WhereaboutsPhoto

Beginning to see the world through a photographic frame can lead to some wonderful discoveries. Nikon D800, AF-S Nikkor 16-35mm f/4G ED VR.

Walking around an object before pressing the shutter can lead to some creative takes on a scene. Nikon D800, AF-S Nikkor 16-35mm f/4G ED VR.

Let’s face it, not everyone can live in Paris.  Sure, come can, but this post is for the rest of us mortals who sometimes need to struggle with our familiar surroundings in order to overcome photographic paralysis.  For the creative in all of us, the numbing effect of the familiar can easily lead to a condition where the sights that are right there in front of us have become transparent to us.  We just don’t see things any more.  Think back and retrace everywhere you’ve been this week and you’ll know what I mean.  Most of us will simply not be able to describe everyone we met or everywhere we went.  To a large extent, the familiar has become transparent and has stopped registering in our consciousness.

The same with our attitude towards photography.  It is very easy to convince ourselves that there’s nothing new to photograph in the neighborhoods, towns, or cities where we have lived for so long.  It all looks the same, and probably ceased to inspire us a long time ago.  In fact, the thought of prepping your gear to go photograph something you’ve photographed many times before can be outright debilitating.  Too familiar.  Too transparent.  Ever been there?  Well, I have, and nothing good photographically comes out of it.  However, it really doesn’t have to be this way.  With a little effort on our part, we can easily overcome the negative effect of the familiar.  Convince yourself that the world around you is nothing but a huge photographic opportunity waiting for someone like you to find those photos.  Make it a point to stop and visit a place that caught your eye at some point, but which you never took the time to explore.  Find the new in the old by walking around a building instead of in front of it, by sitting in a garden and observing, and by looking all around you as if you were expecting a Mafia hit at any time.  Slow down, use your feet, dare to walk into empty spaces, and imagine.  If anything, you’ll have lots of fun in the process.

Some photographers claim that they can see in black & white, but is there any truth to this? Leica M9, Summicron-M 28mm f/2 ASPH.

Let me start this post by saying that I love black & white photography.  Not that I have mastered this medium by any stretch of the imagination, but rather that I have come to realize that there are some scenes out there that come to life when shot on black & white.  In some strange way, the removal of color artifacts (or should I say, the substitution of these artifacts by different shades of grey) from the photograph kind of diminishes the judgmental interpretation of the photograph.  No longer can someone point out that the red shirt was not that red in the real world, or that blues look over-saturated.   When black & white photographs are involved, the observer tends to go through some sort of a mental shift as if being handed a different list of criteria by which to interpret the photograph.  Without ever having heard of Ansel Adam’s Zone System, these observers begin to interpret the photographs in terms of those grey variations that lie somewhere in between absolute white and absolute black.  What’s more, when black & white photography is involved, the whole notion of photographic composition seems to experience somewhat of a liberation to be analyzed without the distracting effect of color getting in the way.

But to what extent is the resulting photo the product of the photographer’s ability to “see” the scene in black & white prior to capturing it with his or her camera?  Is there such a thing as “seeing” in black & white when it comes to photography, or is it all the product of post-capture manipulation with today’s advanced software applications?  Frankly, I don’t have an answer to these questions, but I do venture to say that for most folks out there (and this includes your humble blogger here), playing with the software during post is where the action is.  We try this or that like a New York fashionista until voilà, we know it when we see it.  Having said that, I have no doubt that some talented photographers out there do have this ability uncanny ability to see in black & white.  At the very least, in they are able to see in grey variations, à la Ansel Adams.  For some, this gift will come natural; for others, no doubt the result of many years of photographic observation and practice.  Whatever the case, I am just glad that black & white photography is alive and well and that companies like Leica pay it tribute with the introduction of  such wonderful products as the Leica M Monochrome.  We can only hope that other companies follow in their footsteps.

The old days had some very cool designs too, even if a bit dangerous. Leica M9, Summicron-M 28mm f/2 ASPH.

Are we having fun?  Don’t blame you if you feel a little down after hearing what the IRS has been up to lately, but this is a question that we ought to be asking ourselves on a much more regular basis.  Walking down the Wales Alley in Old Town Alexandria yesterday with my camera, I was asking myself that very question when I came face-to-face with this bicycle just outside the old Bike and Roll shop.  Not that taking pictures on a beautiful sunny day is not fun, but rather that seeing this old, so-called Penny-farthing bike made me think of the innocent fun we used to have when we were young.  Fear of a broken arm?  Nope.  Knee scratches?  Survived plenty of those.  Helmet?  You’ve got to be kidding.  Did we survive our dangerous youth?  Yeap.  Carefree days zooming down the neighborhood streets on a wobbly bike, and with lots of dreams in our heads.  It is refreshing to remember who I was before I became who I am now.  And the more I think about it, the more I’m convincing myself that I just may have to give this Penny-farthing bike a try after all.  Wish me luck.

Every photograph makes a statement of some sort. Leica M9, APO-Summicron-M 75mm f/2 ASPH.

Lately I’ve been wondering whether photographers, when selecting what to photograph, are engaging in editorializing.  You know, like traditional writers who consciously choose what they want to write about.  After all, unless you are under contract to photograph a specific subject, there is a lot of personal choice involved in the process of selecting what to point your lens at.  And while I must agree that photographer do indeed attempt to convey a message through their photographs, it would seem to me that as a general proposition, photographic intent is never as easily defined as written intent.  The absence of words on a photograph do appear to shift the photo’s interpretation to the viewer, thus granting the photographer a sort of artistic alibi to declare his or her innocence when it comes to the issue of intent.  However, it would appear that the more a photographer manipulates the image before publication, the larger the risk of that photographer loosing the so-called artistic, non-editorial alibi.  Perhaps that is where the line of editorial demarcation lies for photographers: on the degree of manipulation.  Do more, say more.  Do less, leave more for the viewer to interpret.  Whatever the case, there’s no denying that every photograph makes a statement of some sort.  But an editorial?  I guess I’m going to have to leave that up to you to decide.

The less glamorous side of the restaurant business. Leica M9, Summicron-M 50mm f/2.

Running a restaurant is not all Iron Chef stuff.  In fact, it is more of a complex mix of grunt work and logistics than the TV shows would lead all of us to believe.  To keep these mini-food factories going it takes a lot of supplies and a network of folks who will always be under-appreciated and underpaid.  Like in cruise ships, under all the glitter and fresh paint there is a complete underworld of people doing the grunt work of moving supplies, fixing machinery, and washing pots.  Not glamorous, but necessary.  When you think about it, this whole network of people diligently working from origin to table is really something amazing.  It is easy to miss too when we are looking at that menu while trying to decide between the Chilean Sea Bass and the Norwegian Crust Salmon.  A cursory look at a map will immediately tell us how far the waters from which the fish was plucked are rather far away, very far away.   Just the thought of how many people and resources it has taken for the fish to travel to our table in perfect condition is mind-bogling.  But even when we don’t know the route this delicious seafood takes before it gets to sit in front of us covered in butter sauce, I do know that at one of my favorite local restaurants the final leg of this maddening logistics journey is down the sidewalk doors depicted above.  And as long as that supply network keeps working the way it is, my days will have more to do with photography than with fishing poles.  And that’s a good thing.

View from the bell tower at the National Cathedral in Washington, DC. Nikon D800, AF Nikkor 14mm f/2.8D ED.

Partial view of the imposing crossing and transept. Nikon D800, AF Nikkor 14mm f/2.8D ED.

Some of the most interesting icons and sights at the cathedral can be found away from the main halls. Nikon D800, Sigma 35mm f/1.4 DG HSM.

Well, not that close and certainly not in any hurry to get there (a big assumption here, I know).  But climbing the bell tower at the National Cathedral is about as close as I have come to, you know, heaven.  This national monument has existed for 83 years now, but I hate to admit that even when I live in the area, this was my first real visit to the place.  Thankfully, none of the 88 angels carved around the building objected to my presence, but the 300+ steps leading to the top of the bell tower could easily be interpreted as a form of penance for my absence throughout the years.  Luckily, I wasn’t alone in that climb, so I’m thankful to all those folks who ignored the health warnings on the back of the admission ticket for keeping me company along the somewhat claustrophobic, narrow, spiral staircase to the top.  However, once you reach that bell section in the tower, it is not what’s inside that captures your attention.  Rather, it is the most incredible view in our nation’s capital, an endless sea of blue over a landscape that is just beginning to show the beautiful colors of spring.  And then, there were the bells.  Majestic, powerful, and crystal clear, they provided the perfect musical background to a perfect scene.  I really could have stayed up there for hours, and like Victor Hugo’s Quasimodo, I too found it hard to leave the Cathedral on such a wonderful day.

Not all great music needs a multi-million dollar concert hall to resonate. Leica M9, Summicron-M 50mm f/2.

I realize that I have posted photos of street musicians many times on this blog, but this time I just couldn’t resist.  What caught my attention about these two young men was the fact that they were both impeccably dressed and that their music didn’t quite fit the vaudeville style we usually associate with street musicians.  In fact, after watching and listening for a while, I had this great compulsion to write their mothers a thank-you note for raising such great young men.  In an European capital they would have had about a hundred people standing around them enjoying their music, but for reasons I don’t even want to get into right now, here in America only about three of us took the time to stop and listen.  Sure, people were indeed contributing some money to their act, but all while zooming by at speeds that reminded me of a toll booth on an interstate highway.  No time for music, I guess.  Thankfully, these detached monetary acknowledgements didn’t deter our duo, who continued to play as if they were about to receive a standing ovation at Carnegie Hall.  I guess that even when most people have no time to listen until the song ends, the music will still play on without them.

No matter what you do, what’s important is that you perfect your act. Leica M9, Summicron-M 50mm f/2.

Never thought that a street performer would get me thinking about career choices, but that’s exactly what happened recently during one of my photographic walkabouts.  Not that I suddenly had the impulse to trade jobs with this gentleman, but rather that his contagious enthusiasm while earning a living forced me to engage on a momentary self-analysis of my chosen career.  Then again, I didn’t choose my career.  It is more of a case of “here’s where I am,” rather than a conscious decision based on all the options available.  But that aside, here’s what jumped into my mind when I came face-to-face with this street performer: he had a spot on the sidewalk all to his own, he had an act, he worked hard at his act, this act was different from that of the performers around him, he was smiling, he controlled his own timing, he turned it on when he wanted and off when he wanted, he looked poor, he looked happy, he was engaging, and he was unique (I think you know where I’m going with this one, but here I go nonetheless).

Mojo.  Schtick.  Groove.  Raison d’être.  Call it what you may, but I’m beginning to think that our eternal pursuit of artistic and professional individuality has everything to do with finding our own, personal spot on a sidewalk.  Of course, this individual spot can take an almost infinite number of forms, and whether one is better than the other is a matter of never-ending interpretation.  What ultimately matters most is that somewhere along that sidewalk full of performers, we find our spot, our little chunk of the universe.  When we do, our act will have to be different and unique enough to be noticed and appreciated.  Easy?  Not quite.  If it were, most of us would not spend a lifetime searching for that spot.  All I know is that it sure is a lot of fun looking for it.

Looks can be deceiving, as this gentleman was one of the nicest people I met on this day. Nikon D800, AF-S Nikkor 85mm f/1.4G.

This kind of look is not foreign to photographers.  In fact, we confront it much too often these days, and it is usually followed by some kind of public, verbal admonition that is intended to make you feel like you have just committed a crime.  Certainly, and from this photograph, it would appear that I was the subject of one such admonition, but that was not the case.  The gentleman could not have been any nicer to me, even if he kept saying that I should donate my “nice camera” to charity and that “Charity” just happened to be his name.  Of course, you would be hard pressed to find his jovial personality from this portrait, but that is precisely the point: sometimes a photo does not convey the real story behind it.  Sure, some sort of reality is always revealed by a photo, but this visual first-impression is to a large extent fabricated by our brains rather than supported by the story behind the photograph.  The story behind this particular photograph is one of intensity, not anger; of surprise that after our initial conversation I would be interested in taking his photo.  I grant you that a smile would have been a bit more reassuring, but I’ve come to accept that people have very unique ways of expressing their feelings.  And while in most situations the old saying that “a picture is worth a thousand words” still holds true, sometimes we do seem to need the thousand words to truly understand what the picture is all about.  So there it is, and in case you were wondering, no, I did not donate my camera to charity.

Everywhere you go in a city there are unique scenes waiting to be photographed. Leica M9, Summicron-M 28mm f/2 ASPH.

Everywhere you look, people are on the move engaging in all sorts of activities. Leica M9, Summicron-M 28mm f/2 ASPH.

When engaging in street photography, you will never be the only photographer out there. Leica M9, Summicron-M 50mm f/2.

Street photography is not all hard work and no play. Leica M9, Summicron-M 28mm f/2 ASPH.

I’ll start this post with a simple admission: I love walking the street.  And to paraphrase Hugh Grant’s famous line in the hit movie Notting Hill, I mean that in a “non-prostitute” sort of way.  Not everyone’s cup of tea, I grant you, but for me, the craziness of the street with its unpredictable, and always revealing human activity, is the stuff of life.  Where else can you, and in the scope of a day, experience great art, creative people, international music, great food, Ethiopian coffee, incredible architecture, and  dare I say it, a little flirting here and there.  But even more than that, the street has a certain energy that is highly contagious.  It is scenery that is always changing, and for someone interested in the human condition in any way, there is simply no other place to be than out there where the noise is coming from.  Be it in Rio, Berlin, Shanghai, or Delhi, life on the street is simply a never-ending theatrical performance by momentary, wonderful characters.  Crude at times, scary at others, but also happy and refreshing most of the time.  Sort of like a human thrift shop.  Haven’t experienced the streets and neighborhoods in your town yet?  Well, you ought to try getting out there.  Don’t just read about life, be that life.  And don’t forget your camera.

The inside of Fort Washington looks like the inside of a War of 1812 movie set. Nikon D800, AF-S Nikkor 24mm f/1.4G ED.

Completed in 1809, Fort Washington sits majestically over the Potomac River. Nikon D800, AF-S Nikkor 24mm f/1.4G ED.

The door by which the British entered in 1812 after burning the burning of the capital. Nikon D800, AF-S Nikkor 24mm f/1.4G ED.

This weekend I had the opportunity to visit a place that I have been seeing from afar for almost ten years now.  This gap had nothing to do with a lack of curiosity, mind you.  A million times I’ve driven south down the scenic George Washington Memorial Parkway from Alexandria to Mount Vernon, and a million times I have seen the majestic Fort Washington sitting high over the Potomac River on the Maryland side of the shore.  You can’t miss it.  It is as imposing as a giant keeping his eyes on the waterway that 200 years ago was both a critical commercial route to the capital and a major avenue of attack.  But as impressive as it looks from the low ground on the Virginia side of the river, it is twice as impressive when you are standing up high on one of its many canon positions with a clear view of our nation’s capital.  A great place to make a final stand against the British during the War of 1812, if it were not for the small detail that its occupants beat feet from the place upon getting word that the British were moving on the fort after having burned the capital.  Two centuries later and you still can’t help but feel that the place was recently occupied and abandoned, specially if you get there early in the morning and there’s no one around you when you set foot through the fort’s imposing door.

But there is a lot more to Fort Washington than history.  Namely, the incredible view.  Looking out over the spot where the southern-flowing Potomac River bends west before continuing its hasty march onto the mighty Chesapeake Bay, the views from the fort are nothing short of breathtaking.  Veer your eyes north and you will clearly see Old Town Alexandria and the Capitol building in the distance.  Look west and you will see the undulating river gradually disappearing in the distance past the historical Mount Vernon plantation.  A panorama adorned by the emerging colors of spring, and a reminder of the unassuming beauty of our country.  Now I know that I should have crossed that river long ago.

Sometimes, you just have to look the other way. Leica M9, Summicron-M 50mm f/2.

One of the most interesting aspects of street photography has to be the ability to record people’s reaction to their environment.  Take this scene.  I stood across the street watching how people would react to this store display in the Georgetown area of Washington, DC.  Invariably, women seem to turn their eyes in the direction of the store, while men showed a tendency to look away from the display.  Not a scientific study by any means, but just that in a matter of 15-20 minutes some behavioral patterns appeared to be emerging.  From a photographic point of view, this sort of impromptu observation is quite relevant.  It allows you to predict how people will most likely behave when they reach a particular point in your field of view.  Call it seeing the photograph before it happens, or whatever.  It all boils down to waiting for the right moment and subject to come along.

Even the French would be impressed with the Vegas version of the Eiffel Tower. Leica M9, Summicron-M 28mm f/2 ASPH.

It is Vegas after all. Leica M9, Summicron-M 28mm f/2 ASPH.

The unique entrance to Gordon Ramsay’s BurGR restaurant at Planet Hollywood. Leica M9, Leica M9, Summicron-M 28mm f/2 ASPH.

Even at Caesar’s Palace you can see the various sides of Vegas. Leica M9, Summarit-M 90mm f/2.5.

Any trip to las Vegas, Nevada is accompanied by the titillating expectations of life on the wild side.  You can’t help it.  Say what you say about the place, the mere fact that you are headed that way kind of fills you with the type of  perspiration-inducing anticipation that comes from knowing that you are about to commit a major sin.  In fact, and if you are to believe the state’s marketing campaign, you are expected to become someone other than yourself when you land there.  A raunchier version of yourself, that is.  Let loose, go with the flow, party all night, sleep all day.  A tried and true formula for Vegas nirvana.

So what happened?  Well, either Vegas has changed, or I have.  My three days there were not exactly good for Vegas’ seedy reputation.  For me, Vegas went like this: dress like a DC bureaucrat during casual Fridays, realize that just about everyone there was young enough to be your child, eat all day in great restaurants as if every meal was to be your last, and crash early to give your sore feet a much-deserved rest.  Get the picture?  Not exactly your average sin city high-roller, to say the least.  And what about the infamous Vegas nightlife?  All I can say is that they must have moved it out into the desert because I never saw it.  Gambling?  Nope, didn’t do any of that either.  Basically, I just experienced the softer side of Vegas; the side the city wants you to see when it wants to pretend it is not really Vegas.  And for the old, tired feet of a former Marine who perhaps has seen too much of the world already, that was perfectly alright.

The Potomac River across from Rosslyn is a busy place during the early morning hours. Nikon D800, Sigma 35mm F1.4 DG HSM.

Dated bars at the Georgetown waterfront have given way to slick establishments with some of the best views in the city. Nikon D800, Sigma 35mm F1.4 DG HSM.

One of the best places in Washington, DC for photographers has to be the renovated Georgetown waterfront.  In fact, the entire area is one of my favorite places in the district.  From the somewhat-secluded Key Bridge Boathouse to the Georgetown Waterfront Park and onto the Embassy of Sweden, this is prime open space in an otherwise cramped city.  Bars, restaurants, and an extended riverfront promenade are the perfect ingredients for people-watching and for snapping pictures.  And did I mention the view?  With the imposing Kennedy Center to one side and the undulating Key Bridge to the other, it is easy to see why you’ll need to save a few million dollars if you want to live in one of the ritzy condos overlooking this section of the Potomac.  In fact, with the exception of the relatively new National Harbor development on the Maryland side of the Potomac River, there is no other place like it along the mighty river.  Certainly not along the Virginia side, which from a riverside party perspective can be considered to be literally dead.  Zap.  Nada.  I guess Washington does produce some great things after all.

Japanese impersonators added color to the Cherry Blossom Festival. Nikon D800, AF-S Nikkor 50mm f/1.4G.

No photographic angle was left unexplored by the thousands of photographers who descended on Washington for the Cherry Blossom festival. Nikon D800, AF-S Nikkor 50mm f/1.4G.

The delicate flowers that attract tens of thousands of national and international visitors to Washington every year. Nikon D800, AF-S VR Micro-Nikkor 105mm f/2.8G IF-ED.

A city that prides itself on moving fast during the rest of the year slows down during the yearly festival. Nikon D800, AF-S Nikkor 50mm f/1.4G.

At daybreak, musicians welcomed visitors to the Tidal Basin with the sound of rhythmic percussion instruments. Nikon D800, AF-S Nikkor 50mm f/1.4G.

Some of the great things that come with living in large metropolitan areas are the mix of cultures and people that constantly come in contact everywhere you go.  Granted, that for some folks those are also the very reasons why they wouldn’t be caught dead in such places.  But no matter how anyone feels, there is no denying that cities are beehives of activity for just about every interest out there.  And the more international the city, the more diversity its citizens will experience on a daily basis.  This diversity has been quite evident during this year’s Cherry Blossom Festival in Washington, DC.  Take a stroll any morning around the uneven shores of the Tidal Basin and you will experience a slew of foreign languages being spoken, people dressed in varied outfits that reflect their country of origin, musicians banging away in some sort of ritualistic rhythm, lovers kissing under trees that glow with the majestic colors of spring, and the sweet aroma of exotic foods competing with nature for your attention.  Photographs may not do it justice, but for the thousands of photographers out there who tried to capture the essence of this brief flowering and human spectacle, there was no better place to be.  And to the Japanese people who kindly made all this possible with their incredible gift, ありがとうございます。(Thank you very much).