Rochester, New York — The cold hits me as soon as I leave the Amtrak station, stepping into a swirl of snow eddies that etch the low streets in black and white.

The terminal sits just outside the city center. In the short car ride into town, one building stands out to me from all the others. It is an impressive beaux arts landmark with five large letters, glowing in red, resting at the top:

George Eastman invented casual photography here in the 1880s, made a fortune, and built a small town into a city. Millions of people around the world “pressed the button” and for more than a hundred years, Kodak “took care of the rest.”

At its peak, in 1996, Kodak was rated the fourth-most-valuable global brand. That year, the company had about two-thirds of the global photo market, annual revenues of $16 billion, and a market capitalization of $31 billion. At the time of its peak local employment, in 1982, the company had over 60,000 workers in Rochester, most of whom worked in Kodak Park, as it’s known to employees and locals. The campus, a private city within the city, sprawled over 120 acres with its own power plant and fire department, once stood as a monument of imaging and innovation. Today it still stands, but vastly scaled back from the days when film production was at the core of Kodak’s work.

I traveled here in late January to see firsthand the slow, unstoppable, excruciating decline.

With a bitter blizzard hammering down in upstate New York, a bankruptcy judge had just approved a proposal to resolve a big chunk of Kodak’s $6.8 billion in debt and pave the way for it to emerge from Chapter 11 after more than a year of insolvency. The company expects to finalize the process and exit bankruptcy protection in the third quarter of this year.

I headed to a diner, and was immediately greeted with a banal tableau of defeat — the first of many variations on the theme that unfolded during my visit.

Two middle-aged men sit at the table next to mine. One wears a KODAK PHOTOFINISHING PRODUCTS sweatshirt. He drowns his coffee in cream and spoons in sugar while his friend peruses a headline in the Democrat and Chronicle, a local paper. On the front page is news of the sale of thousands of Kodak’s digital-imaging patents to a consortium led by Apple, Google, and Microsoft. The price is a fraction of the $2 billion that Kodak executives thought the patents would bring, but it will help buy time as the cash-poor company pursues its reorganization plan.

Among other things, Kodak CEO Antonio M. Perez is betting his commercial-printing business on high-volume customers who need a lot of ink, like product-packaging manufacturers. Even if this latest “pivot” is successful — and a lot of people think it’s a stretch — the company would be reduced to helping other people make the boxes used to ship the devices that will take the photographs of the future.

There is a certain tone that former Kodak employees take whenever I asked them about the 1980s and ‘90s, a time within easy memory when Kodak ruled the film-imaging universe. It falls somewhere between baffled and resigned, especially for those whose careers were curtailed by years of fruitless restructuring.

I had come to Rochester to meet Ron Andrews, a chemical engineer who was laid off in 2005 when the company first began to phase out the film-manufacturing business he’d worked on for more than thirty years. The film that he helped refine and develop, Kodachrome, was finally discontinued in 2009. For nearly seventy-two years, Kodachrome was the crown jewel of the color-film portfolio. Photojournalist Steve McCurry used it to shoot the now-iconic June 1985 National Geographic cover, an image of a wide-eyed Afghan girl. Today, it is just another discontinued film stock.

Andrews calls himself a victim of “technological substitutions,” but it is clear that he carries very deep and divided feelings about Kodak, both the company where he had worked since graduating college in the early 1970s and the company that stumbled and had no place for him in the end.

“In retrospect, it was probably a good time to leave,” he recalls when we meet, in the lobby of the Radisson Hotel. “Everybody else was sitting around plotting their endgame.”

Andrews was part of the old school of innovators that first made possible the “Kodak Moment” — optical engineers and mechanics, who built cameras, and chemists, who manipulated molecules that froze light and fixed it in gelatin and paper.

By the late-twentieth century, molecules were at the heart of Kodak’s business, so much so that its chemical division — divested in 1993 — continues as an R & D and earnings powerhouse today, with $8.6 billion in revenues in 2012.

Chemistry was work that Eastman himself, with one foot still planted in the nineteenth century, well understood. Over the span of about a decade, the Kodak founder invented the first practical roll film and then built the first cameras that could reliably use it. Never again would photography be a cumbersome process, the domain of professionals only.

The original patent Eastman filed in 1888

Eastman, in other words, was obsessively tinkering with what many people at the time would have considered a cheap novelty or a toy. Like Netflix in its early days, Kodak relied on the U.S. Postal Service: Customers sent their spent cameras to Rochester, where the film was removed, processed, and cut into frames; the resulting negatives and prints, along with the camera, reloaded with a fresh roll of film, were returned to the sender. Suddenly it was easy for anyone to take lots of pictures, and Eastman’s new business became a juggernaut almost overnight.

About ninety years later, another tinkerer in Kodak labs would create an integrated circuit that turned light waves into digital images. It too would be labeled a toy by the few people who saw it. It too would eventually launch a huge new business all but overnight. But this time, Kodak wouldn’t be part of it.

How is it that big, established companies fail to recognize and seize new opportunities? When I first started wondering about this problem and what had happened at Kodak, I e-mailed Raymond Demoulin.

Demoulin started “at the lowest rung” at Kodak in 1954 and eventually rose to become vice president of professional imaging from 1986 through 1993. He has long been identified as an early — though mostly ignored — advocate of the digital-imaging revolution inside the company.

Dubbed “Saint Raymond” — in earnest or ironically, depending on who’s talking — Demoulin retired more than a decade ago. But he’s continued to follow the news at Kodak from a distance, and he has expressed some voluble opinions.

Through Demoulin, Andrews, and several other former Kodak engineers and scientists, I began piecing together an oral history — sourced from the largely overlooked circle of Kodak’s original digital innovators — of what may be one of the greatest gambits in the history of technology to have been declined; whisked away by executives in denial of the impending doom for film photography.

In the course of our correspondence, Demoulin sent me copies of two business reports he’d written going over Kodak’s collapse in a point-by-point analysis.

According to his numbers, a roll of film that cost one dollar to produce was marked up 800 percent, which allowed the company to generate its enormous profits. This drove the company’s growth, he argued, but eventually it turned into a trap when managers, addicted to the revenue, ignored clear signs that the market was shifting to digital and the end of the old way was in sight.

“They were in denial all the way,” he says. “They didn’t want to give up a 90 percent market in film to have a 10 to 20 percent market in consumer electronics.”

Demoulin at the Center for Creative Imaging, 1992. ©Benjamin Magro

Kodak’s worship of film is still alive and well and on display at the George Eastman House Museum. Situated in the picturesque old Park Place neighborhood of Rochester, it stands in stark juxtaposition to the derelict and demolished buildings of Kodak Park. Eastman House has a large collection, covering most of the key photographic advances over more than a century of innovations, many of them by Kodak: the first 16-millimeter movie camera; a plethora of the Brownie and Instamatic models; the device used by NASA to take the first photographs of Earth from outer space.

Two oddballs stand out. One, the Nikon DCS-100, is an old film SLR outfitted with a fat electronic umbilical cord attaching it to a grey box — a storage device that, aside from the tininess of tiny capacity, isn’t that much different in principle from the one in a smartphone today. The other, a Canon, has a built-in attachment serving the same purpose that about doubles its usual size.

They’re examples of the first marketable digital cameras, and Kodak designed them both.

A 1991 advertisement for the Nikon DCS-100, marketed for professionals.

In an early 1980s interview with the Democrat and Chronicle, then CEO Colby Chandler was asked to predict where he saw Kodak in ten, twenty-five, and fifty years. Uncertain, he responded that Kodak’s work had always been with the “miracle of the molecule,” and it would continue to be in the future. In fact, images were already being organized as bits of information and the molecule was, inexorably, on its way out.

The tipping point had come years earlier, in 1975.

That year, Steve Sasson was a 25 year-old electrical engineer working in Kodak’s Photographic Research Laboratory. His assignment was not considered pressing or significant to anyone but himself, his team, and his supervisor: the task was to find a way for captured light to be converted into an electronic signal with a numeric, or digital, value.

For digital imaging, this was the genesis.

To many people at Kodak who were not involved with the project, Sasson’s camera looked more like a device built by a hobbyist, recalls Robert Shanebrook, a retired Kodak employee who worked near the research lab at the time. It was impressive and interesting, they thought, but it was a toy, like their Instamatic plastic cameras. “Electronic photography was certainly paid attention to by some, but many didn’t think much of it,” he recalls.

Analysts have pointed to a number of factors in Kodak’s fall, from general mismanagement to poor financial decisions. Its divestiture of Eastman Chemical stripped billions in cash flow that might have propped it up as it struggled to make the transition to digital. Others point to antitrust suits that hampered the company for decades and opened the door to rivals. Some of those, notably Fuji, were able to manage the analog-to-digital conversion successfully.

To the people in the trenches, like Demoulin, the failure always comes back to the same key error: Kodak, they say, suffered from a fundamental breakdown between, on one side the engineers and tinkerers — many of whom saw the digital future clearly and fought to bring it forth — and on the other the top management, whose interest remained fixed on molecules and the miracle of near-monopoly profits.

Demoulin told me about watching a team in 1980 demonstrate a scanner-printer that converted film images to digital. “That’s when I thought: This digital thing is going to happen,” he recalls. His place at the helm of the professional-imaging division allowed him to autonomously invest in developing a digital still camera, and he says he pursued that vision, despite lukewarm support from the company.

“Very few companies have been successful in straying away from the expertise of its employees,” says Andrews, who works today as a senior engineer at Bausch and Lomb. Many Kodak alumni, like Andrews, found work at smaller tech-based companies that filled the employment vacuum and averted a repeat of Detroit and the automobile industry.

As demand for electronic photography slowly grew through the 1980s, the Electronic Photography Division (EPD) became the catchall for a new generation of Kodak engineers trained not in chemicals, but computer science. Engineers like Bruce Rubin began working at EPD in 1987, when printers and film scanners were being developed to transmit data through telecommunication channels; these devices were part of how the Tiananmen Square photographs were leaked.

Kodak engineers posing with thumbs up, 1989. Scan courtesy of Peter J. Sucy

But as exciting as the work was, it led to frustration and a disconnect between executives and employees. “One of the things that always drove me crazy,” Rubin remembers, “was when a proposal was denied because either somebody else was doing it, or nobody else was doing it. There was no wiggle room…[unless] Fuji was doing it too.”

Peter Sucy, another computer engineer at Kodak, describes the rarity of computers in the workplace in the late 1980s. “Almost no one had a computer at their desk,” he recalls. When the Macintosh II was announced, packed with new state-of-the-art features, he had to buy one himself. With a $3,000 price tag, it allowed him to do things with images he could not do before, including digital photo editing. Based on those exhilarating experiences, he began making proposals for products that could expand Kodak’s reach in digital platforms.

Sucy’s biggest hurdle, he asserts, was the head of marketing at EPD, who exemplified the disconnect between manager and engineer. “He used an Underwood typewriter to send out weekly missives,” Sucy recalls. “He told my boss to tell me to stop writing computer proposals, because Kodak would never be a computer peripheral company…not on his watch, at least.”

Undeterred, Sucy continued developing products using a clandestine approach, giving them code names that “didn’t sound like computer products.”

The subterfuge helped them bring some experimental products to market, but then they encountered a new problem they hadn’t expected: No matter what they came up with, nothing digital would sell. To consumers, everything was too expensive, and to professionals, the quality was not yet good enough. “It was a difficult thing to market,” Sucy admits, “especially for people who didn’t have any kind of experience marketing this kind of product; people who didn’t really know what it did.”

In the end, being early did not help, because the market simply wasn’t ready. As obvious as the endgame was, Kodak’s leaders were faced with an unwinnable predicament: either keep investing in end-of-life products until the profits dried up — and die over the long run; or switch to stillborn product lines that produced mostly red ink in the ledgers — and die immediately.

Chris Anderson, former editor in chief of Wired and founder of 3D Robotics, a designer of DIY drone kits, has written extensively about business models in the digital age. I asked Anderson about his thoughts on Kodak’s bankruptcy, and told him about the Electronic Photography Division, how the engineers had developed a four-megapixel sensor by the late 1980s. How did Kodak fail to convert such a massive head start into success?

“Who could afford that?” Anderson fired back, unimpressed. “Macs were really expensive. Computing technology couldn’t have kept up until much later.”

When Kodak finally entered consumer photography in force, at the end of the 1990s, it did so as a dominant brand in a growing market. They produced cameras that were forerunners technologically and in 2003 were best sellers — but, crushingly, had to sell them to consumers at a loss of up to sixty dollars apiece.

The company threw its remaining R & D muscle at a dizzying array of digital-imaging technologies and products, notably scanners and printers. Though Kodak was still loaded with cash and patents, it now needed a hit product to push it back into profitability, a situation that led it to attempt ever more desperate strategies. The depressing reality is painfully visible on YouTube. In videos posted of building demolitions in Kodak Park from the late 2000s, chipper executives doggedly proclaim a bright future ahead during festivities attended by crowds of locals who came to witness the creation of rubble and dust.

Not everyone felt like partying.

Freezeframe from video of Building 23 being demolished.

“As a Kodak retiree who worked in Building 9 as well as many others in Kodak Park…I see no reason to celebrate the destruction of what was once a Fortune 500 company asset,” comments Harry Trulli in an online post about one well-attended blast. “I want to cry when I think of the future of our country.”

Instead of finding new opportunities, Kodak faced even more disruption as the consumer camera market moved into phones, and nimble start-ups pounced on social photo-sharing opportunities. In a matter of months, Instagram went from start-up to Facebook acquisition with a valuation of $1 billion— more than twenty-five times Kodak’s recent market capitalization of about $40 million.

“Even if Kodak went into [digital] wholeheartedly, things would remain the same,” says Anderson. “It’s a fact that they were too early, and inevitably doomed.”

The Kodak Tower

The day I left Rochester, the blizzard was spent and the city was returning to its quotidian hum. From my seat on the train, the Kodak Tower loomed tall in the window overlooking the city, much as it must when it was first built, in 1916. As we pulled away from the station, it blended before long into the newer buildings around it, and disappeared.

About the author: Kenny Suleimanagich is a multimedia journalist focusing on media and culture. He received his masters degree in Journalism from Columbia University, where he concentrated in Digital Media storytelling. He enjoys writing everything from film reviews to live-blogs, and favors being behind the camera instead of in front of it. This article originally appeared here.

It’s a stark divide. In front of me, a man snores softly among a pile of beer bottles, yet somehow manages to sit upright on the edge of a slab of broken cement, not far from the edge of the crumbling bridge I’m standing on. Just beyond the bridge and barely 30 feet below lies a line of townhouses; each easily sold for over half a million. They stand sentinel-like, crowding each other, overlooking an old, unused elevated railroad embankment. Between the snoring man and I lie old rails, overgrown grass, and gravel. To the east, Chicago’s downtown skyline towers over the flat Midwest expanse. Welcome to The Bloomingdale Trail.

Built in the late 1800s as a non-electrified rail line called The Bloomingdale Line, it ran from just outside Chicago’s downtown, heading west to Elgin, Illinois. In the process, it cut a swath through Chicago’s neighborhoods. In the early 20th century, the Chicago City Council, in an attempt to handle increasing traffic from automobiles and increase pedestrian safety, decreed that all railroads in the city be elevated. The well known end result of that eventually led to Chicago’s elevated train system, known as the L (note: this is distinct from the generic “el” used elsewhere, such as in New York City, and locals will instantly recognize and make fun of people who refer to the incorrect way). The Bloomingdale Line, however, served primarily as a freight line with light commuter usage; it was never meant to be part of the L system. By the 80s the line had long since stopped moving commuters and barely moved freight. Eventually all traffic stopped on the line, and due to neglect by its owners, the Canadian Pacific Railway, the infrastructure began to deteriorate.

My friend Mark walks over a part of the trail above Milwaukee Avenue and below the Blue Line, an elevated train line still in service. Photo by Joselito Tagarao

Tags, graffiti, and street art are everywhere up on the trail. Photo by Joselito Tagarao

Sitting on the viaduct running over Humboldt Boulevard. Photo by Joselito Tagarao

The line runs through a heavily populated area of a dense city, and over the years, people have clambered up onto the embankment and explored, more so in the past few years as more and more people have noticed the ghost elevated line that runs over streets and behind houses, bisecting neighborhoods and breaking up the city’s ebb and flow. But despite its interruptive nature, if you’re not actively looking at it and wondering what it is, the line fades into the urban backdrop. In fact even though I’ve lived around the line’s ruins for close to a decade, it’s taken a long time for my brain to wonder what purpose the crumbling viaduct running over Damen Avenue served, but even then I didn’t consider what was up there. It wasn’t until I was walking south on Damen towards the Wicker Park neighborhood that I noticed movement at the top of my line of sight where there shouldn’t be any. That’s when I spotted a lone jogger clad in a white running shirt and blue shorts, wearing sunglasses. It shocked me. Were people allowed up there? What was that thing? How did he get up there? I didn’t even know what it was called; no signs indicate what the raised land is for. Rusty railings appear erratically on its edges, most falling over at weird angles. In many of the spots where you can see the line clearly, the city’s houses and buildings all push right up against it, especially in the higher end neighborhoods where space is at a premium.

But after I noticed it I knew I had to get up there. Thoughts of how to climb onto the embankment consumed my free time. I consulted Google Earth, zoomed in on familiar streets and landmarks, eventually figuring out the location of the trail by correlating what I knew with the geographically null spot in my head. I zoomed in, feeling a flutter of excitement; for the first time I could see what the embankment was. Even with GE’s limited resolution I could see the old steel rails, and how overgrown everything was. I followed it from its eastern beginnings where the Kennedy Expressway and Ashland Avenue meet up, to its western terminus, which seemed to be some sort of train yard. The bad news? There didn’t appear to be any obvious ways to get up there, at least that Google Earth was willing to give up. The good news? After some searching, I eventually ran across it’s (then) unofficial name: The Bloomingdale Trail.

Spurred by the excitement of it all I wanted to run out and attempt to find an access point immediately. Unfortunately it was after midnight on a weekday; exploration would have to wait.

David, standing under a Bloomingdale Trail viaduct. Photo by Joselito Tagarao

I ran across David Schalliol’s name when doing some research into the background of The Bloomingdale Trail; his photos of the various locations on and around the trail kept popping up. It turns out he became the go to guy for trail imagery when a grassroots organization called Friends of the Bloomingdale Trail reached out to him, interested in his photography: specifically, in helping them document the state of the trail in its current form, and continuing on, as they worked towards their goal of turning the old Bloomingdale Line into an elevated, linear public park. “I’d love to create a project or create a structure wherein I’m making space and time to think more seriously about the place instead of just approaching it as some sort of ad-hoc experience,” he told me. “Really try to think more conceptually and a little more seriously about what the place is, what it’s role in the future might be, and also to think about what’s the value of producing a photographic record of a place before (in this case several years before) any major transformation were to occur.” With a heavy background in sociology informing his photographic work, it’s quickly obvious that his images are more than just snapshots or thematic pieces with narrative threads; the images cut a cross section of themes and ideas all influenced by the abandoned railroad.

Photo by David Schalliol

The ad-hoc part of the description rang true with me. It must, with most people. You see a mysterious place in the center of a dense, urban area, and your curiosity takes over. Thoughts about the history of the trail, or how it fits in with the city in its current and future state aren’t really the initial draw; the exploration of it is. Fortunately, the Friends gave him an opportunity to go beyond straightforward exploration and provided a framework enabling him to delve into the impact the trail had beyond merely a fun outlet for urban exploring.

The next day after work I packed a backpack with two energy bars and my camera, and set out to get up on the trail. I considered what might be the best ways to access the trail and ended up choosing a section that ran over Leavitt Avenue, a small, one-way residential street. Other streets that I could think of either had sheer cement retaining walls, steep embankments, or building properties that blocked access, usually with high fencing. Leavitt had some fencing, but the embankment was much more gradual and there was a break in the buildings; I reasoned that I could either find a way over the fence or walk along it until an opportunity presented itself.

Leavitt turned out to be a good choice. Climbing up the slope I stopped at the fence and looked around. I could make out the tracks on the other side and the rails disappearing both east and west into the distance, sandwiched between a seemingly endless string of buildings. The fence stopped where the bridge over Leavitt began, and after testing the strength of the fence (newly placed iron fencing most likely to keep trespassers out), I grabbed a hold of the bars, swung around the edge, and landed softly on the trail.

The moment I stepped out from the shaded slope and onto the straight expanse of the trail, that flutter of excitement from the previous night ran through me again. I stood facing east and saw something rare in Chicago – a straight, empty lane, lit by late afternoon sun, devoid of people and cars, right in the middle of the city.

And that’s when I heard the snore.

It wasn’t a loud snore – just slow, heavy breathing. Just behind where I had swung myself onto the trail, a man in a bright orange shirt sat on a small cement block with his eyes closed, head dipping into his chest. Scattered around him laid numerous empty beer bottles, along with some unopened bottles in a six pack. He didn’t seem to notice me, or if he did, he couldn’t care less. Now I’m not shy in approaching people (it comes with the territory of shooting street photograph, of which I am a giant fan), but speaking to him didn’t seem all that useful or appropriate. So I did what came naturally – I pulled my camera out of the bag and took a shot.

It was an odd feeling. Like I said, I shoot a lot of street photography. I fall right in the middle of the confrontational scale in that I don’t hide the fact that I’m shooting someone, but I also don’t get all in someone’s business for a shot. But this felt different. The environment was foreign: here I was, standing thirty feet above the ground, in a busy city, but very isolated by nature of elevation. Technically I was trespassing. This was illegal. This man was drunk, relatively early in the day for that. The eyes of numerous people could be peering at us through windows directly abutting the trail. Or no one could be looking. Who knew?

I lowered the camera to consider the situation, and it dawned on me that the trail could easily harbor an unsavory crowd. To what extent I couldn’t judge from one minute up here, but it brought up some follow up concerns; what if I needed help? It wasn’t easy to get down at arbitrary points on the trail and what if I was injured? The trail’s state of disrepair meant injury was a distinct possibility, and it’d be difficult to explain to someone how to get to me.

I looked east. According to Google Earth the end of the trail terminated just under a mile away at Ashland. In the distance, Chicago’s Loop beckoned, the straight line of the trail leading the way. I looked back over my shoulder at the snoring man, then started walking forward.

David’s walked the trail more than fifty times; enough to lose an exact count. “A typical day of working along the trail or on the trail would involve walking at least half of it, but it depends on what section I want to focus on, what time of day it is, what’s going on, and so on,” David told me. “I say every few times I’ll walk from end to end and back just walking along and working, and then other times will be more targeted.” The Bloomingdale Trail is very, very straight – straight enough that I could make out an actual vanishing point on the horizon that wasn’t broken by buildings, cars, or people – but it’s particularly ruler edge-like here. This part of the trail was at the southern edge of Bucktown’s border with Wicker Park. Both neighborhoods are dense and command high real estate values, and for the trail that meant the homes and condos pushed right up to the trail on both sides. Some parts were so dense with buildings and homes that it felt like you were walking in an alley; the gap between the edge of the trail embankment and some of the buildings were less than an arm’s length. It took actual effort to not look onto people’s porches, kitchens, living rooms, and bedrooms, not because there were spectacular residences (of which there were plenty), but because all the un-curtained windows and porch doors gave the distinct impression of a person walking down a street and peering into store displays.

Backyards sit right against the trail. Photo by Joselito Tagarao

From the beginning, David tried to approach the project as more than just “photographs on the trail”. He wanted to consider how this particular piece of constructed land connected with the surrounding community and the kind of role it played. “Is there something special about it being a little elevated but still very much part of the neighborhood? I started thinking about those sort of questions from the outset.”

Photo by David Schalliol

I’m guessing that buying property that looked onto the trail gave you a bit of a discount. Maybe not much, but when the view through the window over your kitchen sink is an overgrown railroad with bits of graffiti, I can’t imagine it being much of a selling point. And what did the owners of those homes think of me walking by? Were they resigned to the fact that yet another person decided to trespass up here? Did they look at me and give me an instant once over, slotting me into a column for people that were annoying, but “at least he doesn’t look like someone that’ll tag the side of my building”? I caught the eye of someone sweeping their porch decorated with a set from Restoration Hardware. I barely registered to him, and he went back to sweeping. No friendly wave, but no angry yell either. I took it as tepid tolerance.

This particular stretch of the trail had a number high number of close-in condos, and visually it was quite boring; the city equivalent of McMansions with no real sense of personality. My thoughts drifted back to the snoring man. I suppose if you needed a place to drink but don’t have anywhere to go this was a pretty good place. I didn’t think cops patrolled regularly up here, and he wasn’t close enough to any of the beautiful condos to illicit any complaint calls from people glancing out their windows. But what struck me was that he was only a few hundred feet back in the direction I came from; right here a man fastidiously took care of a high end outdoor furniture set. Who knows – maybe earlier, the sweeping man had been reading a book in one of the lounge chairs and spotted the orange shirt man walking by. The two sat at polarized extremes, but something about the trail made it all seem… natural. Not in any kind of exploitive, “look at that man!” kind of way. It just seemed to be a direct result of landscape and geography which made both of them part of a community.

Photo by Joselito Tagarao

“I really wanted the linearity to be more of a connective tissue,” David said. “It’s important to think about how the trail’s been used.” I thought of how for one man, the trail offered the opportunity to drink without being bothered, and for another, a quiet backdrop. For both, it gave a bit of respite.

I ran into a jogger around the part of the trail that went over Damen Avenue. Actually, I should say I spotted him a good distance away, but we didn’t cross until the Damen viaduct. He looked like any other urban jogger: yellow running shorts, a black tech shirt, headphones plugged into ears. He glanced at me with a blank look and didn’t slow down; the next moment he was gone. A part of me wanted to call out to him and ask questions. How’d you get up on the trail? Do you run up here a lot? Do you know what this thing’s called? Why’d you start running up her? But the funny thing about the trail that I began to realize is that social interactions subtly change up there, and David pointed that out. “There is a different experience of bumping into someone up there than it is on the ground,” he said. “I think part of that has to do with that sort of illicit or maybe illegal activity, and that there may be a shared mistrust, and a shared connection of transgression that happens. But at the same it’s so normalized, and for so many people it’s just part of life to be up there.”

Photo by David Schalliol

That’s when I noticed a bunch of teenagers yelling and waving for my attention down on Damen’s sidewalk. I walked closer to the edge (but not too close – there was no real railing) and peered down at them. “How’d you get up there?” they yelled.

“Leavitt,” I answer, and pointed west. They glanced in that direction but from here there was no straight shot at street level; there were too many people’s backyards to simply walk along the embankment. Cutting through the neighborhood to get to where I jumped on the trail required plenty of zig-zagging. One of them shrugged, losing interest, and they began to walk away… though I heard one of them mention how he could probably figure out how to climb up, and urged everyone to follow him while he searched for an access point. They disappeared under the viaduct and I wasn’t sure if they went along with his idea or not.

The trail’s east side abruptly ended just as it crossed over Ashland Avenue. A dirt and gravel pad with a broken chain link fence laid below Interstate 90/94, which soared cathedral-like above. Next to the pillars supporting the expressway were signs of outdoor habitation – a mattress or two, tarps loosely held up by rope, scattered clothes, some garbage – but no one was in sight. I hesitated to poke around; I had the distinct impression that I was about to enter someone’s personal area, which is of course a bit hypocritical, as I’d been trespassing this entire time.

One of David’s photographs showed a couple in that exact area, recently homeless and from the suburbs. “They sort of cleaned up that area. They had spent a considerable amount of time pushing the debris all to the side, cleaning up the area, and setting up an encampment in there. One of the reasons I continue to show that work… is that it’s important to think about how the trail’s been used and they are by far not the only people using the site in that way.” Questions swirled through my head. How did they find this place from all the way out in the suburbs? Why here?

Temporary housing under the Kennedy Expressway. Photo by David Schalliol

I look past the broken fence and decide not to investigate. I turned around and headed back the way I came.

On the way back I stopped to look down into Churchill Park, a small, fenced in area for dogs that comes right up to the trail’s retaining walls. Tons of people and dogs roamed inside, encouraged by the warm weather, and I felt the palpable buzz of activity even from up on the trail. It was a park I had passed by plenty of times before in the past, but the vantage point from above gave a new perspective on it. I tried a few shots from different positions and angles, but I never managed to get a photo that I felt captured the visual spin of being elevated above. David, who shoots primarily with a 70-200mm and a 24mm tilt shift had an interesting solution to exaggerating and highlighting this perspective shift. “I’m often up there with the camera. Maybe with a tripod. And sometimes, I’m carrying a ladder.”

Photo by David Schalliol

I laughed when he told me this; the idea of someone carrying a bulky ladder up to the trail seemed arduous. He wasn’t surprised by my reaction either. “The ladder generates a lot of laughs,” he said. But the simple technique of climbing up on the ladder paid off in many of his photos. Because the buildings near the trail were so close to the edge, it was hard to highlight the trail’s elevated nature. It just seemed like any other old abandoned railroad track. “If you can get six to ten feet above the trail, you can produce a different kind of vantage point, where you can get a better sense of the horizon and the relationship to where the park is,” he explained. “It’s such a long park – or will be a park – 2.7 miles. It provides all these really nice opportunities to get a sense of how far it goes and where it goes, and when you’re up a little higher, it makes it easier to see the way that the line runs above, but is still part of and defines the neighborhood.”

But he didn’t just want to shoot from the trail. “What I tried to do with the photography is of course highlight life or the experience of being above, but also there are a good number of pieces in the project that are about looking at the trail, looking from the trail into the neighborhoods, and so on.”

Photo by David Schalliol

Photo by Joselito Tagarao

By the time I returned to my access point at Leavitt the sun had long since set and twilight begun descending on the trail. Even though I wanted to explore the western end, I knew it’d be better if I came back another time.

The snoring man had apparently moved on, taking along the bottles – no stray empties, no broken glass. I sat down on the cement block where he had been relaxing earlier and looked down the trail. Yellow dots of light from windows began to flip on, and not more than a minute later, the streetlights flicked on and lit parts of the trail. In Chicago, the lights are high pressure sodium vapor based; if you’re a photographer shooting near one of these things it’s a nightmare to get anything close to accurate color. That said, the warm glow of the lights, both from the windows and streets, made the trail feel inviting.

Light falls onto the trail as nighttime descends on the city. Photo by David Schalliol

“It’s part of people’s private experience of Chicago,” David told me. And he’s right. Walking along the Bloomingdale Trail made for an insular experience. On one hand there was no doubt I was still in the city, surrounded by buildings and people. But at the same time I moved in a bubble. Save for the few people I came in direct contact with, there was no way for the people on the street to directly approach me. The people I did run into seemed to know that as well, and we all stayed within our own thoughts; we all silently agreed to leave each other alone provided we weren’t bothering anyone. David continued, “It’s not the experience of a public place. It’s the experience of a more private, personal and many times reflective or some other kind of space where people leave the streets and head to this different vantage point.”

Photo by David Schalliol

In short order this crumbling bit of infrastructure will be cleaned up, paved over, and transformed into what I’m sure will be a beautiful urban green space. Cyclists, pedestrians, adults and kids – we’ll all be able to access it easily and move just above the city. But for now, it’s a quiet, contemplative space, raw, and full of memories.

Photo by David Schalliol

Visit photographer David Schalliol to see more of his work, including his photographs of The Bloomingdale Trail

Photograph by Laura Manfre

I first heard of Jim Mortram and his project ‘Small Town Inertia’ in the ‘Ones to Watch’ section of the British Journal of Photography. At first, I was happy that someone from my homeland, Norfolk, was making an impact in the photographic world. But of all projects I’d seen in BJP, Small Town Inertia was the only that gripped me.

Jim is a documentary photographer in the rural town of Dereham, Norfolk in the UK. The project portrays the lives of those “living on the fringe of society”, often focussing on the emotional, mental and physical hardships of those involved. The images, accompanied by text and quotations, make up this “long-form documentary and environmental portraiture series” with captivating brutal honesty.

PetaPixel: Hi Jim, I remember reading about Small Town Inertia in an issue of BJP and it stood out to me over the rest. Could you explain how the project started?

Jim Mortram: Thanks. Small Town Inertia was born from many elements all converging. Financially, being a carer living on benefits is crippling leaves you with zero budget. I don’t drive; I cycle or take public transport, so shooting in the immediate locale was literally the only option I had. It’s all been about sculpting negatives into positives, right from day one.

I had a very fractured relationship with where I live: a small, lost, failing, isolated market Town in East Anglia. It’s really an island unto itself within England. I moved here when I was very young, eleven, so always felt like an outsider. Being a carer only served to reinforce this sensation. Working crazy hours, over time, you lose connection with peers and find yourself in the fringe of what community there is around you. When I began the series I gravitated instinctively to document people in similar situations; people out on the edge of society. 

As the series evolved I found myself becoming more involved in life again, with the people and ultimately the area. It turned a hate relationship; being stuck in a kind of no man’s land, into love. I began to appreciate everything, notice more, listen more and realised just how much strength there is. The endurance in people’s lives, balanced against the hardship, stress and heartache. 

Tilney1: “My sleep pattern got f**ked up after I was sectioned and put in hospital. I just can’t switch my mind off and the loneliness gets to me.”

At the beginning I was using all borrowed equipment. It was a real fight. But, once the series got on the path it did, there was a natural momentum; an unseen magnetic pull that made me almost oblivious to the struggle. See, there is such a sense of responsibility that comes with shooting long form documentary, and it’s such an honour.

I’m so lucky, to be given the gifts of honesty and trust by the people I document. It’s a very real, ever present sensation. That’s the fuel. That’s what creates the trajectory: listening to the stories as they unfold, being close to people, being given these gifts of their lives and, in turn, having a platform to then share them with the wider world. It’s amazing, just amazing. 

What’s strange, for myself at least, is that it’s often implied that I shoot a side of life that no one sees, that people turn their attention from. But now, there is no conscious choice of who to document. It just happens, very organically. People are all around us.

My philosophy is that everyone has a story and their experiences can inform us all about life. We all have shared common experiences. We all have so much to teach and share and learn from one another. Photography is such a powerful sharing tool; present that with testimony and you can really share. 

I’m pretty obsessed with the notion of the ‘now’ of life, the right now. Even though this community is seemingly a satellite hovering around the towns and cities where ‘real’ life takes place, it’s so much more important than that. Like the people that live here; not insignificant and not irrelevant. It’s the same for everyone; wherever you are.

What’s on your doorstep is a perfect reflection of what is happening, right now. Here, we see the repercussions of policy made hundreds of miles away. A pen swishes over paper after a think tank decides what should be. In the estates and within the lost cottages and apartments; you see where those decisions lead to. 

These are hard, painful times. Empathy seems to be being hunted down, hunted out of existence; culled. The Bedroom Tax. Food Banks on the rise. Financially, people are really struggling. There are cuts to services; resources are stretched to point of fracture and the people that are hurt the most are the poor, disabled and needy. They have to endure this whilst under the cosh of ever more stigma.

This series has always maintained that every day people have a right to dignity, a right to be heard and not ignored. I hate and have always hated the term ‘subjects’. I have never and will never refer to anyone I’ve been lucky enough to photograph or interview as a subject. We’re all human beings, together. I document my peers, the people around me. I’d take that notion with me whether I shot 2 miles from home or 2,000.

If you shoot a subject and you can’t get close, you’ll take photographs of someone looking at a camera. A photo kiosk can do that. To be close; you can’t fake it, it has to be real. Many times I go out to shoot and don’t even take a single image. I just listen to what’s been happening. Listening is important, so, so important. 

Making photographs has profoundly taught me to shut up and listen more. I’m not interested in making images of myself, about myself, or even for myself. I’m just a conduit. This is not art; it’s a link in a chain, a chain of shared ever-informing experience. My part’s small. The person sharing their life with us – that’s everything.

What they bring to a single image, a story, is key. For those moments they are a person’s story within you – it’s the completion of the circuit, it’s where lives interact. In a world that sometimes feels drenched in apathetic, blind narcissism and escapism; I find that exchange a real place of safety, a resistance, a fight back.

PP: I’m from Norfolk as well and I can relate to the idea of the area being in a “small, lost isolated Market Town”. Do you feel that your own experiences have directed your approach to what you wanted to photograph and how you photographed it?

JM: Sure. Everything we do, every experience informs the photography; at least it does for me. I’m thankful for that. Every personal experience and the on-going education we all give ourselves is all part of the way of seeing and, more importantly, the way of relating and feeling.

Image making in the moment is very reactive to the scenario and circumstance; emotionally and technically. There are limitations and opportunities. A moment permits in terms of how close things are: physically, emotionally; when to take a step closer, when to step back.

Light. Light, can dictate everything. It’s all a big improvised dance. You can’t know in advance where it will lead you. You just try to keep a rhythm and not tread on the toes of what unfolds. 

In my personal life, like anyone, there have been some extreme lows and lulls. I certainly took a few things as close to the edge as I’d want to. Life’s about learning, sometimes its just luck that permits you out the other side.

I know I’ve taken my own brushes with mortality. My own understanding of isolation, loss and pain helps me relate a lot. I don’t often feel like an outsider when shooting. There are touchstones in common; time and time again. We all cut the same. All of us.

Whitey and his crucifix

It’s a lot like music. There are notes and scales and then the blue notes and the minors. When people talk to me about certain situations, I can recognise those melodies and that’s important. I’m not documenting from a life too far removed. it’s not about collecting butterflies y’know? I mean, I have never taken a photograph purely based on the aesthetic appeal of another person; it’s not about amassing a document with the eye of curiosity – as a voyeur, at a distance.

It’s about documenting the real life experiences that inform us all. No one gets through life without their own scars and none of us get out alive. But, if we can help each other on the journey from A to B, that’s cool with me. Some of the best help is simply just listening. I’m still amazed at the people I talk with and document that have never felt they have been listened to their whole life, by anyone, ever. 

I do think my own experiences led me down a path where I was not interested in using photographing as my ‘art’, my expression. There’s no desire for it to be about me, it’s always very natural. I’ve never questioned it being a part of me; it’s always been about following the intent of the lens being pointed outwards, at someone else. It’s their story, not mine. An SLR camera has a mirror. Light reflects and bounces upon a sensor or film – that’s key for me. It’s a reflection of the reality feet away and a tool for communicating and sharing. 

Photography is a powerful tool, transporting us across space and time. Any boundary you can conceive of; photography can cross it. It can take you, the viewer, into homes, moments, lives, countries, communities, loves, losses, the greatest joys and the greatest pains. As a device and medium for sharing and connecting people, photography is still peerless for me. When combined with the digital revolution and the evolution of the internet, more so now than ever. 

For sure my own experiences of culture, as with any and every one, informed certain elements of the how and the dynamics. Every book, painting, film and early passion for documentary; my own father shooting in mono, developing film in a bowl in the bathroom or kitchen – it all added to the mix. It’s the same for all of us. We all make our own recipe based on the ingredients given to us and those we choose along the way. 

PP: It’s clear that you find an intimacy with those involved, much like music as you said. How do you build up a rapport with those involved, with view to documenting their life, especially when they could be quite vulnerable? How do you feel the project would be different if you viewed those involved as ‘subjects’?

Simon: “When I came round I thought I’d had a seizure in Town but when I asked someone they
said I was in the gym. I thought I was up town laying on the pavement.”

JM: How? Exactly the same way in which I build up a rapport with anyone, I mean, we’re doing that right now. It’s all about interaction, asking questions, listening, responding. There’s no difference between any other encounter in life and photography, just, when photography is involved I have a camera to hand. Saying that, I always have a camera to hand. 

Would it be different if I viewed the people I document as subject? Yes, a vast yes. There are many strata of documentary photography; many, infinite even ways of making photographs.

For me, long form documentary works so well because it’s an ever evolving process. You need to get closer in more ways than that which a prime lens affords. I’ve never been interested in making images of people looking or reacting to another person holding a camera; the camera has to disappear as much as it can.

I tend to shoot in two ways: portraiture and documentary. But the great facilitator is never the camera, it’s the trust. How do you earn trust in a photographic relationship? The same way you earn it in life I would say. People always know from the start of a series what the deal is.

I am very explicit in informing people about the whys and hows and it’s always their choice to proceed. Trust enables closeness beyond a portrait lens; trust is the key that unlocks a deeper exchange. If I wanted to photograph people looking at cameras, I’d shoot catalogue models.

PP: Such a good response. In some documentary projects, it feels like the photographer is an intruder, but it seems through your pictures and motives that you’re integrating with their world and them with you. How do they feel being involved in the project and sharing their stories?

JM: Thanks. I’d never want to be an intruder. What does an intruder do? Take images, literally stolen moments – that has never interested me. It’s the: “do you take or make images” debate.

For me, it’s always been making images, not manufacturing. Integration with one another is important for sure, just as it is in life – again, a musical comparison. Documentary is free form, its jazz; anything can happen without direction. You react, not dictate. Again, trust is paramount in these moments.

Making a portrait is a composition quite different, but you can always swap over the elements and dynamics of how you photograph in each situation. Sometimes I make what I’d call documentary portraits – very different to straight documentary or straight portraits. These only arise at certain specific moments though, as when shooting documentary you never want to intrude upon an event that is unfolding, subtlety is key and again, trust. 

Simon: “At home the morning after..”

At the beginning, I asked myself a lot: why do people want to be involved? To share? In each case there are differing reasons, but, a common thread through all.

Whilst shooting the series on epilepsy it was clear to me that Simon wanted to be proactive, to get a positive out of his serious experiences with epilepsy, in his case, Atonic seizures. His being documented afforded him a platform, a place in the world to do something, take a stand, inform other people just like him what it’s like to survive, what it’s been like to have VNS surgery but also to show those that have zero experience of epilepsy what it’s like.

We have that in common, that desire to redress the balance of people assuming what someone might be like or their situation, documenting a life, a situation, informs, educates, shares, it fills the void where people rely on guessing or stereotyping. That’s also a big reason I rarely share standalone images.

Yes, a photograph tells a thousand words, but you add a thousand words to it – pow, you have no room for assumption. Viewers are empowered in their experience of the images through the most important vital element: context. Devoid of context an image can be a launch pad for a million incorrect templates to be overlayed and presenting images without context, for me, is a brutal dereliction of duty. 

Simon: ‘Putting the pieces back together.”

Other people get involved as they want to be heard, noticed. So many of us never get the chance to have our say, we are all taken for granted in life in so many ways. If we find ourselves isolated from people, in solitude, how can we ever feel like we are being witnessed?

Documentary photography is a real enabler in this respect, it’s a wonderful way of saying to people you matter, you’re not a zero. Who you are and what you’re going through counts and is not unnoticed. 

I always keep people up to date with what happens after a story has been updated. If an image or story has been published, they get the copy I am sent. If there is an exhibition, I let them know how it’s gone, if comments are left, I share them. 

PP: I like that one of the focuses of your work, and those involved, is to create awareness. One of the most powerful images, to me, is of Tilney1 sitting in the bus shelter. I think the picture embodies the symptoms of a schizotypal personality perfectly. Could you give a brief account of Tilney’s symptoms and how you took the picture?

JM: Tilney1′s symptoms are very clear and ever present, ever invasive. He’s consumed with ‘memory loops’; snapshots of moments from his past. Imagine an internal strobe light that flashes the detritus of a life lived endlessly. Imagine there might be a code, a purpose, a line through the very heart of all the events and shadows of your life.

Imagine sewing and stitching every element of your personal history together in an attempt to understand the present so obsessively that the past becomes your every waking moment: loud, bright, clear and in focus. Imagine you can remember everything, every detail of every experience. Imagine these are the thoughts that occupy you, inhabit you and you can’t turn their volume down.

The photo of Tilney1 is taken in his old school bus shelter. Knowing he’d spent years standing there waiting to be taken to school, all before his condition developed, gives that moment a deeper meaning for me. In those images he’s really struggling. It’s as though his thoughts are so consuming that a pause button is pressed upon his ability to interact with reality – he just shuts down.

I talk to Tilney1 maybe twice a day on the telephone, just to touch base. It’s good for him to know there is someone out there he can reach out to and I always enjoy talking with him. I enjoy talking with everyone I document.

Last year I helped him piece together a magazine containing some of his work. We’re working on getting a book put together at the moment. It can’t be rushed due to his symptoms, but his work, damn, it just grips me. They are letters home from the front line of mental illness.

Tilney1: “Working in isolation in his apartment.”

PP: I think the public perception of schizophrenic disorders is the classic “hearing voices” analogy. But there are upward of six different schizophrenic diagnoses. What do you think about the state of the majority of the public’s attitude towards physical and mental disability?

JM: I’d say the average public perception of mental illness is just as misinformed and biased as it is about anything else. The crime is that one in three of us will have a brush with some form of mental illness during our lives, yet, as with so much of life there is a huge stigma to it.

Tilney1 is always worried about what people think of him; that he’s mad, that his obsessive tendencies make him a bad person. I always tell him it’s no different or more surprising than sneezing when you have a cold. There is a real clear damnation on people in our society that have mental illness.

Recently, I’ve been shooting a citizen run food distribution collective. I’d say at least three quarters of the homeless people they hand food out to are suffering from some variant of mental health issue. It’s not right; our society is so unbearably cruel and unforgiving to those amongst us, those that need the most support, the most love. Our government is worse.

Physical disability, the stigma and the judgement that gets laid upon people dealing with it is a terrible state of affairs. Our culture, especially mainstream print media and television, really impose a template of three elements: “lucky it’s not me”, “faker and scrounger” and being there for our amusement. We’ve really hit a low not witnessed since Victorian times in this respect.

Everyone knows talent shows where a raft of people get brought out, dreams however misplaced in their hearts, only to be lambasted with ridicule and solely for the viewer’s amusement. It’s a terrible trait we have as a species; this unapologetic ability to look, laugh, forget. A lot of photography these days echoes these trends; everything is there for the photographers taking, people as subjects, images not to inform but to shock, manufactured realities designed to garner a greater response from an aesthetic, rather than context and reality.

There are also a wonderful number of photographers making amazing work, series’ and projects that redress this imbalance. They champion human spirit and show things unflinchingly as they are; the good and the bad with the sole intent of sharing; not exploiting, but informing; not amusing, but empowering; not immolating.

PP: Each of your pictures seems to explain both the emotion and situation of the person involved. Could you explain your thoughts on using black and white as opposed to colour? And the importance that high contrast has in the work? Do you shoot digital or film? How important is the choice to your process, if at all?

JM: Thanks. Black and white? Well, when I started, I used to use a monitor that was broken; it was only good for mono work. Having said that, there are other reasons I do have and am very aware of for shooting mono. None of them being that it’s ‘cool’ or ‘more real’.

Black and white images really emphasise composition and shapes for me. Coming from a painting background I’ve always enjoyed the way a canvas, or in this case a photograph, is divided up compositionally, and how in turn that composition can aid narrative and context.

Hockney and R. B. Kitaj are both painters. Their use of composition has always stuck with me. For example, even though I’m shooting documentary; on a subconscious level I think the compositions are reactions to the person and the situation or place I am within and I, as we all do, even if we don’t realise we are doing so, draw upon a vast pool of influence.

In my case this is a lot of painters and a lot of cinematographers. I know they are there whispering to me even if I’m not consciously saying to myself ‘this’ or ‘that’ and I like that, it feels very instinctive; an extension of self. How we see is informed by so, so many elements.

I’ve no preference for black and white over colour, or film over digital. The story always comes first. I shoot colour portraits, on film and mono with a DSLR and this is down to cost.

If I shot the amount of mono I do with colour film it’d be even harder to afford to eat than it is now. If I’m lucky, I get to shoot one roll of colour Medium Format film once every month. I’ll shoot full colour stories in the future I am sure.

Simon & Bandit

I always shoot to control highlights and the trade-off is intense shadows. I’d prefer that over blown highlights. In camera, I’m shooting RAW files with everything turned off: zero sharpening, zero D-Lighting or equivalent. I just get an eye for the composition, spot meter the light I’m controlling; compose, lock focus, recompose and shoot. I shooting fully manually, that’s the most common method I use to shoot with a DSLR.

I tend to use as little post production as possible, certainly nothing that’s not comparable to working an image up in a darkroom. I use the same techniques, but digitally: a simple tone curve, simple eyedropper work (test strips) and dodge/burning when and if needed.

I mostly shoot in low light situations. Maybe one window will illuminate a room and I’m always at the mercy of the UK weather. I’m often in a dark environment, these photographs capture that.

Tommo: “A regular at the Peoples’ Picnic stall shares his tattoos.”

PP: It’s interesting that you have a painterly background. Street photographer Eric Kim recently said he thinks the best editors and critics are artists such as painters and illustrators. Do you think your background has given you a different perspective, or do you see the camera as a different medium for documentation?

It’s also interesting that you left University in your third year and have since had a good deal of success. I think, in what I’ll call, a ‘degree culture’; people misinterpret qualifications with future success. How necessary do you think qualifications are in terms of being an artist?

JM: Indeed. Thankfully I’ve found a wonderful lab, Labyrinth in London, who develop and scan at a great rate and do some for some real big names in photography. As with all things, the fact that they are good people transcends everything. It helps that their quality is peerless too.

I studied fine art painting and, obviously within that, the History of Art. Most of the things I loved about art I’d found before I embarked upon my degree course and since having to quit to be a carer, I’ve been somewhat of an autodidact. The Internet is an amazing facilitator for self-education; free self-education.

For sure, my background has given me a certain perspective, but I’m not merely referring to education here, we are all the sum of our parts/ There is so much more to us than being shown other peoples work and being told to, in-turn, go off and make our own. Without the ‘life’ element, where do we draw inspiration? Empower and inform our own sensitivities?

All the great joys, losses, madness, messes and pains of my life have stood me in better stead than a lecturer telling me to “Go check so and so’s work.” However, photographic courses are geared very differently to a fine art degree, with much more emphasis on how to survive as well as nurturing what and why to shoot. Falmouth run an amazing course, as do Gloucester, with lecturers that really know their stuff and really, really give a damn. 

We are all different; we get to choose our path as much as we stumble our way blindly, chaotically bouncing into the seen and unseen situations. Life happens. I don’t know if qualifications have anything to do with being an ‘artist’ and in no way do I, or shall I ever consider myself an artist. Most of my favourite painters and photographers never studied a day in their life; they just lived it and did it.

However, you have to balance that with the idea of being an artist and having a career. From my experiences; talking with students of photography today and their lecturers, there does seem to be a good balance with teaching and really making an effort to facilitate students in their survival in the real world. 

For me, things just happened the way they have done, all the life, all those ingredients that led to making images in the first place. Finding photography, for sure, saved my life. It’s been a rough ride to this point, but I’d not change a thing. Every experience is like collecting a new colour to add to the palette of emotions that you can then re-direct into other situations and to photography, and I’m not talking tech wise, I’m talking how you feel what you shoot, how you relate to it, why you want to shoot and what you do with it once it’s shot.

Learning can’t just be about what f-stop, what shutter speed; we’re all always learning within our lives. It all has to go back into our photography. It’s a never ending process and should not be a finite experience. And the notion of being ‘educated’? We are learning from the first photograph we make to the last one we will ever make. Patience is key.

If you quit half way along the journey, you’ll never know what’s around that next part of the maze ahead, and it might be a pitfall or paradise. Quitting is such a murderous act, it kills possibility.

Photography has never felt like a chore or a discipline for me, it’s always felt like the natural outcome of every experience in my life that lead up to making images. What is photography for me? A process of recording light that just travelled 92,960,000 miles in eight minutes from the sun, to bounce back to the upon sensor or film that’s directed directly at what’s transpiring there.

Most importantly of all, it’s a device and process that records moments, lives and events that can then be shared; shared in the now and shared for the future. Our photographs will always outlive us all. I’ve always viewed images as a document, as reflections both within the now, for the now, and messages in bottles for a future undecided and those of us yet to be.

It’s also really important to think on this notion of success, what is that? Money? If so, then I’m a spectacular failure. For me the success is in sharing the stories and sharing time with the people I’m lucky enough to shoot and the things they teach and share with me that I couldn’t have been taught at any place of learning or buy with any wage.

Success has been getting to know so many, many amazing people through photography; incredible photographers, curators, editors, book makers, publishers, writers  and people that just flat out love, really LOVE photography in all its forms. There is a community out there that’s so giving and supportive and so talented; in those respects, I’m the richest and luckiest man alive and I more than know it.

‘Family’

PP: I totally agree with what you’ve said. I think those who are extrinsically motivated are going to have a difficult time, especially if they’re working in these sorts of environments. It leads to the question, would you rather be happy and poor or unhappy and rich? I know what I’d rather. 

I was wondering if you could talk me through some of your influences and inspirations? No matter what they are. I watched the film American Gangster recently and the colours and imagery in that film made me want to photograph more than say, sifting through a photobook.

JM: Inspirations, sure. John Pilger, the documentary maker for his lifelong pursuit with such integrity of truths and justice. In cinema, the Dutch cinematographer Robby Müller who shot many films with Wim Wenders.

Cinema has always been a huge inspiration, that amazing pairing of narrative with image. Other cinematographers such as Gregg Toland, Robert Burks, and early British kitchen sink dramas too.

The directors Tony Richardson, Karel Reisz, Ken Loach and Mike Leigh have all moved me greatly. Painters such as Hockney, R. B. Kitaj and Frank Holl. The sadly just departed Iain Banks; Alan Sillitoe and Alan Bleasdale. Inspiration comes from so many amazing people all the time.

Fundamentally; outside of life and the people I document, my biggest source of inspiration by other artists has come from the tradition of those working around or within Social Realism.

Photographically, I have so much respect for Eugene Richards, Chris Killip, Giles Duley, Brenda Ann Kenneally, Justin Leighton, W. Eugene Smith, Walker Evans, Don McCullin and many, many more. And all for their attitudes towards shooting, their ethics as much as the amazing photography they produce.

PP: Considering all this, how did Small Town Inertia, and you, come to prominence?

JM: Slowly and all via the Internet. For a few years I was sharing via the usual social media platforms. Then, I decided to make the whole series a blog. In the first 12 months I began to get featured on numerous bigger blogs. aCurator and DuckRabbit have always been very supportive, for which I am eternally thankful for as it’s taken the stories to evermore people.

Exhibitions, publications, features and recently, the first of a series of books with Cafe Royal Books happened but it’s important to stress how organic this has been. Momentum takes time to gather speed and I’ve only said yes to situations and people I’ve really trusted and really wanted to do things with.   

Twitter has a wonderful community of photographers and other folk from, or around, the photographic world and I’ve come into contact with so many amazing folk there. I’d never had a website and Mike Hartley (and his wife Julie, who runs aCurator) of the website design company BigFlannel offered, so, so kindly offered, to sponsor and design from scratch, a website for me. It’s been a real labour of love taking Small Town Inertia’s web presence to where it stands right now. Mike’s been amazing and has taken the images and text and really empowered them.  

PP: So really, it’s a good story about embracing new technology and social media – always a good thing. I know you help to raise money for those involved with your projects. Could you talk a bit about that and how you fund your own work?

JM: Very much so. The Internet has long had its detractors and current events have shown, more than ever, its abusers. But it’s also the closest the human race has ever come to having a tool to facilitate a collective consciousness; we can all connect, share and experience. It’s right there 24/7 at our fingertips, if our own intent is there to step up and make use of it.

Funding, that’s a tough one, really hard. Being a full time carer at home prohibits me from Arts funding or grants. I get help from friends, some really amazing friends. I’ve had gear and film donated – incredible; blows my mind and touches my heart. Without these acts of amazing generosity I’d not even have a camera to use full time, let alone keep the project going to the extent it is.

Every week some of our food budget goes on shooting though, it’s an inconvenience (and makes for a good diet regime!) but never one that feels like a sacrifice, it always feels necessary.

My way of giving back is to be proactive with images and stories whenever I can. Mike Hartley of BigFlannel turned me on to an amazing site: HopeMob. @hope is a great site to raise money through for causes and is a platform I’ll continue to use. I see the whole ‘deal’ as a cyclic one; one we are all involved with and investing in, all helping one another out. 

PP: I think that’s a great point to finish on. Is there anything else you’d like to add or say that we haven’t covered yet?

JM: Well, the biggest thanks is to my partner Laura and my father Dave, for supporting and standing by me. I feel I’ve only scratched the surface of all the stories to come, so I’m looking forwards to working on them.

PP: Thanks for everything Jim. It’s been great getting to know you and delve more deeply into your work. Good luck to you and everyone involved in your projects.

I’ve read a lot of interviews where the photographer or artist comes across as aloof or pretentious. This is definitely not the case with Jim. I think his self-effacing attitude is what makes this project so powerful. The intimacy between Jim and those involved is translated in the imagery and text. I get the feeling I know each person from each picture and each story. I think the regularity of the work and his willingness to share it is really testament to his selfless motives.

Personally, I feel that this is one of the most important documentary projects currently around. There is a great deal of misconception and prejudice about those with physical and mental illness; I’ve witnessed it first-hand many times.

The psychologist Gordon W. Allport developed the contact hypothesis. This is the idea that interpersonal contact between groups can reduce prejudice and misconceptions by reducing previous overgeneralizations and simplifications. In terms of learning about those on the “fringe of society”, this is that contact.

You can see Jim’s work on his website and on Tumblr. You can also connect with him on Twitter.

If you’d like to donate and raise money for David’s audio scanner, go here. Finally, you can see some of Tilney1’s art here.

Chances are that in your lifetime, you’ve seen the iconic “Tank Man” photograph. The year was 1989. A man standing alone before a line of tanks on Chang’an Avenue near Tiananmen Square. It’s a picture that’s inspired people all over the world. It’s also been heavily suppressed in the very country it was taken.

Jeff Widener is the man behind the photograph, which he says was a “lucky shot”. What the world doesn’t know, however, is that Widener is so much more than the photographer behind one iconic image. He’s spent years in Asia chronicling the stories and struggles of people.

We were interested in finding out more about Widener and his career, and thankfully got the opportunity just hours before his expected departure to Africa where he’ll be doing work for a non-governmental organization:

PetaPixel: Can you talk about your background and how you came to be a photographer?

Jeff Widener: One day while living in Scottsdale Arizona in 1963, my father Don Widener brought a Life Magazine friend over to the house to make some family pictures. When Leigh Wiener opened his camera bag, I just about blew a valve. There were lenses, cameras, filters, flashes with bulbs, light meter dials, boxes and boxes of colorful film boxes. That image stayed in my memory forever. How little did I know that some day myself I would have a two-page spread in Life Magazine.

As the years progressed, I became fixated with cameras. My father had a Topcon Auto 100 35mm camera that Wiener had recommended because it was one of the world’s first automatic SLRs. I used to sneak it to Junior High School when I lived in Southern California, and I still have some of those images today.

My parents were aware of the scam and gifted it to me on graduation. At Cleveland High School in Northridge, California, photography instructor Harry Ibach found me wandering the halls shooting cheerleaders. He asked me if I was interested in enrolling in his class, and I accepted. We still stay in close touch to this day.

Then in my senior year of high school I made the difficult decision to transfer to Reseda High School which had a government funded color darkroom under the direction of legendary instructor Warren King. A former WWII combat photographer, King had managed to produce more photography scholarship students than any other school in the nation. That year I won the 1974 Kodak/Scholastic National Photography Scholarship beating out 8000 students for a portfolio and I spent that summer photographing big game in Kenya and Tanzania as part of an African studies program.

The experience influenced my decision to be a photojournalist and then that next year I enrolled at the Los Angeles Pierce College newspaper the Roundup. Two years later, I was hired as a staff photographer on the Whittier Daily News in California where Nixon was born.

A scuffle during the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests

A police woman during the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests

PP: What excites you most about photography in general?

JW: The unexpectedness, the challenge of access, the reward acknowledgment.

1987 Battambong Cambodia

1992 Palace Police Cambodia

PP: What’s in Jeff Widener’s camera bag today?

JW: I was up all night trying to figure that one out. Sebastiao Salgado stopped fighting TSA officers over X-Ray machines, and I think he now shoots medium format digital with analog follow through. I dread dealing with TSA over the X-Rays but I just figure I will chance it. Hopefully the machines are not too old in Luanda.

I’m taking digital D700 bodies (2) for the security of the project and the Leicas for me. I was going to photograph the project with film but Leica rangefinders can be temperamental especially with film in very harsh and unpredictable environments.

So in one Domke bag I have two Leica M7 rangefinder cameras with 28mm Summicron, 50mm collapsible Summitar from 1951 with blue coating. A 35mm F1.4 Aspherical Summilux, 90mm F2.8 Elmarit, and 135mm F4.0 Elmar.

On the digital side I am taking two Nikon D700 cameras with 14-24mm, 24-70mm, 70-200mm, 70-400mm lenses. Also 50 rolls of Tri-X 35mm 36 exposure rolls. Two 64GB compact flash cards with a 32GB as backup and some smaller cards as well. The Nikon F100 may not be used but just in case I have access to other focal length lenses for film.

1993 Korea protest

Vietnamese troop withdrawals in 1988

PP: How did you get involved with photojournalism?

JW: During the 1972 presidential campaign, I heard that Senator George McGovern was speaking at a shopping mall in downtown Los Angeles. I rode my bicycle all the way from the San Fernando Valley to attend the rally. As a bonus, Senator Ted Kennedy was also there.

I recall getting so jealous of all the press photographers. They had the access, they had the Nikons and even the gall to flaunt their motor drives. After repeatedly getting kicked out of the press pen by Secret Service, one photographer from the Los Angeles Times took pity on me and hid me near the front of the stage. That story won me my first photo award from the Los Angeles Photo Center in the photojournalism category.

The iconic photograph “Tank Man,” captured during the Tiananmen Square protests

PP: One of your most famous photos is “Tank Man.” What’s the story behind this iconic image? Did you think it’d be the widely-circulated and famous image it has become?

JW: Basically it’s a lucky shot from being in the wrong place at the right time. I had been knocked silly the night before from a stray protestor brick that hit me in the face — the Nikon F3 Titanium camera absorbed the blow sparring my life. I was also suffering from a bad case of the flu during the whole Tiananmen story so I was pretty messed up.

Our Asia photo editor had been in Beijing for weeks covering Mikhail Gorbachev’s high level meetings with Chinese leaders and was anxious to return to Tokyo but unfortunately the night before the massacre. That left AP Beijing photo editor Mark Avery, New Delhi based AP photographer Liu Heung Shing and myself to cover one of the biggest stories of the 20th century.

After sneaking into the Beijing Hotel with the help of an American college student named Kirk Martsen, I managed to get one fairly sharp frame of Tank Man from the 5th floor balcony of the Beijing Hotel with an 800mm focal length lens. I had run out of film and Martsen managed to find a single roll of 100 ASA from a tourist.

The problem was it was 100 speed and I usually used 800. This meant that when I was eyeballing the light, I was three stops too low on the Nikon FE2 auto shutter speed. It was a miracle that the picture came out at all. It wasn’t tack sharp but good enough to front almost every newspaper in the world the next day.

I never dreamed the image would turn into a cult thing. I guess the first time I realized I had something was when David Turnley of the Detroit Free Press told me that he thought I would win a Pulitzer for the image. As fate would have it, David won it that year and I was a finalist.

It’s funny because I recall being in the middle of a Bangkok slum that year and around the corner came a familiar face. It was Pulitzer Prize winner Stan Grossfeld who I had previously met. His first words were “Widener…you was robbed”.

A portrait of Mao in 1990

A photo of students creating the “Goddess of Democracy” during the protests in China

PP: Any repercussions from taking that photograph? Or would you say it opened doors for you, in terms of your career?

JW: The image has been a blessing and a curse. In one sense it opened a lot of doors. I became one of the closest photographers of the band UB 40 who I met in Tahiti in 2003. Most were photo enthusiasts and liked to show me off to other colleagues. I even made an album cover with them: “TWENTYFOURSEVEN”.

On the other hand, not a lot of people know my other work and as an artist, you kind of don’t want to be remembered as the one wonder kid or “Gilligan”. This is something I hope to change with a book I am working on reflecting my posting as the Southeast Asia Picture Editor in Bangkok from 1987-1995.

1992 New Delhi India

1988 Air Vietnam crash

PP: What stands out to you when you pick up a camera and start documenting the world? In other words, what in a scene makes you say, “Wow… I need to take a picture of that!”?

JW: Forget shutter speeds, F stops, camera brand or anything else. Feel your subject and let your finger flinch. If you see something that raises your heart rate, push first and think later. When an image reminds a viewer of a past lover or an old song that lingers onward, then you have succeeded.

1994 Riot Police

1994 East Timor

PP: Not people are aware of your eight-year posting as an Associated Press picture editor in Southeast Asia. Can you tell us about that experience?

JW: For a period of eight years, I knew every airport first class and business lounge in Asia. I had my favorite five star hotels but also lovely flea bags like the Army Guest House in Hanoi. I have fond memories of all. I covered everything from Liz Taylor to Khmer Rouge and Mount Pinatubo volcanoes erupting in the Philippines. I been shot at, gassed, been hit by rocks, narrowly missed rockets and almost crashed on every kind of aircraft there is.

I have privately chatted with Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, been insulted by Princess Anne, shoved by President Bill Clinton, accidentally stepped on the robe of Pope John Paul II and almost got beaten up by Chinese security while following Prime Minister John Major at the Forbidden City. One fist fight with a French photographer was barely avoided after he intentionally pushed me to the ground in Jakarta at the feet of a giggling Princess Diana.

But then there are also the quiet moments like being caught in an evening downpour at an isolated Thai fishing village. Or having a chance meeting with a fellow westerner in a shabby outdoor Cambodian bar. Probably my most memorable moment was kissing a beautiful Irish redhead on the top of an ancient Cambodian temple at Angkor Wat as the sun set and the monkeys chattered in the jungle growth below. A typical movie scene but real. There are just so many memories which I hope to have in a future book.

1993 Thai soldiers

1992 Vietnam train

PP: You have an upcoming book project that stems from your time in Southeast Asia. What do you hope to come of this project?

JW: Associated Press in Bangkok was often nicknamed the “Eddie Adams posting” after the famous photojournalist because Eddie was always traveling through the region. I actually got to meet him briefly when he came through the AP Bangkok office.

I was very fortunate to have had one of the last great romantic postings for an expat photojournalist. Just about every photographer who ran the Bangkok AP photo operation won a Pulitzer. I was odd man out as a finalist.

Today these postings are being phased out due to cost cutting measures and changes in the media. Gone are the days when a jet setting photographer had his own company Air Travel Card and choice of five star hotels with generous expense accounts. It’s these wonderful stories that I want to share behind my Asia images which most people have never seen and I hope that this book will reflect that. We are presently looking for a publisher.

1994 Kobe earthquake smashed car

1992 Phnom Penh Cambodia

PP: What advice do you have for aspiring photojournalists out there?

JW: It’s a different world out there now but if you really want to be a photojournalist, you will. Only the truly committed can survive the minefield of disadvantages that a photojournalist will face. As photographer James Nachtway once told me…”Persevere”.

1991: Gas masks during the Gulf war

1988: Soldiers smoke in Cambodia

PP: What’s next for Jeff Widener, aside from the book project?

JW: In 14-hours I board a KLM flight to Luanda, Angola to work with an NGO that build schools for children.

1988 Pakistan

Princess Diana in 1988

PP: Can you talk more about your trip to Luanda? How long will you stay? What do you hope to achieve?

JW: I’m heading down to Southeastern Angola to photograph for an NGO that builds schools for children. It’s one way to get access to some pretty remote parts of the world and tell interesting stories. In this particular case I have to wait and see what that story might be because you have to juggle your host with personal aims. I’m 57 in August and just getting to the airport this morning was a challenge.

PP: If you could go back and change anything in your career, what would you change?

JW: Probably every stupid mistake I ever made. Perfection and diplomacy rarely coexists. I would have probably taken a chance and gone to Eastern Europe prior to the fall of communism like Anthony Suau did. His book “Beyond The Fall” was an exceptional work. We both share passion for Leicas.

There doesn’t seem to be any stopping Jeff Widener on his continued journey in making beautiful, real photographs. It’s seemingly in his blood, and we can’t wait to see what else is in store.

We’d like to thank Jeff for his time spent answering our questions.

For more information on Widener’s work, visit his official website.

Image credits: Portrait of Jeff Widener by Corinna Seidel, photographs by Jeff Widener

Thank God, I am now a gear minimalist focused on photography and a big fan of “limitation creativity” (i.e. you are more creative with less)… But here’s the truth, I used to be a huge gear junkie, basically having Gear Acquisition Syndrome (G.A.S.) as soon as I got a new camera. I had this problem since the very beginning, but now I am cured. In one sense I am trying to help those who know they have G.A.S. to stop having it and trying to prevent others from having it.

I might sound preachy and maybe harsh but please know that I am preaching and being hard on myself first because I wasted a lot of money and time because of my gear addiction. I hope this helps you in some way and I wish someone was there to tell me these things.

When reading this article please understand that I LOVE gear but I am aiming at G.A.S., the syndrome that makes you hoard gear that you don’t really need and get stuff for the sake of getting it.

I always knew I had a problem

My first foray into photography was because of G.A.S.. I had a friend that had a cool looking professional camera and one day realized that I could afford it. And did. I got my Nikon D80. It’s OK to enter photography by loving the toys first, but the problem was, I didn’t stick with the camera I got. It went downhill from there.

My painful list of cameras

I can’t really remember how many cameras I owned. All that I know is that I didn’t need them at all, but just the basics. I had a Nikon D80; then it was too big. I got a Samsung NX; then I wanted a retro camera. Got the Olympus PEN; then missed viewfinder. Got a Pentax K20D. Tried a Pentax Limited lens, loved it so much I bought another one.

Then I had some fantasies in my head about being a film photographer. I got an Olympus XA, Pentax 110 and Pentax Optio i10 then I was like, “I want the best image quality.” Got a Fuji 6×9 with loads of film.

Then I had another fantasy of being like Ansel Adams, I had a custom made large format 4×5 camera with Graflex Back, Fuji Readyload loader and Polaroid loader, plus loads of film. Then I felt everything was too big and got one GXR, then another, then another, then another.

I had a Alienbee Ringlash and 2 Sunpak 120js, a bunch of flashes, reflectors, Vagabond battery pack, etc. That’s the abridged version, by the way — I had other cameras like the Sigma DP1 and others. I just don’t remember the rationalization behind them.

G.A.S is universal

But it wasn’t cameras only mind you, I had PDAs and phones. Nokia N900, Nokia N800, Nokia E90, Sony Experia, a random HTC smartphone, Nokia Comunicator 3200, NTT Docomo Sigmarion III, Hp Jornada 720, Nec Mobilepro, Sony Clie z, bunch of Palm PDAs, Fujitsu UMPC, Fossil PDA watch, etc. Thank God I didn’t get too deep into camera bags!

A sure way to know you have G.A.S is that you start buying not just cameras, but also everything else like bags, gadgets and other gizmos.

I wasn’t rich

Woah, you must think I was LOADED right? No, it was just a matter of selling what I had to buy some new stuff. I always lost money in selling in addition to the eBay and Paypal fees. In total — and I don’t want to even know if you want to know the truth — I lost thousands of dollars. That could have gone to savings, down payment on a house or a college fund.

I’m a royal idiot. Don’t follow that route. I remember when my wife’s family members asked if i was rich because I had all of these cameras. I felt very uneasy, but as an addict I rationalized it and said that they couldn’t possibly understand what a photographer really needs. Truth is, you don’t need much gear to create great work.

I never made anything serious

It’s good to have all that gear, IF you do something serious with it. That was not the case in my story. I shot two rolls of film with the Fuji 6×9 and sold it with 19 rolls of Ilford HP5. The large format? About 7 shots. All that lighting gear? I even had a 90-inch umbrella! I barely made a few shots with them.

I barely have anything substantial with all my other cameras. All the personal devices? I was still not as productive as I fantasized. You see, throughout my entire professional camera owning career, I stagnated when it came to photography. I was never focused on what I could do right now but always what I could do later, when I got yet another camera or lens.

Understanding the addiction

Here’s how to understand G.A.S. (it’s what helped me): it’s a sort of idolatry. Normally idolatry is anything you put in front of God (yourself, money, etc), but G.A.S is a form of idolatry in the sense that you put gear in front of photography. The main goal is not photography but the acquisition of shiny new toys.

The lie

We lie best to ourselves, because we believe ourselves. I didn’t need all these cameras but bought them anyway. I had reasons, I told myself, to buy them. I had GOOD reasons too, I told myself, to sell them.

The line that always got me was “It’s an investment” — all my cameras were investments in my mind. But investments are worth nothing without commitment. Buying that 4×5 was “an investment” in my landscape photography.

Nevermind that I never really actually took landscape seriously. The only “landscape” I got out of that camera was a scene of an empty school yard at nautical twilight. That shot is still in the Readyload sheet. So is my two rolls of 120 film, a bunch of 35mm cans and all of my 110 film canisters.

I somehow believed the recurring lie that somehow my photography would be unleashed with a new camera or lens, how much better how I would be. I would think that while being oblivious to the fact that I never advanced in my photography because I was too busy to get cameras to learn anything or too shoot anything. What an idiot. I could have been 3 times the photographer I am today if I didn’t have G.A.S. So much time wasted.

Beware of making excuses to buy another camera, you will always find one. Heck, speaking of excuses some dude sued his own parents because of how bad he turned out!

The truth

The truth is we don’t need much gear, but only the minimum for what we do. Street photographers need less than wedding photographers, for example.

The truth is, there is no perfect camera — only compromise. What I think is the best camera might be annoying to you and vice versa. It’s all about dealing with idiosyncrasies. Every camera will have issues but it’s not the end of the world. Just deal with it.

Throughout all the years of buying and selling cameras and losing time and money, I could have been such a better photographer. I wouldn’t understate it if I said all I needed (except for maybe the paid work) for my photography was one camera. My Ricoh GRD IV would have been perfect, but seriously, any camera would have done great, even an obsolete one.

The infernal cycle

Those who bought the Fujifilm X100 quickly felt limited because of the lack of interchangeable lenses. Those who bought the Fujifilm X-Pro felt limited because they do not have one more lens. When they get them all and then it will feel limited because of how small APS-C sensors are. They also feel limited by the dynamic range of digital.

They buy a Fuji 6×9 (superb camera) and then they feel limited because it’s too big, and too limited because of the lack of feedback from film — then they go back to digital.

It’s a infernal cycle that will never stop if we don’t put a break to it. The story above would have been my rationalization if I went with a X100. It’s a cycle, you always find a criticism for a camera and somehow end up with a camera similar to you original one.

What photographers who have everything don’t have

I had many cameras, but I could have them all and still not have one thing: enough. When is the amount of stuff we have enough? When is one more lens enough?

When gear becomes validation

Olivier the Photographer. It rhymes so it must be true. I am photographer! What did I have to show for it? Cameras. There’s only two ways you can validate yourself as a photographer, either by pursuing your intent or hide behind cameras. I chose the later option. The better the camera, the better pillar it became for me to hide behind.

Buying more and more as insecurity

I then realized what was happening, I was insecure in my photography so I was finding it in cameras. When you get a new camera you feel like you can take on Eugene Smith or something. But after the high, I needed my next fix to hide my insecurities.

That’s why I could never have enough cameras, I needed more and more stuff to hide behind, to validate myself. I needed to look at a camera and say “Don’t worry man, you’re a photographer, you have a camera, you’re a photographer.” It was of course rooted in my insecurities.

Now I am secure in my own photography because I know my intent and work towards it. I’m getting better every day. I don’t need a camera to feel secure, because I now trust myself to actually deliver.

How I Started Breaking Free from G.A.S.

I knew it had to stop. I mean, I had so much stuff that I had to have a conversation with my wife every time I got some new gear coming in. “It’s a better camera”, “It’s sharper than the one I had,” “It’s more compact”, “It’s 5 fps.”

You know the feeling when you’ve cried wolf too many times? She was oblivious to my rationalization but never really put my back on the wall. I would have gotten defensive anyways. After all I’m a photographer, and only a photographer knows what they need… right?

I’m now free from G.A.S., I did certain things to kick the habit that only later I would learn is a process that Alcoholics Anonymous and other addiction recovery places use.

I took two decisive steps to break free from the addiction: (1) replacing the old beliefs with new ones, and then (2) moving beyond the camera. But first let’s see how habits work in order to kick the G.A.S. habit.

Prime directive

Ever watched Robocop? The android man always had some things in his mind that were programmed: the prime directives. Even if he wanted to he couldn’t go pass these prime directives. For example, one is “Protect the innocent” — he couldn’t harm them even if he wanted to.

Habits are like prime directives, you fall prey to them even if you didn’t want to. A gambler doesn’t want to lose their money, but they do anyways because they can’t help it. The very interesting thing is that, just like Robocop, your brain can be rewired to change habits.

The thing is, your brain craves to be on autopilot — otherwise it would be overwhelmed — so it creates habits, in order to do things on automatic mode. The habits you have basically short circuit your rationality. If G.A.S. is a habit, you will buy the camera or lens without even really thinking about it.

The popular book “The Power of Habit” outlines an example of a man that had terrible short term memory. He couldn’t draw a map of the house, but he could go the bathroom or go to the kitchen without any issues, all because they were habits engrained in his brain.

The G.A.S. habit

G.A.S is an addiction because it’s a habit. We condition our brains to respond a certain way to certain triggers and gives us what we wanted: A brain that reacts automatically under certain conditions. First, the bad news: habits cannot be erased. The good news: they can be overwritten. Turns out there’s 3 components of habits: Trigger, Routine and Reward. G.A.S addiction has these 3 components too.

G.A.S. Trigger

A trigger is of course something that triggers the pattern. In case of G.A.S my triggers were forums and gear websites. But it can be anything like friends talking about cameras to simply seeing the gear in the wild.

I would be on my merry way looking at gear blogs (the blog that claim to be about photography but they’re mainly about gear) or forums when it would hit me. A lens porn thread, or a camera porn thread. Forget it if these cameras had some dressing up involved, like with leather cases! Never mind if no great pictures taken with the camera were posted, I had a kick from looking at the camera alone.

G.A.S. Routine

This will vary from person to person, but as soon as the trigger was pulled, I would feel uneasy. I have to get that camera, that lens. I can’t shoot anymore. My photography is worthless without that piece of gear. I have to get it.

What can I sell? 2-3 cameras I can now live without? Throw in some extra stuff like a bag? Can I swing it after the rent? I need to get it! I usually tell myself I would get the new camera AFTER I sell the others but if I could swing it I would buy it before putting anything on eBay.

G.A.S. Rewards

I think I speak for everyone when I say that the reward of G.A.S. is instant gratification. You feel like FINALLY you can be a photographer. FINALLY it’s going to happen — you’re going to take d*mn great pictures.

It’s the most awesomest camera ever and Eugene Smith can eat his heart out. But the euphoria does not last, wait a couple of months. Rise and repeat and you have an infernal cycle that costs time and money.

An example

In my list, I forgot to mention one big, stupid buy: the Nikon N90, so I’m going to use it as an example of the G.A.S habit loop. Here I was, browsing the Internet and somehow ended up in Wikipedia when BAM!, I saw this picture:

That picture had such an effect on me. It’s a PDA, there are data cards, there are cameras! It was like a foot fetishist who also had a strawberry fetish (Does that even exist?) who was looking at a picture of someone crushing strawberries with their feet. Weird. But you get the idea. I was my first exposure to the Nikon Data Link System. That was the trigger.

The routine: Search like crazy for all that I can about it. Is it even obtainable? Can I afford it? How much do I need? Do I need to sell anything? Does eBay have it? Amazon? Will I have some $$$ left after the rent? I bought a stupid PDA for $80, some rare card for $40 and got the cable down to $40 (instead of $60. Hey, better than nothing!).

The reward: Heaven. Put that thing on a tripod, took selfies of my wife and me at the beach. I don’t know how much of an idiot I looked like with a dumb PDA and pressing a button to make that thing focus and pressing another to make the shutter release go off. Woah. The card can hold so much information about the film rolls, like ISO, f/stop and all!

I had a PDA and something useful for my photography. Sweet! It was gone in less than a month.

All this for the experience of a glorified remote release and data back? It was not a rational decision but I bought it out of habit: I want, I lust, I buy.

Reprogramming the G.A.S. Habit

Apparently the way to rewire the brain to break a habit is to change the routine, keeping the trigger and rewards. If you are craving a cookie, there was a trigger (Maybe reading the word?) and you want that Reward (Feeling good). To kick that habit you simply need to learn to replace the Routine (Eat the cookie) with another one (Eat Apple).

That’s what I did, I replaced the G.A.S pattern with another pattern. Actually there’s 2 aspects to the G.A.S routine: The intellectual talk and the action, both are necessary to rewire in my opinion. Every time the G.A.S trigger was pressed, a slew of self talk kicked in, from “I NEED this”, to “I will BE a BETTER photographer” and the like.

Below are my retorts to counter my G.A.S self talk. Self talk is the rationalization to the action of buying new gear, I had to deal with it first, fore the action. Again, if I sound preachy, please excuse that. I’m preaching to myself first, and sometimes I need some butt whoopin’

Self talk: New is good

I don’t know about you, I like new things. Doesn’t have to be a new product but a new thing for me. I was addicted to it. Part of the G.A.S self talk was “Hey Olivier, you’re going to get some NEW stuff, imagine how it’s going to be like holding that new camera, it’s going to change the game, but you need to get it first”.

The turning point came when I asked myself WHEN will there be nothing new. The answer: Never. There will ALWAYS be something new to buy, some new camera, some new gizmo. If I didn’t stop it it would suck my life dry. “There will always be a better camera than yours, deal with it”, I told myself.

So what if another camera is better than mine? Does it mean that mine cease taking great pictures? No. So why even get a new one? I had to stop fantasizing on what I could have and start appreciating what I had. The whole premise behind my free GRD IV ebook is to help folks enjoy their camera more. And, after a few email exchanges, I believe it hit the spot.

Self talk: I’m going to be happier

“Olivier, that camera would make you SO much more happy! I mean look at all you will be able to accomplish with it!” Sure I would be happy. For less than a week, that is.

Would that be TRUE happiness? Nope, it was the contrary. After the sudden high, I would be depressed because I don’t have another camera. Every time that self talk of “It will make me happier” comes to my mind, I tell myself TRUE happiness comes from enjoying what you have.

I don’t know about you, but I’m the richest 1% of the population when it comes to comparing what I own to the world. 99% poor in the US, but 1% rich in the world, it’s all about perspective.

Actually, let me make you enjoy your next shower. When growing up, I didn’t have running water and I din’t have hot water. I used to shower with a bucket and a cup, with boiling water thrown in. Quite the perspective shift from something that is so basic right?

That’s the easiest G.A.S. self talk to defeat when it comes to my mind. When a thought of a new camera comes, I shift the focus to my current gear, how much I love my trusty Ricoh GRD IV and my NEX 7, and not what a next camera can do for me. I probably can do whatever I fantasize with my current gear.

I think about how lucky I am to even have those cameras and have enough time to take pictures while some are struggling to pay their rent. It never fails to drive the lie that a new piece of gear would make me happy. Counting your blessings is the way to go, I’m better off than 99% of the world’s population, and I need a new camera to be happy? Thank you for opinion, Mr Self Talk, but I have more than enough to rejoice.

Self talk: You will become a better photographer

Oh I love this one. “Olivier, 9fps, it’s going to make you an awesome photographer!”, “Dude, you NEED that 1.4 it’s going to bokeh that background to the moon, you’ll take better portraits”. G.A.S. talk tells you you will become a better photographer, that is not so.

It might expand your creative liberties but hardly make you a better photographer. G.A.S has a tendency to blow a feature out of proportion, like the holy grail, even if you never relied on it in the past. I have a 10 fps camera, but have never used it, even in event situations. I had a f/1.4, barely used it at that aperture because the focus was too easy to miss.

None of my cameras made me a better photographer, for sure, they had a psychological effect on me, but they mainly made me miserable because I had too much gear that I changed too fast and didn’t take the time to create meaningful work.

Pressing on with your current gear when everybody else is upgrading will make you a better photographer. My mother used to be a pottery artist, I used to watch her hands molding that pot, forming it into what she wanted. Her hands where her tools. She knew how every little movement could have a drastic change on the pot when it was turning. Her focus was never on her hands, what she needed to do to accomplish the shape, her focus was the image of the pot on her mind’s eye.

My tool and your tool is the camera, and the more you know it, the less camera there will be between what you have in your Vision. I think one of the keys to better photography is not to upgrade the camera but to upgrade your relationship with it, know it like the back of your hands. Plus by then, you won’t want to separate yourself from it. After all the best camera is the one you love.

Also the very bad consequence of that self talk is that you start associating the camera with being a good photographer. Getting more camera didn’t make me one, it simply provided me some more stuff to hide behind. I’m a photographer: look at my camera. Mediocrity hidden behind superb gear didn’t make me better, only mediocre behind great gear.

I won’t fool myself, my gear hoarding was because I didn’t want to face the fact that I just wasn’t a good shooter, so I bought more and more to hide that fact. Compensating for a weakness is the nail on the head. I’m not saying it’s the case for everyone but it was my personal case. There are many reasons for buying more and more gear (Maybe sense of lack?), my personal one was to hide my weaknesses.

My PDA collection was to hide the fact that I was never really productive, no matter what system I used. Every piece of gear I bought was an excuse, it provided me a way to rationalize my mediocrity: I’m a mediocre photographer because I have a new camera I have to learn, you can’t expect me to create great pictures with something new right?

Self talk: You are going to look cool

That used to get me a lot when I was fresh in the game. Big DSLR = Instant street cred.

“Dude, you’re going to look SO cool with that camera in your hands,” I told myself when I had my hard earned $500+ in the pocket to buy my Nikon D80. The bigger the camera, the more it screamed photographer, the better it is. The respect of the photographer is in the gear he owns, never failing to flaunt your camera’s curves… or so I believed.

If I wanted to be a respected photographer, I needed to stop wasting my money on gear, and actually start producing work. When the hint of something along the lines of “This camera LOOKS cool” I immediately tell myself “I can create COOL IMAGES with my current gear”. I shift the attention from the looks of the camera to what really matters: The Images.

It’s hard to resist because nowadays, we are in a sort of digital plateau where every camera is pretty much good enough, so the differentiation point is no more megapixel power as it was years ago but the looks. I’m personally a sucker for the rangefinder looks. The X-Pro temps me from time to time, but I am quick to point to myself that good looks don’t do nothing for images and the photographer’s eye.

Self talk: Everybody uses that new camera!

“Do what you want Olivier, but everyone is getting that new camera, you should too, or else! It’s like having an iPhone 1G or something.” That’s the old “Let’s jump into the bandwagon and use what every one else uses” self talk.

What I have found out is that there is a guilty pleasure in using what other people consider outdated. If you shoot with a sub par camera and produce great results, that’s more respect than if you shot a great frame with a full-frame camera. Look at these pics from a 5 megapixel point and shoot, my NEX7 will never impress me like that. I boosts self confidence less than new equipment because it focuses the attention on the photographer and less the equipment.

Most of what I write on my blog, all my articles over at Inspired Eye, and my free guides were written on a 20 year old HP100lx computer. Most of my photography is done on small sensor cameras. How can I not feel a confidence boost when somebody blogs on a shiny new $2000 computer, or when someone takes pictures with a $3000 full-frame camera?

There’s nothing wrong with that, mind you, but if I got that kind of gear, I would not get the kick of self confidence I would get by using outdated gear. I mean, who’s more impressive? The Egyptians who built the pyramids with wood, stone and manpower or the contractors who builds modern buildings with computers and mountain moving machinery?

Self talk: I think I should get back to film

OOOoooh boy, this is the big one! That nasty self talk made me lose so much money. I bought a custom made 4×5 camera and all that film and backs — about $1500 for the camera, three different backs and loads of film. Didn’t shoot 10 frames, sold it for an abysmal $500 without even pulling out eBay fees and PayPal fees.

“Maybe I should get into film” is the G.A.S. self talk the digital photographers are weak to listen to, I believe. Every time that self talk comes, it’s usually about how better the dynamic range is or the how the colors are. That talk can’t fool me anymore! Here’s what’s going on in my head:

So Olivier, let me get this straight, you want to go to film because you want better dynamic range and colors you can’t get in digital right?
Yes……why?
Well Mr film photographer, tell me what you will do when you finish taking pictures?
I get them developed!
Yes and what else?
I get them scanned!
OOOoooh so you’re going to get them scanned right?
Yea? So?
So basically you are making a digital image out of an analog image, meaning all this talk about dynamic range and color is ludicrous because it’s thrown out when you digitize it with a scanner. Whatever extra stuff you had is gone and you are now back to a digital image. Wouldn’t it be better to have a digital camera that is hum……DESIGNED to take advantage of sRGB Color Spaces?

That usually ends it right then and there. Why would I want to put in extra steps and extra money only to have a digital image left? I’m looking at the Contax G2 body, a mere $250 because I have some lenses for my NEX-7. Would be a killer digital-film combo right? It would make sense if I kept some work analog and some digital but if I’m going to end up with digital images, why spend that money in the first place? The above retort easily keeps that buy at bay without even dealing with developing matters.

Self Talk: I will make money off my eBay sale

Cameras are like cars, they depreciate as soon as they go off the parking lot. Sometimes the incentive to sell a camera is that it would bring me a new camera AND some pocket money. That rarely happened. I lost an average of 100-200 on each camera, not talking eBay fees and PayPal fees. My Ricoh GXRs? Oh boy… lost a lot from those because they were unpopular cameras.

You see, not everyone has G.A.S, so when I was buying from eBay, I was impatient and wanted to Buy It Now, sometimes loosing money I could have saved by being patient on a bid that would end in days. Also, did I say I had a thing for portable storage devices like the Epson P5000? Let’s move on less I digress.

So not everybody acted like me, I was usually was impatient to sell a camera because I was impatient to get another one. So I either left it on 1 or 3 day sale and made an attractive offer on buy it now options, usually around $50. Very rarely did I sell more than I bought a camera for. I lost money, never really made any selling.

Self talk: You NEED that camera or lens!

“Olivier, you can’t make it without that lens, without that camera!”. I believed that when I was fresh into G.A.S. Take my rationale behind buying the 4×5 camera, I told myself I NEEDED this camera to do some landscape work. Oh man, I would go to National Parks, I would trek the mountains, create killer work! I would be the next Ansel Adams I tell ya!

The truth was, I never shot a traditional landscape in my life up to this point. I never woke up for magic hour, I never set foot in the landscape opportunities that Long Island offered, etc. Fact is, I didn’t need much to be a photographer. I wasn’t a pro, all I needed was one camera, the Ricoh GRD IV would have been perfect. Now as a commercial photographer, the NEX-7 and a few basic lenses (12mm-24mm-90mm) is more than enough for me.

G.A.S has a tendency to promise you you will be a transformed photographer when you get your new purchase. I bought ring flashes, Sunpak 120js, reflectors, umbrellas cuz my G.A.S told me I would be a fashion photographer (Triggered by a friend who had the gear). Nevermind that it was not what my heart was telling me, I bought everything. Please note that I never used my flash that I had, EVER, not even for a lit portrait. When my G.A.S self talk tells me I can be a whatever photographer if I get some piece of equipment I check my past and my future intent, if it has no place, I reject it as b.s. Reminds me….about that 4×5, I sold it because film was too much hassle (Can anyone say irrational? After I bought ALL the gear?) I was still fantasizing about landscapes so I went ahead and bought a Gigapan. Used about 3-4 times.

More gear doesn’t make you more creative

Human history is proof that more can be achieved because of limitations. Humans that could fly would not invent the airplane. Humans that could run 120mph would not invent the automobile. Creativity thrives on limitation because the brain is problem solving oriented. Take a look at this selection of photographs, all made with a 28mm. It’s the biggest coup de grace when I have a G.A.S. attack, I know by experience that the less gear and the less stuff you have, the better it is.

There is one episode of Batman (the old one) were they were so low on dough (budget cuts…) that they had a GENIUS idea for a fight scene that would cost too much to produce: Robin says something like “Gee Batman, this is going to turn violent, better turn off the lights!” The scene goes black with sounds and graphics of KAPOWS! and WAM!, etc. Cheapest fight scene ever and limitation creativity in action. Instead of zooming in or changing the lens because you have many options, one lens will force you to make it work. Check out this article on the freedom of the 28mm. Creativity springs when you restrict your options, not when you have more. I know this first hand as a graphic designer, the best designs are only a handful of colors and elements.

Let me save you hundreds (thousands?) and lots of pain

My pain, your gain. I’ve lost time and money in G.A.S., and let me tell you what I have learned:

• Gear doesn’t make you better
• Too much gear makes you miserable
• The more gear you have, the less time you spend shooting with each piece (Streetshooter calls this the Inverse Square Law)
• Gear can become something to hide insecurities
• The less gear the more creative
• Much happier with less gear

A more balanced view

I don’t want to sound like I’m never going to buy another camera again. I am. I’m just more sober to make the difference between what I WANT and what I NEED. One thing not to do as a gear head is to head to forums and blogs where it’s all about gear. There’s a healthy balance, I talk about gear on my blog because it’s a necessity, a requirement but it’s not vitality. Vitality is photography, not gear.

If a blog claims to be a photography blog yet only talks about gear, stay away if you are an addict, it’s like trying to resist smoking at a smoking bar. The lessons I learned throughout my G.A.S. phases is simple: Gear is good, but there is more to photography than cameras.

Gear can either be an hindrance or a stepping stone. It can either block your way to become the great photographer I believe is in each of us, or it can be the stepping stone to that goal. It hindered me for way too long, and I believe those who are fresh to photography are more prone to it, I hope I scared you enough not to go the G.A.S route. My venture into photography started with G.A.S, but unfortunately I fed the fire, and it stayed until I deprived it of wood.

The action steps I took to break free from gear addiction

After the self talk, there’s usually an action I do so that a man in brown magically appears in front of my door with a new camera. I’m going to outline the steps I took to move away from G.A.S and let go of the camera.

Relapse

On the road to recovery from gear, I almost relapsed if I didn’t catch a greater trigger than just looking at gear online. Right after pretty much severing myself from Gear, something happened. I started buying more and more photography books and software. Heck I found myself searching for what software I needed to buy but didn’t need. I was shifting the addiction from gear to books and software, and if I didn’t cut it there I would have been in trouble again.

That’s when I realized there was also a money pattern on top of the pattern of looking at cameras: I conditioned my brain to buy buy buy if I had the money. That 4×5 camera I was talking about? The G.A.S attack came right after I did some branding work and poster work for a hedge fund. It was a pattern inside another pattern. Careful to be conscious of your triggers!

Replacing G.A.S. actions with photography actions

When G.A.S. hits it’s usually self talk, and then taking action. How cool the camera is, how happy I would be, then I would immediately take action like search for the camera online, and then bring my finances in alignment and then hit buy. Your brain does not discriminate habits, it can’t make the difference between good and bad habits. Only I could take the bad habits and transform them into good habits, the key is I HAVE to replace the habit because habits can only be overwritten, not deleted.

I made my self talk retorts such a habit that they come as automatically as I see something pleasing to the eye (Read: Sexy camera in half leather case). But I also had to counter the action steps to counter the G.A.S actions steps I took.

The fork in the road

Imagine a road, and there is a split in the road. One path goes right, the other goes left. Every step you take in the left road will make your further and further away from the right road. I am sure that that isn’t the case for everybody but that was gear addiction for me, the more I went on the gear road, the further away I was from photography. When I realized this, I was sure the opposite was also bound to be true.

I had to search out for my intent, what the heck did I really want? Did I really want to become the best darn photographer I could be or did I just want to own cameras? There’s nothing wrong with both — some people just want to collect cameras, but I wasn’t one of those. I wanted to be a photographer and be the best I could be (That will also be the case until I die). After that soul searching, I started walking back, towards the other road. I also broke free creatively while doing so.

Replacing the routine

Like I stated earlier, the key to reforming habits is to keep the triggers and the rewards, but change the routine. Alcoholic Anonymous folks have a buddy system, when the trigger is pulled, simply call your buddy or mentor ASAP, changing the routine from alcohol to people.

In my case, I knew my triggers, simply seeing a hot camera. My rewards was the feelings of fulfillment: I own a camera, therefore I am a photographer. Owning that large format camera made me feel in the same lineage as Ansel Adams. Owning that 35mm camera made me feel like I was just like Bresson or Kertez or something. Fulfillment was the key, I wanted to be a fulfilled photographer. I simply had to do something that gave me that fulfilment that did not involve buying more and more.

Finding fulfillment

I said earlier that G.A.S is like idolatry. The cure to my G.A.S was simply to shift my focus from the idol to the source. My idol was gear, the source was Photography. The more I immersed myself in photography, the more I was oblivious to gear. I started viewing gear as good, but G.A.S as a hindrance to my photographic intentions.

If I wanted to be the best photographer I could be I needed to stop investing into gear and invest more into Photography. That’s the simple secret. It gave birth to my motto: There is more to photography than gear.

Gear is good, but it’s like being in a secluded house when there is a whole earth to explore. Before I could not see beyond the camera, but now I see photography — a much more interesting subject than I would have imagined possible.

Every thousand mile journey starts with a first step. I saw the long term goal: To be a photographer, and just took the first step. Each step that I took took me closer and closer to my goals and further and further from gear. Here’s the specific steps I took to liberate myself from gear addiction.

Believe you can do it

If you don’t believe in yourself, nobody will do so for you. Before doing anything I believed two things: I believed I would become better and I believed I would let go of the camera. It’s mind over matter. If you think you will fail or if you think you will succeed, you are probably right.

Action Step: Appreciating your own gear

I made it a point that upon seeing my cameras, I make a conscious effort to appreciate them. I can safely say that I didn’t appreciate most, if not all of my past purchases, so it had to change. When I look at my Ricoh GRD IV, I always remind myself of how it takes great pictures, how great it handles, how much I love having it. It makes me attached to my cameras, making me focus on what I have instead of what I do not have.

When someone says online how awesome some other camera is, I immediately shift my thoughts to my current gear and how awesome they are. So when someone says “XXX is amazing”, instead on dwelling on that camera and it’s looks, I dwell on my own and how amazing they are. If find it a necessity to actively be grateful for my gear because I don’t even want to entertain the idea that another camera would serve me better — i’s the classic G.A.S excuse.

Action Step: Go out and shoot

A reader emailed me to say that he was researching a certain camera when he stumbled upon my website, he said I made him want to take what he already owned and go shoot. That pretty much sums it up. When I am tempted to dwell on another purchase, I just go out and shoot. If I can’t, I just make a mental check to see when I can actually go out and shoot. Even if I don’t follow through for any reason, it doesn’t matter because the action step is simply to replace “get something else” with “Go out and shoot”. The more you take great shots with your camera the more you will appreciate it too.

Action Step: Work on your photography

Sometimes it happens, you just can’t go out to shoot. It’s ok, there are other ways to work on your own photography. You can always go in your catalog and get a fresh vision for your old stuff. Or you can simply do some readings on photography, how to get better, the past photographers, or maybe watch a documentary (you can find a listing of streaming ones here) or work on your own blog. G.A.S mainly works on impulse, letting it slide off your mind by immersing yourself in photography will allow you to sober up.

Action Step: Accountability

Well, be accountable. To yourself, but hopefully with a partner. Tell your partner that you won’t buy a new piece of gear and hopefully your sense of pride won’t let you because if you do, you would fail in front of someone else. I didn’t have a formal partner, but the unease to always give some explanations to my wife for every piece of gear was a sort of accountability.

Action step: Finding fulfillment

You find photographic fulfilment by working towards your photographic intent. My intent is to express myself through my photography, ergo, every step I take towards that intent made me feel fulfilled. If you want to be a pro, working each day by reading some professional books or techniques will make you feel fulfilled. Simply stated, aligning yourself with your intent will make you feel fulfilled. When I have a G.A.S trigger, what I do automatically (because I rewired my brain) is to simply do something that aligns myself with my intent. I either go shoot, or read photographic stuff or simply think about my own photography. I then feel fulfilled, and, like having eaten all your veggies, you won’t have space for cookies. It’s the same trigger, same reward, but different response. Instead of wanting more gear, I want more photography

Final Blow: Marrying photography

The final blow to G.A.S is to get married to photography. It’s like telling that nasty boyfriend or girlfriend that they had their chance but you’re moving on by getting married. How do you get married you say? You simply create something tangible photographically. What do I mean by this? Well you can print, create a blog, do a project, share at a photo club, etc. Creating something tangible with your photography will make you have a vested interest in photography, thereby “marrying it”.

I really recommend setting up a blog, it doesn’t have to be amazing — even a modest blog will do (a Tumblr is perfect). Every image you put onto it will strengthen your willpower against G.A.S. because you are investing in your own photography. Even if you don’t get comments it’s OK because you are working on your own photography for your own pleasure.

Speaking of comments… I just had a thought: what if a part of why people have G.A.S was simply because it’s what gets attention online? You post about your camera, you get comments, you post about your photography, you probably don’t — it’s something to think about further.

Here’s how I invested in photography: I sought to make a portfolio, forcing me to actually get the images. I feel like a million bucks being the one who shot my images, a much superior and ever lasting feeling than actually buying a piece of gear for a short euphoria. Way afterwards I made this blog, and with my super partner Don “Streetshooter” we made Street Presets and Inspired Eye. Many of my magazine readers tell me that they just want to go out and shoot and be better. To me that confirms my theory that investing in one’s photography will remove the G.A.S. Amen!

Food for thought

The big gleaning from my past addiction, I think, is that photography and gear operate on the basis of the inverse square law. The more you invest in gear the less interest in photography. The more you invest in photography the less interest in gear. That’s what my experience and my research (lurking around forums and all) taught me, if your experience differs I’m all ears.

The whole point of this massive article is not to make you stop being an addict, but only to channel that addiction to photography. I was a gear addict, now I am a photography addict. That’s a huge difference.

About the author: Olivier Duong is a Haitian-French-Vietnamese documentary photographer living in Fort Lauderdale, FL. From ex-gear addict to gear minimalist he is senior editor-in-chief of Inspired Eye magazine and co-creator of Street Presets with Don Springer. Check out his blog and please follow him on Twitter and Google+). This article originally appeared as a three part series here, here, and here.

Let me say this right at the outset. This is not another high and mighty rant against cell phone cameras, Instagram, “art” filters, Lightroom presets, etc. You’re not about to read another gripe about everything that photography has become in the twenty-first century, even though I was afraid that’s what it would sound like when I started writing this.

I actually thought I had this all figured out. I actually thought I knew how I felt about all that low rent, push button nonsense that shows up on my Facebook news feed every few seconds (whoops, that slipped out — sorry).

To illustrate the worn-out parable I like to use to explain why my nose is always in such an elevated orientation whenever I talk about Instagram, I even recruited two of my students, Sarah and Jackie, to dress up in their finest worn out jeans for me. I wanted to create my own edgy little filter effect, complete with a 4×5 Ektachrome film edge so that you would all think that I am a fine art purist who never crops my work. I’m not, but I do like to tell stories, so here goes…

Those of us of a certain age remember what blue jeans used to be like. Worn right off the rack, they appeared to be made of some sort of ballistic cotton that could stop a small-caliber rifle round, and were so stiff that we couldn’t bend our knees in them for the first few weeks. We bought them six inches too long because, of course, they would shrink when first washed and because they would last so long that we would “grow into them”.

But we loved our jeans. We mourned their loss when, years later, time and Tide inevitably reduced them to a series of holes held together by mere threads.

Nowadays, of course, we usually don’t just buy jeans, we buy “fashion jeans”. We buy them distressed, weathered, acid-washed, stone washed, sandblasted, belt-sanded and otherwise intentionally worn the hell out.

Jeans used to be a journey, not a destination; a promise, not a product. In the way they shrank, faded, and eventually ripped and disintegrated, they reflected the accumulation of our life’s adventures, our authentic experience.

But like so much else in our post-modern smorgasbord of infinite choice and empty meaning, fashion jeans have traded the journey for the destination, the promise for the product. We want our jeans, and perhaps by extension ourselves, to look like they’ve been somewhere without the inconvenience of actually having to go there. We want them to look that way NOW and at whatever cost. With our fashion jeans, we are buying our own back story.

That’s how I have always regarded the manufactured character of Instagram and its kissin’ cousins. Authenticity seems to have become aspirational instead of just a state of being that exists for no other reason than that it can’t exist any other way. Sound familiar?

I usually get my head handed to me every time I go down this road, so don’t bother telling me I’m an idiot. As I’m about to show you, I have someone in-house who reminds me of that on a regular basis.

A couple of weeks ago, my significant other and I climbed Mount Washington in New Hampshire. Jenny is a highly accomplished designer as well as a very talented amateur photographer. All the way up those 6,288 feet, she shot pictures with her iPhone and posted them to Facebook. It was fun, because it was almost as if our friends were making the hike with us (without the inconvenience of having to break a sweat, come to think of it…) But I shot my RAW files with a high quality point and shoot camera, a Canon G11, and processed them later.

After nearly five hours of steady uphill trudgery, we reached the rocky summit in a driving microburst of rain and hail. Luckily, the highest mountain in the Northeastern US is a popular tourist trap as well as a rugged backcountry destination. We found facilities and a number of exit strategies to get off the mountain safely. Ninety dollars scored us the last two downbound spots on the most unique option, the kitschy Mount Washington Cog Railway.

Driving back to our hotel about an hour later, Jenny shot a picture through the windshield of the car as rain pelted the glass. She pushed and poked at it for a few minutes on the screen of her iPhone, then held it up for me to behold.

“Check this out” she announced.

“Is that Instagram?” I asked carefully, fearful of what I was about to step in.

“It is. Kinda looks like I shot it with a Holga, doesn’t it?”

“Well, it sort of looks like that, soft and vignetted at the edges… I guess one question I would ask myself is, ‘do I want to make my digital images LOOK like they were shot with a Holga, or do I want the experience of actually SHOOTING with a Holga?’ For me, it’s always been the latter.”

Then I gave her the little speech on the subject that I’ve repeated so many times. I should have known better.

“I’ve always tried to make the point with my students that a Holga is the ultimate ‘point and pray’ camera. It delivers no guarantees but lots of surprises, exactly the opposite of what should be coming out of your digital camera or your phone. A Holga image looks the way it does because it just can’t look any other way.”

“Now, to my pea brain at least, that is a whole lot different than taking an extremely high quality digital image (which, incidentally, also looks the way it does because of the tool that made it) and running it through a software filter designed to make it look like something it isn’t. Pictures shot with a real Holga and with a Holga filter in Instagram both have character, maybe even similar character, but from a process standpoint (and process is really what this all comes down to) one is what it is and the other is what it isn’t. Or it is what it wants to be, not what it has to be…”

“You’re an idiot” she said. “And I’m not one of your students, so don’t even start. That’s a cool shot. It’s two-thousand-freaking-thirteen, old man. Who cares how I made it?”

“It is a cool shot…” I conceded.

“Oh, please. Just drive.” We rode in silence the rest of the way to the hotel, which gave me some time to really think about the whole thing.

And suddenly, I saw her point. She’s right. It’s two-thousand-freaking-thirteen. Who cares how we make our pictures nowadays?

The problem is, this old man remembers a time (and it wasn’t all that long ago) when being a photographer meant being both an artist and a craftsperson as well as a technician. We didn’t have Facebook or Flickr or Instagram, so if we wanted to show or share our work we made tangible things called prints. Any “style” we lent to our work resulted from the premeditated effect of light and chemistry on a sensitized surface.

Many thought that what some of us made was a representation of truth, many others disagreed, but few could argue with the fact that what we made was true. It reflected the nature of our tools, our materials, our process, our level of commitment and our intellect (or lack thereof). Can we say the same about being a photographer in the digital age?

At the risk of sounding like a hypocrite as well as an idiot, I believe the answer is “YES”.  All one has to do is to look carefully at the parallels between any number of turning points throughout the history of photography and the truly remarkable work that is being produced today using both traditional and cutting edge techniques and technologies, including cell phones and Instagram.

For instance, in the early decades of the twentieth century, avant-garde artist and photographer Man Ray and other proponents of the anarchic art movement Dada were willing to throw out any convention as a rejection of war, conservative politics, capitalism, art elitists, and just about everything else. In doing so, they managed to prove that anything is art and nothing is art, while at the same time unintentionally instigating big new aesthetic shifts.

Seen in that light, could all those porkpie-hatted hipsters be on to something, pointing their iPhones and Instagram filters at anything and everything and their middle fingers at those of us who went through our own cool fads like leisure suits, disco, Bee Gees tattoos and Polaroid transfers? I mean, Dada led to the Surrealists, for crying out loud, and disco led to the Sex Pistols! Who knows where the eventual rejection of hipsterism might lead us?

Faking It, the astonishingly enlightening survey of pre-Photoshop image manipulation published last year in conjunction with the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s same-named exhibition (sponsored by Adobe, interestingly), puts the topic into historical context and the notion of photographic “purity” to rest, maybe even once and for all. In the words of one reviewer, “the old adage ‘the camera does not lie’ is one of photography’s great fictions”.

We’ve always said that it doesn’t matter what kind of camera one uses to make a photograph. We’ve always said that there’s no such thing as an unmanipulated photograph. Was Ansel Adams, previsualizing his photographs with multiple spot meter readings (only to then dodge and burn the living daylights out of them in the darkroom) really all that different than his friend Jerry Uelsmann postvisualizing his with multiple enlargers?

A quick look at Jerry’s work while flipping through the pages of Faking It makes today’s Photoshop gimmickry look more like a logical evolutionary step forward, and less like the revolutionary lurch into a no-holds-barred future we used to think it was. The book even presents Adams’ iconic Moonrise Over Hernandez, NM both in its raw and “performed” state, proving once again that even one of the widely perceived purest of purists always pulled out all the stops to execute his vision.

Folks will come down on either side of this debate over whether too many photographers, amateurs, artists and pros alike, try on different pushbutton prepackaged effects the same way they might try on different pairs of intentionally worn out jeans. “Does this filter make my butt look cross-processed? It doesn’t? How about this one?” To me, though, the whole thing feels more like fashion than photography, and that’s a fickle footrace I’ve always chosen to watch from the sidelines.

But even though Instagram and its offshoots have blurred the line between brilliance and BS like it’s never been gaussian blurred before, great photography across all genres has never been greater than it is right now. Great photography has always been a very, very small subset of the total volume of work produced. Everything else has always been just that– everything else.

But those Instagram pictures sure do look cool, don’t they?

I should go now. My new jeans are in the dryer.

Recently, I was looking through a photo gallery of a potential new hire and was a bit dismayed by her use of a particular photo enhancement editing choice. All of her photos were very overly processed with multiple styles, much like the photo below.  She did have a wonderful eye, and her composition and posing were really lovely. But her processing choices really distracted from the beauty of her work. The people in her photos didn’t look real.

When we met, I asked her about her editing process and how she achieved her apparent style. She said that she used a free action for Photoshop she found online. She really liked the look of it. I asked her if she ever tweaked the action to create her own look or did she just apply it as is. As is, she replied. I slapped my forehead…in my minds eye.

But it got me thinking. So later on, I did an image search for  “family and newborn photography”. And I was immediately struck by two things – lots of hearts & feet (inside joke), and b&w photography will always be classic. But the search also proved something else. There is a lot of photo manipulation going on out there.  Soft baby skin. Bright toddler eyes. Spot saturation. And so on. And for the most part, the majority of it is done well.  But there were the fair share of  those whose work made me cringe.  And I’m sure some of my earlier work would make me wonder what the hell I was thinking. But that’s the point, we learn. We educate ourselves as to what will compete in the market place (while maintaining our artistic point of view.)

But with anything creative, we are influenced by trends. And today, the look of photography is bombarded by trendiness from all sides. And it’s not just directed at the working photographer. It’s directed at the working photographer’s clients. Because, as we know, everyone is a photographer today. Thank you, filter apps.

So in the wild west of actions, presets, and filters, how do we find a balance between creative (and competitive) individuality, art-cultural trends, and timelessness?

One of the regular postings on my purposely curated (save my sanity) Facebook feed comes from a company that primarily develops actions and presets for Photoshop and Lightroom, respectively. I can’t remember how I found MCP Actions, but it was in 2009.  I had just started photographing newborns and needed to develop a set of editing tools to help me deal with issues unique to this type of photography. Unfortunately for me, I’m not a big fan of editing in Photoshop. I needed to streamline my workflow, so consequently, I became a Lightroom gal.  (But I would play around with their PS actions on other projects from time to time.) Thankfully, a couple of years ago, MCP started to develop a line of presets for Lightroom, and it was so nice to finally be able to have a few more options to enlist, along with my own, and keep it fresh.

MCP Actions, in my opinion, does a really cohesive job of advocating for that balance I mentioned. They strike me as the type of photography service provider that develops products to be used for editing with a responsible eye.  And to make sure of it, they will help you with education modules.

Just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to. You know what I mean by that. (HDR real estate photos, yeah I’m talking to you.) Spend some time reading MCP’s Facebook Before & After posts, and the comments, and you’ll understand. 

So I contacted Jodi Friedman, founder and owner of MCP Actions, and asked her if I could interview her. I selected her and her company because a) she’s been around since way back when…2006; and b) it’s my story. No, really, it’s because she has perspective and history, and I wanted to get the other side of the story.

In the interest of not misquoting her, here is our question and answer conversation:

TD: Could you tell me a little more about the time of transitioning from photographer to starting MCP Actions.

JF:  It just happened. I was doing product photography and photo editing for online businesses and children’s product manufacturers. I needed a faster workflow and designed products called “actions” to help speed up the processing. After many inquiries asking “how did you edit this?” I decided to make the few products available to others. I also started teaching online classes to businesses on how to use Photoshop. At first it was one-on-one via desktop sharing. As my audience shifted from online store owners to photographers, I developed group classes in 2007.

TD: What did the PS Actions and LR Presets “world” look like at that time?

JF: When I started, I would say digital photography was picking up steam, but there’s no way there were as many photographers as there are now. I started selling Photoshop actions and doing online training classes in 2006. At first, photographers weren’t even my core audience. Online store owners, such as eBay storefronts and e-commerce clothing shops, were my customers. That changed quickly, and by 2007, I catered almost exclusively to hobbyist and professional photographers.

TD: Was it as competitive as it is now?

JF:   Nope, not at all. Very few companies sold actions back in 2006 and 2007. In fact, I can literally count them on one hand. To my knowledge, nobody had live online Photoshop classes when I first offered them. Now, I see a few new actions/presets designers each week. There could easily be hundreds or even thousands now. The industry has exploded. The amount of competition pushes us to make stronger, more innovative products. We have a minimum of six months of development and testing by professional photographers that goes into every product we release. While we won’t have a new product for sale every month, a few times a year we will have a unique, exciting new product for photographers.

TD: Personally, I think you have led the market. Your work has been inventive and wonderfully creative.

JF: Thank you! Our goal is to determine what photographers need to make their photos better and workflow faster. We build products that help photographers get the looks they want, help them display and preset images to their customers, and that saves them time.

TD: Do you receive a lot of inquiries from photographers about developing specific looks/effects?  How do you balance your own personal aesthetic and broader creative application when developing new products?

JF:  Yes, we ask for feedback from our customers. Sometimes they ask for a certain look, whether it be color pop, matte finish, presentation-oriented, etc. We take trends into consideration, and add some looks to achieve them, but definitely try and focus most of our Photoshop actions and Lightroom presets on classic, timeless looks.

TD: Would you talk a bit about the educational side of your business. I really think that this is what sets you apart from everyone else. I love your Facebook posts about editing and sharing others work. I also admire the way you handle nasty comments, etc.

JF:  As mentioned above, we’ve been offering online workshops/classes since the beginning. From our very first set, we made videos to teach how to use each product. Education is extremely important. We can provide tools, but if the users don’t learn to work with them properly, they won’t get great results. In fact, they may just leave them collecting “virtual” dust. In addition to videos and online training, we have an active photography/post-processing blog. We have more than 1,500 articles covering most types of photography, business and marketing, and editing in Photoshop and Lightroom. We have approximately 350,000 visitors to the blog every month. Our Facebook Page offers another place for customers to learn and keep up-to-date. We post to our 150,000+ fans daily, sharing before and after images, tutorials, and engaging the audience in photo-related conversations. This past year, we also added a Facebook Group, where photographers can ask photography and post-processing questions and get critique on their images.

TD: Do you feel that you have developed a loyal customer base because of your value added tutorials and ongoing online discussions?

JF: Yes. It is not just one thing we do. It’s the combination of the blog, social networking, training, well-tested and executed products, and being accessible to our customers. We get emails consistently thanking us for what we do and even saying “I owe my business to MCP Actions.” While our actions and presets make a huge impact, I know the reason we receive so many “thank you’s” and “you are the reason my business has taken off” emails has to do with the complete package of what MCP Actions offers.

TD:  Can you tell me how MCP Actions has grown since the beginning?

JF:  When we started there was very little awareness of actions and presets. Our sales definitely picked up as we educated photographers on the impact of our products. We’ve built a team to help us with the growth.

TD: What are your best sellers?

JF: Our top three best selling Photoshop action sets are MCP Fusion, MCP Summer Solstice, and MCP Eye Doctor and Dentist (our first set). Our best selling Lightroom presets: MCP Enlighten, but MCP Quick Clicks is very popular too.

TD: Do you have a staff?

JF: Yes, I’m responsible for all initial product development. But we have an amazing team: Our Lightroom and Elements Specialist – Erin P., our Textures Designer – Gina, our Newborn Photography Workshop Teacher – Tracy, and our three virtual assistants who help with our support desk, blog, and all kinds of other stuff – Erin B., Nicole, Zack. In addition, we have many talented volunteers who guest blog and a team who moderate the MCP Group.

TD: I get at least 3 to 4 new Action/Preset companies advertising in my FB feed each month. How do you protect your products? How have you dealt with copycats?

JF:  We have had people whom we’ve inspired, and unfortunately there are a few who have actually bought, altered, and started a business based on our products. We often build certain tweaks into our actions and presets that make it easy to identify our work. Rather than drown in legal paperwork and challenge copyright, we use this as motivation to lead and pave the way.

TD: Where do you see MCP Actions in the future? Do you see any new trends on the horizon?

JF:  We will continue to make products that help make editing easier for photographers.

TD: Would you talk just a little bit about the development of your Lightroom presets. I was especially excited about these because that’s where I do 95% of my editing.

JF:  We dragged our feet on Lightroom. We had been asked since 2007 to make LR products. I love Lightroom for speed, but until recent versions, it lacked control. Once we felt confident that we could make presets as good as our actions, we entered the market, in 2011. We were the first to make a stackable preset system. We felt this was better than relying on one-click presets, where you either love or hate the effect, since Lightroom does not have layers and opacity adjustments built in. Our latest set Enlighten also has brushes. This allows photographers to control their edits even more.

TD: Do you cringe when you see people misusing the actions/presets? Over editing with them, so to speak. Or is it the situation where you create them and just have to let go and hope that people will learn over time?

JF: We’ve been teaching how to use our products since the beginning. Still, some photographers and especially beginners, love to play. We’ve all done it. Over editing is a danger, but with places like our Facebook Group, photographers can ask for critique, and they learn to tone down edits to take their photos to a new level.

TD: How do you think the advent of Instragram/FB filters and App filters, in general, have affected the acceptance (expectation) of what we do (photographers) in using your actions/presets in our work? In other words, most photos are being manipulated in someway these days. Are “traditionally” edited photos (lightened/darkened, saturation) boring now? Can a professional photographer get away with minimal editing/post? I’ve had clients ask me if I would make their photos like that something they saw on Instagram.

JF:  True. Most photos we see aren’t straight out of camera, even those from camera phones. I think a clean, colorful, timeless edit will NEVER go out of style. These other looks all come and go. Matte finish is big now, as hazy was a few years back, but someday photographers may look back and wonder why the colors were wonky or the image lacked contrast. That said, photographers have two options: decide on their style and stick to it or cater to what customers are requesting. There’s no right or wrong answer. Each photographer needs to decide how to run his/her own business.

And that’s the point. If we’re in the business of providing photography services, we need to decide how to run our business…to stay in business. That doesn’t mean we have to sacrifice our creative self, but you do need to find that balance between what’s happening now and what will keep us around beyond the now. I know I’m my harshest critic, and work hard to not be sucked into the latest look. Though, right now, I am pretty crazy about that lo-fi matte look…

Edit responsibily.

About the author: Tiffany Diamond is a freelance photographer based in the Pacific Northwest. She specializes in portrait, lifestyle, event, and documentary photography. Visit her website here.

Image credits: Header photograph by Jean Smith Photography. Overly processed photo by me, to illustrate my point. Girl with headband photo by Kelly Roper Photography. Mountain photo by MCP Actions. Dandelion photo by Crave Photography.

In 2003, my first “Mastering Digital Printing” book came out. My goal was to create an in-depth reference to the new world of digital printing for photography and fine art. I had a sense that there was a need, especially by photographers, for good information about “this new way to print” images (digitally). I guess I was right because the book was an instant success; it was actually in the Top 5 on Amazon Books jockeying with John Grisham and Michael Crichton in sales ranks for a short while. It was the right book at the right time. And I went on to write a second edition and a couple of related books before moving on to other things, all relating to photography.

But that was then, and this is now. And after 10 years, I’ve been wondering: how are photographers printing images? ARE they printing images? What’s new, and what’s ahead for high-quality digital output for photography?

Is Anybody Still Printing Photos?

We need to start with this question because if the answer is No, then this will be a short post! But the simple answer is Yes, photographers are still printing their images. Let’s explore it a bit more…

The Online Play

Although many talk about “the death of print” and the ubiquity of social photo sharing and disappearing SnapChat photos, industry stats actually show that printing photos is still happening, even growing in many instances. Specifically online photo printing.

Research firm InfoTrends did a survey of Internet connected households in EU, and photo printing went up 11% in 2012 compared to 2007-2008. Similarly, U.S.-based online photo printing has become a big deal, growing by about 20% annually between 2007-2012 according to market research firm IbisWorld. Three significant reasons for this growth are: the adoption of digital cameras, ability to transport photos online, and the increase in broadband and mobile Internet connections.

Photographers ranging from your Mom to pro fine-art photographers are using the services of online “print service providers” (PSPs) who have an Internet presence. While there are still boutique labs and print shops around that have real parking spaces and real people walking in the front door, the biggest change is that there are lots of options now for getting your prints made online. You send a digital file, and they send back a print or book or whatever you ordered. Some of these providers are actual brick-and-mortar photo labs that have added online capacity, but others are new, global and virtual.

One resilient example that’s been around since 1976 is Northern California’s Bay Photo Lab. What started as a basic lab near the coast in Santa Cruz, has evolved over the years into a powerhouse online PSP providing photographic printing services to consumers and other print providers worldwide.

“We’re very hands on,” says President and CEO Larry Abitol. “We pride ourselves on get-it-out-on-time production and customer service with phone support, 24/7 email, and live chat. We go all out for our customers.” And they’ve kept up with the changes in the photographic industry (where others have not) including inventing some of their own products and services. The list is too long to include here, but one of my favorites is their ThinWraps for finished prints (see more below).

A new-on-the-scene PSP is ink361.com, which currently specializes in printing mobile photography but expects to soon expand beyond mobile. They are based in Hong Kong with offices in the Netherlands and U.S.

“We target aspiring and pro photographers – people that love photography, and we see a lot of young people amongst our users.” says CEO Carel van Apeldoorn. “Currently, our most popular products are custom iPhone cases, photo prints, and canvas prints. We accommodate both the buyers and sellers of photo-printed products, and the exciting part is that we just launched a new Shop feature for selling your images, and based on the responses so far, we see very promising demand for this.”

And when we add in all the “photo centers” at discount stores (Walmart, Target), drugstores (CVS, Walgreens), and warehouse clubs (Sam’s Club, Costco) — all of which have online presences — we’re talking about a LOT of photo printing. (And you’d be surprised at how many serious photographers use these places to print their photos!)

So let’s look at what and how people are printing these days…

The Top Products

While the basic technologies for printing high-quality images digitally haven’t changed much, the final products or forms have, at least in their use or popularity. Here are the most important types of photo print products today and what’s changed over the years:

Prints on Paper

The proportion of “paper prints” may have gone down compared to other photo printing products, but we’re still talking about 48% of the online photo printing market in the U.S. being prints on paper.

This includes everything from Shutterfly 5x7s to custom large-format prints. Galleries still want prints on paper (for the most part), and because art prints themselves have a history going back to the 16th century (Albrecht Dürer), we’re not going to see this way of rendering an image completely disappear anytime soon.

Some of the photo printing has moved to the photographer himself with Epson, Canon, and HP all making high-quality photo-printing (inkjet) machines for “self-printing.” But there are also plenty of specialty labs and PSPs catering to higher-end photo customers who are passionate about their photography.

“We’ve created a nice niche in digital silver printing,” says Eric Luden, founder of Digital Silver Imaging outside of Boston. “Digital is to B&W what color film was to photography decades ago. It’s new yet it’s familiar at the same time.” Digital Silver uses a digital frontend (Lightjet) to expose (via RGB lasers) specially designed Ilford B&W silver gelatin paper (both fiber and RC) that is then processed normally like a B&W print. I’ve seen the results, and they are astounding. They even created a Kickstarter campaign for this kind of specialized printing and oversubscribed it within 30 days!

Digital Silver’s Eric Luden and Christopher Bowers with a True B&W print

Photo Books

Photo books have seen huge growth in the last decade. And I’m primarily talking about self-published “instant books” or books produced in micro-runs by suppliers like Blurb, Clearstory, and just about everyone else in the photo printing business. I didn’t even mention this option back in 2003 (Blurb was founded in 2005), but this is the natural evolution of digital printing and another proof-point of the Print-On-Demand concept.

Take Blurb, for example. Any photographer can make ONE copy of a custom photo book with his or her images starting at $12.99 with Blurb. Most books cost more than this minimum, and I made one for my wife a couple of years ago to check it out (she loved it; see book cover below).

This was not a 300-line-screen, super-high-end coffee table book printed in Hong Kong or Italy, but it was good enough, and it didn’t cost me thousands of dollars for a minimum print run as with standard offset litho. And I didn’t need a publisher.

Admittedly, I was skeptical when I saw the first print-on-demand books many years ago, but the quality has steadily increased, and these books are clearly accepted now in the marketplace. In fact, there is an entire industry built on self-published photo books with awards, publications, and conferences. Photo books are very “now” now. As Aperture Magazine says in it’s latest The Photobook Review supplement: “Photobook publishing is a creative field where some of the most innovative gestures can be the most enduring.”

Canvas & Framed Prints

Canvas prints (especially canvas or gallery wraps, which are canvas prints stretched over a hidden frame) have been going strong in photo printing for several years, especially now among the Instagram crowd. Canvas (via both inkjet and photographic/chromogenic) accounts for almost 12% of the online photo printing market in the U.S (see infographic above).

Canvas can be printed by the photographer himself or through numerous print providers, many of which are online. “The fact that you can turn your own image into a piece of wall-hanging art is still very compelling,” says ink361’s Carel van Appeldoorn, who is also a photographer. “Canvas prints come ready to hang and create an elegant display.”

Inkjet printed canvas wraps with solid-color edging; courtesy ink361

A twist on the canvas wrap is Bay Photo’s ThinWraps with spacer in back for floating off the wall. Shown below is Canvas ThinWrap mounted on Gatorboard with satin laminate.

Image courtesy Bay Photo Lab

For the traditional framed display of photo prints, much of that has also moved online. After Dallas photographer Mark Rogers started searching for picture frames for his self-printed inkjet prints, he soon learned that retail frame shops did not offer the kind of ready-made frames he was looking for in non-standard sizes such 13×19, 10×15 or 8×12 inches. “When I discovered there were many people with similar needs,” explains Mark, “I founded Frame Destination.com,” which sells picture frames and do-it-yourself framing supplies to photographers and others for protecting and displaying their prints.

16×20 wood frame; image © R.E. Marabito; courtesy Frame Destination

Combining both above ideas, take a look at the large canvas print made for me by photographer/printmaker David Saffir. David shipped it to me in a tube, and I had a local frame shop stretch and install it into an antique painting frame my wife was storing. It’s currently hanging on my living room wall as you see it.

Wave photo by David Saffir, printed as a pigment inkjet print on Matte Canvas

Alternative Process Printing

There are, of course, plenty of alternatives for the digital printing of images, including but not even close to being limited to: metal prints (see more below), direct printing to wood and other substrates, lenticulars, transfers, and even Digital Platinum. If you want to see how Elliott Erwitt made his first platinum print via a hybrid digital-analog method, watch the short video I directed below.

Alternative-process printmaking is actually one of the most creative areas of photography, in my view, and photographers are continually coming up with inventive ways to do it. The pioneers in the digital alt-process arena are the ladies of the digital artist collaborative Digital Atelier (Dot Krause, Bonny Lhotka, Karin Schminke), and they’re still at it.

For the past 23 years, Dorothy Simpson Krause, Professor Emeritus at Massachusetts College of Art, has experimented with various print media and processes including: printing on lead, embedded lenticular, emulsion transfer, Littleton vitreography, digital transfers, and dimensional flatbed printing on custom substrates. An example of the last process is shown below in a work called “Arms & Weapons,” which began with scanned pages from a collaged journal made in India. It was combined with a photograph of an Indian woman to create the master digital file. To make a final print reminiscent of the journal, two sheets of handmade brown Indian bagasse, shipped from India, were adhered to a sheet of Arches Infinity inkjet paper; smaller left photo shows this sandwich entering the Vutek flatbed inkjet printer with UV-curable inks (flatbeds can print on solid objects 1.5-2.0 inches thick!). Smaller right photo shows the final print coming out the front of the printer. The bagasse tones the image and creates dimensionality.

Arms & Weapons, © Dorothy Simpson Krause

The Main Technologies

Back in 2003, the four primary technologies for printing high-quality images digitally were: inkjet, “digital photo print” (my term for hybrid chromogenic or “Digital C-print”), dye sublimation, and electrophotography. While those are still the main ways to print photos today, there have been some shifts among them along with new trends.

Inkjet

A little history… The first inkjet fine-art photo print was made in 1989 by David Coons in Southern California for Graham Nash (of singer Joni Mitchell). By 1991 Nash Editions had opened up shop in Los Angeles as a true inkjet printing studio for photographic art. Then things just went wild for inkjet. By 2005, there were at least 5,000 inkjet print-service providers across the U.S. and in other countries.

For self-printing, Epson pioneered the first consumer, photorealistic (desktop) inkjet printer in 1994, and eventually Canon and HP joined them in manufacturing inkjet printer devices for high-quality photo output, with the most important change being the move from dye-based to pigment inks starting in 2000 (Epson 2000p). After lots of evolution and product development, inkjet printing for photo prints — whether by individuals at home or through PSPs — has now reached a high point as one preferred photo-printing medium.

In 2003 I wrote that “It has been a challenging decade in which to gain the public’s and the art community’s acceptance [for digital printing],” but that battle has now been won, at least for inkjet. Inkjet is finally being accepted as a bona fide art medium — hooray! When I recently called Craig Krull of well-known Craig Krull Gallery in Santa Monica, California, to check in on inkjet’s adoption by the art gallery world, he explained that “most photographers are doing it today, even William Eggleston.” He continues, “As long as it’s pigment vs dye inks, and it’s archival or holds up over time, I have no problem including digital pigment prints in the gallery.” The image below was printed as a 32×38” archival pigment print (inkjet) and included in a recent exhibition of Tim Bradley and Mark Swope at Craig Krull Gallery.

Stardust Jungle, © Tim Bradley; courtesy Craig Krull Gallery, Santa Monica, California

By the way, don’t get confused by terms like “Giclée.” Giclées are inkjet prints, just dolled up in a fancy French dress. I use the word dress because “giclée” is the feminine noun form of the French verb “gicler” (to squirt, spurt or spray). And don’t even get me started on the non-formal meanings of the word in French! Not that we need to be all Frenchified here. The term was actually coined (for fine-art prints) by Los Angeles master printmaker Jack Duganne. You can read all about it in my original piece: “The True Story of Giclée.”

Digital Photo Print

Whether you call the machines Digital C, Laser Chromogenic, or Digital RA-4 printers, it’s the same thing: a digital frontend exposing or scanning to paper, which is then fed into a wet chemistry (silver halide) backend like the old days of photo processing. The quality is top-notch: real continuous-tone photo output. They come in two flavors: Wide-Format and Digital Minilab.

For large prints, labs and PSPs use pricey Océ Lightjets, Durst Lambdas, and ZBE Chromiras. Even though Lightjets and Lambdas are no longer being manufactured today, they’re sort of like vintage American cars in Cuba: they just keep running with a little fixing and refurbishment. But Chromiras (using LED lights instead of lasers) are still being made, including in a 50” model (Chromira 5x 50). “I guess we’re the last man standing,” says ZBE VP of Marketing Tim Sexton.

Chromira5x 50” Digital RA4 printer; courtesy ZBE.

Some photographers still maintain that output from these machines are the only “real” photographic prints, but others point out that pigment inkjet beats the pants off them in in terms of print permanence and the substrate (paper) selection is very limited for this light-sensitive category. It really comes down to a personal choice.

On the other side of the size spectrum is the digital minilab, which runs on the same basic idea (digital frontend, standard RA-4 chemical backend). This is what you encounter when you walk into any drugstore or big-box discounter, like I did to take the photo below recently. The original main players in this space were Agfa, Noritsu, Kodak, and Fuji, and as with their wide-format cousins, the manufacturers are dropping out (trying to convert their commercial customers to inkjet), but these machines keep cranking out the photos, whether for snapshots or professional prints.

Your basic big-box store photo center. This one features a Fuji Frontier 370 Minilab (in front of worker). Photo by author.

And as mentioned above, Digital Photo Centers all have online links, which makes them very convenient if you don’t want to stand around fiddling with a kiosk (input device).

Dye Sublimation

Dye sub is still used by certain types of photographers, e.g., event photogs with small printers, but the hot action now is with PSP-made “metal prints,” which are basically thermal transfers done via dye sublimation. This means that first the image is printed onto transfer paper with an inkjet printer using special heat-sensitive sublimation inks. The inks are then transferred direct to the coated substrate (aluminum in this case) under heat and pressure. The result is a very durable, easily cleaned metal print on which different mounting brackets and posts can be added.

Metal Prints; courtesy of Bay Photo Lab, image by Annie K. Rowland.

Electrophotography

This is a fancy way to say “toner,” and while purists restrict it to dry toner (like in desktop laser printers), I also include the liquid toner variation commonly called “digital offset” or “digital press” that’s used for printing most instant photo books (HP Indigo is the most popular device brand for that). While some photographers still use color laser printers for self-printing small photo items like cards, the shift is to PSPs doing liquid-toner photo printing for photo books, calendars, magazines, folded cards, etc. The limitation here is with size, with 12×19 inches being the typical max on liquid-toner machines.

The Wave, digital press accordion-fold photo book; courtesy of Bay Photo Lab.

Making the Case for Photo Printing

Paraphrasing Mark Twain’s famous quote, reports of photo printing’s death are greatly exaggerated. If you think printing photos is obsolete, think again. And think extra hard about your family, your kids, and their kids, not to mention clients, customers, galleries, and museums, if you’re so lucky. Even if your precious digital images last into the future (not at all certain – when was the last time you fired up the SyQuest drive to retrieve an image?), think also about a printed photo.

If done correctly prints can last 100-200-500 years. A print is a physical object that can be held, displayed, stored, moved, and preserved. You can put prints in albums, portfolios, books, safety deposit boxes, or bury them in the ground (or tombs). They exist in a real vs. virtual world and are always readable as long as humans have eyes. I think photo prints are here to stay. At least for another 10 years when I’ll check back with you. :)

About the author: Harald Johnson has been immersed in the worlds of photography, art, and publishing for more than 30 years. A former professional photographer, designer, publisher, and art/creative director, Harald is the author of the groundbreaking book series: “Mastering Digital Printing,” an imaging/printing consultant, and the founder of the photo competition site PhoozL.

My first African experience began at age 17 when I won the 1974 Kodak/Scholastic National Photography scholarship which included a studies program to Kenya and Tanzania. For a teenager, it was an eye-opening revelation. Back then I was working an illegible night shift cooking burgers at Jack in the Box while going to high school. It was a tough gig but it made a new Nikon lens possible every couple of weeks.

Vendors nap in the late afternoon in downtown Luanda

Africa would be my first big taste at international travel and it left a profound impact that would carry me on to my future career as a photojournalist. I recall taking a single Nikon FTN camera without any backup along with a Nikkor 24mm, 60mm macro, 105mm and 200mm F4.0 lens and a ton of Kodachrome 64. The trip was amazing and for a month I was chasing herds of zebras in the Serengeti and swimming in the waters off Mombasa.

Angolans walk the side streets on the outskirts of the capital city Luanda.

It would be 34-years before I would return to the “Dark Continent” and of all places Uganda with a band called UB40. Somehow I had befriended the band in 2003 during their world tour stop in Tahiti. Through the years I closely documented the group and in 2008, I followed the band to Australia and Uganda eventually photographing their album cover TWENTYFOURSEVEN. It was a fast-paced tour around Kampala.

In the village of Cambiambia a goat waits to be slaughtered

At one point I was bewildered at seeing the ocean because I did not recall Uganda being on a coastline. As I tried to rationalize that I was really in Uganda and not some other country, it hit me. It was Lake Victoria which I had read about so many times in school and seen in old movies. How I wanted to explore more but when you are being shuffled from venue to venue with a famous band and entourage of reporters and police escorts, street photography is pretty much out of the question.

At the village of Cassaunga, a boy peers inside a local church

Africa started tugging on me again last year and when an opportunity to join an NGO to Angola surfaced, I quickly seized the opportunity. Non-government agencies like the Red Cross and Amnesty International offer a way for photojournalists to see parts of the world completely closed off to the average traveler. The Chicago based RISE International, a non profit organization that builds schools in Angola allowed me to join them in July to document their work.

A man holds his bible during church services in the village of Cassaunga

After doing some research, it was clearly apparent that this would not be like Kenya and Tanzania with safaris to exotic game parks. The decade-old civil war had killed off most of the major wildlife and access to the country proved complicated at best. Photojournalists are generally denied access and the only way for me was to enter the country under a humanitarian visa.

A middle-aged farmer with red eyes poses for the camera in the village of Chilonda

I had to smile looking at the pile of gear on my bed in preparation for my flight to the capital city Luanda. Camera equipment sure had changed since 1974 with Nikon digital D700 bodies and VR stabilized zoom lens covering the task yet there was something comforting with the yellow packs of Tri-X film along side the Leica M-7 bodies.

Children look a bit bewildered after receiving donated shoes from the RISE organization, a nonprofit organization in Chicago that helps build schools in Angola.

If I had my way, it would have been a total film trip but the NGO was better suited to digital. The problem was that juggling my love of film with digital doubled my burden with weight and baggage. This had not been much of a problem in the past but the harsh conditions of Angola pushed the limits. At 57, I am not as nimble as I used to be and I soon realized the trip would be harsh.

A man sits on a bullet-riddled bench following a decade of civil war which has left Angola scared.

The game plan was to get down to Angola, shoot as much as possible before catching malaria, yellow fever or end up being arrested or detained. Angola is a beautiful wild and dusty nation but a challenge for any daring tourist. The drive from Benguela to Luanda was slowed by at least 14 armed police road blocks of which many involve bribes to continue the journey. Fortunately for our team we got lucky while payoffs could clearly be seen out the car window with less fortunate travelers.

Two school girls leave one of the donated schools which RISE International has built in Angola.

As with my tour with UB40, this trip would also prove limiting in roaming the country and making pictures. The daily routine of driving through desolate areas to small villages and checking progress on the many schools was time consuming. Our team often got stuck in back roads and had to hand push the vehicle. Another truck followed caring hundreds of pairs of donated shoes.

At the village of Cassaunga, mud-splattered boys pose for the camera after playing in the river.

After documenting the daily needs of my NGO, I tried my best at photographing the surrounding areas. At times I could only shoot from a moving van. The lighting was harsh and I soon found myself using fill flash. Fortunately the Nikon D700 worked beautifully in this regard as well as my lenses which consisted of Nikon 14-24mm, 24-70mm, 70-200mm and an 80-400mm. Dust was gathering everywhere on the gear, clothes, food which did not necessarily bother me too much but when the red clay started invading my Leica M7, 28mm Summicron and 50mm Summitar, I soon packed them away. It was impossible juggling two systems anyway.

In the capital city of Luanda motorcycles weave their way through traffic

After about 10 days of exhaustive work, I finished a pleasant dinner in the village of Chilonda. The power generator normally shut down nightly so when my stomach started to summon me, I grabbed my flashlight to check the time. It was 0200 and I had a terrible cramping sensation. I thought, “Ok, here it is”. What had I eaten? The chicken was pretty burnt. Surely the potatoes were OK. The river water was boiled…or was it?

A child listens to his teacher in one of the schools built by RISE International

I tried to put the unpleasantness out of my mind and go back to sleep. It’s just amazing how fast one can find a zipper and egress a mosquito net in total darkness. I had accidentally dropped the flashlight and ran blindly for the toilet. Most of the bathrooms in Angola have no running water so I had to feel my way along the rim next to a large bucket of water.

After a time, I started crying like a tortured POW.

A boy tries on a new pair of shoes donated by Toms shoes.

The 5-hour sickly serenade concerned the team but there was little they could do except offer a flashlight for better aim. The experience drained me physically for three days. It was the worst experience I had ever suffered outside India. There was little clue as to what caused the African initiation. There were no hospitals in such a remote location but fortunately I endured.

A woman washes dishes in the village of Bocoio

The people of Angola were charming and heart warming. After years of Portuguese repression, they could still greet foreigners with a smile. But after two weeks of dusty trails, a regular diet of bread and mystery stew, I was definitely looking forward to Germany, a hot shower and my Snickers bars.

About the author: Jeff Widener is a Pulitzer Prize-nominated American photojournalist who’s best known for shooting the photo “Tank Man“. He has documented wars and social issues in over 100 countries, and was the first photojournalist to send digital photos from the South Pole. You can read our recent interview with him here. Visit his website here.

Image credits: Photographs by Jeff Widener and used with permission

People will do just about anything to alleviate their anxiety. During the last year of writing my doctoral thesis, the worry about being able to finish grew increasingly heavy. The relentless grind of research, constantly being told that your work is inadequate, and believing that 80-hour workweeks are average has its tolls on all students. Once you reach the edge of this process and are pulverized into oblivion, you get a nice, shiny PhD.

You may be wondering what got me through this. The answer? Buying a ton of camera equipment. To photographers, this type of retail therapy is known as gear acquisition syndrome. Someone with this syndrome impulsively buys cameras and related gear, amassing more camera gear than they can realistically use.

In this article, I will show how gear acquisition syndrome can alter our brain’s reward and stress systems. I will describe the brain regions that underlie reward processing (e.g., those erotic happy feelings related to buying, oh, say a Fujifilm X-Pro 1 with a 18mm equivalent Zeiss Touit lens, shoe mount flash, and leather case), impulse control, and how stress causes an imbalance between the brain regions associated with reward and stress. I’ll also discuss how uncertainties inherent in the creative processes increase stress and how compulsively buying camera gear can serve as a coping mechanism to alleviate this anxiety.

How Dopamine Modulates Reward Seeking and Impulsivity

When something rewarding or negative happens, we change our behaviors to increase the likelihood of reward and decrease the likelihood of harm. This type of learning is called behavioral reinforcement and it is pivotal to helping humans survive in the world.

Much of the neuroscience research on reward-based behavioral reinforcement focuses on three brain regions: the ventral tegmental area (VTA), the nucleus accumbens (NAc), and the prefrontal cortex (PFC). The VTA makes and releases the neurotransmitter dopamine. Dopamine is naturally released by the VTA when something rewarding happens, such as scratching a winning lottery ticket, winning first place in a photo contest, eating an amazing cookie, having an orgasm…you get the picture.

The NAc is often referred to as the reward-processing center. When the VTA is activated by a reward, dopamine is released in the NAc leading to a rewarding feeling. Depending on the value of the reward (e.g., that first click of a new camera might be more rewarding than an orgasm for some, and vice versa for others), the feeling can range from joy to pure ecstasy.

Last, the PFC functions, in part, to control impulsive reward seeking. When a reward occurs the PFC also receives dopamine, which increases our attention towards the events that led to the reward, allowing us later to find the stuff we know will give us happy feelings.

Although the PFC is important in locating rewards, it is also necessary for inhibiting us from impulsively seeking those rewards. For example, when you have a hard deadline due at 5PM, it’s helpful to inhibit your desire to go to a bar at 9AM, make some risky bets at the dog track, and then pass out on the bus on your way home. The PFC inhibits impulsive reward seeking by directly modulating the NAc and VTA.

Stress affects our desire to seek out rewards. When something stressful happens, the body responds by releasing stress hormones. These hormones are released throughout the body and brain. Stress hormones decrease our ability to inhibit impulsive behaviors and increase our desire to find rewards. Because of stress, we are sometimes unable to control desire for rewards that alleviate stress. Below, I will talk about a potential source of stress that promotes gear acquisition syndrome.

Fearing Creativity

What are some stressors that alter the reward-inhibition balance in the brain of a photographer? There are many, but one source of stress may be from the uncertainties that are part of the creative process. Starting a new photography project often means that we are entering uncharted territory, which may bring up insecurities because we are choosing to expose ourselves to failure.

Olivier Duong captured this well when he wrote recently that:

I then realized what was happening, I was insecure in my photography so I was finding it in cameras. When you get a new camera you feel like you can take on Eugene Smith or something. But after the high, I needed my next fix to hide my insecurities. That’s why I could never have enough cameras.

The fear to create can be debilitating and prevent one from even starting a new project or taking photographs. There are two psychological concepts that could explain this type of behavior. The first concept is called catastrophic thinking and the other is anxiety-induced avoidance behavior.

Catastrophic thinking is a type of cognitive distortion in which someone overemphasizes the worst possible outcomes when starting (or thinking about starting) something new. Catastrophic thinking can contribute to stress and impede our willingness to try something new (i.e., behavioral avoidance – discussed below). This type of thinking is demonstrated well by photographers David Bayles and Ted Orland in their book Art & Fear:

Fears about artmaking fall into two families: fears about yourself, and fears about your reception by others…Artists quit when they convince themselves that their next effort is already doomed to fail.

Avoidance behaviors are one way (albeit not always a health way) to try to prevent anxiety. Generally, avoidance behaviors occur when one is concerned about their inabilities and others’ judgment. Again, Bayles and Orland:

Consider that if artist equals self, then when (inevitably) you make flawed art, you are a flawed person, and when (worse yet) you make no art, you are no person at all! Annihilation is an existential fear: the common—but sharply overdrawn—fear that some part of you dies when you stop making art

This quote highlights how someone might avoid photography to avoid anxiety related to failure and judgment – and how avoidance can be a maladaptive coping mechanism because photography is generally pretty meaningful to photographers.

If the stress related to fear of failure is strong enough, it can alter the function of the reward system. Specifically, it decreases the ability to inhibit impulses and enhances reward-seeking behavior as a way to cope with stress.

Buying Gear to Ease the Pain

Imagine that you want to start a new project but feel overwhelmed about initiating it. Perhaps negative thoughts start to creep in, which creates more negative thoughts, which snowball into catastrophic thinking and avoidance. Why start when you will expose yourself to all those feelings of stress for what you’re sure will be failure? Instead, you might make yourself feel better by buying a new camera, which is an easily justifiable (given that you’re a photographer) and stress-reducing reward.

The joy of buying new gear is short lived. Let’s face it; getting used to a new toy happens pretty fast. This process is called habituation, which is the simplest type of learning. After new gear is purchased we habituate to it and then seek new rewards that are often bigger and better, which is similar to drug abuse.

Drugs induce a high, but after continued use the high becomes smaller and smaller. In order to feel the high as it once was, it’s necessary to consume a greater amount of the drug. For the photographer the high of buying something new will eventually lead to habituation. This may in turn lead to purchases that are more frequent or greater in cost as a way to combat the habituation.

It does not help that camera manufactures churn out new cameras for every conceivable market possible and, with the help of photography blogs, sensationalize the new technology. There’s an endless supply of gear to buy and when acquiring gear is used to reduce anxiety, a vicious stress-reward cycle sets in leading to gear acquisition syndrome.

Confronting the Challenge

Overcoming gear acquisition syndrome will not be easy and it is something that will  always have to be attended to as a photographer. The onslaught of new gear, choosing to create, exposing oneself to failure is difficult and buying new things won’t solve these problems. Studies show that spending money on objects can be very rewarding but only for an incredibly short period of time.

One way by which joy increases and is maintained is through finding new experiences, creating new memories and giving meaning to those memories. An example would be going on a vacation with a loved one and if you’re like me your loved one learns to bring several books (sorry wife).

It takes courage to create and the anxiety will always be there. Overcoming fear is part of this process and in the end finding personal success with life’s challenges is rewarding.

Hi, my name is Josh and I have gear acquisition syndrome.

Image credit: Gear by Sigurbjörn

You do not have to be a professional photographer to profit from selling your photos for use online, on mobile devices, and traditional publications. Just ask Google. Starting with the big names like APImages, Reuters, Sipa Images, Getty Images, Corbis, Fine Art American, Wireimage, Jupitermedia, Shutterstock, Depositphotos, Istockphotos, Veer, Dreamstime, and seemingly not finding a final search result — the market has ballooned. Or you can also ask Corbis.

Despite the pronounced goal and ability of owning every iconic image, vector graphic, cartoon and image that can be bought, the majority of Corbis Images’ profits still lay in their stock photography sales.

In a 2007 interview with The New York Times, Gary Shenk — then the new President of Corbis Images — illuminated the company’s response to competition from microstock sales:

More interesting and innovative things are happening on the pages of Flickr these days than on Corbis and Getty [...] If we can use this type of opportunity to find the next great group of Corbis photographers, that also makes it a great opportunity for us.

Six years later, Shenk is CEO and Getty Images beat Corbis to the punch, crowdsourcing images from Flickr users since 2009.

What happens when you overinflate a balloon? The original licensing model has exploded and shredded to shards. In this case microstock photography is the remnant of the explosion. Instead of contacting a prestigious sales rep from one of the Holy Troika of stock photography (Corbis, Getty, Sipa), today’s customer is more likely to point and click, with ‘affordable’ in mind.

The microstockers, like those listed above, crowdsource. A virtual casting-call for hobbyists and pros alike to submit their images for licensing consideration.

The photographers are paid in pennies and sometimes on contingency. The same image could sell for dramatically less if it’s being used on a mobile device in Asia vs a kiosk in a mall in Nebraska. Think of it as ‘micro-negotiation’.

The traditional big names in The Troika were known for exclusively employing professionals with serious credits, then individually negotiate a photo’s price to ensure max profit for shooter and agency.

The biggest names like AP, Reuters, Sipa, Wireimage, etc. have shooters on retainer. These pros had royal press access, money for travel and gear, insurance and pro union memberships. I say ‘had’ because now (just like at the Chicago Sun Times) the experienced high-erners are being weeded-out by underselling their work. It’s cheaper to use newbies; they don’t know the rules are changing because they never had to make the majority of their living by selling images as stock.

Photographer Thomas Hawk

At the top of Hawk’s list as to why he walked away from Getty is the 20% (royalty-free rate) licensing fee participating photographers get. As Hawk and others have pointed out, 20% of a thirty cent mobile phone use application in Hong Kong isn’t worth the taxes you pay on that fee.

When a Getty Collection image is used illegally and they settle, you only get 20% on that agreed amount, even though it’s your image that was stolen. This change in 80% for Getty/Flickr started when Getty Images was purchased by The Carlyle Group.

Carlyle has never been known to foster fine photography or journalism. They’re in the biz of asset management specializing in leveraged buyouts. Those kinds of buyouts are usually done at the expense of the companies involved. Just ask Mitt Romney. Naturally, with such an overlord, Getty/Flickr will have increasingly short-sighted visions about who they are.

When Hawk complained on the Flickr/Getty Forum pages, he was banned from the forum, as were other photogs (here’s some background on Flickr’s blacklisting practices). Claudia Micare, a Getty Stock Images Rep seen in the forums as ‘Claudia@Getty’ seems to be the one human responding to the Getty/Flickr participants. It was Micare who personally followed through on questions I had about participating in the stock photography venture
Her response to Hawk can be seen here ¹.

Then there are issues with transparency about how your images are actually being used and sold. Photographer Remi Thorton declared defection from Getty Images when he found out his images were being used on CafePress products basically on contingency. A bit like ordering food at a restaurant and paying for it if you like it. How did Getty Images handle it? Read his blog post.

Professional photographer Jim M. Goldstein made a clearer argument to anyone looking for extra cash selling their shots in his powerful blog post. Goldstein said,

When I evaluate stock agencies to work with I first check three things: Exclusivity, Royalties and Rights to Control Claims. These three things will tell you how you’re valued by the agency and give you a window to the overhead the company is carrying to stay in business.

Photographer Jim Goldstein

Goldstein has also been among the loudest to decry technical problems that result in photos being undersold and misrepresented by the Getty Collection. In one case a third party app essentially nullified the securities and filters that Flickr members opted into when signing-up for the Getty Images program.

If you still find the concept of selling stock photography digestible, a warning to the impatient: Your 20% ‘profit’ also pays for the time you spend submitting. No light task at all — a view shared by myself and my friend, photographer, James Bo Insogna (“The Lightning Man”. See his stock work for sale here):

I upload to iStock, BigStock, Shutterstock, Fotolio and Dreamtime. I am using Smugmug as my own stock site.… takes a long time to do that cause every image you upload as to be approved. It can be frustrating; I have uploaded had it turned down and then resubmitted it and it got approved. I also upload to Fine Art America, Redbubble, ImageKind, Bluecanvas and Zazzle ². I make more money here than the stock sites.

It is a lot of work because doing the descriptions and keywords. This is what I spend most of my days doing. Creating and uploading. I love doing this because these images work for you 24/7. It is a numbers game. And you have to get release forms for places and people. ³

Photographer James Bo Insogna (left) and one of his stock photographs (right)

It’s a humble acceptance of the workload, knowing that once it’s done, any cash that flows-in requires no further effort.

The second shot Hawk into big stock photography’s bow was promoting the artist-run stock photography company Stocksy.

Bruce Livingstone created Stocksy from his Venice, California garage space. He and his dream team tossed the current business models aside when analyzing how to structure Stocksy, he explains:

Cooperatives in rural Canada and co-op structures are well developed and quite advanced as they have been around for a long time supporting groups farms. The co-op keeps enough cash to operate, but the collective owners get all the money. If you think about how most companies are run, it’s completely backwards thinking and perfectly in line with our ideals. We moved back to Canada last summer to start the co-op.

Bruce Livingstone, the founder of iStockphoto and Stocksy

The plan was more than just a wishful hippie project, the Stocksy team had felt the burn from the industry and wanted to reverse the heat on the competition. He preaches to the converted but is taking action.

Being a stock photographer today means you will be drowning in a crowded sea of images. Those images near the top will have some sales, those ones at the bottom will remain in the darkness… Not only do only the newest images get seen by buyers, but they tend to also be very boring, artificial and sterilized people and situations pretending to eat, work in an office or some other inauthentic scenario. When an image is sold, expect a very low royalty on the big microstock sites, like Shutterstock, iStockphoto or Fotolia.

Stocksy and Stockfresh aim to get the artist a meaty 50% of the sale while distinguishing themselves as quality in a flood of image sludge.

It is Stocksy’s goal to distribute the wealth and profits among its photographer-owners, rather than hoard a reserve of cash. With a 50% cut, there is plenty of money for good salaries and to properly market a product. Every photographer should know this and understand that if they get anything less than 50%, they’re not being fairly paid. I hope that big agencies will wake up and realize they’re lost without their artists and they need to do treat people better. I hope they focus on making a good product, not a good profit. Photographers will earn less and continue to compete in a sea of competition as the big stock houses load more and more bad stock images.

Livingstone’s parting thoughts offer hope and encourage everyone to resist the inevitable blanching of image quality in the market and invest in talent.

Something that’s really important for us is not to compete with any other agency on numbers of images or numbers of photographers. That game is old and already has a winner. We cannot underestimate the public appetite for cheap pictures. The only problem is that a majority of the microstock images are not very good. The large agencies like Getty and Shutterstock will continue to move good pictures from their micro collections into their macro collections and charge more for them.

We know that even an amateur can sell their photos as stock photography, now we have to keep the giants in charge of leasing those images from behaving like runaway beginners with a short plan instead of respectful curators.

Disclosure: In the interest of transparency, I have had Getty’s anonymous editors contact me several times, via email saying they liked photos, x, y, and z. All I had to do was go to the account I set-up when I was initially invited to be a Getty Contributer and upload the images, release forms and detailed tags that fit a certain critera. Because all but a few of my images were private portraits taken for clients I didn’t submit those. One photo of a robin in a birdbath remains unsold to date.

About the author: Viki Reed is a fine art and portrait photographer based in New Jersey. You can connect with her through her website, Facebook page, and Tumblr.

Image credits: Header photograph by Kitty Gallannaugh Stocksy.com/Kitty Gallannaugh
#19865, portrait of Jim M. Goldstein by Lance Hartwell

^{1 Flickr/Yahoo Public Relations Rep Ellen Cohn promised comment but then refused to answer follow-up emails in response to this piece.
2 Getty/Flickr deals with Zazzle, which has become a sore point among photographers tracking their work seriously because Zazzle only pays once merchandise is sold. Your image might be on display as a selling point but you don’t see dime one until an online customer clicks ‘complete purchase’.
3 Getty supplies a release form but you can use your own if it passes their muster. It is no easy task to get a release form in reverse so one must always think in sales terms and carry the release in order to sell legally.}

Imagine, if you will, a secret week-long conclave held in a trendy Northwestern city renowned for its adherence to a strict social order. The walls of the luxuriously appointed host establishment are covered with hundreds of photographs immortalizing moments in the glorious lives of supreme leaders and other luminaries past and present.

Called by The Company to this comfy confab from their ivy covered posts around the country are a score of carefully selected elite intellectual sycophants, chosen for their expertise in efficiently disseminating propaganda to the most highly impressionable members of a great unwashed populace. They are here for the sole purpose of mass reeducation and indoctrination into its Master Plan for World Dominance.

You, however, are an interloper, an uninvited eavesdropper peeking through a slightly open door into a dimly lit room. The pointy headed poindexters within sit stroking their chins behind glowing personal computer screens. They all appear to be in a kind of gleeful, chattering stupor, having been buttered up by thrice daily bacchanalian orgies of food and drink.

At their feet are Company branded black bags overflowing with gewgaws, thickly bound manifestos, uniform apparel and other tawdry SWAG provided as further enticement to simply listen up and do as they are told, which of course they all do without hesitation.

Closest to you, another, smaller group is arrayed in a straight line at tables behind the audience. They are The Watchers.

Like the others in attendance, each sits behind a computer with a tent card bearing their name in bold type. Kelly, Kathy, Tom, Sharad, Bob, familiar names to those who read splash screens and web tutorials. They are all sitting, tapping softly at their keyboards, all except for one.

Watcher Bob is standing in the half shadows, stoic and unsmiling, focused like a laser on a screen at the front of the room. He appears to be the Man In Charge, although, paranoid by nature, you know that appearances can be deceiving.

You follow his gaze and then cover your mouth with one hand to muffle a small gasp. Slides are being projected that tick off the details of a frightening New World Order as envisaged by The Company.

And then you see her.

Known simply as “Julieanne” to those in the room and to her worldwide legion of toadies, The Company refers to her formerly as The Evangelist. But to those of your ilk, she might as well be called Big Sister. Her message is as bitterly reviled by you and yours as any doublethink Winston Smith had to endure.

As you watch, The Evangelist moves from a seat behind her digital alter to emphasize a bullet point on the screen with a powerful, leonine grace. She is smiling, but her pleasant affect cannot hide an underlying intensity. Surely, she could crush a Volkswagen with little more than an icy glance.

She is tall, Amazon tall, and by her manner of dress presents the perfect paradox of high priestess and common prole. A sleekly tailored, black smock over blue jeans, western boots and horizontally hip spectacles seem to declare “I am like you, but not one of you”. Her trademarked long, white-blonde tresses, silken and flowing in The Company’s ubiquitous Official Portrait, today have been garroted into a severe knot on the back of her head.

“That’s gotta hurt” you think to yourself.

She prowls the front of the room, speaking passionately in a language not unlike yours but peppered with technological phrases and buzz words. “CC!” she repeats over and over again in differing contexts. “Compressed DNG! Smart Previews! Radial Tool! Upright Adjustment! Content-Aware! Camera RAW Smart Filter! Behance!”

With each new exclamation, an excited acknowledgement rises from the audience of twenty that calls to mind an olde-timey tent revival congregation’s communal “AMEN!”

“Yes!” they exclaim as one, nearly swooning in ecstasy. “We love it! More like that!” And even “Wow!” from one chrome-pated graybeard seated in the front row.

The Evangelist continues. “And video, too, which, frankly, I am not as personally excited about, but which I will now demonstrate for you nonetheless.”

The audience hangs on her every word, and waits in fidgety anticipation.

But somethings seems to have gone horribly wrong. Her brow furrows as she taps repeatedly at her keyboard. After a few moments, she looks up at Watcher Sharad in the back of the room. “CC just crashed” she reports. “What’s up with that?”

“If you marginalize features of the application while we Product Managers are in the room, stuff will happen.” Watcher Sharad smiles thinly from behind his computer, and the room erupts in laughter.

The Evangelist is laughing, too, but is that an almost imperceptible nervousness you detect? Perhaps a chink in her armor? Both she and you look over at Watcher Bob, stoic and unsmiling in the half shadows. He nods slightly, apparently signaling for her to proceed.

She composes herself and stands. The mood in the room darkens now with her next pronouncements, posed as interrogatories in a lower voice this time.

“Subscription Model? Monthly Fee? Institutional Resistance? Questions? Comments? Concerns?”

Enthusiasm changes to discord as the participants now seem evenly split between the yays and the nays. The almost liturgical call-and-response you witnessed just moments earlier has become a hot-blooded point-counterpoint debate.

“We’ll have perpetual payments!” / “We’ll always be running the latest and greatest versions!”

“They’ll jack up the price whenever they feel like it!” / “Not if they want to keep us from going to the competition, they won’t”

“But there is no competition! They’re the industry standard!” / “Just wait. This should encourage competition and further innovation, which will be good for everybody.”

“I won’t be able to decide if and when I want to upgrade!” / “You won’t ever have to worry about keeping current with upgrades again!”

“My fine art photo students can’t afford it, even with the EDU discount!” / “C’mon. They spend more than thirty bucks a month on skateboard modifications alone!”

“It will be just like those two-way TV sets in Nineteen-Eighty-Four. They’ll be up there in The Cloud watching everything we do!” / “No they won’t.” / “Yes they will!” / “Will not!” / “Will too!”

And on and on it goes, 15, 20, 30 minutes or more. As each cogent point or promising suggestion or feature request is made, The Watchers record every bit of it for detailed evaluation and potential implementation later.

“Impressive,” you say to yourself softly. “They are listening and responding to their users in real time.” Then, unable to believe what you just heard yourself say, you shake off such contradictory thinking.

Finally, The Evangelist brings all the unruliness to an abrupt end with the tinkle of a delicate white porcelain bell.

“Excellent. I think it’s time we take a bio-break”, she declares. “Ten minutes.”

Without warning, she then turns and locks eyes with you. A cold chill runs up your spine as you realize she has been aware of your lurking presence from the get-go, and still she allowed you to watch and listen. As if she wants even you, too, to learn.

“Hello” she says.

The Watchers turn away from their keyboards and look up at you. They are smiling. Indeed, all those in the room have now turned and are smiling.  All, that is, except for Watcher Bob. He remains in the shadows off to one side, stoic and eerily underlit by a nearby computer screen. He is unwrapping a York Peppermint Patty. He does not smile.

“Come in!” Watcher Kathy chirps, arms outstretched. “Welcome! Have you heard the good news? About the Creative Cloud?”

“NO!” you scream. “NEVER!” You slam the door and nearly trip over your own clumsy feet as you exit, stage left, without even so much as a backwards glance.

You are fearful that you have been fatally bamboozled by the intelligence of the debate, by the sincerity of the response, and by the Siren song of The Evangelist’s beauty and brilliance even from just this one brief exposure.

You tear through the streets of the free ranging, coffee swilling, vegan noshing socialist utopia now, running past Zip Cars and shared bicycles and community gardens and AirBnB pied-a-terres in a desperate search for the antidote to what is now clearly yet another one of these RADICAL NEW IDEAS.

You seek a return to the bygone days of yore, a time when all could be had on your terms alone to do with as you pleased, whether by hook or by crook and often for free.

You seek your Precious, that which you could have and hold (and loan to your brother-in-law). You seek the glittering, circular vestige of What Always Was And Still Should Be.

You seek The Hard Copy.

But there will be fewer and fewer to be found in this brave new world of software subscriptions and monthly re-ups. So you Gimp off to the lands of Nik and Bibble, and you curse The Cloud and howl at the moon, all to no avail. No way, no how, no disc, no more.

Ow-Ow-Owwwwwwwwoooooooooooooooooo!

Author’s note: I just returned from the 2013 Adobe Educator Summit in Portland, Oregon. In case you can’t tell, I found it to be a very important and enjoyable experience. 

Our home for the weeklong event was the beautiful Hotel Lucia, where, coincidentally, we were surrounded by their amazing collection of over 600 prints from the archive of Pulitzer Prize winning photojournalist David Hume Kennerly. He was an early hero of mine when he served as Gerald Ford’s official White House photographer.

As one of 20 college-level photo instructors invited to participate in the intensive workshop, I can’t praise presenter Julianne Kost and the Lightroom/Photoshop management team highly enough. They were authoritative, entertaining, thoroughly gracious hosts, as well as a real kick to be around (and I’m not just saying that because I got a free hat and T-shirt out of the deal, but they had me with the hat).

While I have obviously used considerable creative license in my recounting of the event here (and I hope my hosts are not offended by my characterizations of them), I have tried to remain faithful to how we addressed the controversy over the Creative Cloud. We’re all trying to figure out what it means for us, too.

Personally, I see it as a reasonable, logical, and welcome evolution (they had me with the hat, remember?), albeit one with issues. As educators and administrators, however, my colleagues and I all seemed to agree that implementation is going to be tricky.

But I look forward to the day when I can report back to Julianne and her team that my students, my faculty and my school are all, in the words of an air traffic controller and former student of hers, “sittin’ on GO, m’am. We are sittin’ on GO.”

As a photographer, you will sooner or later bump into the phrase the decisive moment. The decisive moment is a concept made popular by the street photographer, photojournalist, and Magnum co-founder Henri Cartier-Bresson. The decisive moment refers to capturing an event that is ephemeral and spontaneous, where the image represents the essence of the event itself.

Bresson made a great impact on photography, in part, due to his ability to capture such moments. The time between observing, composing, and shooting must occur with foresight and instinct, or as Bresson said:

Your eye must see a composition or an expression that life itself offers you, and you must know with intuition when to click the camera.

Bresson highlights two important skills that a competent photographer needs: knowing and intuiting.  Knowing requires conscious attention and it is intentional. Intuition is immediate and does not require conscious reasoning. Conscious awareness occurs alongside unconscious processing. Both are required to release the shutter at the right place and time to capture the decisive moment.

It may seem like I’m making an obvious point convoluted. However, we are often unaware of how our conscious and unconscious awareness interact and how this affects our perceptions and behavior.

In this article, I will explore the interactions between conscious (i.e., knowing) and unconscious (i.e., intuiting) awareness and how the brain works to link the two. Specifically, I will show how the brain’s motor and visual systems develop at the conscious and unconscious level.

I will also show that when motor skills and visual perceptions are highly developed, they work together and allow the photographer to know with intuition.  That is, there is a tremendous amount of effort required to develop motor and visual skills at the conscious and unconscious level, such that they work together and allow for the photographer to capture the decisive moment.

Conscious to Unconscious Motor Skills

Generally, conscious perceptions are due to the activity of the cortex (the hills and valleys of the outermost part of the brain), while unconscious processing is due to the activity of the subcortex. The way the cortex processes information is directly affected by the information it receives from the subcortex and vise versa.  Meaning, our conscious awareness affects our unconscious processing and our unconscious processing affects our conscious awareness. I’ll use the development of motor skills as an example of this interaction.

An enormous amount of attention is required when first learning any motor task, such as walking, riding a bike, or learning how to control a camera. Neuroscientists call this type of motor skill development procedural learning. Eventually the focus given to procedural learning decreases and becomes automatic (i.e., unconscious).

For example, the first time you take a photo, you must learn how hold the camera. Holding a camera is intuitive, but it’s necessary to know where to place your fingers, where to stand when taking a shot, how to control the lens focus (assuming its manual), advancing the film (again, I’m making an assumption), framing the image, making sure the lens cap is off, moving your thumb out of the way of the lens, knowing what buttons to press without looking at them (e.g., the Fn button), and so on.

The brain regions that are responsible for procedural learning are the basal ganglia and the motor cortex. The basal ganglia consist of several subcortical brain regions, which are responsible for refining motor tasks and making them automatic. During initial learning, the motor cortex (conscious awareness) sends a set of instructions to the basal ganglia. The basal ganglia then takes this command and initiates a motor behavior that

attempts to carry out the task the motor cortex assigned. If the motor behavior does not match what the motor cortex had wanted, then the motor cortex readjusts the instructions and sends them back to the basal ganglia to try again. This feedback between the motor cortex and the basal ganglia is what drives procedural learning.

When motor skills related to a specific task are learned, the motor cortex disengages, and the unconscious processing of the basal ganglia carries out the motor behaviors. What’s interesting is that once this motor skill is unconscious, trying to be conscious of the motor skill often impairs performance. Pretend that you’re walking. Now think about how you walk. Does your right hand move with your right leg, or does it move with the opposite leg? Simply being aware of this as you walk often trips people up. Basically, you don’t need to overthink what you already know.

When basic motor procedures are learned then attention can be directed towards other important skills, like composition or anticipating events in your environment.

Learning to See

Like the motor system, conscious visual awareness interacts with unconscious visual processing. The brain’s primary visual cortex (conscious awareness) and subcortical structures (unconscious awareness) interact and are instrumental navigating our visual world.

Vision requires light signals from the environment to activate the photoreceptors in the eye, which causes activity of the brain’s visual system (see a previous article for a detailed explanation). Light activates the subcortical structures of visual processing, which in turn activate the primary visual cortex.

It is thought that the primary visual cortex is the first sight where we begin to have conscious awareness of our visual perception. We know this, in part, because neuroscientists have studied individuals that have had damage to their primary visual cortex and can still process visual information, even though they cannot see. This phenomenon is called blindsight.

Someone with blindsight cannot consciously perceive visual stimuli, but they can still use unconscious visual information to accurately guide behavior. Blindsight occurs when the primary visual cortex is damaged, but the subcortical structures of the visual system remain intact. Someone with blindsight can discriminate colors, shapes, motion, and even emotions. For example, if you were to ask someone with blindsight to hold out their hand as you hand them something (e.g., a glass cup vs. a set of keys) the individual will hold out their hand in an appropriate fashion to hold whatever you give them (i.e., a grip for a cup and an open hand to receive the keys). This suggests that a significant amount of visual information (and the emotions it can induce) occurs at the unconscious level.

We also learn how to see specific visual cues in our environment. For example, when I started to take photography more seriously, I preferred to look at my image in black and white through my digital viewfinder or on the LCD screen. I used to be very distracted by colors and found black and white images helped me see contrast more clearly.

Because I shoot in RAW, the image would show up in Lightroom in color. The more involved I became in post processing, the more I learned about seeing specific colors. I would alter each color channels hue, saturation, or luminance and observe the color changes of my image. I did this thousands of times, and after a while, I became more aware of colors in my environment (in real life). I began to discriminate between yellows and greens in leaves rather than only seeing green.

When I go out to shoot now, I see colors in my visual scene and can imagine changing that color’s luminance during post processing. I even began to see how certain colors in the environment would be represented in black and white and how altering the color channel would alter the corresponding greyscale value. Over time, the visual awareness that I developed became more automatic and unconscious.

Conscious and Unconscious Interactions when Capturing the Decisive Moment

Learning a new motor skill or how to see new details in the environment requires conscious and unconscious awareness. The cortex is pivotal in our conscious awareness, which is required at the onset of learning.  Over time, the cortex teaches the subcortex how to carry out those new abilities automatically and unconsciously.  This frees up the cortex to learn new skills and to be aware of new things in the environment.

It makes sense that Henri Cartier-Bresson would value both knowing (the conscious) and intuiting (the unconscious) when taking the shot. His ability to capture the decisive moment depends on conscious and unconscious interactions. Although this process would be the same for all humans, not all of us have the ability to catch these fleeting moments. What, then, makes Bresson so incredible?

For one, he was in the first generation of photographers that had access to a candid camera, the Leica. Also, he was trained as a painter and developed his skills in composition and was fluent in reading images. Was it his art training that made Bresson one of the greatest photographers of the 20th century? It likely helped, but that alone is not enough.

To be a great photographer an exceptional amount of practice, diligence, courage, failure and losing oneself is necessary but it is not sufficient. Bresson was great because he spent a tremendous amount of time consciously perfecting his skills, unconsciously setting up his shots, guiding his camera so that he could release the shutter and capture the decisive moment.

Photography is not documentary, but intuition, a poetic experience. It’s drowning yourself, dissolving yourself, and then sniff, sniff, sniff – being sensitive to coincidence. You can’t go looking for it; you can’t want it, or you wont get it. First you must lose your self. Then it happens. –Henri Cartier-Bresson

Henri Cartier-Bresson knew with intuition.

Image credit: Header photo illustration created with “Decisive Moment” photograph by Henri Cartier-Bresson and at least he still has his shutter finger by Tanel Teemusk, Old camera in freshman’s hands by Slawek Puklo, My eye by orangeacid

“Don’t forget, Eric: there is a story in your backyard.” This is the advice David Alan Harvey gave me while reviewing my portfolio of travel images during a 2011 Magnum Photos Workshop I attended in Toronto.

About a year after the workshop, having lived abroad and traveled extensively, I returned to my hometown of Baltimore, Maryland to begin my freelance photography career. It was then that I learned the Sparrows Point Steel Mill (a Baltimore hub of industrial activity dating back to 1889) had permanently closed its doors. The news hit home because my parents both hailed from blue-collar communities – my grandfather had worked at Sparrows Point, and my mother, who has lived in Maryland all her life, grew up under its shadow.

After Sparrows Point filed for bankruptcy in 2012, over 2,000 people lost their jobs. This got me thinking: How would the closure impact the community? How would people’s lives change?

17 months after the Magnum Workshop, Harvey’s words were echoing in my head.

In early January 2013, I began spending time in the community that surrounds Sparrows Point. I visited flea markets, union halls, strip clubs, hair salons, Laundromats, sandwich shops, and of course, local bars. On a Wednesday evening, I stopped into Pop’s Tavern – the favorite watering hole for steel workers. I introduced myself to every bar patron, including the three generations of owners, and told them I was curious about how people’s lives were affected by the plant’s closure.

Eventually, one woman came up to me, and said, “Hey, you are the photographer doing a story on mill workers who lost their jobs. Let me run to the bathroom real quick, and then I will share something with you. Don’t move.” I didn’t. A few minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom, a cell phone clenched between her shoulder and ear. She was screaming over the bar music while drying her hands with paper towels. She approached me, dropped the towels on the bar, and handed me her phone. “Here, talk to Bobby.” A bit dumbfounded, I grasped the phone, and did just that.

After we spoke, Bobby decided to get out of his pajamas, come down to the bar and meet me in person. He was open, giving, vulnerable. Instantly, it was clear that the job loss had shaken him, and that the unknown future had rattled his foundation. After 39 years of working at the mill and just two years shy of official retirement, he shared with me that in order to keep some benefits he had enrolled – via a State and Federal program – in a local community college.

Over the next several months, I visited Bobby often. The first time I photographed him was inside the closed-down mill during a public auction. I went with Bobby to the plant to see the remaining equipment. He wanted to reminisce. I wanted to capture his last day among steel. Thus ensued a relationship where, over time, he truly accepted my camera and me. He would go about his everyday life as if I was not even there – calling school about classes, figuring out how to make ends meet at home, updating his son over the telephone. There was trust. I was honored, and I was humbled.

One day, Bobby embraced that trust – he shared his real reason for enrolling in higher education. In actuality, he could have retired, accepted early pension offerings or picked up a laborer job. But when greeted with the option of enrollment, Bobby recalled how he sat as his son’s college graduation and, “cried like a little girl.” Bobby was so proud at that moment. He wanted to get a college education so his son could see him, diploma in hand, also walk across stage.

For weeks leading up to his first day of school, Bobby was calm and focused. He brushed off any worry with a smile and swipe of his mustache. But that all changed when his first Algebra class descended upon him. He misplaced his glasses, he got lost in the school parking lot, he forgot his classroom’s location and he cussed like a guy who has not been in school for almost 4 decades.

2x + 1 = 5x – 8. Bobby knew languages of carpentry, tools and dirt under his fingernails. Algebra equations were as foreign to him as Chinese calligraphy is to an American newborn. His teacher, a young fellow who Bobby felt “needed to go to war,” was thorough, yet fast. But Bobby, being on his own, with minimal support from family and friends, struggled from day one.

Oftentimes, I watched Bobby do his homework, either alone or with tutors from the college’s student center. As I filmed and photographed, I noticed myself cheering him on inside. Succeed. Get the answer. Prove that you can do this. My camera would shake as I gripped its body just hoping for “x” to equal 3. But my hope could not affect his outcome, it could not assist in his learning and it could not make his son proud. Sometimes I wondered, “If I had to return to college, now 14 years after my graduation, how would I fare?” The thought utterly frightened me.

Bobby worked extremely hard to tackle a full course load. But 12 credits, via Algebra, English and Sociology classes, ultimately got the better of him. He was not used to the schedule, demands, analysis and technicalities. He began yearning for the days that had been common to him for so long – laughter over the crinkle of brown-bag lunches, hiding behind equipment for a smoke break and leaving greasy fingerprints on beer glasses after work. However, spending time as the “grandfather” amongst young girls in class, albeit pleasant on the eyes, never settled in.

Bobby diligently attended classes for three long weeks, but the coursework became more intense, more involved and more strenuous. I saw him try, seek help, but Bobby simply couldn’t keep up. On the eve of deadline to drop classes and get all tuition refunded, Bobby, with his chin to his chest, phoned his son. After sharing his thoughts and feelings, he subsequently called the college administrator and resigned from school. As the phone’s handset hit the cradle, I instantly witnessed Bobby’s demeanor change – nuances needed on film.

His shoulders relaxed, his chin and chest rose, and his facial hair separated as a grin came over his lips. Upon making that decision, Bobby didn’t exactly know what his next step would be. But that night, for the first time in three weeks, he slept until morning without nightmares of higher education. Eventually, Bobby decided to enroll in a trade program – a local shop class that taught welding, remodeling and home building. At the time of this writing, he was back to using his hands – with dirt under his fingernails and dust on his work boots – just as things should be.

Plants are erected, and plants are shutdown. It is business and economics, and supply and demand. So it is no surprise that this experience happened to Bobby. During his ordeal, I simultaneously felt proud of him and sorry for him. He had a wonderful reason to enroll in college and attempt to graduate – I feel like nobody can argue that. What some people might argue is – there might not be a robust system in place to have workers like Bobby succeed.

Bobby is an intelligent and talented guy. He could build my home with bare hands. But while following his journey through school, he seemed totally outmatched by books, calculators, bureaucracy and tasks. This is where I felt sorry for him. Deep down, he did not want to be a failure to himself and to his son. The reality is, Bobby’s a resounding success for dedicating his life to a craft that he loved and rolling down an unchartered path.

About the author: Eric Kruszewski is a photographer based in Baltimore, Maryland. Visit his website here. You can connect with him through Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.

“Ya wanna see Edgerton’s lab?”

Now, asking a photographer if he would like to see the workspace of the guy who made all those iconic stop-action images of impossibly fast-moving objects was like asking a short-order cook if he’d like to see where they invented the ham and cheese omelet.

But coming from Cheryl , one of my former students and a sergeant with the MIT Police Department, I knew those few words were ripe with possibility.

So, one lovely Friday morning not all that long ago, my colleague and pal Heratch and I dropped off a dozen fresh, hand-cut donuts at MIT PD (I mean, how often do you get to deliver donuts to a bunch of cops?). We then joined Cheryl and her boss, Chief John DiFava, for the quick walk over to Strobe Alley, Doc Edgerton’s suite of classrooms and labs in a building just east of the MIT dome.

Harold E. “Doc” Edgerton didn’t invent the strobe light or the electronic flash, and he wasn’t the first photographer or scientist to explore the potential of using strobes to stop rapid motion on film. But his genius transformed the strobe from a laboratory curiosity into an important tool for science, industry and photography. In their biographical memoir of Edgerton published in 2005 by the National Academy of Sciences, J. Kim Vandiver and Pagan Kennedy laid out his legacy in a paragraph:

“He made flashing light cheap and portable, and found endless applications for it, from the airport runway to the office copy machine. But despite his importance as an innovator, Edgerton is best known for the photographs he took: the drop of milk exploding into a crown, a bullet hovering beside an apple, an atomic blast caught the instant before it mushroomed, a smudge that might have been the flipper of the Loch Ness Monster. His strobe photographs illustrated scientific phenomena in a way that was instantly understandable to millions of people.”

After joining MIT’s faculty in 1932, one of his earliest contributions to the science of photography was the introduction of argon gas into electronic flash tubes, a technical achievement that enabled brighter, faster flash output than had previously been available. Indirectly, this development would contribute far more to the esthetic of photography and to the popular visual perception of time and motion.

Many of his experiments with high-energy, high-speed strobe lights took place in the room in which I was now standing, a room that looked more like a gadgeteer’s crowded basement workshop than a prominent point on the star map of the history of photography.

Vandiver and Kennedy described the place:

“The hallway echoed with the report of gunshots. Flashes jumped across the walls. Boxes spilled wires, capacitors, barnacled wood. By contrast, other wings of MIT seemed downright sterile. Strobe Alley, the hallway that cut a line between Edgerton’s labs, sucked visitors in and invited them to become part of the action. To make his lair even more inviting, Edgerton hung displays all along the hall: photographs, framed bits of equipment, buttons to push. [Former student and side-scan sonar expert Marty] Klein, who wandered into Strobe Alley as an undergraduate in 1961, loved the tantalizing smell of the place. It reminded him of the junk shops in lower Manhattan…’”

The pushbuttons, photographs and showcased exhibits of equipment are all still much as they were when Edgerton walked the hallway. On my left, I had immediately noticed a very old device sitting on a workbench, looking like a prop from a 1950’s sci-fi flick. It also bore a passing resemblance to the Speedotron power packs that I used for years in my commercial photography business. But this thing was bigger, blacker and scarier looking with its knobs, dials, toggles and ammeter, and was plastered with various labels warning of the dangers of working alone with high voltage. I understood what that was all about.

Years ago I was working in a studio while another photographer was shooting a model. My friend, perhaps distracted by the beautiful woman on the set in front of him, decided to straddle a 2400 watt-second Norman pack and rearrange its cables in order to change the power ratio to the flash heads he was using.

Brazenly ignoring the standard practice of turning the pack off and dumping the energy stored in its capacitor before disconnecting a flash cable, he flicked his eyebrows at the model once or twice and then yanked hard on one of the thick black leads. The pack logically responded by arcing and exploding in a flash of yellow light and white smoke between his legs.

When the roiling mushroom cloud dissipated against the ceiling a few seconds later, there he stood, frozen stiff, still holding the cable in his hand and covered from head to toe with soot and pulverized electrical insulation. The misshapen power pack lay on its side a few feet away from where it had been. Fortunately, his injuries were limited to a bruised ego.

My thoughts were brought back to the here and now by a bearded, casually-dressed guy welcoming us from the opposite corner of the room. Dr. Jim Bales is the assistant director of what is now known as the Edgerton Center. We introduced ourselves, and  thanked him for inviting us. Then he asked  “What did you bring to shoot?”

Cheryl had told us earlier that we were not just going to be able to see the lab, but that there was a good chance we would actually see a demonstration of how Edgerton made his stop-action photographs of bullets piercing various objects. We were to bring along our cameras, tripods, and some “targets”.

Heratch and I had mulled this over for quite some time. “Ya know…” he started with the same two words that he has opened countless conversations with in the past, “…a Boston Cream donut might make a pretty good target.” I agreed wholeheartedly, and I now presented to Dr. Bales with a perfect specimen of our city’s indigenous donut carefully packaged in a small white box tied with string.

“Oh, another cream donut. That’s what everybody brings. You’d be surprised”, he said. “The bullet goes in and out and the donut absorbs all the energy and just sort of folds around it before any of the cream squirts out. We’ve never really gotten a very good shot of a bullet going through a cream donut.”

“Right, right, of course, that’s pretty fascinating.” I tried to make it sound as if I had never really believed the donut would work, but in that moment the door to the enormous warehouse of topics that I don’t know the first thing about (but venture a comment on anyway) opened just a crack. Heratch shot a look at me; he knew that I had been planning to title this essay “Time To Shoot The Donuts”.

Jim showed us around the lab a bit and introduced us to the other scientist in the room, Dr. Bob Root. Bob told us that his company, Prism Science Works, designed and built the small strobe unit we would be working with. Its flash duration was astonishingly short, somewhere in the neighborhood of one-third of a microsecond, literally faster than a speeding bullet.

Jim and Bob explained how a small microphone, positioned a few inches from the target, captures the sound of the shock wave (a miniature sonic boom) that precedes a supersonic projectile and fires the strobe as the bullet enters, is inside of, or exits the target, depending on where the mic is actually placed.

With the room completely darkened, a camera with its shutter held open captures the infinitesimally brief burst of light and the scene that it illuminates; in one-third of a microsecond, a bullet and any ejected debris from the target appear to be stopped in mid-flight.

“And the thing that you shouldn’t forget” Bob continued, “is that your eyes are also a camera. Once you get used to what is going on, you will actually see the bullet stopped in midair the same way that your camera will record it.” The principle is the same as what happens when a strobe light is turned on in a darkened night club; fluid movement on the dance floor turns into what looks like a really bad Quicktime movie.

Jim told us that he would start by firing at the thin edge of a playing card, attempting to capture an image of a bullet tearing the card in half. He asked for a volunteer to help him sight down the bore of the rifle. Skip Hoyt, another photographer friend of Cheryl’s and an acquaintance of Jim’s from MIT’s Lincoln Labs, stepped forward to help.

Jim stuck a Joker in the folds of an old felt blackboard eraser resting on a stand in the center of the room, and then knelt down behind the .22 caliber target rifle strapped along the length of a gray wooden sawhorse positioned next to a workbench on the far wall of the lab. With Skip’s help, he positioned it perfectly relative to the immobilized rifle.

On the other end of the “range”, a gaffer’s tape-covered length of iron pipe welded to a stand appeared to be lined up to catch the bullet. From rifle muzzle to coffee can, our shooting gallery measured less than 8 feet in length. Anyone scoring Maggie’s Drawers in here would have some explaining to do to whoever happened to be in the room next door.

Doc Edgerton’s safety issues had been even more serious; for many of his pictures he had used a .30 caliber military rifle firing heavy bullets at nearly 3 times the speed of sound.

“The first thing you should be asking, Skip, since you’re standing in the line of fire, is ‘where’s the bolt?’” Jim stood up from sighting-in the rifle. The bolt is part of the rifle’s loading mechanism and contains the firing pin. Shaking his pants pocket he said “Don’t worry, the bolt’s right here.”

At that point we arranged our digital SLR’s in a tripod-mounted scrum a couple of feet away from the playing card. The squarish white strobe, about the size  of a lunch box, was perched on a light stand to the left of the cameras. A small black box containing the microphone was positioned slightly to the left of and below the playing card, poised to trip the strobe as the bullet tore the card in half. The sawhorse holding the rifle was to the right of the whole arrangement, about 3 feet away from where my camera was and where my right ear would soon be.

We all fumbled with our cameras, setting the exposure mode to “M” and the shutter speed to “B”. Jim shut out the lights, plunging the room into absolute darkness. He then tripped the strobe by clapping his hands once near the microphone so we could determine the proper aperture to set on our lenses.

“I always wanted a clapper strobe”, Heratch quipped, beating everyone else in the room to the obvious.

Finally, it was show time. Jim distributed headphones and protective eyeglasses to everyone as we all crouched down in a little huddle behind our cameras, right index fingers poised  on shutter releases. Being closest to the rifle, I felt the nerve endings tingling on the right side of my face as Jim got into position. After checking to make sure everyone was ready and where they were supposed to be, he started his very deliberate countdown.

“OK. Bolt’s in the pocket. Eyes and ears on? Loading. Loaded. Lights out.

Remembering what Bob had said about trying to see the bullet with my eyes, I stared into black space at where I knew the card was.

“Shutters open.”

The sound of 5 camera shutters snapping open came faintly through the protective headphones.

“3…2…1…BANG!”

For the briefest instant imaginable, I saw the perfectly bisected white card brilliantly illuminated less than 4 feet in front of my face. Suspended in space on its left side was a jagged field of bits of torn paper, and, perfectly frozen against the blackness just beyond, the unmistakable oblong shape of a dull gray bullet. I saw it with my eyes, and a few moments later I saw it again on my camera’s LCD screen.

I’ve never appreciated digital photography more than in that moment. The instant digital preview appearing on the back of our cameras was the one fundamental thing that differed from Doc Edgerton’s experiments 70 years earlier. How hard it must have been for him to have to wait while his film was processed and printed! How lucky we were! We all knew it, and the room erupted in spontaneous, amazed laughter.

“Shutters closed. Lights on. How’d we do?” Surely Jim had seen this reaction a thousand times in his years at Strobe Alley, but he smiled nonetheless as he checked the thumbnails on each of our cameras.

We repeated the process 7 or 8 more times, firing at more playing cards and each other’s business cards. At one point Heratch, realizing he didn’t have a business card with him, started looking through his wallet for a photo of his family. Jim stopped him.

“Sorry. We don’t do pictures of people or pets. No ex-wives or girlfriends. It sends the wrong message.”

The last target we used was a particularly plump green grape from somebody’s lunch perched on top of a plastic film canister. Jim’s first shot was a little low, resulting in an interesting but less-than-spectacular image. He adjusted the height of the next grape by placing it on a wad of FunTak, and the ensuing explosive impact left us all wiping grape juice off our faces and lenses while marveling at the images we had made.

As I packed up my gear, I looked up above the general area where the targets had been placed and saw stalactites of dried Jell-O, egg, peanut butter and God knows what else splattered like a three-dimensional gravity-defying Pollack on the ceiling.

While researching Edgerton and his work for this essay, I was surprised to learn that he had once lived down the street and around the corner from where I was living at the time. It reminded me of the night I sat just a table away from Philip Morrison, a principal physicist on the Manhattan Project and a colleague of Edgerton’s at MIT, dining with friends on chicken kabobs at a local Greek joint.

My own dinner companions that evening were mildly interested when I tried to explain who the lively old guy in the wheelchair was, but, frankly, seemed more impressed with the nice tomato sauce on their fluffy white rice than by the fact that the guy who helped drop the big one on Japan was sitting right next to us.

The devastating effects of the atom bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945 haunted Morrison, who went on to become a leading proponent of nuclear nonproliferation. Edgerton, meanwhile, directing his expertise and scientific curiosity toward the same subject, produced unforgettable high-speed photographs recording the awesome, apocalyptic beauty of H-bomb tests in the 1950’s and 60’s with a camera of his own design.

Until Morrison became a minor TV celebrity with his popular PBS series The Ring Of Truth, neither of these guys were easily recognizable as they lived their extraordinary lives in our midst. Yet the work that they did became an indisputable part of the iconography of the twentieth century.

Doc Edgerton died on January 4, 1990 after suffering a heart attack at the MIT Faculty Club. “Papa Flash”, as his friend and collaborator Jacques Cousteau had nicknamed him, was 86 years old. “I performed CPR on him”, Cheryl mentioned quietly as we left Strobe Alley that Friday morning.

I just looked at her, not quite knowing what to say. But afterwards I found something that he liked to say, and I haven’t been able to get it, or the rare privilege of having spent a couple of hours seeing firsthand what few before him had even imagined, out of my mind.

“If you don’t wake up at three in the morning and want to do something, you’re wasting your time.” 

I haven’t been sleeping quite as much ever since.

Rediscovered in 1952 by photo historians Helmut and Alison Gernsheim, the “First Photograph” was first depicted in this well-known reproduction that was retouched by Helmut Gernsheim prior to its international release. Joseph Nicéphore Niépce’s “View from the Window at Le Gras.” 1826 or 1827. Gernsheim Collection, Harry Ransom Center / The University of Texas at Austin.

(It’s been exactly 50 years – 1963 – since Swiss photo historian Helmut Gernsheim donated the world’s earliest permanent photograph^* to the University of Texas for public display. This post, the events of which took place over the past few years, honors this anniversary.)

There’s nothing quite like seeing history in front of your eyes. Physically being at a location or in front of an artifact from long ago that represents a continuous thread to something important today.

Like what I felt at Jamestown, Virginia, when I stood on the northern bank at a twist in the James River, closed my eyes, smelled the brackish water, and transported myself back to 1607 when a small band of native inhabitants watched in awe as the first permanent English settlers arrived in the New World in their tall-masted ships.

Or when I saw the actual Wright Brothers “flyer” from 1903 on display at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C., and then visited Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, where the brothers flew it a few hundred feet over the sand dunes.

Photo (by John T. Daniels) of the first powered, controlled, sustained flight, Dec. 17, 1903. The author has run along the same spot just as Wilbur Wright is doing at right. Source: U.S. Library of Congress (public domain).

Maybe it’s not up there with settling a continent or inventing a new mode of travel, but I had the same amazed feeling when I looked at the world’s oldest photograph* in a display case in Austin, Texas. Let me tell you how I came to be standing there at the Harry Ransom Center on the campus of the University of Texas at Austin, staring at the world’s first photograph created by Joseph Nicéphore Niépce, the world’s first photographer.

The French Connection

Many people credit Louis Jacques Mandé Daguerre with being the “father of photography.” While he may have been the first to make it practical with his Daguerreotypes – those gorgeous little polished copper (silvered) plates that show such amazing detail – it was really his ill-fated partner, Nicéphore Niépce, who was the world’s first photographer.

Joseph Nicéphore Niépce. Source: public domain.

Joseph Nicéphore Niépce was what is sometimes called a “gentleman scientist.” In the early 19th century this wasn’t uncommon — middle-age men (mostly) who were financially independent, had time on their hands, and who had a single-minded curiosity about the world around them. They were the amateur tinkerers and inventors who brought us many important discoveries: Michael Faraday (the generator), Gregor Mendel (genetics) and even Charles Darwin.

Niépce, along with his brother older brother Claude, were busy inventors and tinkerers, collaborating on projects together. After their military service they began work on the ingenious Pyréolophore, considered the world’s first internal-combustion engine and for which they received a patent in 1807. The brothers would spend the next 20 years — and most of their family fortune — on improving and trying to commercialize the Pyréolophore. But Nicéphore Niépce also kept up an interest in trying to use light to reproduce images, especially when combined with a camera obscura (box camera of the time), and he began his experiments in earnest around 1816 while his brother was preoccupied with the Pyréolophore.

Burgundy

When I was preparing to travel to the Arles Photo Festival in southern France on a consulting trip one year, I thought: Why not find out more about the history of photography? I would be in France anyway, so why not go whole hog and see where it all started? I planned some extra days at the end of the trip so I could find ground zero.

If you travel due north from Arles on the main roads, you eventually enter the region of Burgundy, best known for its wine. And in the southeast corner straddling the river Saône is the town of Chalon-sur-Saône (current population 48,000) where Nicéphore Niépce was born and lived most of his life. He is one of the “notable people” associated with the town (the other was a double agent in World War II) and the small village, Saint-Loup-de-Varenne, where he had his country house and workshop. You can’t really miss Niepce’s presence here with a museum, several parks, plaques and statues commemorating him.

Hometown hero Niépce has his share of markers and memories in Chalon-sur-Saône and nearby Saint-Loup-de-Varennes. The 1822 date may be wrong but the honor is appropriate. Photos by the author.

After visiting the Niépce Museum in Chalon (Musée Nicéphore Niépce), I saw the house where he was born, but I wanted to see where it all happened, which was not in the town but at Le Gras, his family estate just six kilometers away in the village of Saint-Loup-de-Varennes (population 1,000).

Where It All Happened

In 1999, the French photography school SPEOS became a tenant of the private residence of Niepce’s Le Gras estate when the school’s founder, photographer Pierre-Yves Mahé, rented the part of the house that was used by Niepce as his laboratory-workshop. With Jean-Louis Marignier, a scientist at the French National Center of Scientific Research, they restored and recreated Niepce’s working conditions and rediscovered the site of his photo experiments.

A modern view of Niépce’s Le Gras estate. Photo by and courtesy of Pierre-Yves Mahé/Spéos.

I arrived at Le Gras on a hot sunny day in summer. After meeting up with my private guide (Aurélie) at the nearby Le Bistro (café/museum shop), we went to visit the house.

The front of Niépce’s Le Gras house as it looks today. Photo by the author.

The large house, part of which is now a museum, sits at the end of a quiet, gravelly road that soon crosses a railroad track. We ducked into the small front doorway, walked up the narrow stairs to the second floor (first floor in France), and into the first of two main rooms. This room had copies of his small camera obscuras as well as image reproductions. But I was headed for the second room.

I stood at the entrance of “the room” and took it all in. It was a pleasant space with two large windows on each side of a fireplace. There were two tables displaying various chemicals and implements that Niépce had used in his many experiments, and at the far side stood a large camera obscura raised high on a pedestal and pointing out the far window. This camera is an exact copy of the actual one used by Niépce that sits in the Niépce Museum in Chalon.

Niépce took the famous “Point de vue du Gras” photo from roughly this position. Pierre-Yves Mahé is shown looking at the floor excavation to determine the window’s original position. Photo by Raphael Gaillarde/Gamma, courtesy of Pierre-Yves Mahé/Spéos.

The actual camera used by Niépce to take his famous photo. Photo courtesy Musée Niécephore Niépce/Chalon-sur-Saône.

I walked slowly to the camera, turned to the open window, and there I saw it with my own eyes: “Le Point de View de la Fenêtre du Gras” (in English: The View from the Window at Le Gras). I was looking at the actual courtyard view.

How the courtyard looks today (facing the house). You can see “the window” just to the left of the central tower and under the roof line. Photo by Raphael Gaillarde/Gamma, courtesy of Pierre-Yves Mahé/Spéos.

Sort of. A few things had changed. First of all, most of the buildings and objects showing in the photo have long since disappeared. That’s to be expected after 187 years and multiple homeowners. And the window itself, as it turns out, had been moved 70 centimeters to the left to make way for a fireplace and chimney. But these are minor points, right? I mean, here I was standing on the actual wide-plank floorboards (rediscovered by Mahé) that Niépce had walked on to create the earliest existing photograph in history. With a light breeze coming in through the open window, I closed my eyes, and I was there in 1826. Fantastic!

How It Happened

After a lithography craze swept France in 1813, Nicéphore Niépce began experimenting with lithographic printmaking but with a twist: he took paper or vellum engravings, varnished them to make them translucent, placed them on metal plates coated with various light-sensitive solutions of his own composition, and exposed them to sunlight, a process he termed “Heliography” (sun writing). He then acid-etched the plates, cleaned them and used them to make final prints on paper.
During these lithography trials, he also experimented by putting light-sensitive plates at the back of a camera (camera obscura), but he was unable to prevent the images from fading, a problem that affected all early photographic experimenters. Around 1816, Niépce discovered that he produced his best results when using a solution of bitumen of Judea (asphalt), which dates back to ancient Egypt.

Niépce made his first in-camera experiments from this room in 1816. Photo by Raphael Gaillarde/Gamma, courtesy of Pierre-Yves Mahé/Spéos.

Finally, in 1826–1827 (the exact year is debated), the chemical process, the power of the camera, the successful quest for permanence, and the combined curiosity of the inventor all came together: Joseph Nicéphore Niépce made the first permanent photograph from nature with a camera. Here’s how he did it: He coated a pewter plate (pewter being an alloy of tin, copper and lead) with the same solution from his previous experiments and placed the plate into a camera that was looking out from that upstairs window of his house at Le Gras. After an exposure of at least eight hours, the plate was washed with a mixture of oil of lavender and white petroleum, dissolving away the parts of the bitumen that had not been hardened by light. The result was a direct-positive picture where the lights were represented by bitumen and the darks by bare metal. This was the historic one-of-a-kind landscape photograph showing “The View from the Window…” The world’s oldest photograph.

One of the attic rooms where Niépce also did some of his shooting and chemical work. Photo by Francis Demange/Gamma, courtesy of Pierre-Yves Mahé/Spéos.

If you want to know more, here is an excellent video that describes the house and how Mahé and Marignier figured out what Niépce had done and where:

Niépce’s Problems

In September 1827, Niépce traveled to England to visit his ailing brother who was promoting their struggling Pyréolophore project. But his brother died, and the Pyréolophore was abandoned, leaving Niépce basically broke.

While in England, he was introduced to botanist Francis Bauer. Bauer recognized the importance of Niépce’s work and encouraged him to write a proposal for a presentation to the Royal Society in London about it. But his proposal was rejected because the secretive Niépce chose not to fully disclose his process. Niépce left for France dejected.

Upon his return to Le Gras, Niépce continued his experiments. In 1829, he agreed to a 10-year partnership with Louis-Jacques-Mandé Daguerre. Niépce kept experimenting with Heliography, dreaming of recognition and economic success, until his unexpected death from a stroke in 1833 (he was 68). His son (Isidore) took over his father’s half of the partnership with Daguerre, but things went downhill from there with Daguerre becoming photography’s superstar and Niécephore Niépce gradually fading into obscurity. Until 1952.

Now I just needed to head back to the States to see the real artifact, which turned out to be much closer to home than I thought.

Back to School

I hadn’t been back to the University of Texas campus in years (I got my undergraduate degree there). I had called ahead and arranged to meet with Roy Flukinger, who is a senior research curator at the Harry Ransom Center, which has a mission to advance the study of the arts and humanities, and which sits right on campus and within spitting distance of the iconic UT Tower (scene of the horrific shooting spree by Charles Whitman, which dramatically preceded my enrollment at the university by one month).

So what happened to the famous Niépce plate after his death, and how did it travel from Burgundy, France to Austin, Texas? Here’s the story…
After Niépce’s rejection by the Royal Society in England in 1827 he left a handwritten memoir and several of his heliograph specimens (including the “First Photograph”) with Francis Bauer, who labeled them and set them aside.

For the balance of the 1800s, the First Photograph passed from Bauer’s estate through a variety of hands, and after its last public exhibition in 1905, it dropped out of sight. Then, almost 50 years later (in 1952), photo historian and collector Helmut Gernsheim was contacted by the widow of a Gibbon Pritchard; she had found the Niépce plate in her husband’s estate after his death. Gernsheim verified the First Photograph’s authenticity and obtained it for his vast photo collection. Through Gernsheim’s scholarship and detective work, his rediscovery returned Niépce to his rightful place as the inventor of photography.

When Harry Ransom purchased the Gernsheim collection for The University of Texas at Austin in 1963, Helmut Gernsheim subsequently donated the Niépce heliograph to the institution. This is what I wanted to see in the flesh.

The Harry Ransom Center on the Univ. of Texas at Austin campus. Photo by the author.

Roy greeted me in his office where we discussed my trip to France. He had not been to the Niépce house yet so he was curious about what I had seen. Then he led me down to the ground floor to view the plate. With the help of scientists at the Los-Angeles-based Getty Conservation Institute, they had designed and built a special room for it with an environmentally controlled, glass-walled case filled with inert gas and continuously monitored by both the Center and the Getty.

The small room (see image below) has two openings (for entry and exit), and Roy hung back so I could be in the room alone.

Housing for the First Photograph, which replicates the backside of the framed photograph. © Thomas McConnell Photography 2004.

I was finally here, looking at the object of my quest: the Niépce plate. Oh my god, I thought, taking a breath: this is THE first photo. The actual one. Not a reproduction but the original. Right in front of me.

The Niépce plate is safely housed in a custom-made display case. Courtesy of the Harry Ransom Center.

Housed in its original Empire-style gold frame, the photograph itself seemed small (it’s only 16×20 cm or 6.3×7.9 inches), but what struck me hardest was the fact that I couldn’t see the image! I found myself just staring at a piece of polished metal. But remembering what Roy and others had said, I started maneuvering myself away from perpendicular and started seeing glimpses of the image as I moved. I ended up leaning and squatting every which way in trying to make the image out, which I finally did. I couldn’t get a much better view than you see in full-front image below, but I can verify that the image is there. I asked Roy if the difficulty in seeing the image was in any way a result of fading or environmental deterioration, and he just laughed. “No way,” he said. “The details are faint, it’s true, due not to fading but to Niépce’s underexposure of the plate.” Interesting to think of an 8-hour exposure as being underexposed!

Joseph Nicéphore Niépce’s “View from the Window at Le Gras.” c. 1826. Photo by J. Paul Getty Museum.

To help the curious reader make out what they’re seeing (or not seeing) in this latest reproduction of the actual Niépce plate above, here’s a sketch (below) made by Helmut Gernsheim with the key elements showing. From left to right: the pigeon-house (upper loft of the house), a pear tree, the slant-roofed barn, the bake house with chimney, and at far right, another wing of the house. As already stated, most of these elements are no longer there.

Helmut Gernsheim’s drawing of the famous image. Gernsheim died in 1995. Courtesy of the Harry Ransom Center.

What’s really interesting (and a bit puzzling at first) when viewing a reproduction of this image (seen better at the top of this post) is that there appear to be shadows on both sides of the courtyard. Possible? You bet, if you’re making an 8-hour exposure and the sun is moving across the sky all that time. Try it and see!

Mission Accomplished

While the invention of photography may not rank up there with electricity or manned flight, it has had, as we all know, profound effects on this world and its peoples. The ability to capture a view of the world (or as Niépce himself wrote in 1828: “…to copy nature with the greatest fidelity”), to hold it, to share it… is such an important part of our lives now, but remember that it was only a dream a mere 200 years ago. A dream of a few, like Joseph Niécephore Niépce, and now practiced by millions. Progress in art and science always owes big debts to those who have come before, and I feel lucky to have experienced first-hand the photo that is the cornerstone of the process of photography, which has so revolutionized our world.

A plaque finally installed at the Le Gras house in France recognizing Niépce’s accomplishment. Photo by and courtesy of Pierre-Yves Mahé/Spéos.

Places to visit:

Harry Ransom Center: University of Texas at Austin
First Photograph on permanent display. Admission free.

Musée Maison Nicéphore Niépce (Saint-Loup-de-Varennes)
Open to public daily July 1 – Aug 31. Private visits available other times. Admission: 6,00€ entrance fee.

Musée Nicéphore Niépce (Chalon-sur-Saône)
Open every day except Tuesdays and holidays. Admission free.

^{* The Harry Ransom Center carefully describes the First Photograph as “the first permanent photograph from nature.” SPEOS calls it: “the earliest existing photograph in history.” The author calls it simply: “the world’s oldest photograph.”}

About the author: Harald Johnson has been immersed in the worlds of photography, art, and publishing for more than 30 years. A former professional photographer, designer, publisher, and art/creative director, Harald is the author of the groundbreaking book series “Mastering Digital Printing,” an imaging/marketing consultant, and the founder of the photo competition site PhoozL.

What if I told that you could get wedding photos at a fraction of the cost that professionals will charge you, would you be interested in that? I bet you would because there are a heck of a lot of people out there that think wedding photographers are way too expensive, charging you thousands of dollars just for a few pictures.

Now, I’m not proposing that you have your guest snap shots with their iPhones. I’m also not going to propose that you wear a hat with a GoPro attached to it. With my plan, you will use the same equipment, the same software and the same techniques that the pros use to get you those super fancy wedding photos you see people posting on Facebook and Pinterest.

My plan will show you how to do everything the pros do so that you can save your precious money and spend it on something more valuable like his and her diamond-encrusted wedding cake toppers.

Introduction: The average professional wedding photographer is going to charge you hundreds if not thousands of dollars.

Now, as you know, the average wedding photographer is going to charge you big bucks for taking a few pictures. If you’re like most people, you’ll probably end up paying about $2,500 for a professional photographer. Now, of course, they will have an average of about 5 to 10 years experience and probably have shot scores of weddings, but come on, thousands of dollars for a few pictures?

I’m going to show you how to do it for a fraction of the cost they will charge you. You’ll save so much money you can buy those customized monogramed M&M’s with each of your initials that will look beautiful on the cake table.

Step 1: Rent the same cameras and lenses the pros use (Estimated Cost — $1,170)

If you want the same result you’re going to want to use the same top notch equipment the pros use. Most people know that the secret to awesome photos is the camera. So let’s go right to the source and avoid the silly middle man and save some big time money. There are places like LensRentals.com and BorrowLenses.com where you can go and get wedding rental packages that the pro’s use. These places are awesome by the way, I use them all the time.

Since professionals usually have at least two photographers at an event, I am going to recommend that you get two packages. You’ll need two lens bodies and two multiple lens packages and strobes. My recommendation is to get those packages for at least a week because you’re going to need to train your recruits (newbies right off the street) to use those fancy cameras the right way.

I added it up for you and you can basically get two Canon 5D’s and wedding lens packages each for about $1,169. That includes the insurance, mind you. If someone drops the camera in the fountains of chocolate, you don’t want to be on the hook for the $3,000 or more to replace the camera.

As you ponder all your savings, let your mind wander to the possibility of hiring Celine Dion to fly in and personally sing your wedding dance song for you because that could happen with all the money you are pocketing at the moment.

Step 2: Rent your tripods, soft boxes and memory cards (Estimated Cost — $250)

Now, it’s a bit annoying but let’s not forget some of the accessories that you’re going to need to pull it off. You’ll need two soft boxes to diffuse the light to get that “Wedding Look”. Also, you’ll need some stands to hold the lights, a couple of tripods and of course memory cards.

I priced it out and we are still doing great. For about $250 you can get all these necessary extras to complete your package. *cha ching!* — ring up the savings. Is it too late to call the hotel and upgrade to the Deluxe Seafood Towers as appetizers for the guest instead of those little mushroom caps filled with spinach?

Step 3: Recruit two friends or starving college students to snap the photos for you (Estimated Cost — $320)

Now that you have the best cameras, which will practically shoot award-winning photos on their own, you can recruit people to do the shooting for you. My recommendation is to recruit two semi-distant friends who are not already guests and who won’t be offended that you didn’t invite them in the first place.

If that’s not possible you can always recruit some starving college students willing to work on the cheap. When I was in college someone actually paid me to lay down a cement driveway for them and I had no experience in that, so why the heck not. The driveway had a real rustic and uneven appeal to it I must say, but the best thing of all is they saved money!

For about $20 an hour my guess is that you can get two newbie photographers for about eight hours or even the entire day. That’s only $320! Thinking about how wedding photographers charge thousands really chaps my hide when I realize how much can be saved.

Step 4: You’re going to need a couple of books and video tutorials (Estimated Cost — $200)

Now the fancy equipment you’re using is going to require some basic working knowledge of the camera itself. I would budget in about $200 to cover the cost of some photography books, video tutorials and to pay the recruited photographers for their time to learn the camera equipment.

You don’t want your photographers not knowing the absolute basics of photography before entrusting them with the most important day of your life right?

As you are perusing your photography books don’t be surprised if you find yourself Google searching the possibility of having the entire wedding party carried into the ceremony by a parade of Arabian Horses and Belly Dancers. You’ll need to spend all the money you’re saving on photography somewhere else and that sounds like it could make for some interesting photos actually.

Step 5: Shoot away, tell the photographer to go nuts (Estimated Cost — FREE)

This is the best part. All the photos that you want to take on your wedding day are free. So instruct the photographers you have recruited to go ballistic. Machine gun blast photos everywhere of everyone. Get right in front of the altar if necessary and shoot at 9 fps to get each and every nuance.

Now professional photographers are going to know exactly when and where to shoot and how to do it with minimal intrusion on the ceremony or guests, but that’s just not feasible here. So I’m going to recommend the shock and awe strategy of having your photographers machine gun shoot as many shots as possible.

Step 6: Photoshop those pictures! (Estimated Cost — $200)

Thank God for Adobe Creative Cloud. Now instead of spending thousands on Photoshop tools that the photographers use, you can subscribe to a monthly service and get it for about $100 for a couple of months while you work on your pictures.

Now, you’re going to want to get some tutorials and books to help you learn how to use Photoshop so make sure you budget that in there too. Bottom line, however, is that your Photoshop costs in total are going to be a steal at around $200 for everything.

Since Photoshop is extremely tricky, I am going to recommend that you spend at least 40 hours learning the basics of cropping, layers, filters, plugins, masks, dodging, burning, vignetting, selective blur, overlays, lens correction, sharpening and smoothing. These are just the basics, however, and we can’t expect you to reach pro level. After all, many of those professional wedding photographers probably have several thousand hours experience working with Photoshop and associated tools.

They also probably have at least $1,000 worth of additional Photoshop plug-ins to make your pictures look beautiful. But remember, the objective here is saving money! And we are!

Step 7: You’re going to need to store and share the pictures. (Estimated Cost — $60 first year)

You are nearly there and you are saving money! Now you are going to want to use a site that will allow you store those photos so that you can share them with friends and family. You will probably have thousands and thousands of pictures to store.

Storing them is cheap though. You can use a site like SmugMug and get a full year of beautiful photo sharing for only about $60.

Step 8: Get your prints (Estimated Cost — $200)

Since most professional photographers are going to give you a couple of hundred prints with their packages, you’ll want to budget in about $200 to get 200 high quality 5 by 7 photos from the event.

You can even go to WalMart and get super cheap budget prints and that will only cost you about $120. There are tons of ways to save money on wedding photos! By now you’re probably wondering why you didn’t plate your wedding cake in edible gold with the money you saved on photos.

Conclusion: You Just saved a boatload of money. You’re welcome.

You can thank me later for saving you a ton of money. If you followed my instructions, you just managed to shoot your wedding for a mere fraction of what it would have cost you with a professional. With my program, which gets you using the same incredible equipment and tools the pro’s use, you can save yourself an incredible $100. That’s a whopping 4% savings for you, Mr. DIY guy/gal.

Now, granted, you did have to spend close to 100 hours of your time renting, learning and editing, but that has got to be worth all the money you saved. If you saved $100 and spend 100 hours additional time that means that you just earned an incredible $1 an hour for every hour you spent. Now, that has to feel good. Let me know how this works out for you.

About the author: Frank McKenna is an amateur photographer based in La Jolla, California. You can find him on his blog, 500px, Tumblr, and Google+.

Image credits: penny-pincher by theilr, Canon 5D photograph by Charles Lanteigne

I grew up in a sleepy New England colonial town turned commuter-suburb. The town’s rich history as one of the first settled towns of the “new world” and later, a major stop on the Underground Railroad, makes it a verdant setting for historic homes and appreciators of historic rarities. George Washington once referred to my birthplace as “the village of pretty houses.”

During my last visit home, I helped my father and stepmother move into their new house. Their storage unit contained an eclectic mix of antique furniture, oil paintings, and other various heirlooms like my stepsister’s antique equestrian saddle. While sorting through a box my dad turned up an old black & white photograph (shown above) in a broken frame. A brief consultation with my stepmom doomed it for the dumpster, but upon reflection my dad decided to pass it to me.

Having studied photography in college, I am currently pursuing a career as a fine art photographer and educator. I was never the most engaged student when it came to the history of photography, but the photograph that my father handed me seemed very familiar. I turned the frame over and read “Keresz” scribbled in pencil on the matte board. The name was not familiar. But a Google search for “Keresz Photographer” autocorrected me to “Andre Kertesz.” A further Google Image Search then brought up the photo that I held in my hands!

The photo depicts a winter scene of a shadowy figure walking through Washington Square Park in New York City. It is a timeless scene whose graphic shapes and shadows illustrate what a New York City winter must feel like. It’s both exceedingly forlorn, and classically beautiful and elegant. The photo is appropriately titled “Washington Square Park, 1954.” Further research would uncover the fascinating story of how Kertesz discovered the perfect vantage point for this photograph by surveying countless apartments surrounding the park until he found the perfect window.

The media would have us believe that when works of art are found in unsuspecting basements they end up with price-tags in the millions, but as a bit of a cynic I told myself that this beautiful print must be fake, or damaged, or SOMETHING that would make my discovery worthless. We dug through some family records, and discovered that the photo had belonged to my stepmother’s parents. When they had passed away the siblings had their estate appraised.

The photo in question reads: “Keresz Photograph, valueless” on the appraisal list. After that the trail runs cold. There is no record of where my step-mother’s parents might have purchased the photo, but the cheap framing job and typo on the back of the frame suggests that they purchased it for its aesthetic appeal rather than its possible value.

My interest piqued, I continued searching around the web for something to validate my discovery, and ended up at a gallery’s website which displayed an assortment of Andre Kertesz photos. I clicked the contact button on the gallery’s website, and composed a brief message explaining my findings.

I heard back from Bruce Silverstein of the Bruce Silverstein Gallery later that day asking for photos and a description of the photograph in question. I took some quick pictures using my phone, laying out the print at the kitchen island where my girlfriend was mixing us gin and tonics. We were still not aware how special the photograph was. So, when Bruce wrote back right away and suggested we talk now, I pinched the very edges of the photograph and moved it far from the messy kitchen counter. This, it would turn out, was not just any old discovery.

When Bruce called I was having beers on the patio with my old high school buddies. Bruce sounded excited too. He told me that he managed the Kertesz family estates, and without bragging explained that he knew A LOT about Andre Kertesz. He proceeded to launch into the history of the photo and more. My friends, just as excited as me, narrated an imaginary version of Antiques Roadshow from across the yard.

Bruce explained how the type of paper could help date the photo and determine its intended use. Many specific questions about the surface of the print determined this was a ferrotype finishing technique printed on thin glossy paper. The photograph would have been originally printed by Kertesz to send to a magazine or book for reproduction. Prints like this would have then been destroyed by the magazine company, making it somewhat unusual for this print to exist. Perhaps I was being too cynical when I first recognized the photo.

Silverstein went on to talk about the backside of the print: the signature, title, date, and stamp. Another unusual characteristic was that Kertesz had signed and titled the photo many years apart. Silverstein explained that Kertesz’s hand tremors drastically changed his penmanship as he got older. Silverstein made an educated guess that Kertesz titled it in the 50′s but signed it in the 70’s. This suggests that Kertesz printed it in the 50s but never sent it to a magazine for reproduction. Perhaps he signed it when he was older and more established in order to add value.

I stood in my fathers backyard with a forgotten cocktail and an open jaw, nodding and saying “uh-huh” like a broken record while Bruce excitedly told me about the photo. I was on information overload, but hanging onto his every word. If only this was how the history of photography could have gone in college! None of that 8am freshmen seminar nap time in a warm dark room and a sleepwalking professor. After a good twenty minutes of Kertesz history, Bruce started talking about pricing.

Kertesz printed a lot of this photograph “Washington Square Park, 1954” in the 1970’s after it gained some notoriety. Based on the neatness in his handwriting on the back, my print was most likely a 1950’s edition. A 1970’s print would most likely sell for $10-15,000. But mine, because of its rarity and date could go for $30,000 or higher! I don’t think I’ve ever really been speechless to the extent that I literally could not speak, but this was one of those moments.

I looked over at my friends who were still chatting on the patio and mouthed “holy s**t!” I then responded to Bruce in a tone that I thought sounded cool and collected. He asked if I would come up to New York to let him take a look at it, and as luck would have it, I was already planning a trip for the weekend.

The next week was a whirlwind of appraisals at high end auction houses and galleries where people called me “Mr. Van Beckum” and brought me sparkling water in glass bottles. I endured terrifying subway rides where I speculated that every hoodie wearing teenager might be a mugger who somehow knew I carried a valuable work of art in my briefcase. I spent hours drafting lengthy emails to family members to decide what to do with the amazing discovery. By the end of my appraisal meetings, numbers as high as $45,000 were being tossed around.

We have decided to keep the photo in our family. Our newly framed treasure will hang in the new home come fall, and we will all look at it with a new appreciation, memories of sticky afternoons in the storage unit, and a tiny twinge of “did we really want to chuck this?” This is the introduction to art appreciation that everyone should receive.

As a Photoshop and printing nerd, I have made high quality reproductions of the photo to send to family members in other states and countries so that we can all have a $30,000 photo hanging in our decidedly “not expensive-art worthy” apartments. My copy hangs over my desk, stuck into a wall of family photos and works in progress, with a pushpin.

About the author: William Van Beckum is a Santa Fe, New Mexico-based photographer who works as the Digital Lab Manager for the Santa Fe Photographic Workshops. As a photographer, his goal is to capture the unique beauty that exists in each moment that he experiences. You can find out more and see some of his work on his website here.

In my last article, I wrote about the fact that every copy of a given lens has some bit of sample variation. This affects lens reviews, whether lab-based or photography-based, because the copy they tested will be just a bit different from the copy you buy. I suggested, that if you want to get a feel for what the lens you purchase is likely to be like, you had best compare several different reviews. That should give you an idea of the variation that exists.

Photographs are really the best way to evaluate a lens’ performance, but you have to look at a few dozen, minimum to do it. That takes a lot of time and a fair amount of bandwidth. Looking at online size jpgs is worthless unless all you do with your images is post online-size jpgs. You need to download at least full-size jpgs (preferably RAW files) and look at them at 50% magnification to get a good idea about a lens’ performance.

Lab testing, with its numbers, gives us nice, quick overviews of lens performance. It’s useful for lens reviews so that you can compare one lens to another. It’s useful for people like me who have to test lenses to make sure the optics are OK, since it eliminates some of the human variability that comes with looking at images of a test chart.

But each type of lab test has its own strengths and weaknesses that nobody ever talks about. This is important if we’re going to compare several different reviews of a lens, because we should have some idea of what the reviewers are actually analyzing. Like every scientific test, if you don’t have a grasp of the testing methods being used, you can’t possibly understand the results.

I’ll give you one teaser before we start. I don’t trust test results for lenses of 24mm or wider (full-frame equivalent). Period. Including most of mine. I’ll get into why in just a bit.

Basically there are two types of lab testing used for reviews: computerized target analysis and optical bench testing.

Computerized Target Analysis

Computerized target analysis, using either Imatest (used by LensRentals, Photozone, Lenstip, and others) or DxO Analytics (used by DPReview, DxOMark, SLRGear), are the most commonly used lab tests. Both programs work by taking carefully aligned and lighted photographs of a specific test chart which are then analyzed by a computer program. The program then analyzes the file and determines things like resolution, distortion, vignetting, etc.

There are differences between the two programs. DxO Analytics is proprietary (and I don’t own it so my comments are secondhand) but it analyzes round dots rather than lines, and results are given in ‘blur units’. What the exact definition of a ‘blur unit’ is remains somewhat debated outside of DxO.

DxOAnalytics test chart setup [#]

Imatest analyzes slanted lines and other patterns and can be used with a number of different charts (which generate somewhat different results). Resolution is given in line pairs per mm or line pairs per image height at a given MTF; usually MTF50.

Imatest SFR test chart shown on computer screen [#]

There are differences between the two programs, and while we don’t know all of those differences, they should ‘internally agree’ but not necessarily ‘externally agree’. In other words if one person using DxO decides Lens A is sharper than Lens B, all the DxO testers should find the same results. On the other hand, it is possible (although unlikely) that Imatest might find Lens B is sharper than Lens A, but in theory all Imatest users should find the same thing.

In practice, though, Imatesters may not agree nearly as much as DxO testers. Why? Because Imatest’s flexibility allows much more variation. There are several different test charts you can use (and depending on the chart, what is defined as the corner of the image differs a lot). You can analyze RAW files or jpgs (which have some in-camera sharpening applied). Imatest gives vertical and horizontal resolution separately, indicating astigmatism, and the reviewer can average the numbers, use the higher number, or lower number, etc.

Imatest chart showing multiple measurements. Although it’s hard to see, the MTF50 is slightly different at each location for horizontal and vertical readings. Each corner is slightly different. Which numbers are used in the final graph? Average of all corners? Best corner? Average of horizontal?

Some reviewers use ISO 12233 charts with Imatest rather than Imatest’s proprietary chart. Nothing wrong with that, but it should be obvious different things are being analyzed in different locations and therefore the results may be different. (ISO 12233 chart placed in public domain by Stephen Westin, Cornerll University)

There are a number of other test charts that can be analyzed in Imatest, theses are just the most common examples. This can be a critical difference when looking at lens reviews, by the way. It’s cheap and easy to buy an inkjet printed (or even home print) test chart and shoot Imatest. The reality is unless the chart is a high-quality linotype print (which are quite expensive — $400 to $1,000 each) the chart limits the program’s abilities. With really high resolution cameras, like the Nikon D800, Imatest now recommends using backlit charts printed on film.

Using a lesser chart doesn’t invalidate the results, but it certainly puts a ceiling on them. When some testers find a new, very sharp, very high resolution lens ‘isn’t much better’ than others they’ve tested, I sometimes wonder if they’re nearing the ceiling of their chart’s capabilities.

Disadvantages of Target Analysis

The above stuff is just splitting hairs that show why different testers get slightly different results. There are several real problems with target analysis, though, that affect all testing done with target analysis.

It tests a camera-lens system, not just a lens. That’s generally not a big deal. If you’re interested in Canon cameras you’re probably interested in Canon lenses. But it causes some problems. If you’re looking a a lens that’s been available for several years the reviews may have been done on an older, lower resolution camera. That can make the lens seem worse than it is compared to lenses reviewed on newer, higher resolution cameras. It can also be a problem if you want to buy a third party lens in one mount but can only find reviews of it on another mount.

Focus Distance. At my company LensRentals we’ve got targets ranging in size from 24″ to 85″ in diameter. But that means on the very largest targets we’re testing wide angle lenses very close to the target. For example a 24mm lens is tested at about 6 feet shooting distance. A 14mm we’re shooting at about 3 feet from the chart. Making the assumption that the sharpest lens at 3 feet shooting distance is the sharpest lens at infinity is, well, weak. There have been several examples where target analysis reviews say a wide-angle lens is just great, but in the field, shot at infinity, photographers unanimously say it’s not that great. (And now you know why I don’t really trust these tests on wide-angle lenses.)

The same problem comes up with macro lenses. My first Imatest results showed that the Nikon 105mm f/2.8 Micro just wasn’t that great. But, guess what? Even with my smallest charts I was shooting it at an 8-foot distance. When we developed techniques using high-resolution backlit Imatest targets shot at 1 foot distances more appropriate for a macro lens, it turned out to be a great lens. I ended up writing a blog post saying, yet again, I was wrong less correct than I had hoped to be.

Backlit Macro test chart using high resolution film targets

Until we paint test targets on billboards (don’t laugh, I looked into it), we’ll still be testing wide angle lenses at very close distances.

Field Curvature: When I focus on the center of the image in a lens with field curvature (most lenses have a bit), the corners aren’t in best focus. If I change focus a bit, I can get higher numbers for the corners, but drop resolution in the center. Some reviewers use the corner numbers when the center is in best focus (that’s my habit, since I think it reflects real-world photography best). Others think it more appropriate to give you the best possible corner numbers, more like what you’d get if you were focusing off-center. Probably giving both would be the best way to do it, but I’m not sure anyone does that.

Summary of Computerized Target Analysis

When you look at a review using computerized target analysis you should check the testing methods to see exactly how they got those results (and why the results differ).

• What camera was used? Test the same lens on a Nikon D700 and D800 and you’ll get wildly different results.
• What was the shooting distance? Not many people (myself included) list this with every test, but you can assume a wide-angle is tested very close up, a standard lens at 10 to 20 feet, and a 200mm lens at 30 feet or so.
• What part of the test target is considered ‘the corner’? This can vary from really near the corner to 2/3 of the way between the corner and center.
• What are the corner numbers, really? Is it an average of all corners, the best, the worst, the verticals, etc?
• Did they give you astigmatism data? Not many people do because it makes things complex, but it would be nice if the Imatest reviewers mentioned it. I assume (and I may be wrong) that DxO data doesn’t give astigmatism readings, since it’s analyzing small dots, not angled lines.
• Was best corner focus, or corner results with best center focus reported?

None of this stuff makes computer target analysis bad. It’s actually really good and has several advantages over any other testing methods. BUT, and there’s always a but, it’s giving data for certain conditions, and often incomplete data at that. It’s a really useful starting point, but it’s not an exhaustive report of all the lens’ characteristics.

Optical Bench Testing

I know what you’re thinking. With all of these limitations for target analysis, why not just give optical bench reports. Well, the first reason is pretty simple. A good Imatest lab costs $10,000 to $15,000. (DxO is a lot more expensive – it’s sold as a complete package, including the testing room and lighting). But an optical bench costs from $50,000 to $350,000 depending upon its capabilities.

Still, an optical bench gives us two huge advantages over target analysis:

1. It tests the lens at infinity focus, not close up, which can be more real-world.
2. It eliminates the variable of the camera body, so you can compare, for example, a Leica lens to a Nikon lens.

It has another advantage for someone like me who has to check a lot of lenses; it’s very automated. Instead of multiple images taken of an Imatest target with careful alignment and manual focus bracketing, you mount the lens, push a button, and the machine does the rest.

How it Works

Optical benches can be oriented either horizontally or vertically. The lens is mounted in a holder and collimated light (parallel rays, like an object at infinity) is shined through a test target onto the lens. A camera at the other end of the lens receives the image and a computer analyzes it to determine the MTF of the lens at that point. The optical bench can either tilt the len or the light source and camera to examine the lens at various angles off-axis.

The projected target is usually a grid of crossed lines so that both tangential (at right angles to the radius of the lens) and sagittal (along the radius from the center to the edge of the lens) MTF can be measured. Occasionally a pinhole or other type of reticle is used.

When measuring a lens at one point, the bench takes measurements at multiple focusing distances (a motor varies the distances by as little as 1 micron), the computer measures each one and plots the best. The bench then tilts the lens a few degrees and repeats the process again and again. The process is fairly quick and in a minute or two the information is plotted as a graph showing a ‘cut’ from one side of the lens to the other.

To give you an idea, here’s a quick video showing the bench rotating the lens to various positions, aligning the target reticle automatically, and then the computer screen as it takes a dozen images at each location while altering the focus.

The bench does not give a full two dimensional picture like Imatest or DxO does, it measures a single line across the lens from one side to the other. In the screen shot below, the MTF at 10, 20, and 50 lines is shown from -12 degrees to 12 degrees field of view across the lens.

Notice there are two same-color plots for each MTF frequency. One shows the vertical line measurements, the other the horizontal lines. Since this is a single cut across the lens the horizontal line represent the sagittal MTF, while the vertical shows the tangential MTF. This lets us see the degree of astigmatism quite nicely (all lenses have some).

One weakness of the optical bench is that it reads just a single line from one side of the lens to the other. More advanced machines allow you to rotate the lens and repeat the measurements several times. This gives us a two-dimensional look at the lens, which can be very important when we’re testing lenses to make sure they’re within spec. A lens can be tilted or decentered in a way that looks OK in one plane (say from side-t0-side), but if you rotate the lens 45 or 90 degrees in the mount the readings can be quite different. The examples below show readings for one lens taken at 0, 45, and 90 degrees rotation.

One lens tested at 0, 45, and 90 degrees rotation. Notice at 45 the lens has significant astigmatism, while at 90 both vertical and horizontal lines are unreadable. (The MTF doesn’t really drop to zero, it’s just below the cut-offs we’ve set.)

One thing that has to be considered, though, is that the optical bench can overread things a bit. For example, the lens above looks awful on the bench, but really had just a bit of right upper corner softness when tested optically on test charts. Truth is, our inspection techs missed it, and I would have too if I hadn’t been looking for it very carefully.

Here’s another example that should give some idea of what a really bad lens looks like on the bench. The upper print out is from a good copy, the lower one from a copy that was obviously soft.

The bad lens can barely evaluate the vertical lines (small pyramid at bottom), but notice even the horizontal lines have lower MTF than the good lens in the top graph.

Here’s another example combined with a real world shot. Below is a 100 Macro lens that looks to have a lot of astigmatism (notice how the two lines at each frequency don’t line up) according to the optical bench.

In reality, it is noticeable, but not horrible. Here are 100% crops of the lower corners of an ISO 12233 chart photographed with that same lens (this was the worst location for this lens). You can see that the right lower corner has softer horizontal lines, while the left corner has softer vertical lines.

In reality, though, chances are when taking pictures you might (although probably would not) notice the lower corners were just a bit soft.

Disadvantages of the Optical Bench

The weaknesses of the optical bench tend to be almost the opposite of the weaknesses of Computerized Target Testing.

It tests just a lens, not a system: That’s better in some ways. Using a bench we could, for example, compare the Canon, Tamron, Nikon, and Sigma 24-70 f/2.8 lenses and calculate which is best. But this isn’t really as useful as you might think. For one thing, you’re going to shoot whichever lens you choose on a certain camera body. The camera-plus-lens combination is probably a more real-world test than simply testing the lens itself.

Different sensor microlenses may make the corners or edges look much different on a certain camera than they appear to the bench. (If you don’t understand how this is so, find someone who shoots rangefinder lenses on an NEX camera.) And we won’t even get into cameras that pre-process RAW images and how distortion in-camera control might change resolution. So in some ways, seeing the camera-lens combination tested might be more real world than optical bench results.

Focus Distance: Infinity focus distance is great and much more appropriate for lenses that will be used to shoot landscapes, etc. But it might be more appropriate to test a portrait lens at a reasonably close-up distance rather than infinity. Similarly, testing Macro lenses at infinity is probably worse than my original tests done at 8 foot distances. There are some optical benches that can also test at closer focusing distances but they are extremely expensive unless they only test on-axis.

It’s Less Intuitive: If you scroll back up to the Imatest and DxO test charts above, you can look at them in two dimensions like you would a picture taken through the lens. If the right lower corner of the Imatest readings are poor, the lens is poor in the right lower corner. Looking at several lines taken at various angles with the optical bench just isn’t the same.

Far Corners and Wide Angle Lenses: Depending upon the price, an optical bench has a limitation of how great an angle off-axis it can evaluate the lens at. The best one I know of is the Trioptics Imagemaster, which has a 94 degree field of view (equivalent to about a 20mm lens on a full-frame camera). Most are not quite that wide, and a 50 degree field of view (about 45mm) is more common.

This isn’t a problem for screening lenses because the bench is so sensitive it detects decentering without needing to get anywhere near the corners. For lab-testing reviewers, though, it’s a deal breaker. They have to give you corner information, even if it’s corner information at a 4 foot focusing distance.

Lens Size and Focal Length: Imatest and DxO can be used with lenses of any size as long as you have proper support (and a long enough room). As you can tell from the video, the small optical bench I’ve been able to afford isn’t going to be usable with a very large lens. It will handle a 24-70 f/2.8 size lens just fine, but a 70-200 f/2.8 lens is too big to fit.

A larger, vertical bench will be able to handle reasonably large lenses (300 f/2.8 size), but at a cost similar to a small house. There are even bigger benches that can handle almost any size lens, but those cost truly amazing amounts of money. There are also some limitations for focal lengths depending upon optical paths and physical size of the machine. Few optical benches can test lenses over 300mm focal length, and many can only handle 150mm or less.

None of this stuff makes optical bench analysis bad. It’s actually really good and has several advantages over any other testing methods. BUT, and there’s always a but, it’s giving data for certain conditions, and often incomplete data at that. It’s a really useful starting point, but it’s not an exhaustive report of all the lens’ characteristics.

What’s the Bottom Line?

To put it in uber geek terms, both of the testing methods we’ve discussed analyze the point spread function to calculate MTF. One analyzes the entire imaging system, the other analyzes just the lens. One measures at infinity, the other usually closer (sometimes much closer) than infinity. One measures the entire imaging field while the other measures a 2-dimensional line across the imaging field. Each has its advantages and disadvantages.

For testing purposes, I’ll be using both Imatest and an optical bench. Having the ability to check both infinity and near focus is a huge plus (I’ve seen a number of lenses that were out-of-spec at one distance but not another). For wide angle lenses, the optical bench is a probably better for screening, even if it has limitations for lens reviews. Its ability to detect astigmatism is very helpful for wide-aperture prime lenses and the fact that it tests numerous at focusing distances really helps with those lenses that have field curvature. For screening purposes, the bench is faster, easier to set up, and easier to change from one focal length to another change. That’s less of an issue for a lens review where one lens is tested exhaustively.

For macro lenses, physically large lenses, and lenses with very long focal lengths, the optical bench is not particularly useful and Imatest will continue to be our test of choice. Imatest is also a more logical choice for lenses likely to be used at fairly close distances. An 85mm lens, for example, is tested at 12-17 feet in our Imatest lab, which is probably where most portrait photographers are going to use it.

For lens reviewers, though, the ability to test at infinity focusing distance is a huge plus for many lenses. I know there are a few lenses that have amazing test results using computer target analysis, but that don’t seem to perform as well as expected in the real world. I suspect when we look at some of those on an optical bench, we’ll see their performance is more ‘tuned’ for closer focusing distances. Doing some comparison testing using both methods should be fun.

The bottom line, though, is we should read lab tests realizing what is being tested. A lab test may seem to say (as I have done on occasion), “this is an amazing sharp lens”. What that actually means is “this is an amazingly sharp lens at this focus distance, measuring this area of the lens, but not that area, giving you the average number for the 4 corners or edges (or best corner, or whatever), averaging out tangential and sagittal resolution (or just using one of the two), etc. Depending on what was tested and what you shoot, your mileage will almost certainly vary.

About the author: Roger Cicala is the founder of LensRentals. This article was originally published here.

Image credit: Lens testing by Fújur

It’s not uncommon to hear someone say that they were haunted by an image, often an old photograph. It is a figurative and evocative expression. To say that an image is haunting is to say that the image has lodged itself in the mind like a ghost might stubbornly take up residence in a house, or that it has somehow gotten a hold of the imagination and in the imagination lives on as a spectral after-image.

When we speak of images of the deceased, of course, the language of haunting approaches its literal meaning. In these photographs, the dead enjoy an afterlife in the imagination.

I’ve lately been haunted myself by one such photograph. It is a well-known image of Lewis Powell, the man hanged for his failed attempt to assassinate Secretary of State William Seward. On the same night that John Wilkes Booth murdered the president, Powell was to kill the secretary of state and their co-conspirator, George Atzerodt, was to kill Vice-President Andrew Johnson.

Atzerodt failed to attempt the assassination altogether. Powell followed through, and, although Seward survived, he inflicted tremendous suffering on the Seward household.

I came upon the haunting image of Powell in a series of recently colorized Civil War photographs, and I was immediately captivated by the apparent modernity of the image. Nineteenth century photographs tend to have a distinct feel, one that clearly announces the distant “pastness” of what they have captured.

That they are ordinarily black-and-white only partially explains this effect. More significantly, the effect is communicated by the look of the people in the photographs. It’s not the look of their physical appearance, though; rather, it’s the “look” of their personality.

There is distinct subjectivity — or, perhaps, lack thereof — that emerges from these old photographs. There is something in the eyes that suggests a way of being in the world that is foreign and impenetrable. The camera is itself a double cause of this dissonance.

First, the subjects seem unsure of how to position themselves before the camera; they are still unsettled, it seems, by the photographic technique. They seem to be wrestling with the camera’s gaze. They are too aware of it. It has rendered them objects, and they’ve not yet managed to negotiate the terms under which they may recover their status as subjects in their own right. In short, they had not yet grown comfortable playing themselves before the camera, with the self-alienated stance that such performance entails.

But then there is this image of Powell, which looks as if it could have been taken yesterday and posted on Instagram. The gap in consciousness seems entirely closed. The “pastness” is eclipsed.

Was this merely a result of his clean-shaven, youthful air? Was it the temporal ambiguity of his clothing or of the way he wore his hair? Or was Powell on to something that his contemporaries had not yet grasped? Did he hold some clue about the evolution of modern consciousness? I went in search of an answer, and I found that the first person I turned to had been there already.

Death on Film

Roland Barthes’ discussion of death and photography in Camera Lucida has achieved canonical status, and I turned to his analysis in order to shed light on my experience of this particular image that was so weighted with death. I soon discovered that an image of Powell appears in Camera Lucida. It is not the same image that grabbed my attention, but a similar photograph taken at the same time. In this photograph, Powell is looking at the camera, the manacles that bind his hands are visible, but still the modernity of expression persists.

Barthes was taken by the way that a photograph suggests both the “that-has-been” and the “this-will-die” aspects of a photographic subject. His most famous discussion of this dual gesture involved a photograph of his mother, which does not appear in the book. But a shot of Powell is used to illustrate a very similar point. It is captioned, “He is dead, and he is going to die …” The photograph simultaneously witnesses to three related realities. Powell was; he is no more; and, in the moment captured by this photograph, he is on his way to death.

Barthes also borrowed two Latin words for his analysis: studium and punctum. The studium of a photograph is its ostensible subject matter and what we might imagine the photographer seeks to convey through the photograph. The punctum, by contrast, is the aspect that “pricks” or “wounds” the viewer. The experience of the punctum is wholly subjective. It is the aspect that disturbs the studium and jars the viewer. Regarding the Powell photograph, Barthes writes:

The photograph is handsome, as is the boy: that is the studium. But the punctum is: he is going to die. I read at the same time: this will be and this has been; I observe with horror an anterior future of which death is the stake. By giving me the absolute past of the pose, the photograph tells me death in the future. What pricks me is the discovery of this equivalence.

In my own experience, the studium was already the awareness of Powell’s impending death. The punctum was the modernity of Powell’s subjectivity. Still eager to account for the photograph’s effect, I turned from Barthes to historical sources that might shed light on the photographs.

The Gardner Photographs

The night of the assassination attempt, Powell entered the Seward residence claiming that he was asked to deliver medicine for Seward. When Seward’s son, Frederick, told Powell that he would take the medicine to his father, Powell handed it over, started to walk away, but then wheeled on Frederick and put a gun to his head. The gun misfired and Powell proceeded to beat Frederick over the head with it. He did so with sufficient force to crack Frederick’s skull and jam the gun.

Powell then pushed Seward’s daughter out of the way as he burst into the secretary of state’s room. He leapt onto Seward’s bed and repeatedly slashed at Seward with a knife. Seward was likely saved by an apparatus he was wearing to correct an injury to his jaw sustained days earlier. The apparatus deflected Powell’s blows from Seward’s jugular. Powell then wounded two other men, including another of Seward’s sons, as they attempted to pull him off of Seward. As he fled down the stairs, Powell also stabbed a messenger who had just arrived. Like everyone else who was wounded that evening, the messenger survived, but he was paralyzed for life.

Powell then rushed outside to discover that a panicky co-conspirator who was to help him make his getaway had abandoned him. Over the course of three days, Powell then made his way to a boardinghouse owned by Mary Surratt where Booth and his circle had plotted the assassinations. He arrived, however, just as Surratt was being questioned, and, not providing a very convincing account of himself, he was taken into custody. Shortly thereafter, Powell was picked out of a lineup by one of Seward’s servants and taken aboard the ironclad USS Saugus to await his trial.

It was aboard the Saugus that Powell was photographed by Alexander Gardner, a Scot who had made his way to America to work with Matthew Brady. According to Powell’s biographer, Betty Ownsbey, Powell resisted having his picture taken by vigorously shaking his head when Gardner prepared to take a photograph. Given the exposure time, this would have blurred his face beyond recognition. Annoyed by Powell’s antics, H. H. Wells, the officer in charge of the photo shoot, struck Powell’s arm with the side of his sword. At this, Major Eckert, an assistant to the secretary of war who was there to interrogate Powell, interposed and reprimanded Wells.

Powell then seems to have resigned himself to being photographed, and Gardner proceeded to take several shots of Powell. Gardner must have realized that he had something unique in these exposures because he went on to copyright six images of Powell. He didn’t bother to do so with any of the other pictures he took of the conspirators. Historian James Swanson explains:

[Gardner’s] images of the other conspirators are routine portraits bound by the conventions of nineteenth century photography. In his images of Powell, however, Gardner achieved something more. In one startling and powerful view, Powell leans back against a gun turret, relaxes his body, and gazes languidly at the viewer. There is a directness and modernity in Gardner’s Powell suite unseen in the other photographs.

My intuition was re-affirmed, but the question remained: What accounted for the modernity of these photographs?

Resisting the Camera’s Gaze

Ownsbey’s account of the photo shoot contained an important clue: Powell’s subversive tactics. Powell clearly intuited something about his position before the camera that he didn’t like. He attempted one form of overt resistance, but appears to have decided that this choice was untenable. He then seems to acquiesce. But what if he wasn’t acquiescing? What if the modernity that radiates from these pictures arises out of Powell’s continued resistance by other means?

Powell could not avoid the gaze of the camera, but he could practice a studied indifference to it. In order to resist the gaze, he would carry on as if there were no gaze. To ward off the objectifying power of the camera, he had to play himself before the camera. Simply being himself was out of the question; the observer effect created by the camera’s presence so heightened one’s self-consciousness that it was no longer possible to simply be. Simply being assumed self-forgetfulness. The camera does not allow us to forget ourselves. In fact, as with all technologies of self-documentation, it heightens self-consciousness. In order to appear indifferent to the camera, Powell had to perform the part of Lewis Powell as Lewis Powell would appear were there no camera present.

In doing so, Powell stumbled upon the negotiated settlement with the gaze of the camera that eluded his contemporaries. He was a pioneer of subjectivity. Before the camera, many of his contemporaries either stared blankly, giving the impression of total vacuity, or else they played a role — the role of the brave soldier, or the statesman, or the lover, etc. Powell found another way. He played himself. There was nothing new about playing a role, of course. But playing yourself, that seems a watershed of consciousness. Playing a role entails a deliberate putting on of certain affectations; playing yourself suggests that there is nothing to the self but affectations. The anchor of identity in self-forgetfulness is lifted and the self is set adrift. Perhaps the violence that Powell had witnessed and perpetrated prepared him for this work against his psyche.

If indeed this was Powell’s mode of resistance, it was Pyrrhic: ultimately it entailed an even more profound surrender of subjectivity. It internalized the objectification of the self which the external presence of the camera elicited. This is what gave Powell’s photographs their eerie modernity. They were haunted by the future, not the past. It wasn’t Powell’s imminent death that made them uncanny; it was the glimpse of our own fractured subjectivity. Powell’s struggle before the camera, then, becomes a parable of human subjectivity in the age of pervasive documentation. We have learned to play ourselves with ease, and not only before the camera. The camera is now irrelevant.

In the short time that was left to him after the Gardner photographs were taken, Powell went on to become a minor celebrity. He was, according to Swanson, the star attraction at the trial of Booth’s co-conspirators. Powell “fascinated the press, the public, and his own guards.” He was, in the words of a contemporary account, “the observed of all observers, as he sat motionless and unperturbed, defiantly returning each gaze at his face and person.” But the performance had its limits. Although Ownsbey has raised reasonable doubts about the claim, it was widely reported that Powell had attempted suicide by repeatedly pounding his head against a wall.

On July 7, 1865, a little over two months after the Gardner photographs, Powell was hanged with three of his co-conspirators. It doesn’t require Barthes’ critical powers to realize that death saturates the Powell photographs, but death figured only incidentally in the reading I’ve offered here. It is not, however, irrelevant that this foray into modern consciousness was undertaken under the shadow of death. It is death, perhaps, that gave Powell’s performance its urgency. And perhaps it is now death that serves as the last lone anchor of the self.

About the author: Michael Sacasas is a PhD student currently studying “Texts and Technology” at The University of Central Florida. You can read more of his insights on his blog, Twitter or in his newly-released e-Book “The Tourist and the Pilgrim.” This article originally appeared on Sacasas blog and in the non-profit magazine The New Inquiry.

Image credits: Colorized photograph by Mads Madsen.