Soul Searching - The Lost Art of Imperfection

These days, I don't seek out or need the newest, shiniest, sharpest and highest resolution photographic equipment money can buy. In fact, I'm consumed in my quest for the complete opposite - a kind of illusive, soulful quality that I've only experienced shooting with vintage lenses.

Years ago, before we (us humans) refined the process of mass production, things were crafted with our bare hands. Even those things that weren't entirely handmade at least had a visible human touch. It could be seen in loose dabs of paint or in the way, for instance, the corner of a piece of wood or metal was finished. It's now the kind of thing sought after by collectors but I've had an appreciation for it since my childhood.

Nowadays, if something is not perfect, we demand a replacement and, by cracky, we'll get it. While there are a few things in my life that I wish were perfect, my own photography is not one of them.

I spent years honing my craft so that my photographs would look "professional". At some point, I think I crossed that threshold because, looking back on my early attempts, I can clearly see marked improvement.

When I reached my goal, I thought I would be ecstatic but the more "perfect" my images became, the more they drifted from my vision of what a good photograph ought to be. With the passing of time, each image became more sterile, more clinical and had less... soul.

Today's cameras can capture enough information to faithfully render the appearance of anything we choose to shoot. Yet, companies keep telling us we need more resolution, bigger screens, more colors, sharper images. It's insane. What they don't say is that you need a brand new computer to process all of that new and unnecessary information or a bigger room to accommodate your giant TV. Now the multimegapixel photograph of your cat that you shot with your phone can be printed to fit a billboard in Times Square. You can also capture video of that same cat on your phone at a staggering 4K Ultra HD resolution that wouldn't look amiss on an IMAX screen!!

Aside from all this absurdity, it also becomes cost-prohibitive. For my upcoming trip to Alaska, I wanted a lens with a decent reach for my anticipated wildlife encounters. Fujifilm's new 100-400mm lens is almost $2000! I can't afford that. So I did my research on the Web to figure out a decent alternative. A quick look on eBay resulted in the discovery of a Russian lens, made in the 70s, that closely resembles a rocket launcher. It is 300mm (with my crop sensor, that's about a 450mm full-frame equivalency). It has no image stabilization, no autofocus but, with some care on a tripod, I can get perfectly acceptable shots. They are not going to be edge-to-edge sharp but I don't care. The lens cost me $80.

I have a couple more vintage Russian lenses that have helped me find the soul in my work once again. Maybe it's the flaws in the old glass, maybe it's the fact that I have to be more methodical using manual focus, or maybe I'm creating something beyond the basic image. Is it possible to photograph the emotion or feeling of a place? I think it is and these old lenses somehow strip all the precision away and facilitate that magic.

My most unusual experiment recently has been to couple my Fujifilm camera with an old pocket bellows camera from the early 1900s. The camera has none of the modern technology we take for granted like lens coatings and precise focusing, etc. but it produces a picture that sometimes gives me chills.

This is what fires me up so much about photography; capturing an unexpected presence, not just getting the perfect shot. If I wanted perfection, I wouldn't even have to pick up my camera, all I'd need to do is search through hundreds of similar images on Google. Now where's the fun in that?

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Life - The Truth is Out There

Traveling around a huge country like the United States teaches many lessons, but it mostly highlights my own ignorance. What I mean is that I have my own preconceived notion of what a place will be like before I arrive but the actual experience of being there and learning about the area is entirely different. Is this the ultimate road to enlightenment? Maybe not but, in the meantime, I'm enjoying the window view.

(I'm including some photographs I've captured over the past few weeks to accompany my thoughts).

I was educated, if you can call it that, in Ireland. I wasn't career-minded and didn't go to college because I had my sights set on being a rock star. Being educated, at the time, was nothing more than an inconvenience in my life, a hurdle to what I really wanted to do.

Years later, ironically, I had an epiphany; education is important. Not for the obvious reasons of getting a better job, etc. No, it had more to do with realizing that an education meant a greater potential for a rich life experience. To understand things, to know how one thing connects to another, to put things into historical perspective and to have the ability to critically think is...fulfilling! This is what my teachers were trying to tell me all along but my ignorance and resulting arrogance filtered it all out.

Never fear, because this sad story has a happy ending. I met some people along my journey who became mentors and made me want to be smarter. My diploma came from outside of an institution. Under the category of "Education" on my Facebook profile I named "University of Life Experience" as my college. While it sounds facetious, it's actually true.

I feel better now, in later life, that I did finally take the time to read the classics and learn, for example, some history about my own divided country. If nothing else, it gave me the confidence to discuss these things because they were backed up by facts, not uninformed opinion.

Which brings me back to my original thoughts about traveling. I feel like I'm constantly blowing cobwebs of my own ignorant thinking away. I had a preconceived notion of what Mississippi would be like, I was wrong. Its history is so profound that I have an entirely new appreciation for its diversity. Texas, with all its stereotypes and cliches, is full of beauty and kind-hearted, hard-working people. California has been a revelation. I never knew it had such variety of people and landscapes. We've been there the longest and never get the feeling we are stuck in one state (literally or metaphorically). The list goes on and we tackle Alaska this year also. I'm looking forward to gaining a new understanding of that magnificent state.

There is no substitute for experience, as the old saying goes. I'm here to tell you that there's a deep truth in those words. I would encourage as many people as possible to just get out there and do some serious exploring of this amazing world. At the very least, discover what is in your immediate area. You'll be surprised by what you might find and you just may learn something worthwhile.

My Adobe Spark (formerly Slate) presentation of this post is available here

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A Life on the Road

I've never before experienced such sustained contentment. Call it happiness but it's not as fleeting as that.

When we traded our traditional sticks and bricks existence for one of reduced living space on the road, my wife and I weren't sure what to expect. Our fantasies had us gallivanting around the United States as free as two birds. This huge country could never be fully explored in one lifetime so we would never run out of new places to explore.

From what I've read, people get on the road for one of two reasons; to find themselves or lose themselves. Our motivation is the former although truthfully, I think the actual experience might be a combination of the two.

As I write this, I'm staring out the window of our motorhome at the desert. Specifically, Borrego Springs State Park in Southern California. Unlike my friends on the East Coast, we have managed to elude the wrath of El Niño. Although we've had a variety of weather, temperatures have mostly hovered around a very comfortable 70 degrees.

We invested in solar panels last year which dramatically increased our options for camping. We are currently parked off the grid with no electric pedestal in sight. All of our water is on board and, for heat and cooking, we use propane. Every couple of weeks or so, we need to find somewhere to dump our tanks and replenish our fresh water supply but, in the meantime, we are as free as we will ever be.

We are not completely alone out here. There are about thirty other RVs around us, each maintaining a respectable distance from their neighbor. That suits me fine because I feel a sense of security in numbers. Being truly isolated would be somewhat nerve wracking. I have had dreams where we are miles away from anyone and anything and suddenly, in the black of the night, there is a loud knock on our door. Cue the jump-scare music.

What makes this chosen lifestyle such a success for me personally is a frequent sense of gratitude for the opportunities I have. When I read about all of the atrocities around the world and the hardships that people endure, I count myself as one of the lucky few who got away. The world is a beautiful place and I see it and feel it everyday. It's absolutely thrilling and, as a photographer, I simply couldn't ask for more. I feel sorry for people who, for whatever reasons, won't or can't experience that kind of joy.

We will stay in the desert until we are ready to move on, ready to change our window view. Whatever that looks like, one thing is for sure, we will be as free as two birds having the time of our lives.

My Adobe Spark (formerly Slate) presentation of this post is available here
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Home on the Ranch

We're making it a winter tradition to visit Linda's parents at their ranch house in Texas. It's a kind of base for us to gather with our kids and extended family and a chance to come off the road to recharge.

Live Oak Ranch, as it's known, is located fifteen miles outside the little town of Merkel and Linda's parents live there on a part time basis. Late this year, however, the property began a transformation of sorts. Linda's sister Shannon and her husband JP decided to build their own house on the hundred-acre property with eight goats, four horses, two chickens, three cats and two dogs in tow.

We arrived just before Thanksgiving and there was a definite chill in the air. We got busy right away with holiday meal plans and spent the afternoon keeping the dogs company.

I don't usually associate Texas with winter frost and fog but we encountered both during our stay.

On our first morning, I awoke to a frosty landscape. The entire place looked like it was covered in snow. I grabbed my camera, put on my smallest lens (27mm pancake) and walked out the door. Being out and about with a single prime lens is relatively new to me. I'm usually more comfortable with a zoom lens or a choice of primes in my bag. That way, I feel sure I won't miss a thing.

Using a fixed focal length lens is challenging but also liberating and rewarding. If I see something worth shooting, instead of standing still, I can either move back or forth to achieve my desired framing. Changing my relative distance helps me engage better with the subject. The 27mm lens is wide enough for landscape work but I can also get in tight for closeup shots without noticeable distortion. Mostly, it creates the most compact version of my camera and frees me from the burden of too many choices and a heavy kit.

A few days later, a thick mist surrounded the ranch and beckoned me. Nothing makes me wake up, get up and get out as fast as a soupy sunrise.

When we visit the ranch each year, we stay in our motorhome beside a large live oak tree. I've wanted to record this tree in a very specific way since I first saw it. The problem is that there's just too much stuff behind it to make it stand out.

When the fog rolled in, it transcended the scene to the one in my imagination. Now the big live oak displayed its majesty in strong contrast to the milky background.

Much like snow, fog mutes both color and sound. Objects are revealed briefly until the mist disperses and they once again return to hiding.

Everywhere I looked, photographs announced themselves and vied for my attention. There was a sense of mystery about what was lurking up ahead as details faded into oblivion. It all conspired to become a delicious visual cocktail.

The Burn Pile
This area is remote from services such as garbage collection so burning trash and debris from clearing the land is quite a common thing. A fire of this size needs to be closely monitored for at least a few hours to ensure its safety. It was quite meditative sitting there, watching the flames and feeling the warmth on this brisk day.



Workshop Still Life
It's easy to be inspired by things lying around the ranch. With a background in urban and suburban living, very little about a ranch is familiar to me. This arrangement of oil cans, for instance, drew my eye. A few hours later, they were gone, replaced on shelves until summoned to usefulness once again.

Seeing the Light
Every morning, I went in search of the effects of the sunrise. Evidence was abundant, casting long shadows on the exterior of the house, creating a soft wash in the workshop and then boldly announcing itself through the front door. I love how fleeting it all is, never shining again in the exact same way or in the same place.

During my stay, the ranch began its carnival of animals. Two by two and four by eight they arrived. The goats were the loudest of all. Each had a completely different personality and all fought for the tastiest chow spot.

Shannon and JP had to leave for a few days so Linda's dad John and I tried to figure out what to do with these four-leggers. As it turns out, goat herding did not actually need the heavy supervision we had first imagined. Although we were a little stressed about possibly losing the goats, they surprised us by staying close to home in a tight formation.

Documenting work at the ranch and getting to spend time with the people and animals was a rare treat. I gleaned quite a bit from John and JP's extensive knowledge. Being with them is like being an apprentice rancher. I always come away from the experience having learned about tools I didn't even know existed. Hey, you never know when you might need them :)

When the horses appeared, they added something quite special to my experience. Throughout my life, I have had an affinity for these beautiful beasts. I don't quite know why but there is a calm about them that can't be equaled. Spending any kind of time with horses feels, to me, like a privilege.

My son Zac and daughter Tara flew down to see us. They both loved being with the animals and even managed to fit in a little horse riding. There was no shortage of stimulation for each of them. Zac was particularly fascinated by some sheep skulls he retrieved from an old barn.

Being at the ranch was time well spent but, as soon as Christmas Day passed, our family began to return home and Linda and I were ready to get on the road once again. Next stop: RV camping off the grid in the Borrego Springs desert in Southern California. Have I mentioned that I love this life? Happy New Year!

My Adobe Spark (formerly Slate) presentation of this post is available here

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