Rumor has it that the International Leica Society (LHSA) recently published a video of their attempt, last autumn, to coerce me into divulging a number of photography "tips." Yeah, you can imagine how that went... Viewer discretion is advised.
Time: It can be frittered, bent, projected and measured. It can also mess with one's photos.
The turbulent impact of a gentle breeze.
When is an article not an article? When it's a nerdicle, of course. And this nerdicle is particularly nerdy — being all about Lightroom cataloguing techniques, keywording and photo ranking. Yeah, I know... you're bored already. What can I say? Knowledge is pain.
In this world, there are things that motivate and things that demotivate. Curiously, what motivates one person might be exactly the same thing that demotivates someone else. Case in point: exotic vacations to scenic locales. For many people, such trips stimulate an outpouring of photographic activity. But for me, the only thing they stimulate is a bout with photographic apathy. Which is why, on a recent late-winter trip to Iceland, I decided to counter my expected languor by doing the opposite of what I would usually do. I would yin every yang.
Part 2 of the Caffenolog ostensibly discusses developing Acros 100 in Caffenol-C-M. But because this is an ULTRAsomething article, that whole caffenol angle might actually be an elaborate excuse to further hone my Hasselblad XPan skills (and the word "skills," as used here, is infused with irony). Then again, it's entirely possible that both the Caffenol and Xpan threads are diversionary tactics, meant to obfuscate the true topic — my distaste for being labeled "a blogger." Likelier still, it's all of the above.
Once upon a time, I believed instant coffee was one of the most insipid substances on earth — but that was before I started dunking my film in it.
I've often said that photography's closest art form is not painting, but poetry. So perhaps it's not surprising that I've uncovered yet another link between photography and language.
One man's toy is another man's tool — at least that seems to be the case with my adaptation of the toy-like, budget-friendly Lomography Smartphone Scanner, which I've found to be the quickest way yet to create digital contact sheets from my 35mm negatives. What's that? You say you don't need no stinkin' contact sheets 'cause you're one of those hip new digital lifeloggers? Think again, trendsters.
Red cameras are intriguing — not just for filmmakers, but for still photographers as well. But they're also expensive. Even a complete "entry level" Red Scarlet system is likely to cost as much as a brand new fully-loaded compact automobile. Which is precisely why, when I set out to see how a Red camera might fit my requirements as a still photographer, I chose "Green." Green, in this case, relates to the color of ink under which the purchase appears in my accounting software. Green, specifically, means a LomoKino 35 motion camera. Used, this camera set me back the price of one breakfast. This article discusses why I've been itching for a Red camera, and how I managed to scratch it with my Green camera.
Chemical dependency is defined as an addiction to a mood-altering chemical. If denied access to the chemical, the dependent person is unable to function properly, and lives only for the chemical and the relief it brings. I never thought it would happen to me — but that was before I discovered the magical developing powers of Rodinal.
"Hey, I know! Why don't I take a nice black and white photo of the colorful fall foliage?" Really, I have thoughts like this. And it's not like life isn't already stressful enough without my masochistic need to invent photographic assignments that I can't possibly hope to satisfy. Why do I do this? Well, surprisingly it has something to do with underwear modeling...
