Behind the Lens (Number 3)

In part 3 of this Behind the Lens series I want to stress the importance of a thoughtful composition. I was on my way to a state park when I decided to make a quick stop at this familiar location. The sun was beginning to rise above the farm field, and rather than waste the good light pushing through the fog, I planned to grab what I could. For the initial shot, I set up the tripod and took a quick one by the edge of the road; the internal pressure of getting to a planned destination corrupts moments like these. For the sake of expediency, my first thought was, "got it,... time to move on." However, it only took a brief glance at the LCD to know that I didn't get, and this would simply be just another wasted image if I didn't choose to commit to the process.

To make the posted photograph, I had to abandon the immediacy of the moment. Rather than give in to an arbitrary deadline, I climbed down from the road and into a ditch of water where I could position myself along the edge of the barbed-wired fence. The angle of the wire is important here as it serves as a leading line which draws the viewer into the photograph. The two trees to the right are the focal point for the image as the edge of the pond curves to point towards them. In addition, the pair of bent fence posts strengthen the apparent importance of the trees by leaning in their general direction. The rising sun posed a problem, as there was not enough fog to soften the intensity of the rays. My solution was to position the tripod in a way that caused the trees to scatter the sun's intense light. Finally, the choice to process this as a trichromatic image was made later after looking at the photograph on a computer. The warmth of the sunrise is captured by the colored foreground grasses, while the darkness of night is retained by the intense contrast between the blacks and whites.

©2000-2014 BTLeventhal.com / Bruce & Tamy Leventhal. All rights reserved. No image on this site may be used without permission.

Behind the Lens (Number 2)

About one month ago I decided to park at the back entrance of a well-traveled Minnesota state park. Having hurried past the tiny lot in the past, I never had the time to check it out. After a short hike up a dirt trail, I found myself in an upland prairie surrounded by a sea of sumac trees. This early successional species is among the first to change pigments in fall, so I became excited with the prospect of documenting our seasonal shift from this locale. Since my first visit in early August, I've photographed this sumac forest weekly and will use these images to chronicle the transition from Summer to Fall.

Late Summer Sumac in Color

Canon 6D + Canon 17-40mm L

About the Images: The top photograph is a black and white conversion of the colored image pictured directly above. While I love the intense greens and reds of the color image, the black and white picture illustrates the turbulent weather that is typical of a Minnesota summer. While the clouds are visible in the color picture, the tonal range from the foreground to background made it nearly impossible to reveal the depth and complexity of the stormy sky. By converting the raw file to black and white, I was able to selectively adjust the contrast in the sky while holding back any trace of digital noise. While I am not sure I could choose a favorite between the pair, I do like the way the differentiated processing produced distinctly different images that suggest a uniquely different mood. 

©2000-2014 BTLeventhal.com / Bruce & Tamy Leventhal. All rights reserved. No image on this site may be used without permission. 

Behind the Lens (Number 1)

Every year the transition from August to September and September to October offers me the opportunity to reflect. Unlike most people approaching middle-age, I live the life of a student. Every spring I go to prom (as the coordinator), celebrate new graduates (as a teacher, advisor and mentor) and experience the elation of freedom that only a summer can offer. And, just as I've grown accustom to the nothingness of long summer days, I am rudely jerked into another school year destined to repeat these landmark events. Like the movie Groundhog Day, my life is an endless loop of predictability that is only interrupted by the changes I choose to create. So it is with this bizarre perspective that I celebrate the transition from summer to fall.

During the next few days I plan to post a series of images that convey the transitions I've observed from behind the lens.  With each post, I'll describe my photographic approach as well as the impetus for choosing the subject. In this way, I hope to connect the dots between anticipation and excitement I always seem to feel at the end of summer.

View fullsize

About the shots: It is in late August that I begin to realize that the number of "free days" are diminishing at a feverish pace, and my typical response is to spend more time on long walks with the gear. On August 10th I found myself wandering about a nearby patch of protected land in search of something to photograph. I did not begin the walk thinking about macro subjects, rather I was searching for something large and feathered. Nearly a mile into the hike I gave up the pursuit and sat in a patch of big bluestem. After fruitless minutes of swatting at the local blood suckers, I stood up and realized that I was surrounded by color. I ditched the long lens for a macro and began to survey the area. My first subject was the pair of soldier beetles (Genus Canthariday) mating on some old bee balm. I could only imagine that the two knew that summer was quickly coming to a close and had better get on with things before it was too late. I positioned the tripod at the same plane as the beetles and waited for the occasional wind gust to subside. Shooting at f/8.0, I managed to get just enough depth of field to produce the sharp image pictured at the top. In contrast to the beetles, the jewelweed (Genus impatiens) was shot at f/3.5. The goal here was to focus on the clinging drop of dew while gently blurring the flower in order to emphasize the color and form rather than the details. 

©2000-2014 BTLeventhal.com / Bruce & Tamy Leventhal. All rights reserved. No image on this site may be used without permission.

It’s not the Gear’s Fault!

While meandering through a local camera store today, I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on a conversation between a customer and salesperson. The exchange was quite cordial and I was impressed with the advice offered by the sales associate. You see, a disgruntled photographer was frustrated with the details captured by her camera. When the customer slowly withdrew her $1600 camera and several equally expensive lenses from a bag, I immediately understood the core of her issues. She was frustrated because the pictures from the camera lacked the “punch and detail” she expected from the gear. The sales clerk looked at the equipment and took a few photos, and like me, quickly diagnosed the problem. Meanwhile, the customer suggested that the camera was inadequate, and it might be time to upgrade. To be clear, this camera was released less than 6 months ago, had a 24 megapixel sensor and was a full-framed DSLR. She was using a fine tool that could be the backbone of a professional’s kit. Yet, for some unknown reason the photographs were lacking; thus something must be inherently wrong with the tools. 

With an ear cocked towards their conversation, I listened to the salesperson coach her client and advise that she invest some time learning how to process a raw image. I have little doubt that the core of the sub-par photographs reside with the deficiencies of the photographer rather than the capture device. The digital tools produced today are so good that people often confuse talent with the gear they own. While it is easy to push the button and take a picture, making images requires study and practice. Everyone wants to “go pro,” but few are willing to do what it takes. In his book that attempts to explain greatness, Geoff Colvine writes that “talent is overrated,… while greatness comes from deliberate practice.” It is a sad reality, but it takes thousands of hours behind a camera and computer to move beyond the taker of lucky shots into the realm of professional predictability. 

About the Image:: Specifically chosen to match my thoughts, this image from Moro Rock in Sequoia National Park was made with a 4 megapixel Nikon D2H camera in 2004. The camera was one of the best digital wildlife cameras of its time, but it suffered for its lack of resolution. Yet, despite the small file and cropped sensor, the image reflects my knowledge about the place, exposure and post-processing. Although this picture was produced from a small 4 megapixel file, the photograph remains a treasured part of my image library. 

©2000-2014 BTLeventhal.com / Bruce & Tamy Leventhal. All rights reserved. No image on this site may be used without permission.