Hardware Lust

"Why do guys like cars so much?" She asked the other day.

"I don't know, really," I said. "I think it's all the mechanical stuff."

She asked, because even though I have three cars (all paid for BTW), I'm always checking out the latest models humming down the freeway. My son Max got to drive a Tesla the other day. That's just not fair. He's an 18-year-old kid.

All that being said, I'm glad she asked me about cars and not cameras. That answer would be more difficult.

At my disposal, I have an army of compacts, mirrorless, and DSLR soldiers. Their batteries are charged and memory cards are clean. On a moment's notice, I can switch from a Canon 5D Mark II with 70-200mm f/2.8 telezoom to an Olympus OM-D E-M10 with Panasonic 20mm f/1.7 prime. And there's a lot of artillery in between.

So the real question is: why do I like cameras so much?

I think it's because they are precise instruments that can create art. I can hold a camera in my hand and marvel at the finely machined dials one moment, then flip the On switch and photograph a twilight landscape the next. That's an irresistible juxtaposition of sensations.

It's funny how I am with these devices. I will carry a silver E-M5 Mark II around for a couple weeks and shoot only with it. Then I'll switch to a black E-M10 and marvel at it for a while. Those changeover days are very exciting. Because, of course, I have to adjust the complement of lenses too. 

I've never been one of those guys who say it's all about the art. I'm not wired that way. I'm a gearhead nerd with a good eye. Don't make me choose between a wrench and the car.

My camera collection will be our little secret. I know you won't rat me out.

Because you have a few stashed away yourself.

-Derrick

How Do Actors Do It?

I'm not talking about memorizing lines, although I think that's difficult too. What I'm referring to is watching themselves on the big screen. How do actors do it?

There's a logical reason why my thoughts have drifted this way. Yesterday, my latest lynda.com title was released: A Photographer in Cuba. It's what we call a live action course. Instead of you listening to me while I work at a computer screen, I talk directly into the lens. Yes, lights, camera, action.

The story goes something like this. Photographer gets an opportunity to work in Cuba. He tells his producer about the trip and receives a contract to make the movie. He returns home with SD cards full of photos and videos. Photographer then goes to the lynda.com studios in Carpinteria, CA to tell the story in front of a film crew. Months later, the title is released.

After watching a few of the scenes with me yesterday, Theresa asked: "Do you have a script, or are you just winging it?" Well, I make movies the same way I record podcasts. I write an outline containing the key points, I memorize those highlights, then I just tell the story. In other words, I wing it.

Here's a scene where I talk about music and art in Cuba. I basically know what I'm going to say before the camera starts rolling. I'm just not sure how the words are going to come out.

This might seem crazy to you. But reading a script off a teleprompter, or memorizing 90 minutes of monologue feels even more insane. I look like a droid when I read off a prompter.

All of this is like sipping rum compared to the really hard part: watching myself in action once the title is released. How do actors do it?

How do you sit there with other people and not cringe at every gaff, awkward twist of phrase, or expressions and gestures that you didn't even know you had?

Here's how I survive. I wrap myself in the story. Is it interesting, worth telling, helpful to others? Yes. Do I care about my subject? Yes. Am I sincere in my endeavor and even manage the periodic dash of humor? Yes.

Then, quite honestly, I need to get over the other stuff. And as a result, I'm feeling good about A Photographer in Cuba.

Just ignore my occasional clenched fists.

-Derrick

How Instagram Changed Our Eyes

I was meeting with a client yesterday because she wanted me to update their corporate head shots. 

She had printed out examples of the style she was looking for. The images had a natural feel to them with existing light and maybe a few reflectors. There were no muslin backdrops or studio lighting rigs. The subjects were smiling, talking, looking at others, and in general, engaged with their environment. The color scheme was slightly pale.

Then she showed me the existing portraits they had hanging on the wall. "These need to go," she said.

How things have changed. Up until a few years ago, it was perfectly acceptable to stand stiffly in front of a backdrop with your best suit and a nervous smile. The photographer would employ his standard head shot lighting scheme, snap a few dozen pictures, and call it a day.

Then people discovered Instagram.

What at first seemed like a gimmick, such as applying the Hudson filter to a snap of your child splashing in the pool, became popular art. Why? Honestly, because the pictures weren't boring.

A perfectly aligned - exposed - color temperature correct - image might be required for Architectural Digest, but it's not how we want to portray the life that radiates from our friends, family, and coworkers.

Because it's so competitive on social media, photographers have pushed the envelop in every direction. Scrolling through my Instagram feed is both entertaining and inspiring. I haven't been this excited about images since the days of Life and Look magazines.

Smart businesses know this. They don't want their CEO to look like he was lifted from your dad's yearbook. They want to say to their customers, "Yeah, we get it." And they're doing that by changing how their images look online and in print.

As a photographer, I couldn't be happier. I've always bristled at the thought of a technically perfect photograph. And for Pete's sake, don't explain to me how you did it. I don't care.

I'm too busy figuring out how to make this shot interesting.

-Derrick

If There's No Joy

At the start of summer I began conducting private photography lessons for two high school freshmen. Both young women are smart, motivated, and talented.

We meet once a week. The mother of one brings them to the studio, then she sits back and takes notes while these students learn about composition, storytelling, aperture, and shutter speed.

These two hours I spend with them are completely different than anything else I do. They're so happy to be here. Their love for taking pictures radiates from their smiles. And they're good at it. I wouldn't want to compete against them a few years up the road.

This experience has been on my mind since the first session. And I've been trying to figure out why there's so much joy with these women compared to the daily cynicism that appears in my inbox? Is it their youth? I don't know.

I received a letter yesterday from a podcast listener who stated that he will no longer be following my show. It was because of a joyous remark I made in a tweet - not because I criticized someone or cast aspersions against an institution. I was just happy.

Other typical notes obsess about technical nits or question artistic choices made by various photographers. And what I started wonder is, how good are the photographs made by these critics? Are their images as compelling as those produced by a pair of 13-year-old girls?

Again, I don't know. But I have a guess. 

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that photographs need to be happy. But I do believe that passion for the craft, and life itself, leads to better pictures. Whether you're capturing something that's heartwarming or heart wrenching, it's your compassion for either that can help elevate your art.

I've known this for quite some time. But I was reminded again by two young women. They think that taking pictures is supposed to be fun.

And I'm not going to tell them anything different.

-Derrick

In Order to Move Forward

I've been off the grid for nearly 3 weeks. 

My normal routine, which I like a lot, has been disrupted. I haven't posted a journal entry, balanced the books, cleaned the studio, answered the bulk of my email, or photographed anything purely for fun.

Why? Because I've had big projects to address. They were things that meant a lot to me. I finished my work on the Cuba movie (it should be out soon), recorded an entirely new training titled "Dropbox for Photographers," wrote an eBook on photographing Cuba, lead a 3-day workshop in the Eastern Sierra, and completed a big photography project for my favorite commercial client.

One of the things that I learned when I first started writing books was this: I had to be willing to put my normal life on hold if I were to accomplish big things. I couldn't write a book and continue to work 10 hours a day on daily stuff. Something had to give.

It's difficult for me to stray from routine. I find it hard to look out the window and see the garden overgrown. But those are the tasks that turn authors into procrastinators. And that's the reason why most writers don't finish books.

In order to move forward, you must break routine. 

Today is my first day back. I feel great. I've cleaned up the garden, organized my office, made a haircut appointment, paid the bills, and have now returned to the journal. 

My joy stems not only from being back in the daily groove, but because I know that I've accomplished things. I've moved the ball forward.

People ask me how I get so much done. The answer is this: You have to be willing to let go of what's comfortable, at least for a while.

-Derrick