WhereaboutsPhoto

It doesn't matter which way you get there, because the joy of getting there will most likely be along the long, narrow alley.

It really sounds easier than it is.  Like so many of you, I too spend a lot of my time reading about people who have taken that “road less traveled” to find whatever modicum of happiness they can carve out of their immediate reality.  You’ve heard of them, the people who can get up in the morning and say that the workday ahead of them is simply not work because they could not think of anything else they would rather be doing with their lives.  Wow.  For the rest of us mere mortals this is certainly a life-long goal, and unfortunately sometimes, a lofty one at that.  I see it every day in the corporate world.  Stress, unhappiness, lack of motivation, good-enough attitude, and clock-watching as a hobby.  Certainly, not everyone out there in corporate offices is acting like this, but the attitude is widespread enough to be quite common inside those glassy buildings we see from the highway.

In some sense, it is the same with photography.  If you are not working the trade full-time, the old rut can easily set in, overtaken by the many demands of life and the inability to come up with new projects to keep yourself motivated.  Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that photography, to a large extent, is a creative medium, and as such, demands some creativity in the first place.  However, for those who are not working full-time in the industry, time, more than anything, is the big enemy.  Time to get in the photographic frame of mind, time to plan and execute projects, time to socialize with like-minded photographers, time to explore new technology, and time to simply find your way.  Not that full-timers in the profession don’t face their own, big challenges (see Joe McNally’s excellent column on the subject here), but perhaps the level of non-photographic “white noise” is a tad less intrusive when you are doing what you love for a living (or perhaps not, but I’ll venture a guess here).

So how do you find your photographic way when photography is not what you do for a living?  Well, I’m not sure what the right answer is, but I can tell you what has helped me along the way: focus, creativity, and keeping it simple.  Instead of planning large photographic activities, I tend to concentrate on somewhat narrow areas that will allow me to squeeze the most work out of the limited time I have.  As someone mainly interested in travel photography, I tend to look for small subject-matter areas instead of large ones.  For instance, when visiting a city, I divide my photo excursions into very specific projects: in the morning the coffee shops along a particular street, and in late afternoon, the changing colors along the only bridge in town.  In other occasions I may look to do a little macro photography of only hands in the market, or I would look for alleyways in the oldest part of town.  People fascinate me as photographic subjects, so instead of going after generic people, I tend to narrow my scope to a particular set of people, like those with creative hair, or those wearing hats, or the local “fashionistas.”   By performing this photographic “narrowing” process, I have discovered that I both use my time more effectively and am able to better define the type of small project I want to complete.  Of course, this approach is not a prescription for everyone, but for us photographer-types living inside a corporate body (remember the French waiters who described themselves as poets and writers?), such approach is a form of modern-day therapy.  That is, until that day comes when after waking up in the morning we smile at the wold because we are about to do what we truly love for the rest of the day.

Farmers' Markets are proliferating all over America, thus giving today's consumers some of the best products available anywhere.

Artisan bread at local markets are giving consumers delectable alternatives to the mass-produced supermarket bread.

It's all about freshness at these local markets, with producers at hand to explain why they have embraced the organic movement.

By now it should not be a mystery that just about every big city in America is enjoying a proliferation of farmers’ markets, and to the local consumer’s delight.  I’m not sure whether this food “renaissance” is the direct result of the Slow Food Movement or not, but the fact that most local organic farmers have seemed to embrace the philosophy of this international movement is great news for local consumers across America.  You won’t find any mass-produced product at these markets, of fancy packaging for that matter.  In fact, these local markets may be some of the few places across the nation where consumers are quite happy to see some crusty farmer’s hands with dirt on them handling the farm products they are about to buy.  No doubt looking too well-kept behind a stack of  onions, asparagus, or mushrooms may not be too good for business.  Urban folks seem to want someone who looks like a farm hand behind those counters, or at the very least, that doesn’t look like their BMW-driving selves.  For most of them this may be the closest they will ever come to a farm, so the visual connection to the soil has to be there somehow.  Whatever the case, farmers’ markets are one of the best things in America these days.  And even though people are not yet flocking to them in the numbers that flock to say, your average BBQ pit competition, the steadily growing number of people discovering them bodes well for the future.  Count me in.

Abandoned spaces under the highways in Arlington, Virginia have been transformed into modern art Galleries.

You have to give these city folks some credit for their efforts to transform abandoned spaces into virtual art galleries.  In Arlington, Virginia what were once dirty underpasses that literally forced pedestrians to pick up their pace to get to the other side of these grungy, dark spaces, have been transformed into virtual art galleries.  Gone are the endless paper cups, discarded bicycle parts, and foul smells that were once the typical landscape of highway underpasses in the area.  Not only have these places been cleaned off, but now they are full of creative modern art that invite you to linger for a while even if it is to figure out what’s going on in those canvases.  All this seems to be part of the very creative folks in Arlington Arts and their Public Arts group and the county’s effort to transform unsightly concrete walls into colorful, public art galleries.  From what I’ve seen lately, these city folks are on to something quite amazing.  Not too shabby.

Dreaming of playing his flute in Europe where he can be seen by people as a street artist instead of a beggar.

People will never cease to amaze you.  This weekend, me and my camera drove down to Charlottesville to check out the downtown scene in this uber-quaint Virginia town, but for one of those strange twists of fate, it was a story (more than a photograph) that made my day.  You see, as I walked up and down the tree-lined East Main Street it was this particular street artist that caught my attention.  Maybe it was because he looked at people straight in the eye when he was playing, or maybe because standing there as a lone figure he stood out in sharp contrast to the many families and couples enjoying a beautiful Saturday stroll.  Alone he played his flute with a passion that was more fitting to a concert hall than to a street corner.  Unfortunately, he was being ignored by just about every passerby who merely acknowledgement his presence by a momentary, half-hidden glance.

Not wanting to add my name to those ignoring this man’s immense talent, I approached him with my one dollar in hand to see if I could find out a little more about him.  What followed was one of the best conversation I’ve had in a very long time.  After exchanging a few pleasantries, I found myself listening to an artist tell me about how he tries to emulate the famous flute virtuoso Jean-Pierre Rampal and how he had learned to play on a small flute like the ones popularized by the great Irish flautist Sir James Galway.  But more than his music knowledge, it was something he said that somehow I could not get out of my head for a while.  After lamenting that he had only made nine dollars in collections the day before, he quietly added that “I would like to go to Europe to play.  At least there I will be seen as a street artist and not a beggar.  I guess that people don’t realize that I am actually working.”  Having lived in Europe for a while, I knew exactly what he meant by that statement.  But what is it about us in America that we see these performers as street peddlers trying to hustle us out of a buck or two?  They play for hours at metro entrances, in street corners, and along city streets putting out tune after tune for our listening pleasure, and all while only asking for a small, voluntary donation for their musical efforts.  And yet, after playing for hours on end with the passion of a Jean-Pierre Rampal, this gentleman, like many others in streets across America, walked away with the meager earnings of a beggar instead of the bounty of a classical musician.  Maybe there is really something about Europe.

One of the great things about urban environments is that you can find privacy and solitude even amongst the crowds.

I had just climbed a set of stairs coming from the direction of the Georgetown canal in Washington, DC when I was suddenly confronted with this photo opportunity.  Now, I am not saying that this is National Geographic material, but when you are shooting with a Leica M9, this is the type of photograph your eyes are always looking for.  In fact, my experience continues to be that the Leica M9 remains unrivaled in producing the sort of photograph where the background appears to softly melt in the background.  Call it the Leica look or whatever (and I know that every Leica shooter out there knows exactly what I am talking about), but the subtle bokeh that comes out of the Leica Summicron lenses is reason enough to justify having sold a kidney to get this camera rig.

In this particular instance what fascinated me about this scene was the serenity with which this gentleman went about his work without ever lifting his head to glance at the people who kept criss-crossing his little part of the world.  Maybe he was a master at concentration, or maybe he was just uninterested in those around him.  In a crowded neighborhood in a crowded city, he just sat there as if he were in his own private studio.  For me, the scene was a quintessential Leica moment: a lone figure with his back turned to the rest of the world while sitting alone on a cobblestone alley.  I couldn’t have asked for more.

Walking down deserted alleyways can be photographically rewarding.

One of the things you don’t find in great supply in urban areas are images of emptiness.  Maybe this has to do with the very nature of of cities where everyone seems to be going somewhere at all times and where the effects of population density tend to deny people of what I like to refer to as “environmental space.”  But look a little closer and you will find that somewhere within those so-called concrete jungles there are still an abundance of quiet, empty spaces to be found down alleyways and narrow side streets.  They are the urban oases travel books never tell you about.

But what is it about the emptiness captured by a photograph that fascinates some of us so much?  No doubt the answer to this question lies somewhere in our imaginations, for what is not present in the photograph would seem as important as what we see there.  This “visual imagination” makes us slow down and wonder what lies at the end of a wall, or why lonely lanterns appear to be resting on top of an old bench.  Is life like this never-ending wall, constantly moving away from us while gradually disappearing from the frame?  Is there any symbolism to the flame-less lanterns?  Could we imagine a romantic liaison where lovers sit at a desolate wooden bench to exchange promises of eternal love and faithfulness?  What else can a picture of emptiness make us see in our imaginations that is not there?  Lots more from what I can tell.

People from all walks of life made their presence known at the march demanding their mustache tax credit.

Mustache rights advocates donned their best mustaches for the event prior to their walk to the White House.

Just like any other political movement, propoents of "The Stache Act" produced their share of buttons and advocacy literature.

Participants came from as far away as New York, Chicago, and California to demand respect for anywone wearing a stache.

With chants of “Don’t filibuster our cookie dusters,” participants in the Million Mustache March in Washington, DC made their voices heard all the way from Capitol Hill to the White House today.  These proponents of The Stache Act (otherwise known as the Stimulus To Allow Critical Hair Expenses) gathered within a stone throw of the Capitol Building to exchange stories and commiserate with those who according to their glossy information package, bear the brunt of “The current limitation on the deductibility of mustache grooming supplies and accessories, as well as the taxation of the additional earnings of the Mustached Americans…” Judging from the crowd and the sheer enthusiasm of everyone present, this is indeed a movement that could shake the existing “facial-hair-barren U.S. Congress” to its roots.

Central to their tax argument are their contributions to the environment.  Their scientifically-proven arguments make it clear that there is  “…inarguable proof that owning and operating a proper mustache reduces shaving, thus reducing the use of water, shaving cream, and environmental harmful chemicals found in after-shave lotions and tonics.  Additionally, reduced nasal drainage caused by breathing harmful airborne pathogens are effectively filtered through mustache fur, thus limiting the amount of dangerous carbon dioxide reaching the ozone layer.”  What’s more, “… the cookie duster can act as a natural warming device, allowing the Mustached American to reduce dependencies upon artificial heating devices and save vast quantities of energy during cooler months.”

Before the crowd made its way to the White House they were asked who was the last mustached occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.  As if expressing a collective cry of solidarity, the boisterous crowd answered in queue “President Taft.”  To which a distinguished gentleman sporting  a Kaiser-like curly mustache added: “And there hasn’t been a good President after that.  Coincidence?”  Well, I’ll let you be the judge of that.

During the month of March the Washington Mall is the scene of never-ending Sherry Blossom festivals.

Just happened to drop by the Washington Mall to see what was happening this last day of March and you would’ve thought that half the country was there enjoying the wonderful spring weather.  In less than a mile downtown you could find everything from a kite festival to bands playing by the Washington Memorial to the National Walk for Epilepsy.  And this being Washington, there was also the inevitable demonstrator carrying a sing reminding us to repent before we all end up in hell somewhere.  But what really struck me about today was that notwithstanding the gloom and doom we hear in the news all the time, people out there at the Mall seemed very happy indeed.  As the music blared from the stage near the Washington Monument, a sea of activity was taking place at the kite festival, with children and grownups vying for space while trying to challenge the wind with their colorful creations.  Without a doubt, this was spring at its best, and it was indeed nice to see our nation’s capital enjoying itself for a change.

A change in perspective on a familiar subject makes you see it in an entirely new light.

Ordinary objects, haphazardly arranged on a cardboard box, can lead to some very interesting photographic perspective.

Generally speaking, Leica cameras are not famous for macro photography.  I frankly do not think that anyone goes through the agony of waiting for months to put their hands on these German icons so they can photograph objects up close on a regular basis.  Compared to some of the average DSLRs out there, Leica cameras like the M9 don’t seem to find their comfort zone that close to the objects being photographed.  Or so I though.  Sure, you are not going to be photographing dirts specks in detail with a Leica camera, but in the “close enough” category, these cameras with their incredible optics produce unsurpassed art.  That unmistakable Leica look is both a reality and a phenomena of some sort.  The funny thing is that you never quite see it when you are taking the shot out in the street.  It is only when you download your photos that you begin to sense that something is different, very different.  It is as if the Leica camera almost forced you to take a different kind of picture, one that is both retro and modern at the same time.  Like gravity, you may fight it, but you can’t avoid it.  It’s magic.

Creamy, hand-crafted fudge made daily in Annapolis, Maryland give us hope that great craftsmanship is alive and well in America.

If you listen to the pundits on television these days, you could be convinced that nothing is made in America these days.  Nothing could be further from the truth, although admittedly, you would never know it from a simple visit to your supermarket.  But if you happen to be in Annapolis, Maryland walking down Main Street, you will inevitably stumble into the notorious Uncle Bob’s Fudge Kitchen.  That is, because through the main window of this house of delicacies you will see fudge being made by hand with the rhythmic finesse of an orchestra conductor.  What is even more impressive is that this arduous process is repeated all day long, with skilled hands endlessly twisting, turning, and folding fudge as bystanders crowd the store window in a Pavlovian trance.  And what flavors!  My only regret was that I had to drive more than an hour to find this little gem of a place.  Places like this should exist in every city in America, so that instead of us referring to them as rare finds, we can refer to them as our neighborhood pastry shop, or bakery, or butcher shop, or non-chain coffee shop.  That they exist at all certainly gives us hope.  I just wish we could see more of them.

Sculptures are very similar to photographs, in that they freeze in time expressions that help us define the human character.

I am really not much of a museum visitor, really.  That is, that while I would love to think of myself as an art connoisseur who jet-sets from the Guggenheim to the Prado and the Hermitage, perhaps a more apt description is that of a relatively ignorant admirer of art who is never sure of which art movement he’s looking at.  Ever seen someone with a camera scrambling to put his hands on a brochure at a museum?  Well, that was probably me.  But just like your garden-variety admirer of sunsets, or the architectural treasures in great cities like Rome, I have come to realize that the more I look at sculptures in museums, the more I am fascinated by those facial expressions that magically emerge from amorphous blocks of marble.  As in the real world, I tend to see melancholy, fear, sorrow, and happiness.  What’s more, I find these marble expressions inducing a certain hypnotic effect on my consciousness that make it almost painful to pull away when it’s time to move on.  These are the types of images that most travel photographers constantly look for.  They are the ones that make people stop and take notice, and if in the process we hear a quiet wiser of a voice saying “I couldn’t take my eyes off that photograph,” then we will know that the point where photography become art has been reached.  And that would be a good day.

One can only wish that every neighborhood in America would have outstanding bakeries like this with their selections of hand-crafted, crusty delicacies.

Specializing in whole grains milled on a daily basis at their store, the Great Harvest Bread Co. is a must-visit in the town of Warrenton.

A great, energetic staff with a passion for baked goods greets you the moment you walk into the bakery.

It all happens right there in front of your eyes, so you may want to stick around and and learn a thing or two about baking while you are there.

Every time I get out of the city and drive out to the Virginia countryside I am amply rewarded by some new find (at least new for me) and some of the nicest people you would meet anywhere.  This weekend was no exception.  Camera in tow, I decided to head on out to visit the picturesque, small town of Warrenton to check out the Great Harvest Bread Company on Main Street, which for all sorts of reasons I now regret, I had driven by several times without stopping on my way to “the city.”  Owned by Pablo and Lynda Teodoro, self-described “Professional Loafers,” this gem of a bakery is the kind of place we would all love to have within walking distance of our homes.  Walking into the place you are immediately overwhelmed by the yeasty aromas that foretell that you have indeed arrived at bakery heaven.  But it gets even better.  Approach the counter where Pablo’s artisanal creations are waiting for you and you will come face-to-face with a delectable variety of baked goods for you to sample.  Hand-crafted delicacies from locally milled whole grains don’t get much better than this.  Oh, and yes, the waistline.  Well, if you are a bread lover like me, then by now you should have added bakeries like this one to your short list of exceptions under the “life’s too short” column.  I’m sure glad I did.

Pablo Picasso made his appearance at the National Gallery of Art with an exhibit of some of his drawings from a 30-year period of his life.

I have to admit that the images that appear in my head when I think of the great (and controversial) Pablo Picasso are images of him painting in southern France in shorts while his mistress tended to their French Riviera abode.  Not being an art critic, or knowing much about early 20th Century art movements, I would be the first to admit that old photographs of Pablo at his Mediterranean studio have had an influence on me about the maestro.  But like many of you out there, I have always loved his paintings, specially after my chance encounter with his Guernica masterpiece more than 30 years ago in Munich, Germany.  This was a time when I could carry large cameras all day without my joints going on strike.  Well, walking around  Munich on a cold morning, I suddenly came face-to-face with a huge canvas billboard hanging from the outside wall of an art gallery (can’t even remember the name of the gallery now) with oversized letters spelling the name “Picasso.”  My heart suddenly started pounding out of control and after scrounging the few Deutsche Marks I had in my pocket, in hastily stepped in to see by myself the work of the short Spaniard who used to live with his mistress down in southern France.  And there it was: Guernica, in all of its majestic glory.  To this day a small replica of this great painting hangs in my office to remind me of that experience and of the beauty of art and symbolism that transcends anything words could ever say.  The small exhibit at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC is nothing but a reminder of Picasso’s artistic genius as it developed during the earlier part of his hugely productive life.  It’s definitely worth a stop if you are in the area.

Go to the DC fish market during low tide and all the fish stalls will be floating a couple of feet below street level.

It’s been a while since I last visited the most picturesque fish market in our nation’s capital, but notwithstanding the 26 degree temperatures this past weekend, I decided to check it out to “see what I see,” as they say.  Of course, the bitter morning cold was keeping the crowds away, but those hardened fish salesmen were out in force, albeit shaking a bit from the cold behind the submerged fish displays.  I say submerged because for the first time ever I witnessed the effect of low tide on this entire fish operation.  In fact, since I had only visited this place during high tide, I never realized that most of the structures were actually floating on the Potomac.  The sad part was that being lower to the water was not doing these crusty guys any favors either.  Every time I approached a stall I could hear some comment about the cold, but not before getting the intensive sales pitch that inevitably comes with a slow sales day.  Couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for them, especially when I saw them handling buckets of ice that didn’t seem necessary on a day like this.

During my conversations with one of the attendants there I also discovered that not all the fish being sold there comes from local waters (which, if you have taken a look at the Potomac River lately, may be a good thing).  This particular crew was complaining that the fish truck was late and that the delay was cutting into the time they had to adequately handle the fish before displaying it.  And where was this infamous fish truck coming from, you may ask?  Florida!  I have to admit that this was the last thing I expected to come out of this attendant’s mouth.  I’ve never driven to Florida, but from what they tell me, it takes something like 19 non-stop hours to get there.  Not being a fish expert, I kept wondering whether this little delay would be reason enough to do away with the “fresh fish” designation for whatever came out of that truck.  Oh well, I guess the old “caveat emptor” warning (let the buyer beware) will always be in effect.

The Georgetown section of Washington, DC is home to a very stylish population, but not too many photographers care.

One of the things you readily notice when visiting Georgetown in Washington, DC are the many clothing stores that cater to the young and stylish university population next door.  I mean, the place is one boutique store after another down M Street.  What’s more, when everyone goes to Georgetown the rule seems to be that you have to look great because everyone is noticing you (even if they don’t seem to be looking at you).  And yet, what struck me is that in this town we do not seem to have a local version of the famous Sartorialist in New York city capturing street fashion for all of us to see.  Perhaps it has to do with the fact that the FBI and CIA are local residents or something, but whatever it is, the recording of local glamor seems to go relatively unnoticed.  I would think that between Georgetown and Dupont Circle there would be plenty of material for an aspiring fashion/street photographer to capture some much-needed fame.  After all, when you get all decked-up to go out and look “fabulous,” there is no question that you want someone to notice.  I hope more photographers do.