SUPER-ELMAR
Senior Member
This is what makes life so beautiful, fragile and fleeting.
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Photographers on photography
- Thread starter JimKasson
- Start date
If you take opportunity to study with some of those folks while they’re alive, you can grab some of that.
SUPER-ELMAR
Senior Member
I have never tried botanical work but his workflow and process is very interesting to read. Thank you for sharing this interview.
DavidMillier
Forum Pro
I think that it is fairly obvious to reflective types, that in most thinking activities, your unconscious mind does the heavy lifting then reports it back to your conscious mind. Our conscious mind is what we are aware of and we naturally tend to give it primacy but it's your unconscious mind that is actually the smart one.
On photographing in series, I've moved over the years away from thinking that making a great photo is the goal, to thinking about building portfolios of photos. I've completely abandoned competitions as a useful activity because they are normally single photos and subject to the personal whim and taste of judges. It's a shame that camera clubs are 90% about photo competitions (at least they are in the UK) - there is a massive inter club infrastructure supporting traditional competitions but very little support for building and showing portfolios. I often think that camera clubs would do better to follow the RPS model of encouraging panels of photos over the single image. For me the problem with hunting the single image to win competitions is that it compromises what you are trying to do. Instead of following your instincts and your personal artistic leanings, all of a sudden you are trying to second guess a judge's preferences and adapt yourself to them. I think it is better for us to just do what we like and not bother too much about whether anyone loves your stuff. Just let that happen or not happen as the cards fall.
I don't think I think about series in quite the same way that Jim does, though. I don't go out explicitly to photograph something for a portfolio. Instead, I go out, photograph anything that catches my eye. Later I will look through my photos for images that will fit my various portfolios. It's a post hoc process, rather than pre planning. Also, unlike Jim, I don't think I have ever had an idea for a photo in my life. I lack the imagination and the mental visualisation abilities for that. I find my photos spontaneously when I see them - they are found things. I do have a bunch of built in presets I can call upon to help recognise the possibilities - most particularly, I'm looking for lines, curves, tones, patterns in my subjects, rather than anything intrinsic about the subject. I like the graphic. For landscape I'm looking for mood rather than beauty. Storms are good!
Also, I think that most of my photos are taken during family outings and holidays because they are the times when I have the time and opportunity. It's fairly rare that I get dedicated time for photography.
--
DPReview gallery: https://www.dpreview.com/galleries/0286305481
Website: http://www.whisperingcat.co.uk/ (2018 - website revived!)
Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/davidmillier/ (very old!)
On photographing in series, I've moved over the years away from thinking that making a great photo is the goal, to thinking about building portfolios of photos. I've completely abandoned competitions as a useful activity because they are normally single photos and subject to the personal whim and taste of judges. It's a shame that camera clubs are 90% about photo competitions (at least they are in the UK) - there is a massive inter club infrastructure supporting traditional competitions but very little support for building and showing portfolios. I often think that camera clubs would do better to follow the RPS model of encouraging panels of photos over the single image. For me the problem with hunting the single image to win competitions is that it compromises what you are trying to do. Instead of following your instincts and your personal artistic leanings, all of a sudden you are trying to second guess a judge's preferences and adapt yourself to them. I think it is better for us to just do what we like and not bother too much about whether anyone loves your stuff. Just let that happen or not happen as the cards fall.
I don't think I think about series in quite the same way that Jim does, though. I don't go out explicitly to photograph something for a portfolio. Instead, I go out, photograph anything that catches my eye. Later I will look through my photos for images that will fit my various portfolios. It's a post hoc process, rather than pre planning. Also, unlike Jim, I don't think I have ever had an idea for a photo in my life. I lack the imagination and the mental visualisation abilities for that. I find my photos spontaneously when I see them - they are found things. I do have a bunch of built in presets I can call upon to help recognise the possibilities - most particularly, I'm looking for lines, curves, tones, patterns in my subjects, rather than anything intrinsic about the subject. I like the graphic. For landscape I'm looking for mood rather than beauty. Storms are good!
Also, I think that most of my photos are taken during family outings and holidays because they are the times when I have the time and opportunity. It's fairly rare that I get dedicated time for photography.
--
DPReview gallery: https://www.dpreview.com/galleries/0286305481
Website: http://www.whisperingcat.co.uk/ (2018 - website revived!)
Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/davidmillier/ (very old!)
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I belong to "camera club" -- although the members would likely hate that description -- that to my knowledge has never had a single contest.
If you want to have an exhibition, you'll have a lot better chance at getting your work in museums and galleries if the images are part of a series, rather than just a bunch of "greatest hits".
DavidMillier
Forum Pro
I wish I knew more about the history of photography and the roll call of photographers.
It's funny, but years ago I used to keep a scrapbook of inspirational photography I cut out from magazines. I still have it in the attic. The idea was to put together groups of fine photos and sort of distill each group in my mind into concepts for the kind of portfolio I wanted to make. I had no idea at the time who the photographers were. I now recognise that some of my clippings are famous photos by highly respected photographers - there are some Kenna photos, Pete Turner, Ernst Haas and some others. But at the time I had no clue about photographers. I'm slightly better today, but still fairly ignorant.
It's funny, but years ago I used to keep a scrapbook of inspirational photography I cut out from magazines. I still have it in the attic. The idea was to put together groups of fine photos and sort of distill each group in my mind into concepts for the kind of portfolio I wanted to make. I had no idea at the time who the photographers were. I now recognise that some of my clippings are famous photos by highly respected photographers - there are some Kenna photos, Pete Turner, Ernst Haas and some others. But at the time I had no clue about photographers. I'm slightly better today, but still fairly ignorant.
If you're into West Coast photography, think about reading Edward Weston's Daybooks, or Mary Alindor's AA biography.
DavidMillier
Forum Pro
That sounds very different from my local camera clubs. The nearest to me, Bromley camera club, meets a 5 minute walk from my house but I've never been there. I was a member of nearby Beckenham Photographic Society a while back, but you can tell from their programme what it is all about:
http://bps9.beckenhamphotosoc.org.u...8/Programme-for-Second-Half-of-the-Season.pdf
I've tried 3 or 4 clubs over the years and my experience has been the same with all of them. You go to a meeting. It consists of one of the following:
- a talk by an invited guest, who shows their photos (ok with this)
- an internal club print competition evening with a judge who shows each pic in turn and scores them
- an inter club "battle" where rival clubs present pictures with the cumulative scores adding up to which club wins (there are club league tables for this)
- regional club competitions where clubs send teams to battle teams from other clubs
- the same but with digitally projected images instead of prints
- preparations for one of the above
- evenings where members bring in and show a photo for critique (which is really about practising for competitions)
- occasional demos of techniques by a club member
- prize giving for the above
There is usually some kind of annual public exhibition in a local venue where each member is allowed to show a mounted print if selected by the committee.
What seems to be missing is any kind of recognition that individual artistic expression is valuable and the benefit of having club members helping one another to develop their skills and vision. Instead, it's either all about the individual "winning" or the individual helping the club to "win", like it was sport, rather than art. And talking to club members, they like this just fine. It's competitive.
I find clubs depressing for this reason. Photography and art shouldn't be thought of as a competion with points and grades, winners and losers. It should be more about an individual's artistic development, no matter how limited their abilities.
I'd love to spend time in the company of like-minded photographers helping one another develop, but it doesn't happen with traditional camera clubs/ As a result I know precisely zero other photographers locally.
p.s.
I know of one exception, some members of the Beckenham club are members of this group: https://www.londonphotography.org.u...-and-trevor-crone-in-mirage-photography-2013/
They are (or were?) an invitation only group who focus much more on the kind of activities I would prefer normal clubs to do.
--
DPReview gallery: https://www.dpreview.com/galleries/0286305481
Website: http://www.whisperingcat.co.uk/ (2018 - website revived!)
Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/davidmillier/ (very old!)
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ImageMakers meetings start out with wine and snacks. When they're not done via Zoom.
One of the things that makes ImageMakers work is that all of the photographers are screened for ability and seriousness about making art. There is a limited membership and an application process.
For less experienced photographers, I think that any level of photographic fluency can work in a group if most all of the people are at the same level of fluency. I've seen problems when the desires and abilities in groups of photographers are too disparate.
darinb
Senior Member
Just wanted to heartily underline Jim's recommendation of the Alinder bio. She knew him well and is quite candid. An engaging, valuable contribution.
Looks like she is selling signed copies for $22 (scroll down): https://alindergallery.com
--Darin
Looks like she is selling signed copies for $22 (scroll down): https://alindergallery.com
--Darin
Candid enough that there was a considerable upset in photographic circles in the Monterey area when it was published.
Where I live, there is a long tradition of photographic mentoring.
AA mentored all of his assistants after Pirkle Jones. He probably mentored Jones, too. The list is impressive. Off the top of my head there's Don Worth, Alan Ross, Ted Orland, John Sexton, and Chris Rainier.
Don Worth and Jack Welpott mentored many photographers at SF State: Leland Rice, Dale Kistemaker, Judy Dater, Lyle Gomes, Catherine Wagner, Richard Lohmann, Mark Citret, Don Anton, Ted Orland, and Sally Mann.
Al Weber mentored many Monterey-area photographers, as did Steve Crouch.
AA would let just about anyone who showed up at his house at the cocktail hour show him their portfolio, and he'd make constructive comments.
Ruth Bernhard learned from Berenice Abbott, Edward Weston, Adams, and Wynn Bullock.
WHen ImageMakers was formed, one of the ideas that ****
An organization that I've been associated with for a very long time, the Center for Photographic Art, has tried fitfully to organize a mentoring program, with mixed success.
--
https://blog.kasson.com
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DavidMillier
Forum Pro
This sounds similar to the Mirage Group I mentioned. Instead of welcoming just anyone turning up and joining, you can only join by invitation if your level of expertise and/or attitude/enthusiasm matches the goals of the group (which seem to be largely exhibiting high quality photographs).
Some of the members at my Beckenham club thought the Mirage Group to be rather snooty and elitist because it wasn't easy to get an invite. I didn't think that, my impression was that they were photographers who wanted to work with other good photographers with similar goals and not get distracted with all the stuff associated with more general purpose clubs who have to cater for a wide range of expertise and interests. They were selective because they had an editorial vision and they wanted members who supported that vision. If you could demonstrate you were compatible with the group you could well get an invite. Most clubs I've experienced were constantly fighting a shortage of new blood and were not picky in the slightest! Organisations for different purposes.
Standard camera clubs are everywhere, it is much more difficult to find organisations like Mirage and your group.
Some of the members at my Beckenham club thought the Mirage Group to be rather snooty and elitist because it wasn't easy to get an invite. I didn't think that, my impression was that they were photographers who wanted to work with other good photographers with similar goals and not get distracted with all the stuff associated with more general purpose clubs who have to cater for a wide range of expertise and interests. They were selective because they had an editorial vision and they wanted members who supported that vision. If you could demonstrate you were compatible with the group you could well get an invite. Most clubs I've experienced were constantly fighting a shortage of new blood and were not picky in the slightest! Organisations for different purposes.
Standard camera clubs are everywhere, it is much more difficult to find organisations like Mirage and your group.
The Eldorado…
Somehow you are contributing as well through your blog and this forum (see my point in the previous post). Thanks.
DavidMillier
Forum Pro
IMO, many clubs whether it be photography, model railway enthusiasts or tomato growing, tend to start out being a group of enthusiasts with specialist interests but inevitably turn into being more about club social life, with the specialism more a scaffold for people to socialise, form committees, runs fundraising fetes, do demos and run competitions. Club life seems pretty similar whatever the ostensible reason for their existence.
DavidMillier
Forum Pro
It sounds like your area is home to a substantial photographic artistic tradition that people are keen to maintain. There may be something similar in the UK, but I haven't of anything. Maybe these things are more obvious for those in the art arena.
How did you get involved - electronic engineers wouldn't be my first thought if asked to predict the professions involved with the art world!
ps
I visited Carmel and some of the surrounding region on my first trip to the US. If I remember correctly, we visited the AA Gallery. I was bit obsessed with Ansel and his work at that point in my life, I think. I was completely unaware of the West Coast tradition.
--
DPReview gallery: https://www.dpreview.com/galleries/0286305481
Website: http://www.whisperingcat.co.uk/ (2018 - website revived!)
Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/davidmillier/ (very old!)
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I moved to the area a bit over 20 years ago partly because of the photographic tradition.
The long version:
In 1951 or 1952, when I was eight or nine, my parents bought me a Kodak Brownie Hawkeye camera. It took 12 2 1/4 square pictures on a roll of 620 film, was made out of Bakelite, and had a not-very-precise waist level finder and a shutter release you pressed with your thumb. I loaded it with Super-XX film, and started making a pest of myself. It soon became obvious that drugstore processing was going to be way too expensive. My father then purchased a rudimentary darkroom kit: a plastic Kodak developing tank with an apron that took a day to dry, a Kodak Tri-Chem pack (developer, stop, and fixer in tiny foil packets), a 15 W light bulb that'd been dipped in red dye, three plastic five by seven trays, and a small contact printing frame. I'd load the film into the developing tank in a closet and develop and print in the bathroom, washing the film and prints in the sink. This didn't exactly endear me to my mother, but I loved it.
Flash forward ahead five years. It's the spring of 1957 and I'm a freshman at a boarding school in Connecticut. During spring break, I get the idea of taking pictures for the school newspaper. I talk my father into loaning me a Weston Master light meter and his folding Zeiss Ikon camera: 16 pictures on a roll of 120 film in a format that today we'd call 6x4.5, no rangefinder, and the film traveling from side to side so that the normal orientation of the picture was vertical. Back in school, I present myself to the newspaper staff, and they decide to give me a trial assignment. "Do you know how to develop film?" they ask. "Sure," I answer, thinking of all the rolls that I'd put through the Kodak tank. I go off to make the picture. It's a pretty boring shot: all the seniors who were elected to cum laude that year, lined up in two rows. It's 7:30 by the time I'm done, and paste-up is supposed to start at 10:30. I head for the school darkroom. I find the chemicals, but the developing tank is like nothing I've ever seen before. It says "Nikor" on it. The tank itself, the lid, and the cap seem to be easy enough to figure out, but what's this stainless steel spiral? If I'd had any sense, I would've used an unexposed roll of film to teach myself how to load the reel, but I just turn out the lights and struggle for 10 minutes. After the film is fixed, I open the tank to see how bad off I am. It's pretty bad; the film is stuck to itself in lots of places, and those places aren't fixed. I finally find an intact frame. While the film is drying (I turn the drier thermostat up so high I'm lucky the film didn't reticulate), I turn to the enlarger. I'd never seen one before. It turns out to be pretty easy to figure out. After the prints are washed, I even figure out the print drier. I get the prints in on time and my career as a photojournalist has begun.
During high school, I got seriously into photography. I took pictures for the school newspaper, the yearbook, and the literary magazine (which normally ran pretentious prose and poetry before we photographers got them to run pretentious photographs). Journalism, landscapes, sports, you name it. I even tried to do some art; if I could see it now I'd probably call it artsy. I entered and won photo contests. I took pictures every day, and spent two or three nights a week in the darkroom. Feeling downtrodden and mistreated by the editors of the publications that I worked for, I joined with other photographers and founded an organization to supply photographs to all campus publications. My father's camera was replaced by an Argus C3 and then a Nikon S2 (purchased used for almost a whole summer's wages). I bought an old, beat up Speed Graphic and some wooden film holders. It took a lot of tape to keep them light tight.
After Choate I went to Stanford. There I became photo editor of the Stanford Chaparral, the campus humor magazine. The workload was a fraction of that at Choate. There was a little editorial work, but most of it was shooting ads. I'd go to the merchants, find out what they wanted, recruit the models, set up the lights, pose the models, take the pictures, develop and print them, take them to the merchants for approval, and hand them in to the magazine. The actual photographic component of all this was pretty small.
After Stanford I went to work for a small research company in Menlo Park. They had a little photographic work that needed doing, so I talk them into letting me build a darkroom for them. I got to use it nights and weekends. I did a few weddings, including the first wedding of my present wife. Even after we started seeing each other, her parents sometimes referred to me as "the photographer".
In the late sixties, I was buying film at The Camera Shop on Bryant Street in Palo Alto one afternoon when a salesman who knew of my interest in sports cars told me that a race photographer was looking for an assistant. I signed up with Tom Montgomery Photo and for several years took pictures of sports car races at Laguna Seca, Sears Point, and other local racetracks for a tabloid called Competition Press and AutoWeek. Tom had an incredible collection of Nikon equipment that I never could have afforded: 250 exposure backs, motor drives, 400mm lenses. He introduced me to the officials and drivers. I was happy as a clam. The relationship foundered when Tom realized that the newspaper was printing hardly any of his pictures and almost all of mine.
For the next 10 years work got very intense and the only photographs I did were slides of the family. In 1979 I took a three month sabbatical from work. I bought a Hasselblad, built a darkroom in my house, and started doing landscapes. I took a printing course from George Tice. In 1981 I took six months off from work, attended several Friends of Photography workshops as well as a Death Valley workshop led by Huntington Witherill. I started doing large format work, mostly black and white landscapes. I started doing street photography on business trips, using both the old Nikon S2 and a Plaubel Makina. I attended an Ansel Adams workshop at Robert Louis Stevenson School, learning about printing from John Sexton, heart from Ruth Bernhard, grit from Eugene Richards, and darkroom trickery from Jerry Uelsmann. I did get to meet Ansel, but he was getting along in years at that point, and was mostly interested in telling stories. We were divided into groups of eight of 10. Chris Rainier took care of my group, leading photographic bull sessions that lasted into the wee hours.
After the AA workshop I had my first show. Also, I had a picture that I made during that workshop accepted into a themed FOP exhibition, Fifty Years of Point Lobos Photography. I was doing a lot of traveling to Europe on business, and I started extending my trips so that I could do street photography, mostly with the Makina.
In the late eighties, I started a photographic project on the undeveloped land behind Stanford University. Stanford owns almost 10,000 acres, with about 1000 being used by the university plant proper. The rest is mostly wild. However, starting around the time of the Second World War, the university allowed scientists and engineers to set up equipment on the undeveloped land. The most obvious and visible is a very large radio telescope that can be seen from Highway 280. There are 50 or 60 smaller structures, or ruins of smaller structures, scattered throughout the hills and valleys. Armed with a mountain bike, a really big knapsack, and a 4x5 Linhof I set out to document the relationship of the mostly-abandoned a technology and nature on this land. I exposed film four or five times a week for six months, and printed for a year. I have exhibited a few single images from this series, but have never had a show dedicated to it.
Six or seven years after the first Stanford series, I returned to the same environment, this time working in color. I spent about the same amount of time. This work has not been exhibited at all.
During the eighties I continue doing street photography on business trips. One rainy Sunday, I wandered into the train station in Zug, Switzerland. I wasn’t properly equipped for the low light levels, but I spent the afternoon there, bracing the Makina against posts during the required quarter- to fifteenth-second exposures. When I developed the film, I found two images I liked. I was especially smitten with the motion blur in many of the images.
I decided to pursue this new photographic thread. With more appropriate equipment (A Hasselblad with a 40mm lens, and later an Arca-Swiss 6x9 camera with a 47mm lens), I sought out European train stations with classic nineteenth-century architectures. I found the combination of the people and the edifices exciting. I experimented with different amounts of motion blur and different relationships between the indistinct and sharp portions of the images. I developed a routine: I’d find a good place to set up my tripod, affix a cable release, and select a shutter speed for what I hoped would be the right amount of blur. Then I’d wait for the people to come by. Some would be nervous about the camera, and would rush by or give me a wide berth; I would accommodate them by not releasing the shutter. The longer I stood there, the more I seemed to become an uninteresting fixture ignored by almost everyone.
After several years of train stations, I realized that photographs with similar sensibility could be made in other places, and branched out to bus and tube stations, monuments, and other grand public spaces. Some places didn’t permit tripods, so in the later years of this project, I experimented with fast film (TMax 3200 -- we're talking golfball-sized grain here) in a 35mm camera, bracing it against walls and pillars as I did at first. Motion blur is important in these images, and the results are not easy to predict; that became part of what I loved about making these images. I’d wonder what I was capturing on the film while I was making the exposures, and going over the contact sheets after the trip was like opening presents. I printed a small fraction of the frames I exposed, but even the throw-aways were interesting, and I learned as much from the bad images as the good ones. Much later, this series was exhibited at the Blackstone Winery under the title Alone in a Crowd.
In 1991 I bought a photograph by Ron James of a grove of eucalyptus trees off Hwy. 68, captured at a fairly slow shutter speed from a moving car. I put the picture above my desk and lived with it for about six months, during which time my initial fascination only increased. Over time I worked out the geometry and began to see how trees in the middle ground could be fairly sharp, trees behind them blurred in one direction and trees in front of them blurred in the other direction. I started trying to make these kinds of images myself. On trips to Europe I would hang out in the vestibule between railroad cars and see how quickly I could react as possible subjects appeared before me. I wandered New England back roads during the fall foliage season. These experiments produced only modest success. I set the technique aside, and spent my photographic energies on other projects.
In 1999 I moved to the Monterey Bay area. After a few months of driving by people working in the fields, I found a driver and resurrected the moving camera technique. This time the results satisfied me. For five years I made images of people working in the fields in the Salinas Valley and around Yuma, Arizona. I produced a body of work of which I am proud. Much of this work was exhibited in 2003 at the Hartnell College Gallery; Eric Bostler curated the exhibition. which was titled Pastures of Plenty. Keeping to the Woody Guthrie theme, I call the whole series This Green Growing Land. The series was also exhibited about 15 years later at Hartnell.
As I cast about for a theme for a new series, I remembered an experience I’d had in Yuma. On the way to catch the sunrise over the fields, I idly snapped off a few frames of some funky old gas stations, a couple of which showed promise. I decided to explore this theme in the Salinas. The first night two things became apparent. The first was that there was a lot of potential. The second was that the series wasn't about gas stations at all, instead it was turning into a Hopperesque meditation on the night. I’ve pursued this project around Monterey, and in San Francisco, L.A., Las Vegas, Chicago, Miami, and New York City.
The shutter speed, the focal length of the lens, the speed of the car, and the distance to the subject all affect the amount of blurring in the picture. This is not high-percentage photography, but neither is it random; it takes me a few days of working in a new location before I get a lot of keepers. It's not the kind of project that would appeal to the photographer who must control every aspect of the work, but I’ve come to cherish the unpredictability of the process. Much of the series was published in LensWork Extended in 2007, and exhibited in 2007 and 2008 at The Paul Mellon Arts Center, Choate Rosemary Hall, in Wallingford Connecticut, under the title Nighthawks.
I'm not done with Nighthawks, but I was getting a little stale, so about a year ago I set it aside and started a series on neon and LED lights in Las Vegas. These are longish exposures like most of the other stuff I've done in the last 10 years. The difference between the Las Vegas neon pictures and Nighthawks or This Green Growing Land is that I'm standing still, waving the camera at my subject. Neon lights turn on and off 120 times a second; LEDs go on and off even faster. Because of that, what is captured by the image sensor is not just a blur; it's more of a stroboscopic effect. Artistically, these pictures are going off in several different directions. There's a group of pictures of LED signage that probably falls under the category of social commentary. There are many pure abstracts. One set of pictures, which I call PhotoCalligraphy, are the patterns left by a small grouping of mostly white lights as I move the camera so that I am actually writing with the light. Since the word "photography" literally means "light writing", the whole series is kind of a pun.
I also produced a series called Staccato, which takes the same subject matter as Nighthawks, and renders it with a composite of 7 to 28 short-exposure images. This series was exhibited at the Center for Photographic Art gallery as part of a two-person show called In Motion.
There is a common thread here. Starting with the train station pictures in Europe and continuing through the farmworker pictures and the work in cities at night, I've been doing an extended meditation on motion blur. The Las Vegas neon pictures could also be interpreted as motion blur, even though, because the lights are going on and off so fast, they don't read that way.
Other series include Los Robles, an infrared, stitched study of a grove of trees near my house, and From my Window, a two-year project all exposed from the same location in my home studio.
I have another longstanding photographic avocation that only occasionally rises to the level of art. Since the mid eighties, I've been doing underwater photography. That work is available on the web at www.kasson.com.
I also have one photographic project that is not aimed at producing art. For the five or six years I was the photographer for the Carmel Bach Festival, producing images mostly for use in advertising and promotion.
I had one work assignment that was somewhat photographically related. From 1989 until 1995 I worked as an IBM Fellow at the Almaden Research Center in San Jose. I performed research into various aspects of color science related to digital photography: color management, device independent color, gamut mapping, color encoding, image editing, and the like.
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