"Memory Lane," as I define it, is "a long strip of acetate with a silver halide coating." I consider my film cameras to be miniature time capsules — my past self records a person, scene or event that it thinks my future self will find interesting. This article discusses one such trip down Memory Lane, and how it isn't quite the way I remembered it.
There is no such thing as technical perfection. There is no perfect camera. There is no perfect lens, flash, film or Photoshop plugin. There is only the perfect image — and people have been taking them for well over a hundred years with some amazingly imperfect gear. So why do we, as photographers, spend so much of our time wading about in the gear guano canal?
In this article, I struggle to find the perfect New Year's resolution — you know, something fairly trite and not too onerous. Along the journey, I discuss the often negative effect other people's resolutions have on me, and wax nostalgic over the one and only shining example of positive effect — a phenomena I once dubbed, "The January Effect."
It's been over 40 years since The Carpenters scored a #2 hit by complaining about rainy days and Mondays getting them down. Too bad the Pentax K-5 wasn't around then...
Without a doubt, this is my most quotable article to date. Perhaps that's because it's nothing more than an assemblage of my own personal photography quotes? Whether you have a term paper to write for photography class; are looking to impress a hot hipster with a lomography fetish; or are simply suffering from attention deficit disorder, this is the article for you.
What is the market value of a photograph? For how long should someone view a photograph? What does the public want from photography? Why do men have nipples? This article, ULTRAsomething's latest philosophical musing, provides no answers.
Self-doubt is a bottomless quagmire from which escape is difficult. We are who we are. If we’re lucky enough to have a vision and to feel passionately about it, then we owe it to ourselves to persevere. Slavishly adapting my style to match current trends would likely bring me more admirers, but then they wouldn’t be my admirers — they would be the style’s admirers. I’d rather have detractors. When we try to be something we’re not, we’re destined for mediocrity. When we’re true to ourselves, we give ourselves a chance to transcend it.
In its forty years of existence, the Vancouver Canucks hockey team has never won the Stanley Cup. Some of this city's more pagan residents blame this on vengeful Hockey Gods. There might just be some merit to this belief...
Every so often I see a trend develop that sort of rubs me the wrong way. That's when I invoke my "Blogger's Right to Curmudgeonly Commentary" and type out a post like this one. What bee is in my proverbial bonnet this time? Photographers who choose web publication as the ultimate display format for their photographs... and, yes, that used to include me.
The classification of photography as an "art" has done it a great disservice. Art demands that the viewer appreciate the technique behind it. It calls attention to its technical merits. A good photograph should never do this. Rather, it should just be. In 1951, Robert Frank told Life Magazine "When people look at my pictures I want them to feel the way they do when they want to read a line of a poem twice." Frank knew then what I've only just figured out — photography is language. And the language of photography is the language of the poet.
When is a photograph no longer a photograph? At what point is an image so "pimped out" that it leaves the realm of photography, and enters the province of illustration? If you clone a crumpled beer can from of a landscape shot, is it still a photograph? If you merge multiple shots into a single image, can you call it a photograph? If you heal all the pimples on your model's face, is it still their photograph? Where is the soft grey line between photography and illustration, and when do we cross it?
I'm no etymologist, but personal experience would suggest that the word "vacation" derives from two sources — the words "vacate" and "shun." Vacate means to leave, or to give up a place or position. Shun means to avoid or ignore something. For me, "vacation" means "to ignore my usual photographic inclinations, and to give up taking the kind of pictures I like to take — resorting to generic landscapes and banal 'I was here' photos." Photographs from my recent trip to the scenic Oregon coast belie, once again, my efforts to avoid the trappings of vacate shun photography.
