Thoughts on digital cameras, part two

In 2001, I decided to purchase a Nikon Coolpix 5000. I wanna say it cost me about $500 or so. It was a 5MP "high end" model, with a pretty decent lens, an articulated LCD screen (an important feature to me), and a flash hotshoe (which I remember thinking was also important). Creatively speaking, this camera did two things significant for me: a) it had really fantastic macro performance - it could focus on stuff that was less than an inch away from the camera (with some pretty serious falloff, granted), and b) the LCD screen - having the ability to compose shots without needing to have the camera held up to my face really changed the way I thought about composing pictures. Needless to say, a lot of the work I did with that camera was abstract and macro. But it was a good start.

From there, I moved onto the Nikon Coolpix 5400, which was basically an updated version of the 5000. Virtually identical, with a couple of minor upgrades. I got it because I had basically beaten the crap out of the poor little 5000, having carried it around all the time.

Still very much in the "hobbyist" frame of mind, my next camera was my first DSLR - the Nikon D70. This was another game changer for me. Suddenly, I was able to start using all of the old lenses that my dad and I had when I had first started out. As a bonus, because of the fact that I had been using Nikon digital cameras in the past, I was already used to Nikon's user interface design. I felt right at home with this camera very quickly.

Still working in the IT business, I was still well within hobbyist territory. I was getting more and more curious, however, and any time I'd run into a pro photographer (either as a client, or in passing), I'd spend as much time as I could talking shop and learning stuff. I'd been pretty familiar with all of the aspects of print production (scanning, printing, layout, retouching, etc), but I never really got into the actual picture-taking end of things.

Around this time, I was very active as a musician, and had many friends who were in many different bands. It became pretty commonplace for me to bring my camera to shows, and to help out with doing promo work here and there. One of my favorite tricks for getting cool shots at concerts was to stick one of my old Coolpix cameras on a monopod, and use the flip-out screen such that I could hoist the camera a good 10 feet in the air or so, and either with a remote or the self-timer, snap some "bird's eye view" shots of the action on stage. I was still shooting JPGs, and hadn't really gotten into using a flash.

Fast forward to 2006, when I moved from Chicago to New York City. It was a big turning point for me, and a lot of things were in the midst of shifting. I was taking a big break from music, and I was turning my back on a pretty well-established freelance career, in favor of starting over from scratch in a new city. I still had my D70, but I wasn't really that inspired, photographically. I had taken a position as a Mac Genius, working on the very first official overnight team at the only 24-hour Apple Store - Fifth Ave. This was an overall good experience for me, in that I was able to make some really great new friends quickly, and I was getting exposed to all sorts of interesting folks that would come into the store late at night for help.

One of these folks was an amateur photographer, and in our conversation about photo stuff, she happened to mention the word "strobist". I didn't really think anything of it at the time, but for some reason, it stuck with me. A few weeks after that, a friend of mine was having some sort of an event (I think it was a party or a concert; I can't really remember), but whatever it was, it had inspired me to think about photography again. And because this was an indoor-at-night thing, I knew I was going to need to use a flash (by this time, I had gotten myself an SB-600, which didn't really see much use). I remembered that "strobist" thing that girl at the bar had mentioned, and found David Hobby's website easily enough.

For the next few weeks, all I could think about was photography. I went back to my dad's place and raided his collection of gear for every single piece of flash-related equipment I could get my hands on. This was an old SB-16, an SB-24, and a couple of cheap slave sync gizmos. It was enough to get me started, though.

After chewing through the stuff I'd find online, I began to slowly but surely start building myself a nice collection of gear. Starting out with home-made bits, doing a ton of ebay hunting, and even purchasing brand new items from time to time. All the while, experimenting and figuring stuff out.

Over the next couple of years, I played catch-up, and read up on what had happened in the higher-end world of professional photography. I saw that Canon had taken the dominant position in the world of photojournalism (the last time I'd paid any attention, everyone was using Nikon. And film.). I saw that people were still shooting with large and medium format, and that there was this slick new gizmo called a "digital back". And oh, the lights. And the modifiers. And the accessories. I was making the shift from hobbyist to semi-professional. Slowly, but surely.

In 2008, thanks to the "economic downturn", I was let go from my job as an IT consultant. This turned out to be just what I needed, and I decided that it was time to officially turn the corner on IT, and return to my roots. I was going to work as a photographer.

Obviously, this isn't the kind of thing that just happens overnight. I knew that I had a lot of work ahead of me, and that I was going to be starting out from scratch. But I also knew that because of the fact that I had several years of professional/life experience under my belt, working with people, learning stuff, and networking - that I would have an advantage. And thanks to a bit of persistence, a lot of legwork, experiments with Craigslist, and a bit of luck, I have been able to meet and work with some really fantastic people, and learn a whole bunch of new stuff.

In 2010, I was offered a job at a digital retouching and digital capture company called Dtouch. They don't advertise, and they don't have a website. But their clientele are among the best and busiest in the industry. I'm not going to drop any names, but it's safe to say that if you've ever spent any time in front of a newsstand looking at magazine covers, you've seen work that's passed through Dtouch in one way or another.

My responsibilities were very well-suited to my strengths. I was in charge of all of the computers, and all of the camera equipment. During my time there, I was exposed to tons of different systems, ranging from expensive and obscure cameras like the Leica M9, to Sinar view cameras, to all of the current pro 35mm DSLRs, and most significantly - medium format digital systems. Hasselblad, Mamiya, Phase One; we even got our hands on the new Leica S2 system for a bit. As you might imagine, this was an invaluable opportunity for me, and I made the absolute most of it possible.

After spending a little more than a year there, I had decided that I had learned enough about these systems, and it was time for me to return to my original path - working for myself. Armed with this new knowledge and some new contacts in the industry, I've re-rentered the freelance world, and have begun looking for work. Not just as a photographer, mind you - but also as a "digital tech", and as an assistant, as well.

So - that all said - I consider myself to be pretty well-equipped to offer good advice and opinions on lots of different aspects of photography and the technology surrounding it. I'm still constantly learning and getting better, mind you - there are still tons of things that I need to learn. But I'm at a point where I feel comfortable calling myself a professional, and it feels pretty great making a living doing the kind of stuff I want to do.

 

I guess this first bit was a bit more biographical than technical, huh? Sorry about that, if you were misled. I promise to get to the good stuff in future posts.

 

Thanks for reading.

 

Studio on my back

This past weekend, I was asked by my friend John to come by his apartment to work on some photos of him and his roommate, Suzanne. They live in an older apartment building on the outskirts of Williamsburg and Bushwick, and Suzanne has decorated their place with all sorts of neat-looking vintage furniture and nick-nacks.

The two of them - John, being a rather fashionable fellow and former stylist, and Suzanne, being an actress - had a surprisingly wide variety of cool vintage clothing that they wanted to get dressed up in. We figured it might be fun to go for that classic "old time photo" look.

Mind you, we hadn't discussed this beforehand - all I knew going in was that we would be shooting in the apartment, and there might be a cat.

So I decided to try to over-prepare myself, and set to put together a rig that would allow me the option to use up to five lights, with an array of modifiers to go with them.


I looked at the directions to get to their place from my place, and unfortunately, there was no direct route. The nearest train stop is a good 15 minute walk, and there isn't a bus that goes near there, either. I didn't want to deal with calling a car or trying to find a taxi, because dammit - I've got a bike.


Normally, I'd pack two bags - my Pelican 1514 hard case, which would carry all of my camera gear and the strobes, and then my trusty Kelty backpack, which would get stuffed with all of the grip equipment. I've travelled this way many times in the past, and when I'm only walking a few blocks here and there (to and from the train), it's no problem.

This time, however, I figured I'd test my limits a bit.

As I was unpacking my gear from the Pelican case, I was struck with an idea - "I wonder if this padded divider insert would fit inside my backpack..." Sure enough, it fit inside perfectly. With room to spare, in fact. With the dividers in my pack, I was able to load up just about everything I'd normally put into the Pelican case. Since there was still room on top, and I needed some tension to ensure that everything held in place, I started placing my various modifiers and grip gear on top of and around the insert, until the bag was nice and tight. It zipped up without a problem.

Finally, I grabbed a pair of flimsy - er light-weight - light stand bags, and managed to stuff the remaining gear into them, and then secured them to the sides of the backpack. I picked up the pack (which must've weighed a good 40+ pounds), and it felt well-balanced. Sure enough, once it was on my back, it felt great. Looking in the mirror, I kinda felt like a little kid who was pretending to be Boba Fett or something (I know, I know, he didn't have two things pointing out of the sides; he had the one thing pointing out the middle. I said "little kid", okay? sheesh.)

With the pack secured, I hopped on my bike, and proceeded to shoot the following pictures:

and, going for the weathered/aged/vintage look:

I was so impressed with my pack-job, that I decided to make a little video of myself unpacking it all:

Further details and a close-up shot can be found here.

Manhattanhenge

I apologize for blogging about this so late, but hey - I've been keeping busy, and busy is good, right?

Right.

So a few weeks ago, an event called "Manhattanhenge" took place in New York City. This event happens twice a year in the summertime, where the setting sun hits the horizon in near-perfect alignment with the city grid of Manhattan. Stand on just about any east/west street, and you'll see the sun line right up in between the buildings and skyscrapers. It's pretty neat.

You can find a lot more info about it here.

Having done a little bit of research, I discovered a few things. There is a pretty decent following of this event, and lots of people like to come out and photograph it. Many of the posted photos I found listed where in the city they were shot from, so I made some mental notes about potential shoot-sites for myself. I had also noticed that no one seemed to post a decent-looking timelapse of the event. I'm sure it's been done, but I couldn't find any. So I decided to take a crack at it for myself.

I headed over to what seemed like the easiest, most convenient spot - the bridge that crosses over 42nd street, just above 1st ave.

Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one with this idea. By the time I had arrived (about 7:45 or so), there was already a large crowd of people huddled up against the railing of the bridge, taking up the whole sidewalk. A forest of tripods made it clear that there was no way I was going to be able to get my shot from this spot.

After glancing down 42nd street, I could make out what looked to be another bridge, about 3 or 4 avenues over. I hopped on my bike and headed in that direction to investigate.

Sure enough, there was an overpass, right in front of Grand Central Station. This looked like a perfect spot. Nobody was up there, so I maneuvered around until I could find my way up. That's when I figured out why no one was up there - there were signs at at the on-ramp onto the bridge stating "no pedestrian traffic".

I reasoned that since I was on my bike, I really couldn't be classified as a pedestrian. So I pedaled up to the spot, where I found a very narrow sidewalk. I stashed my bike, and set up my two Canons - the SD630, shooting as fast as it could (about 1 frame every 2-3 seconds), and the G7, shooting a -2, 0, +2 bracket sequence as fast as it could (also about 2-3 seconds) - using the wonderful CHDK intervalometer I've become so dependent on.

I used a super clamp and a little ball head to secure the cameras to the railing, and - fearing interference from the police - I decided to step away from the railing and wait until the last moment before the sunset (which only lasts about 3 or 4 minutes) to grab some stills with my other cameras.

Everything was going smoothly, but sure enough, as the sunset crept closer, people started to walk up to my spot, and set up their tripods and get ready for their shots. After about three of four of them showed up, I decided that I'd better get over there, so as to secure my own spot, and to make sure nothing happened to my TL cams.

By the time the event had finally come around, I'd say there were a good dozen or so fellow law-breakers up there with me, and we were all shooting away. I snapped a few frames with the F3 on Velvia, and wound up setting up another super clamp with a magic arm to help me stabilize my D90 with the 80-200, which I was shooting bracketed frames with as well.

Here's a quick iPhone grab of what my view was:

The best-looking shot I was able to get with the D90 looks like this:

Not bad, but not great, either. Shooting the sun is harder than I expected.

As the last of the sun disappeared into the horizon, as if on cue, one of New York City's finest came along to break up our little party. He asked if any of us were interested in receiving a summons, and if not, to vacate the bridge immediately. Since I had so much crap with me, I did the best I could to pack up quickly, but I did stall a little, with the hopes of at least letting the TL cams catch that last bit of sun disappearing as possible.

I was the last person to leave the bridge (first one in, last one out, heh), and fortunately, the cop didn't give me any trouble.

When I got home to compile the TL frames, I realized that my framing was a bit on the wide side, and a tighter composition (not unlike the still above) would've probably made for a better shot. I also forgot to set the cameras to under-expose, so the frames that the 630 shot were pretty much useless. I monkeyed around with some HDR and exposure blending with the frames from the G7, but due to the rapid movements of the street traffic, nothing looked right.

In the end, I decided I'd just compile the -2 set of frames, and go with that; lesson learned.

Here it is up on flickr:

I know, too wide. And the sky is completely blown out.

Anyway, there is a happy ending to this story.

For whatever reason, I decided to post my shots as soon as I'd finished them (this is not something I do very often; I tend to post bunches of stuff all at once).

I woke up the next morning to find a ton of messages in my flickr inbox, reporting new comments on my movie, and, more surprisingly, lots of new contacts (followers). It turns out that the flickr blog decided to post about Manhattanhenge that day, and they linked to my time lapse movie (probably because it was the only one) in their post.

I scored a all-time personal best hit count that week, landing well over 500 views over the next couple of days. Pretty cool, but I really wish the shot had come out better.

Oh well. Lessons learned for next time.

Workshop with Joe.

A few weeks ago, I attended a "One-Day Lighting" workshop presented by Joe McNally. He's become somewhat of a rockstar lately, following the success of his latest book, The Hotshoe Diaries (which I own), and through some consistent, quality social networking (he has recently gotten into twitter, and just updated his blog). There's tons of info about him out there, so I'll skip the history lesson and move onto the details of the class.

Long story short - it was pretty much exactly what I'd expected.

Having been hip to Joe's style and approach for the past year or so, I've done a fair amount of research and ingesting - watching any/every video of his I could get my hands on, reading his blog and book(s), etc. The class was basically like a live-action version of what I'd been reading and watching. No real new or ground-breaking info, but it was definitely inspiring and exciting to actually meet Joe and see him do his thing in person.



The workshop also wound up being an excuse for my old pal Seth to come out for a visit (we attended the class together), and we got some good hang-time in. The first night he arrived - literally right from the airport - we ended up at a Coney Island freak show, where I was fortunate enough to snap a quick shot of this guy:

And in the spirit of making the most of our time together, we organized a photo shoot with my friend Michelle and her friend Coco. Coco is a burlesque performer, who happens to be a fire-eater (among other things). Michelle was interested in learning how to eat fire, so I shot some pictures of the two of them in Coco's backyard:

Pretty cool. Or, "hot", I guess. (sorry)

Anyway, it turned out to be a pretty good week.

Oh, I almost forgot - what wound up being the most valuable take-away from the workshop was a networking connection that I made. For this series of classes (there were two week's worth), Joe called upon many of his friends and colleagues to help him out - both in front of the camera and behind the scenes. One of the folks he had up to help out with modeling for our class was a guy named Kent.

During some down time, I struck up a conversation with him, learned that not only was he a professional photographer himself, but he also worked as an assistant to Joe in the past. After hearing this, I asked him for some advice (the basic "do you have any suggestions/tips for an up-and-coming pro?" thing). We didn't have a ton of time to chat, but we did exchange contact info.

I'll talk more about Kent in an upcoming post. Stay tuned.

A little background...

It occurred to me that some of you might not know much about me, so I decided to write a little bit about myself for the n00bs.

I was born in Manhattan in 1974, and shortly thereafter, my parents relocated to the lovely suburbs in New Jersey. We ended up in a small town called Wyckoff, where I went through the same public school system K through 12.

Some notable points of interest during that time included:

First camera (Nikon FM2), first computer (PC's Limited 286 6/8Mhz (see also Dell)), first drumset (Yamaha).

I also had a few interesting jobs. During the school year, I landed a gig as an assistant/gaffer to the guy that shot my sister's Bat Mitzvah pictures, who, at least according to his website, is still in the business. I would work a wedding or Bar/Bat Mitzvah every other weekend or so, sometimes as often as two or three in a row. Looking back now, it was pretty a invaluable experience, although it has definitely soured me a bit on big fancy events.


Once I had figured out that "art" was the direction I wanted to go with my life, I was fortunate enough (through connections from my father) to land a summer internship at BBDO - one of the larger ad agencies in the US at the time - as a 16 year-old junior in high school. This was in 1990, right around the boom of "desktop publishing". At the time, Apple Computer happened to be a client of BBDO. As I understood it, Apple was very interested in BBDO being on the cutting edge of technology, and made a point to keep several of their top-end products (Macintosh II's primarily, with OneScanners and LaserWriters) in good supply on any willing art director's desk, fully loaded with all of the latest versions of the cutting edge software of the day - Adobe Photoshop (2.0), Illustrator (3.0), and QuarkXPress (3.0). They also had some fantastic color printers and photocopiers, like the Tektronix Phaser, and the Canon CLC 500 (that projector-looking thing let you copy slides/negatives - badass).

When things were slow, I would keep myself busy playing with one of the public computers sitting in an empty cubicle. This was my first exposure to Macintoshes (and cubicles, for that matter), and I totally got it. By the end of my first summer there (I did it again, the following year), I was showing the art directors (and anyone one else who was interested) how to use the scanner, or plot some type along a spiral in Illustrator. It was loads of fun, and at an extremely early age, I was exposed to the world of "big advertising".


It seemed obvious that Art School was the way to go for me, and I applied and was accepted to The School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

Since I wanted to be a graphic designer, I enrolled in the Visual Communications program. At the time (1992), the computer revolution hadn't really taken a firm hold on the entire school yet (this is pre-internet, mind you), and the only Macs that were available were in one small computer lab, and in the Art & Technology department. Other departments had one or two machines for students to share on, but once I set foot onto the Art & Tech floor, I knew that this was where I wanted to be spending my time.

I was still taking pictures at this point, but it didn't take long before I was seduced by the wonders of "multimedia", and "3-D graphics", and the instant gratification of video. My trusty FM2 spent most of my college career in its bag, unused.

Fast forward to around 2001. I had made the transition from Artist to Technology Professional, and was really hitting my stride. I loved the fact that I could relate to creative professionals and speak their language, and help them do their work better, smarter and faster, using the cool technology tricks I had come to know and love. I was still paying attention to the camera scene, but it was more as a bystander than a user. I remember when Nikon first announced the D1 (with a firewire 400 port!), and knew in the back of my head that some day, I'd get back into photography with something like one of those. But not at an entry price of over $5000. Besides, I was at the height of my career as a gigging musician in Chicago, and didn't have time for that stuff.

One day, while visiting one of my regular clients, I was introduced to the Nikon CoolPix 900 camera. What blew me away was the fact that - when good light was used - the images that this little 3 megapixel camera produced looked really, really good. So I started paying attention to the other options that were out there as far as digital cameras were concerned. About a year after its release, I bought myself a CoolPix 5000 for about $500. This is where things changed for me. I was seeing things photographically again. It felt great. The groundbreaking aspect of the little CoolPix was its form factor - the fact that it had an articulated flip-around LCD viewfinder gave me a whole new way of seeing things. I could compose and shoot without my head stuck to the camera. For the following year and change, I would shoot at least a picture a day, posting them to my .mac picture gallery for friends and family to see. Holy shit, it's still up!

Moving forward, I continued to maintain an interest in photography as a hobby, shooting friends' gigs here and there, and just having fun with it.

For my 30th birthday, my folks got me a Nikon D70. The first affordable, high-quality "prosumer" DSLR that Nikon released since the D100 a few years earlier. Things got a little more serious for me then, but I was still very much in "hobbyist" territory.

It wasn't until after I had moved to New York City in 2006, working the night shift at the then-new Apple Store on Fifth Avenue, that I had heard about David Hobby's now-famous Strobist blog. I realized that I was missing out on an entirely different world of photography - lighting. I'd always known about it, but never considered that it was something that I could actually do. After all, I turned my back on photography when I was in school, and didn't really know the first thing about how to light stuff. But slowly but surely, one purchase after the next, I had put together a nice little kit of old Nikon Speedlites and modifiers, and next thing I knew, I was actually "doing it".

About a year into it, I started to realize that I really enjoyed setting up shots, and trying to make them happen. I would jump at any opportunity to make a portrait, shoot a friend's gig, sell something on ebay... I was definitely hooked.

Which brings us to the present. Thanks to this lovely economic climate, I was laid off from my full time job as an IT professional, and decided that it was time for a change of pace. I'm kinda burnt out on helping people with their computers. I still love helping people, and I've been doing lots of little IT "odd jobs" to make ends meet, but a couple of months ago, I decided that it was time for me to try returning to my creative roots, and see if I can actually do this.

In the spirit of giving back to the community that's been so inspiring to me, I've decided to start sharing my thoughts and experiences as I attempt to make it as a Professional Photographer.

Thanks for reading.

-dg