Archived posting to the Leica Users Group, 2000/12/03
[Author Prev] [Author Next] [Thread Prev] [Thread Next] [Author Index] [Topic Index] [Home] [Search]It has become quite popular of late upon to, upon the return from a photographic trip, write a little report -- where 'little' in some cases refers to 30 pages (hehe -- nothing like shooting yourself in the foot ;) Like many, I enjoy these a great deal, sort of travelling-by-proxy, probably much the same reason I like reading about travelling off the beaten path in magazines. So, here goes. Columbus and I don't really get on all that well. I think we regard each other with a certain measure of confusion and incomprehension. I grew up in Europe and life in the Midwest is something I'm finding is hard to get acostomed to. It is hard to put my finger on. People I meet are very friendly, but it often strikes me as a sort of superficial friendliness. I enjoy walking and stumbling across unexpected and interesting things and places. Here, everyone drives to everything, which means that all trips have to be planned -- unless, of course, you're just aimlessly driving around. Which I cannot help feel is a little wasteful of natural resources. I like places and life which is fast paced, where things are happening all around you all the time -- places that keep you on your toes. One of the most common things you'll hear about Columbus is "it's a great place to raise kids". Which essentially translates into "very little happens here". Why children should require inactivity I don't know, but it seems to be a universally held truth. So, all this basically translates into a need to "escape" Columbus every once in a while. I seem to escape to one of two places, either Boston, or Vancouver. Well, the last trip was to the LHSA meet in Boston, so this time it was Vancouver's turn. The first time I met Ted Grant was in Vancouver about a year ago over whisky and sushi. During dinner, I carefully wedged myself in between Ted on one side and Tom Abrahamsson on the other. While juggling sushi and tempura with my chopsticks, I think I learnt more about photography during that one meal that I had during all the preceeding years' book reading. It was my first encounter with really good sushi and I took to it like a fish to water (unfortunate as that particular metaphor might be). I think Ted liked the idea of "The Kid" exclusively shooting B&W, being whisky lover, and someone who could happily eat sushi at least three days a week. So, then and there, I was invited over to visit him, Irene, and Sandy in\ Victoria upon my next visit. As it happens, I made two trips to Vancouver where time prohibited a proper visit to the island. Victoria is ridiculously close to Vancouver, but strangely difficult to get to. It's as though all transportation has conspired to make the journey as inconvenient as possible, unless you possess a car, large amounts of money, or inordinate amounts of time. For the both temporally and monetarily challenged average doctorate student, Victoria might as well be in the middle of the country. I made early enquiries to Ted about how to get there, but he happily referred the matter to Irene and Sandy who, with the help of Tuulikki, managed to organize everything to perfection. I arrived on Thursday evening and spent four days with Ted and Irene. I was in the exceptionally privileged position of receiving a four-day intensive course in just about all aspects of how to take pictures. The importance of Light, Content, and Action. "Light gives the picture life, Content gives it soul" said Ted. Looking at his slides, prints, and books, it was clear that Action determines when the picture is taken. The range was increadible. I don't think there are many things that Ted has not photographed and photographed well. By the third day I'd picked my jaw off the ground and was capable of asking intelligable questions -- even if not intelligent. It was like twenty sushi dinners all crammed into one. Saturday evening, over dinner, the conversation started civilly but eventually strayed into the subject of photography. The four of us were sitting around the table when somehow the issue of Ted's pictures came up. "Oh, even I like his pictures," said Irene. Which, of course, had Sandy and me in tears with laughter as Ted just gave me a looked of faked resignation. "But I don't understand what people get all holly-golly about," she added. I asphyxiated shortly afterwards. I'd met Irene before, but not spoken to her at any length. During this trip I got the opportunity to meet her properly and learnt that she has the most wonderful offbeat sense of humour and is one of the most genuinely likeable people I've met. By Sunday evening Ted decided I needed a break -- Ted's going on 72 and I was having trouble keeping up with him! We'd been talking photography, taking pictures, looking at pictures, and critiquing pictures more or less continuously from 9am till night the past three days and my head was spinning with enthusiasm, ideas, and with the sheer effort of trying to take it all in. It was time to put The Kid to the test. I was handed an R8, an 80mm f/1.4 lens, four rolls of film, and Sandy and I headed for downtown Victoria to take night pictures. After about two or three rolls, the chilly air and general lack of illuminated subject matter go to us and we found a cafe. Sandy then proceeded to question me for half an hour on what exactly my research consists of and what I see myself doing once I graduate. I don't know if she knew the answer in the end -- but, Sandy, if you do, could you please let me know what it is? The following day, the photographic exercise was repeated as Ted and I headed out for Goldstream and the Seagul and Salmon spectacle, this time with an R8 and 280mm f/2.8 lens, plus 1.4x extender. I got one good shot. One. But the depth-of-field could have been a little greater. Poor Ted. To my defense, I shall only say that I don't usually shoot slide film, it was the first time I'd used an R8, 80mm f/1.4 or 280mm f/2.8 lens (both, btw, are increadible pieces of glass: you can comfortably handhold the 280mm lens!) I did shoot a fair amount of B&W with my M2 and 35mm 'cron, but I've yet to process that film (my backlog is something like 50 rolls -- and Tom's refusing to develop any more of my film ;) Ted had to pry the 280mm lens from my clutched fingers -- it was so cold that they'd frozen rigid around the lens. Well, anyway, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. Monday afternoon, after the most fabulous four-and-a-bit days imaginable, Ted and Irene waived goodbye to me as I stepped onto the ferry. It's amazing what I managed to learn in those few days. My way of seeing light is completely different now. I'm much more aware of the direction and quality of light. Little things, like how, on a humid, overcast day, the light is diffused differently from a dry, overcast day, and how it accentuates textures in clothing, faces, and hair while providing a gentle rimlight to everythig. The quality of light before and after it has rained - -- partly due to the wet ground reflecting light back up again. Or walking in one direction taking pictures and Ted's voice in the back of my head says "hey -- don't forget to turn around once in a while and see what's behind you". I think Ted has forever changed my awareness of light and how it translates onto film. Now all I have to do is shoot a few thousand rolls of film to learn the nuances and explore the possibilities -- and learn how to use a damn exposure meter!! Many, many thanks to Ted, Irene, and Sandy. M. - -- Martin Howard | Visiting Scholar, CSEL, OSU | It is essentially contestable. email: howard.390@osu.edu | www: http://mvhoward.i.am/ +---------------------------------------