There's Always a Gimbels Down the Street

One of my favorite scenes in the classic movie, Miracle on 34th Street is when the manager at Macy's changes his thinking (thanks to St. Nick) and recommends Gimbels Department Store to Macy's customers whose needs aren't being met. It turns out to be a brilliant strategy that Gimbels adopts later in the movie.

There's plenty of subtext also, and you could argue that Macy's was still acting in its own best interests by taking this stance. And in large part, I'm not so interested in the motivation as I am the action, at least in trivial matters such as this.

I bring this up because I too am a businessman. I have a variety of products, such as the TDS Photography Podcast, my movies on lynda.com, and the work I do for clients. It's a lot of stuff for a one man show trying to make a living in a competitive market.

From the beginning, my approach has been to write and broadcast about my activities. Whether it's sharing a photo tip that I just discovered, talking about a book I just finished, encouraging others to participate on a social network site that I oversee, or support publications that I write for, I choose these relationships carefully. That way I can enthusiastically talk about them publicly. 

Unlike other larger businesses, I don't have a big team behind me. The podcast, for example, is conceived, written, recorded, edited, and produced by me, usually late at night. The content is based on what I've seen and experienced in the last week. And I share it freely with my audience.

Every now and then I receive mail citing that I've just published a infomercial. Everyone is entitled to their point of view. My perspective is that I'm excited about the projects I'm working on. Others see it solely as self promotion. The content varies from week to week depending on my activities. I realize that some weeks are more promotional than others.

The bottom line is, however, this is my life. I don't want to work for a company, and I don't want to talk about things that don't interest me. I've done that. Quite honestly, it sucks.

My hope is, that on the balance, people enjoy most of what I discuss, and are willing to tolerate the weeks when I disappoint. It's really the only practical way I can manage this.

If that doesn't work, I feel badly about it. My goal is to inform and entertain. And I know there's always a Gimbels down the street offering something different.

-Derrick

Cohiba

I've been thinking a lot about Cuba lately... in large part, because my movie and eBook on the subject were just released. But there's something else going on.

When I look back on my time there, and  what I learned, a few things stand out: beautiful people, classic American cars, interesting architecture, organic food, intoxicating rum, and Cohiba cigars. 

I'm going to make a connection here that may not seem logical at first. To be honest, it took me a while to figure it out.

Photographers tend to think of craftsmanship in terms of cameras and lenses, and rightly so. These instruments are marvels of technology and skill. But when I learned about the art of Cuban cigar making, I saw a few parallels.

I won't detail the entire process (although you can read about it here), but a top quality cigar takes years to produce and involves great skill and patience. The wrappers are grown in the shade, other types of leaves cultivated outside, and every step, from harvesting, to curing, to assembly are a model of time-tested precision.

Yet, when we strike a match and push the flame against the wrapped leaves of sweet tobacco, we may not fully appreciate the very item we're about to enjoy. 

This sort of thing happens daily. Whether it's the complexity of flavors mingling in the wine served with our meal or the marvel of components puzzled together in our mobile devices, we typically don't realize how high others have reached to create these works.

I'll admit, it's asking a lot to understand the melding of rare earth metals and silicon that result in a phone. But all of us can wrap our heads around seeds planted in soil, nurtured to maturity beneath the sun, then carefully harvested and cured to perfection. That is, if we care to do so.

I've finally discovered the haunting feeling that has followed me home from Havana. It has to do with reaching one's potential. I have much more than seeds and soil. But I haven't perfected anything.

The more I learn about the craftsmanship of a Cohiba cigar, the more I want to grow as a writer, interleaving words and ideas into a seemingly simple work of art. And to do so lightly, like smoke carried off on the heels of a breeze.

It doesn't matter what I have to start with. It's what I do with it that counts.

-Derrick

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