PixelatedImage Blog

Sharon was looking yesterday at images from a little town in Mexico. She sifted through hundreds of photographs trying to get a sense of the place, once in a while turning her laptop so I could see an image of coloured buildings or urban landscapes. And then she said something that hit it on the head. “Apparently nobody lives there.” In all of those images I saw over her shoulder I saw only two shots of people, in a parade. The rest were totally devoid of people, and as Sharon pointed out, made the place look lifeless.

A place, unless it actually is a ghost town, is what it is because of its people. The people in turn are who they are because of the place. The two are inseperable and I suspect the only reason we don’t see more great images that represent the relationships between people and place is fear. If that’s the case, it’s a hurdle an aspiring world photographer needs to overcome quickly. There is, of course, room, in every photo essay for beautiful landscapes, images with a sense of isolation or loneliness. Lord knows if I shot in the Canadian Arctic there’d be many of those. But not to the exclusion of photographs of people, any more than a diver would shoot image after image of coral reefs without the fish.

This isn’t a rant, just a pep talk - a reminder to us all that the people truly matter in context of place and culture. And if it’s just fear that’s keeping you, join the club - it’s a challenge for all of us. Courage is an act of the will in the presence of fear, not the absence of it. So if ya gotta fake it till you make it, you’ll be in illustrious company.

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On a related topic, the PixelatedImage Vision Collective is growing quickly into a really welcoming and active community of photographers, particularily those focussed on NGOs and world-photography. We’re over 100 members strong now and have a broad range of photographers from beginners to seasoned vets - all of whom seem to share a passion for their craft and for connecting with others. I’ve been very impressed with the openness of the members and their willingness to help. We’ve started the Image Workshop, as well, giving members a chance to develop their critical image review skills with one member-submitted image a week. All in all, it’s an exciting time to hanging around these parts. If you’ve not yet visited the Vision Collective, please stop by. You can find us HERE.

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Lastly, bad news for Canadians on the wait list for the Canon 5D Mk2 - looks like the price just went up by about $300 for all buyers. Yet another fallout from the loss of the near dollar-parity we were sharing with the US. Sigh. Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme, n’est ce pas?

I started this blog 3 years ago. When I switched The Pixelated Image blog from Typepad to Wordpress I thinned it out a bit, so some of the original posts, and the fluff in between, got deleted. So I’m not sure when I originally began, but the first surviving post is dated Sept 13, 2005.

I started this blog to journal a change in my life, the change from full-time comedian to full-time photographer. Many of those fluffy personal posts got trashed in the move, but the journey’s still been the same. Looking back I wish I’d kept those - they might shock some of you who assume I’ve been shooting professionally since the moment I could cash a paycheque. But just like many of you it’s been a meandering journey to get where I am, and the road ahead looks no straighter or necessarily easier.

I wanted to be a National Geo shooter, wanted to do this for a living. That was when I was 16. Then I decided I’d probably lose the passion if I made it my profession, and at 18 I ran off to start 5 years of pastoral training at a theology college in the frozen tundra of the Canadian prairies. Those were some cold, flat, years. Then I graduated and while my colleagues all ran off to change the world, I began a 12 year career in comedy, changing the world with laughter on a stage rather than sermons from a pulpit. Oh, the zigs and zags of life.

And then one day I went to Haiti as both a comic and a photographer - go figure. I went down wearing two hats, came back more comfortable in one and switched careers yet again. In December 2006, a couple high profile assignments behind me, I stepped off the stage for the last time. Leaving something you know and love for something in unchartered waters is scary, but folks you have one life and you’re never so happy as when you’re doing what you’re made to do.

Thanks for being part of the journey, for the encouragements along the way. We’re building a wonderful community here and I’m deeply grateful for you all. I have dreams aplenty yet to strive for in this career, and I know you do too, so stick around - it’ll be more fun if we do it together.

The world incorrectly assumes that professional photographers wake up in the morning, dust off their genius and their impermiable self-confidence, rush out to see the world, unearth their truant vision, shoot 12 perfect images and then rush home to post them online with only a curves adjustment and a little sharpening. Sometimes we wear a bag over our heads to shield others from the reflected glory, too.

As Cosby would say, riiiiiiight.

It’s more like this some days: we rise, reluctantly pick up our cameras while considering again that perhaps we’ve shot our last good image and just maybe we’d be better advised to go into onion and oyster farming instead. Equally difficult career choice, but your self-esteem hangs less precariously upon it. We walk out the door, looking for coffee, then stumble back because we’ve forgotten our camera, batteries, or CF cards. Or all of them. We wander, we shoot crap, we give up. We finally start seeing things aright, we shoot a few good frames, then tire and shoot more crap. We go home and sift through our images hoping to God that the few good ones were shot in RAW, properly exposed, and at least passably sharp. All the while plotting the coup that will overthrow the other photographer we are shooting with because secretly we know he shot brilliant stuff we didn’t even see, and that his career is about to take off while ours is clearly about to sink. We call our highschool guidance counsellor and indict them for the lousy advice.

And then we start playing with our images and discover a couple that are good, even excellent. We bring the blacks in, make sure the whites are white, and do some sharpening. The despair leaves, replaced by the bouyancy that truly capturing your vision can give you. You stop comparing yourself, if only for a moment, and all feels right with the world. So right, in fact, that you’re ready to go to bed and do it all over again in the morning.

Sure, there are days this doesn’t happen. When all you shoot is gold. But they’re rare. Most days I love, love, love what I do. But I still worry I’ve shot the last good frame I’ll ever capture. I still compare myself to others. I still shoot 200 frames of crap as the price to uncover 10 good ones, and one great one. That’s if I’m lucky. I don’t love it any less jut because the honeymoon is over. I just realign my expectations. I see that shooting better and better images takes more work, more investment of my emotions and all the craft I can conjur for the day.

So why am I telling you this? In part it’s a confession. Makes me feel better. In part it’s because I keep hearing people tell me it’s a revelation to know I shoot hundreds of images just to get to the good ones, and that fact encourages them to get through their own junk shots to find the gold. I keep hearing that people find it hard and assume that it comes so easily to others. Rubbish. Sure, there are days, and the longer I do this the better the images within the crap become. Heck, even my crap is noticably better. Still crap, but better. Keep at it.

It’s an art, it’s meant to be hard. An artist without challenge only grasps at the low-hanging fruit and creates cliche. Expressing your thoughts, emotions, your vision - your soul - is an act of disclosure. And then there are the technical challenges of the craft. If you want it to be easy, I can recommend some excellent finger paints. The rest of you, go easy on your self - let it be tough, the bumps on the ride make the smooth spots on the journey all the sweeter.

Whether you consider yourself a pro or amateur, I guarantee you we all feel this way sometimes. It’s a good sign that you’ve not yet become complacent or arrogant. Both will kill your art.

I never saw the movie from which I stole the title for this post. So you will forgive me for the gratuitous appearance of Yoda on the button. The concept is pretty easy to figure out. And it’s one that I think we’ve all got an obligation to live by.

Think for a moment about the joy that you derive from your photography, and how much your art has given to you. It’s likely that even the most self-taught among us have many people who have influenced us in some fashion, taken time for our questions, written a book, churned out a regular blog - anything that put you where you are today with your craft.

For me it was my mother’s co-worker who gave me her late father’s Pentax Spotmatic. Or Bob, my next-door neighbor, who gave me a box of darkroom equipment and some Ansel Adams books, in exchange for a night of babysitting. It was Mr. Harris, the highschool photography teacher who knew i was only taking his course to gain free access to the darkroom, and like a co-conspirator he enabled my addiction. It was the guy who ran the AV department in college who let me use the darkroom and the chemicals and paper at no charge, saying he’d ask me to shoot for him occassionally as payment. It’s been other photographers who let me assist or pick their brains, or who offered kind critiques of my work, or who sat and listened to my hair-brained ideas.

I am who I am as a photographer because of them, and I owe them a debt of gratitude. The best way I can say thank you, apart from saying Thank You, is to pay it forward. I’m guessing you too have been on the receiving end, and I know you have something you can give back to the photographic community. Teach a class, give away some of your old gear to a highschool student, send a cheque to Kids With Cameras, shoot for a non-profit free of charge. Whatever it is, pay it forward.

This craft has given so much to so many of us, let’s keep the love moving.

If everything is going to plan I should be in Ladakh right now, with the Lumen Dei team. We’ll have just arrived on a 5am flight out of Delhi and over the Himalaya. Today is slated to be our acclimation day, so we’ll pass it getting up to speed on Lightroom 2. Tomorrow we shoot in Leh, and the following day begin a 4 day jeep trek around the more remote spots in Ladakh.

Mark Twain once admonished us not to let school get in the way of our education. I think it’s fair to say we shouldn’t let the lack of school get in the way, either.

In the coming weeks it’s back to school time for kids and young adults across Canada and the USA, and beyond. Kids are gearing up for another year of awkwardness and emotional pain as they jockey to find their place on the social rung. What could be more fun than getting ready for another year of creating scars that will last the rest of their lives? It makes me nauseaous to think about it. BUT that’s not what this is about. I’m over those jerks. No, this is about you. And me. And education.

So I’ll put it to you bluntly - what’s your education plan for the year? Have you chosen your classes? Your books? Your teachers? Sure, you might be out of school, but let that take you away from intentionally learning your craft for too long and you’ll begin a devolution in your skills and marketability.

My challenge to you:

1. Pick one workshop or convention to attend this year
2. Choose one topic you’ll dig deeper into this year.
3. Make a list of 6 books - that’s only one every two months - that you’ll study.
4. Find a mentor, an Obi Wan to your Skywalker.