recently joined—boy, have those ever gone downhill. The machines we had when I was, say, 30 years old, were so much smoother, more effective, and easier to use. The ones they make now are all crap!

Fake Photograph Wins Photography Contest

It's been amusing, over the past few days, to watch the progress of this story in the world. I first became aware of it in The Guardian (whose journalism I support, by the way), in the article called "Photographer admits price-winning image was AI generated: German artist Boris Eldagsen says entry to Sony world photography awards was designed to provoke debate." But since then I've seen it featured on Apple News, the BBC, and many other places. Lots and lots of hand-wringing.

Basically, here's what you need to know: a guy entered an AI-generated image into a photography contest, and the judges picked it. It's not exactly the first time it has happened; you might recall this story. And of course the art world, which amounts to an alternative banking system for the superrich, is throwing money at AI art.

When I was in high school, I ran cross country. My usual training partner and running mate was my friend Albert Hall. Albert, one of only a few Black students in my prep school, favored plaid or houndstooth three-piece suits, always with one shirt-tail hanging out; not both, just one. He was also very into weed, which he smoked in a pipe. I mean an expensive wooden pipe of the type used by stuffy conservative gentlemen at the time for tobacco. My memory is that it looked about like this one. His father had bought him a small, sturdy Mercedes, and Albert kept the center armrest storage bin stuffed full of loose marijuana, from which he would refill his briar pipe. He kept the windows up, I guess for the same reason that Bob Marley allegedly smoked ganja with a bag over his head. It wasn't unusual to see Albert's Mercedes motor past with the inside so full of dense smoke that Albert himself was hardly visible.

The coach of the cross country team, an English teacher named Jim Kearney, was of the opinion that both Albert and I were talented runners but that we just wouldn't work. We got lots of earnest talkings-to about wasted potential and so forth. So one time prior to a multi-school away meet at Wayland Academy, I believe it was, we hatched a plan. Wayland's course was a figure 8; first, runners ran several times around the school's open playing fields, then, about where the figure-8 crossed over, the course entered the woods, and runners finished the race with a long loop on a path through the woods.

First, we laid the groundwork by trying harder than usual in practice and telling Kearney several times that we were determined to mend our ways and try our best at that weekend's meet. I might have had something to do with strategizing this.

When the race began Albert and I started out strong and hung with the leaders on the visible laps, with Kearney excitedly yelling encouragement as we passed him. Then, directly after hitting the woods, we ducked into the underbrush and hid, trying not to talk or giggle as the rest of field went by. When the runners started coming back the other way, we let a few of the known stars pass our position, and then, when the coast was clear, jumped back out on the course and ran hell-bent for the finish line, which was over a hill and down in front of the stands. When we appeared at the crest of the hill, just behind the leaders, Kearney was beside himself with joy. He was so excited he was jumping up and down and yelling at the top of his lungs. The end of the race consisted of a chute created with ropes that led to the finish line. But just before we got to the chute, both Albert and I peeled off and collapsed on the grass, acting as though we were too exhausted to finish.

It's a good thing Kearney was young, or he might have busted a vein. It was just the sort of thing Albert and I would pull—to earn a high finish and then simply fail to take it. He screamed himself hoarse. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!? GET UP, YOU ------ ------- ------- ------S!!! THIS ISN'T THE FINISH LINE!!! YOU HAVEN'T REACHED THE FINISH LINE!!!" and so forth. Albert and I lolled on the ground, as if in agony, sucking for breath.

I believe that Jim Kearney, who retired from a different school many years later, is on a Facebook group frequented by members of my high school class and the classes around it. I should try to contact him—to ask him if he has forgiven us yet. Because he sure didn't back then. Or for as long as I knew him afterwards.

I lost track of Albert Hall—which, by the way, was his real name—after I graduated.

Anyway, the point is, that German guy had to confess, while refusing the prize, because, in the same way that crossing the finish line would have made cheaters of Albert and me, to accept the prize would have made him into an actual fraud, y'see.  According to the article, the German guy described himself as a "cheeky monkey," quote-unquote, as if he were merely being a lad; and in the manner of dissemblers everywhere, he also pursued a parallel rationalization, and tried to tie a highfalutin' purpose to his trick, as if what he was really doing was teaching the world some kind of lesson that would supposedly be valuable in some unknown way. But no. It was just cheating. Playing a trick. Kinda like when some wag posted a classic Cartier-Bresson shot on flickr when flickr was the newest thing, and it got all sorts of slag and shade from in-the-dark commenters.

Personally, of course, I would rather hear what the judges of the contest have to say for themselves. But I better not say too much about that, for any number of reasons.

And one last thought—shouldn't that Guardian article have been written using ChatGTP? Although maybe it was, maybe it was.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2023 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. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

Featured Comments from:

David Dyer-Bennet: "Cheating? No; I really cannot see it that way. Cheating is an attempt to claim something beyond your just desserts, surely? Your own story of the cross-country meet shows that you and Albert were aware of this even back then, and took efforts to avoid crossing that line (sorry, couldn't resist the phrasing). What Boris demonstrated, quite convincingly, is that any claims that AI art isn't good enough to be a worry are incorrect. Experienced judges did not perceive at a glance that it was AI-generated, and they did like it better than the other art put before them in the contest. While this isn't the first or only data-point on that subject, there aren't (yet) so many that this new one is superfluous. It's a valuable contribution to the discussion. I see Boris attempting to make an important point in a current ongoing discussion (and he succeeded), while carefully avoiding claiming honors he didn't properly deserve. And, in doing so, creating a story that will dog his career for the rest of his life."

Dave Millier: "Classic TOP writing, complete with majestic detour before returning planetary-orbit-like to the starting point for the finale. Love the article."

Freddy S.: "The Cartier-Bresson story reminded me to look up an old article of yours, on the old site...but it's gone! Did you deactivate it? or was it silently deactivated by blogspot?"

Mike replies: Amazon Canada made me take it down, due to some book links I had on it that I couldn't remove.

Seven Reader Comments on 'Photographs Are Beautiful'

[UPDATE 2 pm Wednesday: All the comments are posted now. I have only one thing left to do, post the comments on the "Sunday Open Mike" post. But I have to go to the gym at 2:00, so I will do that when I get back. —Ed.]

I'm feeling great this morning. Very good day yesterday. And a big relief, frankly. My medical problems weren't severe, but they were, y'know, mine. And they turned out to be less threatening than they could have been. (I told more of the story in an email to my Patreon subscribers.)

But enough about that. The post "Photographs Are Beautiful Because They're True" (you might want to re-read the original post before proceeding), which probably should have been called photographs are beautiful IF they're true (or maybe photographs are beautiful if they're honest), elicted a lot of good comments, and I fell down posting the comments in a timely manner because of all my "lifey" distractions. (There is a saying in my 12-step program: "Sometimes life gets all lifey.") So here are seven selected ones to continue the discussion. If yours wasn't chosen, it doesn't mean it wasn't good. In choosing featured comments, I try to make the mix representative, rather than just a cherrypicking of "the best" ones, whatever that means. David Aiken's, for instance, was good, but at nearly 1,200 words it's longer than the original post, so I didn't post it here. But I might have. I read everyone's comment, and always have.

Be sure to check out Greg Boiarsky's link, and remember you're not looking at the real artworks, only small JPEGs of them. (Curious circularity: make an artwork of a photograph and then photograph it. Presumably it has a distinct numinous quality as a unique artwork that is then masked by the rephotographing, obliging us to imagine the artwork's true effect.)

Without further ado:

Tex Andrews: "Boy, I am so sorry to find myself vehemently disagreeing with you. As someone trained in painting/drawing/printmaking, I would argue that they are all more true—especially so-called 'abstraction' or non-representational art, but really all art in these media and sculpture as well—because all of them are what they are and it's quite obvious that they are. Even the examples of trompe l'oeil [French for "deceive the eye" —Ed.] works. Photography masks its un-truthfulness with a verisimilitude that we take for granted as true, and most don't question. Huge difference. Easy examples: what's outside of the frame, or, how is it processed? Is it a huge demonstration in the streets with combat between the police, or is it a few dozen angry people and several cops clashing with several of the protesters? Is it a gritty Bill Brandt shot of a grey and depressing outdoor scene, or was the day actually warm with the sun peeking through after a fresh rain?

"I only started becoming successful with my personal photography after I stopped beating my head against the wall trying to capture the truth of the scene and just started wielding my cameras like my other tools. Only in my work doing fine art repro do I try to capture 'the truth,' but I'm now a lot wiser in knowing that cameras/photography can never really do that."

Jeff Hohner: "Re 'Photographs are only beautiful insofar as they are true.' Hear, hear. I often struggle (in many more words) to explain this to photographers who started working after Photoshop became commonplace. 'You should clone out that branch to improve that shot's composition,' someone might say. 'This was the best position I found for the camera that balanced that damned branch with the other (glorious) elements in the photo. I love that tree though. I've photographed it many times over the years as it's grown. Would you like to see some of those photos to better understand this magical spot?'

"Thanks for the interesting link. Seems to me that in addition to AI and fraud, another part of this story is social media. The fraudster makes all kinds of excuses for his behaviour but it seems clear that he's primarily motivated by attention-seeking. Growing a following on Instagram can provide material gain as an influencer. His thorough thank you's may be polite but are also an engagement tactic. There are many people who work their social media accounts like a job and make some revenue from doing so. Looks to me like this guy was just working a new (dishonest) angle for traffic."

Jon Erickson: "Surely there is room for abstraction and impressionism in photography much as there is for realism in painting. The idea of accurately reporting what is in front of the camera still applies, with unwavering vigor I hope, to photojournalism, but did it ever apply to, say, commercial fashion? I think some of Sarah Moon's work is so beautiful it transcends that genre, and I would not wonder or care whether her images faithfully reproduce 'the sound of acoustic instruments playing in a real space,' so to speak, with a salute to the late great Harry Pearson [founding editor of The Absolute Sound magazine, whose signature thesis was that live music was the absolute standard against which reproduced music should be judged.  —Ed.].

"Accurate reporting does not apply to every artist or perhaps to even many artists. I recently met a portrait photographer who travels the southeast region of the US for sessions with children in the homes of well-to-do families. His professionally lighted and posed portraits are then rendered as oil-on-canvas paintings by someone else in the company he works for. There's no deception in this. The clients understand how the process works, and though I imagine the result is far from great art, it's at least more carefully and classically realized than applying a digital filter to a photo and outputting the file as a 'painting' through an inkjet printer on fine-art paper. The person executing the painting, however, is handed an image not of her own conception or composition. Who is the artist here? Would the Instagram fraud guy be a thing if he had avoided contriving back stories for some of his subjects and worked the AI photo-like 'original' as a painting instead of finishing it out as a photograph? Would he still be lying if he took credit for the images as digital paintings?"

Mike replies: I think you have just coined the perfect term for these AI contrivances: digital paintings. It's a dignified term, not pejorative, but it distinguishes it from photography.

Also, I saw a show recently of large paintings of portrait photographs. The paintings were made by an oil painting service in China. I couldn't get the question answered as to whether the named artist actually took the original photographs or simply found them.

Cliff: "I happen to agree Mike. I love photography, and admittedly my definition is narrow, and definitely unfair. To my mind it is a human being seeing through a camera (I’m enough of a snob that I prefer the camera to be mechanical.) I do believe this gentleman is creating 'Art' since the intention is to create an emotional object. His marketing approach (i.e., lying about his process) could be his performance approach. I have no hard feelings towards him. Looking at every one of his images it’s obviously heavily processed, and not the look I love, but honestly no different to me than the majority of what we see everywhere now.

"I’m resigned to being a fan of a niche art style now. My love of traditional B&W prints is really no different than some one who appreciates hand-cut stained glass or furniture produced with hand tools. The human, mechanical process and effort matter to me. I’m older and excited to live long enough to see the next generation of artists revive what I love. It’s happening now, as young people rediscover the beauty of a chemical darkroom. Creating new fine prints in silver. Vive l'art!"

Greg Boiarsky: "As someone who obsesses over every detail in their images (to the dismay of my family), I'm conflicted about this pseudo-photographer. He's so vague about the process he uses to create his images that they could be anything from true art to a sort of photographic paint-by-numbers. To be sure, the images look pretty good. But, it appears that he just generates hundreds of images using AI and then picks the best one and massages it in Photoshop. Whatever it is, it is not photography. The closest thing it comes to is hyper-realistic art, and I honestly find that kind of thing to be amazing but boring. It doesn't tell me anything beyond that the artist can depict something that could be mistaken for a photo of a real object. So, for me it also isn't art."

Kenneth Tanaka: "Re 'Photography is moving farther and farther away from the era in which the aim was to accurately report what was in front of the camera...', not really, Mike. It’s true that the goals of photography’s technology and basic craft skills have always been oriented toward greater fidelity—truth, if you will. But photography’s practice and applications have incorporated deception virtually from the first hour. Throughout the summer of 2019 I worked on inspecting and cataloging a large collection of wonderful daguerreotypes for a museum. I was shocked, shocked, at how many had been manipulated pre- or post-capture in some way. The most common post-mod I saw was hand-painting of details, such as gold buttons or flowers. Hand-tinting came next, especially in post-mortem portraits, to make the subjects appear to be sleeping.

"Moving forward, so much of the most admired imagery of the 20th century was heavily manipulated. Skilled darkroom techs could multi-print almost anything into images.

"And, excuse me, but you call black-and-white photography 'truth'? Certainly that not truth in any real terms of healthy human vision.

"Photography as a medium at its best moments has always been a means of expression rather than documentation. Dodging, burning, color-grading, cloning, etc., all devoted to present thoughts and ideas rather than facts.

"Still, I do share your future shock at the apparent widening intrusion of artificially-generated images. It seems like such a brazen lie. But, again, I must point out that this is also not new. A great deal of the product 'photography' that appears to be from a camera is, in fact, from 3D modeling and compositing systems. That includes furniture, clothing, household products, cars, architecture, and even food!

"Re 'Photographs are only beautiful insofar as they are true,' you quoted a terrific line by Peter O’Toole from My Favorite Year, above: 'I’m not an actor, I’m a movie star!' I will similarly offer a movie quote to suggest guidance toward future harmony with photography. In the 1957 film The Bachelor Party, Don Murray’s character picks up Carolyn Jone’s character at a party. When he tries to make a pass at her she stops him and demands, 'Tell me you love me. You don’t have to mean it but I have to hear it.'"

Darlene: "Beauty is always in the eye of the beholder. What is in front of the camera is not always beautiful or 'true' regarding what the photographer decides to frame in or keep out.

"AI will find its place alongside the technology of its day. Some of what we may call 'fake' or created out of thin air and technology will come and go just as innovations do and eventually become normal or expected by the majority.

"One benefit of changing technologies is the admiration for lost crafts. So let's keep the craft of photography alive and become part-time photography Luddites. Today I will run some 4x5 through my pinhole camera, which some photographers may scratch their heads over because the images will be soft due to the pinhole lens (or lack of, however one may look at it). I like soft sometimes. I like sharp sometimes. And I still enjoy shooting film and hand processing.

"I could never be a total photographer Luddite, as commercial photography paved my path to a successful career. I started with Photoshop when it first appeared. The funny thing is, a lot of non-Photoshop users would refer to Photoshop like it was AI, and some still do.

"They say people become old when they start complaining about the changing times in a cynical way. I choose not to be like that. Instead, I reach into my freezer for some film and feel grateful there is always a small stash waiting for me.

"Maybe positive therapy for photographers who may experience depression or anxiety over AI could be to have their favorite 35mm film camera in hand and keep a small stash of B&W film in their freezer, and some Rodinal, or whatever long-lasting developer they choose, in the cupboard. Then, when they feel their inners getting all twisted up, they can open the freezer for some cooling down and rummage into the cupboard to smell the developer while fondling a real camera in their hands.

"Does it matter how an image was created? If a photographer were paid to do a shoot but did not do as the contract specified, that would matter. If a photographer publicly lies about how they created an image, that should matter. But in the practice of creativity, the sky is the limit. How you get where you seek to go is your business."

Thanks to all, whether featured here or not.

[posted by] Mike

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Photographs Are Beautiful Because They're True

Regarding that shocking—shocking for now, anyway—article at PetaPixel, "Popular Instagram Photographer Revealed as AI Fraud," I just wanted to recommend once again Greg Milner's 2010 book Perfecting Sound Forever, a history of sound recording. I guess you have to be interested in music and music reproduction to care about it. And I'm not sure everyone reacts to that book the way I did. The first part of the book describes the ever-improving progress of using technology to more fully and richly record real, authentic acoustic events, i.e., musicans playing and singing together into the air, all at once. The later parts of the book describes the increasing use of tricks, fakery, programming, and synthesizing to create sounds that exist only as recordings and have little to do with reality. It describes an upward-climbing graph line of progress and dynamism followed by a decline into decadence and artifice. I found the book very satisfying and gratifying in the early going as technical progress is made in recording, and then increasingly discouraging and dismaying as 'recordings' moved farther way from live performances. "Photography" looks like it's following the same path, or a parallel one.

I reminded me of a great line from an old movie, spoken by Peter O'Toole in the 1982 film My Favorite Year. It starts with a performer in period costume saying that he feels so good he can probably nail it in one take, at which point the TV producer tells him he has to get it right in one take, as he'll be performing live. After a few exchanges in which he professes not to know what "live" means, he cries out, "I'm not an actor, I'm a movie star!" That is, he can't actually act—he's dependent on technology to create the appearance of acting. In the way that some pop stars can't actually sing, and the AI fraud guy didn't even take his own pictures.

It was a line that became pretty famous at the time. As if a pop star had said, "I'm not a musician, I'm a recording artist!" The AI fraud guy, by the way, admitted he was trying to fool people but then tried to pivot, claiming he had to work hard on his AI fakes, making many tries to get a good one, even to the point of Photoshopping them. He thinks he has a right to claim them as "his" original artworks after all. I mean, just ask him.

Photography is moving farther and farther away from the era in which the aim was to accurately report what was in front of the camera, and increasingly occupying territory that was previously the domain of art. Mostly bad art, unfortunately. I've always been of the opinion that if you want to be a painter, you ought to paint. Photographs are only beautiful insofar as they are true. A minority opinion, I guess, these days.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2023 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. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

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The Gym Teacher from the Past and the Hipster from the Future

This is cool. Dale Irby, a gym teacher in Dallas, accidentally wore the same clothes for his picture in the school yearbook two years in a row. He was embarrassed, but his wife liked it—so he kept wearing the same clothes for 38 years after that.

Watch the section of the video on "Curiosity Box," a feature of a YouTube channel called Vsauce. (It starts at about the seven minute mark and lasts for less than three minutes.) The phenomenon, which he dubs "retrospective aging," goes like this: people keep wearing the styles that were popular when they were young; later generations eventually come to associate those styles with old people; so when we look at old pictures of young people wearing those styles, we think they look older than the age they were. But all they're doing is continuing to wear the styles that were associated with youth when they themselves were young.

It's an effect I remember well from when I was young, because people who were young in the '40s and '50s looked so different from young people in the '70s when I grew up. And a lot of those guys were still wearing those same styles in the '70s, which pegged them as part of their earlier generations. I know one guy here in Upstate New York who still rocks a greaser haircut with a ducktail! That look has pretty much died out now. On the other hand, those guys looked silly when they adopted '70s styles. There were few looks more cringeworthy in the mid-to-late '70s than a 40- or 50-year-old guy with disco chains, super-wide lapels, long sideburns, and coiffed, blow-dried hair. (No offense if that describes mid-to-late '70s you.) 1970s styles were silly, and they didn't survive long.

A photograph of my father. In my opinion
his glasses, hairstyle, and expression make him look
older, but he was 17 in this picture, in 1946.

The photograph later in the video segment—the hipster from the future—is interesting too. I thought the whole video was interesting, actually, but as to whether you want to watch it you can of course suit yourself, no pun intended.

Mike

Original contents copyright 2023 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. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)

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Art Photographers and the Camera Market

[Ed. note: TOP takes the day off on Saturdays, so I can pretend I'm doing housework and paying the bills. Oh boy.]

-

To conclude the discussions from earlier in the week, in the posts "I Don't Want to Farm" and "The Rest Is History"—if you're an art photographer or fine-art photographer, you really don't have to worry. (Before I go on, "art photographer" is a useful term and not just a snooty claim-staking one, and I don't mind it. If you do, you can substitute expressive photographer or some other unfamiliar phrase, although if you use uncommon terms you run the risk of people not understanding what you mean.)

I suppose professional photographers of various types have always had to concern themselves with an understanding of a broad range of current mainstream tools, and they're the most likely to be heavily invested in one or more solutions, so they have to care about the camera industry to a certain extent. But art photographers don't. We have always been on the fringes, and we have always gone our own way and done our own thing. Finding the right camera is part of the creativity of creative photography, and it can range from a fanatical and involved pursuit of specific needs, all the way to the other end of the scale, namely, not giving a damn. Plenty of art photographers down through the years have used cameras they built themselves, cast-off cameras from earlier eras, common mid-level commodity cameras, toys, the latest fashion, custom or luxury offerings, or whatever they started out with and got used to. They might switch between formats with abandon like Mary Ellen Mark or use the same camera for decades like Henry Wessel, use a cheap plastic Diana like Nancy Rexroth or oversized 8x20-inch "panoramic" view cameras like Michael A. Smith. Alfred Stieglitz used a shabby old view camera on which the bellows sagged so much he had to hold the middle of it up with a loop of string during the exposure. Joel Meyerowitz might still be using his 8x10 Deardorff that was manufactured the year he was born. On the other hand, Alfred Eisenstadt was ceremonially presented with a custom Leica by the company, and the glamour and pinup photographer Peter Gowland invented and built his own cameras. Then there's the woman whose name I don't recall, who sent me a marvelous portfolio at the magazine I worked for. When I asked her what kind of camera she used, she replied, "I don't really know. Do you want me to go look?"*

With the advent of Internet communication, a lot of people got interested in learning about the camera market, and a lot of today's enthusiasts are deeply into "what's coming next" and the fate of specific companies from a business standpoint. But art photographers have always been a minuscule percentage of the camera-owning population, and we've never been much at the mercy of the direction the mass market is going. When the market switched from rangefinders to SLRs in a big way, a lot of us followed—and some of us didn't. Burt Keppler of Modern Photography said SLRs felt to him like coming home, and he happily made the switch. Were all of us suddenly doomed when point-and-shoots took over the market in the 1980s? Not at all, but Daido Moriyama adopted point-and-shoots and made art with them. Was it a disaster when digital came along? Not at all. Most of us just kept shooting film until we felt like making the switch—a switch that even Charlie Cramer, an expert dye transfer printer, eventually made. But John Paul Caponigro dove into digital right from the very earliest days. And a huge number of people were enabled by digital who hadn't been photographers before. Yet you can still outfit and run a B&W darkroom today, even one based around sheet film and a view camera, if you're one of the few who choose to.

Michael A. Smith with his 8x20-inch view camera.
Photo by Hans Bol.

We go our own way and do our own thing. While occasionally there is a photographer who abandons the work because of some shift in the technical winds, like Frederick Evans did when commercial platinum/palladium paper went out of production because of WWI, and you can't say we're not affected by the camera market at all, we've never been particularly attached to it. And certainly never at its mercy. Nowadays we have all sorts of choices: old film cameras of all types, old digital cameras, a broad range of new digital cameras in a broad range of sensor sizes, phones and other "devices," drones, on and on. If you can't find something to use to get yourself to where you want to be, you'll create some other possibility. Creative people find what they need.

Wherever the industry goes, it won't affect us. It doesn't matter if one company disappears or another does something revolutionary. Right now there are great photographers nobody's heard of quietly building bodies of work made with smartphone cameras; others are doing the same with aging 35mm film cameras. If someone builds a new 35mm camera, a few people will do good work with that. But it won't have much if any effect on the market as a whole. Part of the reason all this doesn't matter is that there will always be choices for those who are alert to them, and there will always be creative people willing to explore what they can do with whatever tools happen to interest them. If they can't do one thing they'll think of another. Their choices will be quirky and idiosyncratic, inventive, adaptive, and innovative. Because they always have been.

So while change might not go our way, it never really has. Is it anything to mourn, or moan, or worry about? Nah.

Mike

*Sadly, I never got to publish that portfolio, and I don't recall now what the reason was.

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Bassman: "Artists use the technology that’s available to create the art they want. The manufacturers are often behind the curve on the possibilities offered by their offerings, sometimes way off the mark. An example from the guitar world: when electric guitars were first being used widely during the 1950s and 1960s, most manufacturers were trying to make the electric instruments sound like the acoustic guitars they were replacing. After all, the whole point of electrifying them was to allow them to be louder. That the electric guitars didn’t sound like acoustic instruments was seen as a flaw to overcome. Artists, on the other hand, embraced the electric sound and the distortion the amplifiers exhibited to create the sound of rock and roll. They didn’t care about sounding like the older technology; they saw infinite possibilities with the new technology."

JH: "Bravo to Bassman, driving what he enjoys. People like him were the typical Porsche drivers until the mid-1980s when the new President of Porsche—who came from a US tractor company—started treating it like a brand to be milked for the highest profits. After I retired from racing in 2002 and did a couple of years teaching at track days for car clubs, I refused to take Porsche drivers as students. BMW owners were almost as bad. You could not instruct many of them—they knew it all....

"In several years of instructing, I only had one Corvette owner. After five laps with me driving at California Speedway, he got out of the car looking as white as a ghost and refused to drive the track himself...he'd had enough already. I quit instructing after a couple of years when I decided the majority of my students were trying to kill me. I live in a town full of posers here in California. The new big thing for posers is the 'urban rednecks' driving tarted-up giant pickup trucks. You can always tell a poser: they have pricey wheels and a cover over the bed of the truck to make sure it says perfectly clean."

Pieter Krigee: "On the picture Michael is not using an 8x10inch camera. Probably it is an 11x14inch camera or maybe even a larger one, a 30x50cm!"

Mike replies: It's an 8x20, and sorry. That was a typo. My brain thinks 8x20 and my fingers type 8x10 because that's what they most often do. It's like having a built-in malapropist spellchecker. Fixed now.

Bill Tyler: "I absolutely loved the story about the woman who didn't even know what camera she had, but was producing excellent work. Clearly, she had her priorities straight."

Chrome Hat

Chrome Hat

It occurred to me that actually the current situation is much simpler than maybe I'm taking it to be. Phones have simply replaced digicams, that's all—what were originally called digital point-and-shoots.

The biggest differences are a.) connectivity, and b.) penetration of the devices in the population. Just over a year ago, in April of '21, the Pew Research Center said, "The vast majority of Americans—97%—now own a cellphone of some kind. The share of Americans that own a smartphone is now 85%, up from just 35% in Pew Research Center’s first survey of smartphone ownership conducted in 2011." (I presume they're talking about adults. census.gov says that 6.4% of the US population is age five and under, and I doubt that half of that demographic own cellphones.) I haven't been able to find a seemingly-reliable estimate of the number of people who owned digital point-and-shoots at the peak of that device's popularity, but I doubt it was 35% of the population, much less 85%.

And this is a good thing for photography; it dramatically fulfills photography's historical promise as a visual medium for everyone. What it's possibly a bad thing for is photo culture, because it essentially blasts it away. No longer is there any sense of coherent trends, standout practitioners, or shared experience of the medium's accomplishments. Far from shared experience, there is no chance that any human has seen more than an infinitesimally small fraction of all the photos now being made.

However, it's possible that the photo culture that's becoming less relevant—as embodied in museum and gallery shows; photography in newspapers, periodicals, and books; critical appraisal; and well-known names whose work is familiar to some significant subset of the volitional audience, etc.—was never much more than an illusion anyway, as it could only pretend to comprehensiveness in the best of times. There was always a sort of constructed, willed feel to photography's culture—that is, that it was not so much something that was as something we wanted. I felt it even in my youth. Case in point: the willful assertion that there were "schools" and traceable threads of influence like there are in painting. At best, the verdict on that was "sort of." The Düsseldorf School, okay, although I always got a sense that it got a lot of the attention it got simply because it was defensibly a "school," to the relief of art critics; but the so-called New York School, for example, was at best a back-formation.

Maybe someday I'll try to claim that there's a "Camera-Pointing School" that encompasses all the totally meaningless test-shot-type digital images of absolutely nothing that the web is awash with. As a sly joke. (By the way, camera-pointing is not my term, but I don't think the guy I heard it from wants to be associated with it.) Not that parked motorcycles are such exalted subjects. And of course most photographers' work didn't sort itself into neat groupings like that. More like the opposite. I'm just thinking out loud here.

One thing's for sure, there's no Smartphone School of Photography. Although consider this: there is probably a huge body of the greatest work ever created in photography that's out there somewhere, if it could only be found and collected—but it can't be and never can be. 

I always feel like I want to see everything. But of course I don't, do I?

Mike

Book o' the Week:

The Mindful Photographer by Sophie Howarth. I only know of Sophie Howarth from her time as a curator at the Tate Modern in London, but my impression then was positive. Her brand new book (it only came out a few days ago) is about slowing down as a means of enjoying photographing more. It's said to contain a curated collection of photographs along with anecdotes and explanation.

The book link is your portal to Amazon from TOP, should you wish to support this site.

Here's our link to B&H Photo

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.

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David Dyer-Bennet: "Science fiction fandom is experiencing something that seems similar to me; it used to be 'a proud and lonely thing' to be a fan, but now the majority of block-buster movies are in the science-fiction / fantasy genre; you can't get more mainstream than that. Which means the movies, and a lot of books too, are being made for mass-market tastes rather than the much more knowledgeable tastes of people already deeply into SF (as cameras or phone cameras are), and people aren't finding fandom as 'their home culture' so much any more (they find people who like SF everywhere). We can't seem to figure out anything to do about it either."

Speed: "Mike wrote, 'One thing's for sure, there's no Smartphone School of Photography.' But this being 2022 there is, of course, an iPhone Photography School. Online only of course."

TC: "The contrarian in me insists on noting, now that everyone is posting on social media every day, couldn't you say the same of writing? 'No longer is there any sense of coherent trends, standout practitioners, or shared experience of the medium's accomplishments. Far from shared experience, there is no chance that any human has seen more than an infinitesimally small fraction of all the words now being written.' Why would I want to buy a book or read an article when anyone can make a Facebook post?"

Mike replies: If you could see all the care that goes into a New Yorker article, that's all you'd want to read. Whew. It's awesome, and I use that word advisedly.

Dave Jenkins (partial comment): "I wrote about this in my blog two years ago. 'The subject of photography is not the subject of photography. At its basic level, photography is about pictures, not the tools and processes involved. (Although I'm a photographer, so I do love those tools and processes.) But in a way, those hordes taking pictures with their cell phone cameras have it right. They care nothing about the tools and techniques of photography; They’re only interested in getting a reasonably clear picture they can send to friends or family. They care about who or what they are photographing, not the act of photography itself. In other words, they are the direct descendants of all those who heard George Eastman's slogan "You push the button and we do the rest" and lined up to buy his pre-loaded, ready-to-shoot cameras.'

"Read more if you're interested at 'Cell Phone Cameras' and 'So, Why Not Just Shoot With Your Cell Phone?'"

Antony Shepherd: "Something I've often seen noted is that while on the one hand there are more photographs being taken than at any other time in human history, the vast majority are purely ephemeral files which exist so long as the server(s) they occupy exist. When the service closes down and the servers are destroyed their content will vanish with them. No chance of someone in the future coming across a hard drive of photos in a charity shop and being able to access them, the way people often make finds of old glass plates."

Zyni: "You say 'there is no chance that any human has seen more than an infinitesimally small fraction of all the photos now being made.' Well, this is why numeracy is important, though increasing rare. Let us say that there are 300 million Americans, but it is 1955 and they make one photograph per year, each. So if a person does nothing at all but look at photographs and they work 12 hours a day, every day, with no holidays or weekends, they would need to look at 300,000,000/(365 x 12 x 60 x 60) photographs per second to see all these. Which is about 20. Every second, 12 hours a day, every day. It is a very long time since any individual looked at more than a tiny fraction of the photographs being made. This is not an artifact of digital photography any more than counting the atoms in the Earth (about 10^50) is easier for a human than counting the atoms in the observable universe (about 10^80, so about 10^30 Earth's worth). Or even atoms in a grain of sand (perhaps 10^18). Or indeed the entire universe (we currently assume infinite). Beyond a certain point the limits of human capacity become so minute compared to things that it does not any more matter."

Mike replies: Hi Zyni. The population of the US was only 171 million in 1955, but I take your point. I still think it was quantifiably different, because in 1955 not everyone had a camera, not everyone who had a camera had a good camera, many people who had good cameras didn't really make pictures to speak of, and there was a more marked distinction between people who worked with thoughtfulness and intention and those who only made snapshots, because the practice and the craft made such a heavy demand in terms of time and dedication. There was a very high bar to be a serious photographer then—many photographers literally had to dedicate their lives to it, and very few people were willing to do that. And it was somewhat easier for those looking and appraising to believe that they were seeing or at least hearing about a meaningful subset of all those who were working persistently, meaning, over years. And it was difficult to accomplish anything if you didn't. A problem with your formulation, for instance, is that no one can make meaningful work taking one photograph a year, so only those people dedicating themselves to it really needed to be looked at at all. Instead of considering 300 million people and one photo each, we are starting with a subset of those who are willing to sacrifice a great part of their time and labor to the effort. It must have been a much, much smaller group.

Plus, there were far fewer ways for pictures to be public. Most of the images in your model would have been private then. Most of mine still are; but the public availability of formerly private pictures has certainly exploded in this century.

If a critic or curator thought he or she was aware of 5% or even 2% of the people in the country working as dedicated artists, they could be excused for thinking they had a finger on the pulse. But you help make my point that that was probably an illusion even then: the assumptions made by, for example, histories of photography, which listed major trends and major figures, and traced influences from one to to the next, were probably a bit too comfy and not truly justified.

But now no one even tries, I don't think. It's too obvious that it's hopeless.

I'm not an expert on this particular aspect of the subject, I will admit. And as for innumeracy: emphatically guilty!

OCOLOYs

An OCOLOY or OC/OL/OY (one camera, one lens, one year) is a learning-and-engagement exercise I proposed in 2014.

To provide links, after which I'll get on with this:

The original article was called "The Leica as Teacher," May 28, 2009, further clarified the following day in "Why It Has To Be a Leica," May 29th, 2009.

I honestly didn't think anyone would do this, because it involved shooting B&W film in an old camera and doing darkroom work, but a number of people around the world (more than a hundred that I heard from) actually carried it out.

Nevertheless, I followed it up with "The Digital Variant: One Camera, One Lens, One Year" on November 11th, 2014. I prefaced this with a note about prescriptiveness called "You Must Do This" on the same date.

I don't know how I can possibly qualify my comments any further than that, but please: these were suggestions, and it was assumed that you would take it or leave it based on your own free choice. If you have a canned rant about your OCOLOY hatred, put that can opener down. It's not for everyone and it doesn't have to be for you. It was just a suggestion. Take it if you want it, leave it if you don't. It's all good.

Anyway, the reason for this post today is that one more person—Patrick Medd—has actually done the "Leica as Teacher" year that I never thought anyone would do. And he has written an article about his experience, at 35mmc. Patrick also answers readers' questions in the comments. Here's the link. Patrick used an M3 and a 50mm lens.

My new editor is also doing an OCOLOY, with a Q2, which is a perfect camera for it—you can't change lenses even if you want to.

Finally, Bruce Haley, whose book is the "Book of Interest" right now, also did those books as an OCOLOY—of sorts. It's a little complicated, so I'll let Bruce explain it:

The first volume contains 70 photographs, all shot in 2014 with the Sony RX1 that I wrote about for TOP those many years ago. The second volume contains 120 photographs, with images from seven different years (2014–20). The RX1 from Volume I was used for the Volume II images from 2014, 2015 and part of 2016; by Autumn 2016 I had upgraded to a Sony RX1RII, so the remainder of the images were taken with that camera.

So technically it is not exactly seven years of OCOL (removing the OY for the sake of accuracy)—but close to it. It is basically the same fixed-lens camera model, and of course the same Zeiss 35mm lens. One could also say that there is more than a year of OCOLOY with each one of the two cameras.

Bruce is sending along the two volumes so I can see. I've also purchased two of the recent "Books of Interest" and "Books of the Week," so a group book review is in our future.

The RX1RII is just as good as the Q2 for an OCOLOY. And of course you can decide what you would use.

I did do a "Leica Year" a long time ago—hence the 2009 articles—and I'd like to do an OCOLOY again. But then people do super-kind things like send me Leica M10 Reporters to try, and who can stick with just one camera with a camera like that sitting on the kitchen table? Ah, temptations. "Do what I say, not what I do"?

Mike

UPDATE Patrick Medd adds: "Thank you for the mention and link to my article Mike, and thank you for suggesting the idea in the first place. I really enjoyed the project. Writing the article now, nearly two years after I finished doing it, has helped me reflect on it from a distance. I am hugely indecisive and spend far too much time over-agonising about which option to pursue. The nicest thing about the year was having the choice of what gear to use taken away from me and just focusing on making pictures."

Book of Interest this Week

Home Fires Volume II: The Present. There is of course a Volume I: The Past.  TOP reader Bruce Haley has produced documentary work relating to conflict, humanitarian crises and environmental/industrial/land use issues for 30 years. He received the Robert Capa Gold Medal for his coverage of the ethnic civil war in Burma.

This book link is a portal to Amazon.

Today at B&H Photo

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.

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

James: "Many people have done a OCOLOY. It is whatever lens came on their phones. But ah, now, they have multiple lenses. So what are the rules about phone cameras? Does anyone dare do a OCOLOY with their phone cameras disabled?"

Mike replies: Very good question. I don't have an answer. I'm still struggling with the issue of the phone replacing the "carry-camera" even when I intend otherwise.

robert e: "Here's a theory: Once you do one OCOLOY, you don't need another whole OY to get the same benefit from the next OCOL. It's like how you don't need to go back to kindergarten to switch careers, or don't have to relearn design to learn a new painting medium. The first experience made you a better beginner, so you'll get more out of the next one more quickly. How much more quickly? Well, I think that depends on the person, and how different the second OC or OL is. I bet some people could totally grok a new OCOL in OM, whereas I might need TY (two years). The key, though, is to be a beginner, not a macho know-it-all. But that shouldn't be problem, because one thing the first OCOLOY teaches is humility."

Stan B.: "I did extended OCOLOYs in my youth from 50mm to 20mm, mostly out of economic necessity—I'd have to sell one lens to help finance the next as the focal lengths got progressively shorter, and more expensive. Best teaching experience in my book since being forced to deal with each lens strengths and limitations in every situation under everyday conditions serves as an invaluable resource to help previsualize your image for the rest of your life.

"And Home Fires Vol. 1 is one of my favorite photo books of the last several years!"

Steve: "I basically use one old film camera and one lens (50mm), unless the camera is in for a CLA, in which case I use an older camera with one very old lens (50mm). I have a nice Voigtländer 35mm lens, but I haven’t used it since probably 2013 or so. Given my compulsive tendencies, the less thinking involved, the better off I am. It's truly liberating, not restrictive."

JG: "I have both volumes of Home Fires and recommend them without reservation. They're great examples of documentary photography that doubles as fine-art photography. Apropos of today's OC/OL/OY topic, they're also great examples of how one lens can be used to great effect, as I'll bet few readers would've noticed Bruce used a fixed-lens camera to photograph them if Mike hadn't mentioned it."

Andy F: "I did my own OCOLOY a few years ago and it really helped me get past my dislike of the 50mm-e view, to the extent that it’s now one of my favourites. I even got a one-off book made of the project, of which I’m still really proud. Since then a lot has happened, including the birth of my daughter, and given how I’ve been rather lax with my photography of late, I think now’s a good time to try another OCOLOY, this time with something different, my Ricoh GRIII. 28mm-e is another view I’ve never been comfortable with, so I’m curious to see what sort of pictures I get from it by the end. As a bonus, the camera is tiny, so taking it everywhere is easy. I’m really grateful to you, Mike, for the inspiration your words have provided over the years, thanks!"

Sherry Snyder: "I am a 70-year-old amateur who loves B&W, and has been converting from color for years. In November 2020, I saw the specs for the Leica Q2 Monochrome and ordered one sight unseen. I had never held a Leica, looked through a monochrome-only viewfinder, or shot with a 28mm lens. After it arrived the learning curve was huge. I shot with it exclusively for months before my brain finally engaged. Now it is my favorite tool and I am making the best, most creative images I have ever done. What a gift I gave myself."

The Journey of the Swatzells

It's one of the stories you often hear in the aftermath of tornadoes, which are more terrifying the closer they come to you. "Paper debris rides winds, sometimes reaching heights of 30,000 to 40,000 feet above the ground," before the air currents calm and the debris settles back to earth.

After the recent tragic carnage in Kentucky, a nearly 80-year-old photograph of Gertie Swatzell and a baby J.D. Swatzell, taken in 1942, traveled more than 120 miles on the swirling winds of the atmosphere. Katie Posten, of Albany, Indiana, found it on her windshield. Posten took to social media, seems to have located the family of those who lost the picture, and plans to see that it is returned. Here's the story, from NBC News.

There's nothing heartwarming about a maelstrom that can tear your cossetted possessions right out of your home, but when strangers trouble themselves to see that lost items are returned, it can function as a gesture of solidarity and sympathy.

Mike
(Thanks to Kenneth Tanaka)

Book o' the Week

This is the book that sold 1,100 copies through our links back when it first came out in 2007. It's essentially a catalogue raisonné of the work of the iconic American landscapist. I suppose it won't sell any more, since everyone already has a copy, but the link can be a portal to Amazon for your holiday shopping. Thank you kindly for helping support The Online Photographer!

The following logo is also a link if you click on it:

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.

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

Albert Smith: "I've been watching the coverage of the tornadoes and saw that story about the photo that traveled that distance. There are going to be thousands of personal artifacts over multiple states. I guess they'll have websites established to try to reunite these irreplaceable effects with the owners. As I look at the rubble of completely flat houses on the TV, I then look around my multiple rooms with boxes of documents, photos, and well, just 'stuff' and I can't imagine if everything goes airborne and dispersed to the horizons. Those poor people."

'Rescuing' Family Photographs (Or: The Turkey's Back)

At John and Jane's house. Oddly enough, wild turkeys live in the backyards of crowded, cramped Cambridge.

I'm back. This is not an uncommon situation at all, I'm sure. This past week I voyaged to Cambridge to see my stepfather John, who just moved into assisted living, and my mother, whose name is Jane, in the memory unit at a different facility (the first time I've seen her since well before COVID-19), and offer at least token help to my step-siblings who have been taking the lead in readying John and Jane's house of 31 years for sale, a huge task. I had been asked to come sort and retrieve the family pictures.

Here's a small sample of what I found waiting. How did I never see this before?

Kodachrome slides from 1943. I felt some dismay when I opened the top drawer and the only labels were "Trees" and "Houses," but other drawers contained "Family" and "Friends" among other things. The color still looks pretty good for 78 years down the road. I believe the photographer was my mother's father, who had a Zeiss camera and had dye transfer prints made from the Kodachromes, a few of which survive.

That's he in the oil painting, a duplicate of the one that hangs at his alma mater

I had to do triage on a great mass of material, and there's no help for it, a lot just had to be discarded. It was almost overpowering, I have to say.

Giant French tripods
I've always thought I caught the photography bug from my father, who was an enthusiastic amateur. He was a businessman, but he wrote and photographed articles for travel magazines like Holiday (published 1946–1977) and for gourmet magazines such as, well, Gourmet (1941–2009). I vaguely remember figures for one trip that I accompanied him on as a teenager: he spent $3,000 on the trip (about $16,500 today), and earned $650 for the resulting article ($3,500 today, a marker of the extent to which earnings for such work have fallen). In other words, it was a hobby for him. He worked hard at it, and did good work, but it was as much a reason to travel to France and dine in a succession of fine restaurants as anything else. By the way, that was the trip on which I learned to loathe tripods—we rented an ancient and enormous wooden and metal tripod we barely used at all, and it was my job, age 16, to lug it everywhere.

But now I wonder if I also didn't get my interest in photography from my mother as well. At her house there were dozens and dozens of her albums filled with the once-ubiquitous 3.5x5-inch (3R) "drugstore prints," documenting all sorts of aspects of her life. These 3R prints were everywhere, in every sort of state: finished books, boxes of the packets in which they came back from the processor, loose stacks, and jumbled in with other things. I just don't have clear memories of her taking pictures, although I have pictures of her with various point-and-shoots on lanyards around her neck and there was a box of all her old cameras. But she simply must have taken lots of pictures, and often. Come to think of it, there were a number of her albums of square Instamatic prints, too, from before the era of the 3R print.

The sheer amount of family-historical material was overpowering. The contents of my great-grandmother's attic were transferred to my grandmother's in the '50s, and then my mother and her sister inherited that; and of course the mass was added to at every stage of the way. (At the same time, it's also been diminished at every stage of the way, as it was this time.) Just a few examples: boxes (made to resemble books, so they could be stored on bookshelves) of purchased stereoscope cards from the turn of the 2oth century; sixteen eight-inch reels of movie film, in tins, from the 1920s (I saved half, although I hardly know why); cases of very early Kodachrome slides like the ones above from the 1930s and '40s (I brought home three cardboard boxes full of very old slides, which I shouldn't have done, but I'm too curious); a large number of large-format portraits in deluxe folders by a professional photographer named Russell; many dozens of pictures in all manner of frames; all kinds of wedding pictures from many eras; even a stack of loose black-and-white 4x5 negatives.

A large number of family pictures were lost in a basement flood a number of years ago, and I went through the remaining salvage, discarding a lot of it. I did find a few things I was looking for, like the annotated copy of the family history my great-grandfather wrote in the last quarter-century of his life after retiring from the railroads. There were many manila folders full of old newspaper clippings. With these, in many cases I couldn't even guess why they were saved in the first place. To give one example of how tangential a good deal of the material was, I found a college yearbook from 1922, kept because it related to my grandfather, but it wasn't even his class—as far as I could tell he only appeared in one picture, of the "Negative Side" of the debate team (the "Affirmative Side" was on the verso). Not something that needs to accompany his descendants through generations!

Despite consigning a large mass of material to oblivion, I drove home with the floor of a nine-foot U-Haul van packed mostly with boxes of photographs.

Serves me right, eh?

Loading the van on Thursday night I heard what sounded like a large critter walking around on the roof—the turkey. Not sure a turkey was the last thing I expected to see, but close. Real life can't be made up.

Anyway, I know my great-grandmother loved photographs—she must have been photographer Russell's prized client, because every summer she commissioned large-format portraits of just about everybody and then bought multiple prints of everything. (I remember the guy. He was a little man who worked so hard he sweated, and he liked to stick a nickel to his moist forehead to make kids look at him.) Her youngest daughter, my great-aunt (who died in 2008, I believe, aged 101) loved pictures. My mother obviously did. It wasn't just my Dad. Clearly I come from a photograph-besotted family, going back years.

I'll have some other thoughts on this task, and this material, in weeks to come. There are a few really interesting issues that relate to all this. Observations are a-percolating.

Memorable evening
It was an emotional yet engaging trip. Fractious and far-flung families under the stress of difficult transitions are not without friction here and there, but reconnecting with people was deeply meaningful for me at my age. I saw my stepbrother Stephen for the first time in many years and met his wife, Chris, and several of their kids for the first time—one is at Dartmouth, where I matriculated many years ago. His sister Trisha came from Rome with one of her daughters, who speaks excellent English with a lovely Italian accent, the inverse of her Mom. I have to admit I was apprehensive about seeing my Mom, who has advanced Alzheimer's—it's just so very sad, and I'm a chicken about strongly emotional situations—I have trouble coping with them—but it went almost better than I could have hoped; she enjoys visits and is still served well by her elemental social skills. It was so interesting to watch her try to relate and connect on the thinnest of threads. She always was socially adept, and that gift still glimmers. Over the years I've gotten extremely fond of my stepfather and it was great to see him. He's failing physically but entirely himself.

Stephen, Trisha, and Chris, by me

With their mother Barbara and me, by Chris

An absolute high point of the trip—and of my recent social life, actually—was a simple family dinner with my step-siblings and their children at their mother Barbara's house. Picture a grandmother with some of her children and a sampling of grandchildren of various ages, a gracious but very warm and friendly home, a simple but extremely tasty meal of homemade lasagna, salad, and steamed squash, and happy, warm, intelligent, and vivacious conversation in which  everyone, even the youngest, participated. Just a lovely evening, which I'll long remember. 

Of course we had to take pictures...but just a few.

Mike

Product o' the Week:

Ringlight for Zoom, Facetime, vlogging, streaming, video recording, remote working or remote learning. Holds a phone, or you can set it behind and above a desktop computer with a built-in camera. The following image is also a link: 

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

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

John Bennett: "My father died in May. We are selling his house of 60 years. There were photos everywhere. Just when we thought we had found them all, there were more. And then more. Our rule: If we didn't know anyone in the picture, we recycled it. On the other hand, if the subjects were part of the family, no mater how far back, we saved them. The earliest ones dated to 'the aughts,' as in the 1900s. First we corral, later we will sort. Good luck with yours!"

Clay Olmstead: "My mother, who would have been 101 this year, also took a lot of pictures of us boys as we were growing up. She used to say that if we had described her, we would have said she had a face like a camera!"

Mike S: "A few years ago, you quoted a blogger who believes (paraphrasing here) that present generations are taking more pictures than ever in the history of photography but because they're not being printed, they'll be lost forever. Unless people are very organized, when they pass away, no one will know which cloud service has their photos or the required passwords. And that's hoping that particular cloud storage still exists. And just as important, without those penciled notations on the back of the prints, no one will know who all those people are and what they are doing and yada yada yada. She is so correct."

Hermon Joyner: "FYI, that case holding the slides is something of a collectible in itself. Musicians buy them to carry their microphones in when they travel. Singer-songwriter Gillian Welch famously uses one when she goes on the road."

Bob Fogt: "I think I've written of this once before, Mike, but it seems somewhat apt to repeat it now. When my mother died, I found among her things a yellowed old drug store print order envelope. SUPERIOR PHOTO SERVICE—'Any Good Negative Will Make a Good Enlargement.' The envelope was empty. On the reverse, in her hand, was written: 'Pictures I haven't got.' The envelope now lives in my top dresser drawer, and will remain there until someone else discovers it."

Ron Hoffer: "Wishing you strength and patience as you work through both the care and archive issues. My mother did collect/hoard hundreds of photos, negatives, and mementos in a small suitcase that I picked up from her home after she moved to assisted living over 16 years ago. Since that time till last year I've stared at the case, occasionally in anguish and occasionally with nostalgia, but always with a sense of guilt that I not just pass it on to my son as is. Thankfully one of my pandemic goals was met last September—to turn this mixed up pile into a self-published book of family photos from around 1900 to the mid-1960s. Once I got into it, with some accompanying research on Ancestry.com and other places, it became a wonderful diversion. The initial sorting and triaging was so necessary. Some mysteries uncovered and some remain. About 300 images (mostly prints) scanned and (with text) self-published through Blurb. Perhaps the most fun was working with negatives from the 1930s and uncovering all sorts of interesting scenes. About two dozen copies of the finished book was then sent as gifts to relatives; the original prints/negs shipped off in packets to them as well. Glad it's done!"

darlene: "You’ve got a treasure trove of memories and wonderment ahead! Pretty nice realizing mom gave you some of her visual keenness, a welcomed surprise I am sure. My visual prowess is passed down from my maternal grandfather. I grew-up watching him create beautiful oil paintings, and have cherished photos he made with his Rolleiflex. His love for baseball seems to be in my DNA as well. After receiving all these gifts, I just had to name my son after him."

Don Parsons: "Mike, So sorry that you have to deal with this. I'm in a similar situation. My dad passed in late January. I just finished cleaning out his house, along with some help from my angel wife and a cleaning company. There are numerous small file cabinets filled with plastic bags stuffed with old pictures. There are three tomato boxed stuffed with old photos, many of which I had never seen before. I'm slowly going through them now, digitizing the best and the historic. It's fun, time-consuming and painful all at the same time. If I was there, I'd give you a hug and we'd have coffee my photo-brother. Stay strong."

Mike replies: You too, Don. Sending good wishes.