journal
If you are like me, and like going out often and taking lots of pictures, you might have hundreds if not thousands of photographs sitting in your memory cards or in a hard drive. In this video, we'll see how we can go from hundreds of images to just a handful of ones, our very best photographs.
"One of the downsides of the disposable camera is that it’s fun, which is in strict contrast to real professional photography which must always be stressful, or else you go to photography jail." - Casually Explained (YT)
Photography is the best excuse to go explore the world. Even better, to discover a whole new dimension that has always been there, hiding in plain sight. The camera is a superpower. But it all starts with a pair of comfortable shoes.
I've used all kind of cameras over the years, from medium format film monsters to smartphones. All of them taught some valuable lessons about this art, but the camera that changed my photography forever was a tiny compact one. I lost it years ago on a beach in Oregon, but now, we are reunited again!
This photo by photojournalist Evan Vucci is already an iconic image of our times. The amazing Imitative Photography YouTube channel has a great video showing how that photograph was made - a rare example of how great photography is done.
And yet, some still miss the point. “Right aperture / exposure / iso”, “there’s nothing special about being on this spot, they literally were right there” are some of the comments. Go figure.
Now, I have no idea what the exact settings were. Evan had much more important things to focus on, so it is likely that they were already dialed in for the conditions, or that he was shooting in some semi-automatic mode. In any case, he could've missed on some of those settings and the image would've still been as iconic as it finally turned out to be.
Indeed, the image is iconic not because it's perfectly exposed, it has no noise, or because the color balance is accurate. No, it's all about the story it tells. And making it might look easy, but it was anything but that.
What those commenters are missing is that the image was made because of Evan’s vision, who was able to anticipate what was going to happen next by moving to the right spots; the big balls it takes to point a camera at a presidential candidate when armed forces are looking for a shooter (who you don’t even know if is still active!); the experience it takes to frame your subject perfectly in a chaotic environment without thinking much about it; and the practice it requires to know how to use your camera as fast as Evan did, literally an extension of his body.
When something looks easy but yet only a few manage to do it, you know they are some of the best at what they do. Of course, there’s nothing especial to that shot, provided you are at the right spot, at the right time, ready and with the skills and experience required to make it happen. Other than that, nothing to see here.
I see coyotes very often during my morning walks. Some are shy, some let you get relatively close. This one was too busy looking for breakfast to mind my presence, so I was able to get quite near.
After taking dozens of shots, I witnessed something I’d never seen before: the coyote found a decently sized gopher and proceeded to eat it right in front of me.
This is why I love photography and getting out with a camera in hand. You just never know what you are going to find.
The feeling is always there, some days I’m barely aware of it; other days, it almost hurts: the desire to hit the road again. And yet, there’s no place I’d rather be than San Francisco right now.
It feels strange. I haven’t been in a situation like this in years. My “normal” is to be always on the move, nowhere for too long. But I keep scanning the map and I find nothing: there’s nowhere I want to go*.
The summer doesn’t inspire me. The bright sun and the heat make me feel miserable most of the time. I much prefer those gray cloudy days, slow rainy afternoons, and the magical foggy mornings. And of those mornings, I’m getting plenty here.
I spent the last two summers in Norway and Scotland, grayscale times I cherish now. I want that, I need that. So I’m learning to work on the same spots over and over, trying to find what I failed to see before. And while my desire to go somewhere is still there, I’m starting to love it. A project is building up here, I think. We shall see.
Come around September, though, I’ll be more than ready to hit that open road again. Where to, it doesn’t matter.
* By car, that is. I guess I could always take a flight to somewhere exotic on the other side of the world, but you know, I can’t afford that.
In a world that is constantly trying to sell us shortcuts and workarounds, it's important to realize that the road to great photography is rather unassuming and kind of boring. It is the accumulation of great work made over the years with hard work that we can start building a body of work. It is a very simple path, but not easy to follow.
In order to make great photographs, we need to know what makes them great in the first place. Developing a photographic taste is crucial, both internal (our own taste) and external (the objective truths of the medium).
In this video, we dive deep into this topic and talk about how we can get better as photographers by improving our taste.
As someone who hates the heat, and being surrounded by it, I have no option but to stay in the city for the time being. Not a problem, though, as I often get amazing conditions for photography right on my doorstep.
They say we "stand on the shoulders of giants": those have come before us paved the way, and so many people are carving new paths in the world of the photography today. There's a lot of amazing work out there.
This is how I find outstanding work, and how I collect it to inspire me in my own photography.
A lovely morning of photography near my new neighborhood in San Francisco.
I don’t believe in location scouting when it comes to landscape and fine art photography.
It’s not that I don’t find value in exploring a place before a planned shoot; it’s just that I don’t do it with the only purpose of “gathering information”, as it’s usually understood.
There’s only a first time for everything: you’ll only see a place with completely fresh eyes once. The second time you visit a location, you’ve already built some preconceived ideas about it. Over time, we may only be able to see a very limited amount of images in that location.
It is during that first time that our minds are most open. If we have a camera with us, we can play and experiment more freely; if we leave it at home, we prevent ourselves from even trying.
Deciding beforehand what the “right” and “wrong” time might be for a location we don’t even know can be a costly mistake.
After years of living semi-nomadically, we've finally settled somewhere. For a little white, at least. It all started with a total solar eclipse...
I used to think that good photographers consistently take great photographs, and only rarely they make something subpar. Surely, their “keeper rate” was much better than mine.
This was one of the most harmful beliefs I held when I was taking my first steps in photography. Because when you don’t allow yourself to fail, you play it safe; and when you play it safe, there’s no growth.
Making a bad photograph is not the risk: the lack of experimentation and play is the real danger.
Last stop in my spring road trip across the American West: the breathtaking Great Sand Dunes National Park, in Colorado. I only had a full day there, but so many things to capture and enjoy. From the howling coyotes that woke me up in the middle of the night under a full moon, to the relentless wind and menacing thunderstorms, this place is always a challenge. Which makes the images you make there the more rewarding.
How rude of me. I broke the news on my Patreon page but I totally forgot to announce it here.
Anyway, here it goes: after years of a semi-nomadic life, I finally find myself in a place I can call home. That place is San Francisco, where I expect to be for the next 1-2 years.
I’ve been doing tons of exploring in the last few weeks, most of it on foot. We chose the Outer Richmond neighborhood, and what a good call that was! I still can’t believe I’m just minutes away from so many incredible spots, all of them accessible without needing to drive.
But the weather hadn’t been the best. I was promised fog and chilly temperatures, and all I got for the first month was sun and warmth. Which is fine... but you know I love a little bit of weather when it comes to my photography.
So, even though I did make a few photographs here and there during the last few weeks, it was this past weekend when I was finally able to glimpse the magic this place has to offer.
On Friday morning, I woke up to foghorns for the first time. A very eerie sound coming from the Golden Gate bridge, aiding the travel of the many vessels that go under the red structure every day and night. And now, aiding me as well: they are the sound of the fog, the sound of something magical happening just outside of my apartment.
I made dozens of photos on Friday and Saturday, but there was one particular moment that will stick with me for a very long time.
This may be a very common occurrence here in San Francisco, but it’s not every day that I see a coyote casually walking through a golf course on a foggy and peaceful morning.
There is no way I’d be out there if it wasn’t for photography. Once more, the pursuit of making good images had put me in front of something that reminded me more of a dream than real life.
It was my first glimpse of magic since I moved here. I hope to get many more in the months (and maybe years) ahead, here in beautiful San Francisco.
Less than ideal weather and some upcoming major changes in our lives led me to cut my road trip short and head back home, in the Midwest. However, the gods of photography had a very different idea in mind for me. A series of circumstances led me to Moab, Utah, where I found the best conditions (and images) of the whole trip so far.
A few years ago, I discovered an art form that transformed my approach to photography: sumi-e, or the art of Japanese Ink Painting. This ancient art taught me to capture the world in a simpler, yet more powerful way. By studying sumi-e paintings, I learned to harness the power of suggestion and simplification in my own work, inviting viewers to engage and connect on a deeper level.
This sight may fade away from your memory over time, but you will never forget the way witnessing it made you feel.
Indiana, April 2024.
