Friday Sushi

Retro photography mashed up with a Lumix G1

I've been settling in with my Lumix DMC-G1 and manual lens combination for a few months now, and have made some discoveries along the way. For the most part, I've been shooting exclusively with an f1.4 40mm Voigtlander Nokton in a Leica M-mount and the time has been wonderful. That said, owning a G1 and using manual lenses is a different kind of photographic experience and one that has, for me, become both a retro and instinctual excursion.

Aside from turning the heads of more than a few photo buffs who recognize the camera + lens just isn't right, street shooting is a pleasure. The camera and lens combination doesn't announce itself as being more than a glorified tourist camera, so for the first time I feel like those smug and unobtrusive rangefinder photographers who can capture shots that most big SLR owners only dream of. When I carried my Nikon D200 equipped with a battery grip, I had folks come up to me wondering if I had a card for my photo studio. I simply don't want to be noticed like that (thanks, but I am not a professional photographer).

Technically, there have been a few glitches and quirks. To me, the shutter noise could wake the dead, which shatters the stealth quality that rangefinder owners enjoy (and I wistfully dream of). Now when compared to the flappy mirror box in a DSLR, the noise probably isn't any worse but I do believe that taking all of that mechanical action out of the camera should reduce the shutter clatter. Shutter development has been around for a long time, so it really shouldn't have been that hard for Panasonic to incorporate something a bit less noisy.

Originally uploaded by smaedli

Optically, my Nokton is great except that it "blooms" wide open. The blooming disappears when I stop down, so I typically need to shoot at f1.8 or f2 to get a crisp shot. Knowing that, however, turns the flaw into a feature. It is like having high-key lighting on demand; open up the lens and everything gets a wonderful soft glow. I particularly like shooting at night in dynamic black and white mode with the lens wide open. Toss in some snow and a single street light and the contrast-filled scene transforms into classic film noir.

By far the biggest challenge in using a G1 with a manual lens has been with light metering. I've read post after post about setting the camera "no lens" mode, flipping the metering to aperture-priority, and letting her rip with shot after shot. Well, it ain't that easy, folks. Maybe that works for a 25mm lens, but something long (like a 40mm) becomes a bit of an issue. The problem is that the camera defaults to a shutter speed of 1/30, which is too slow for a 40mm lens that crops to an 80mm medium telephoto in classic 35mm film. Fortunately I have steady hands, but even then I get motion blur more often than I like. As a result, I have to fiddle with the ISO setting (auto ISO also seems to default to 1/30) or do other tricks to get the right shot. Automation, in this case, lets me down. A simple software fix of bumping up the minimum shutter speed to something like 1/60 would help, but it still isn't a perfect solution.

While on a recent trip to Norway, I switched the camera into full manual so that I could deal with a complex evening lighting situation. After shooting a few frames, I inadvertently left the camera in manual and much to my surprise and many shots later, my photographic instincts took over for the computerized exposure system that was letting me down. Within a handful of images, I found myself using the camera in an entirely familiar and yet unusual way; I was match-needle metering.

For those of you who have never experienced SLR photography before the inclusion of onboard photographic computers and advanced matrix metering systems, match-needle metering involved using a classic needle-style photographic meter that was embedded within the camera to set exposure. Basically, a needle appeared in the frame that was linked to a center-weighted light meter. A circular target attached to the lens aperture and shutter speed, and calibrated to the film's ISO rating floated in the frame as well. To set the proper exposure, one adjusted both the aperture and shutter speed until the meter needle was in the center of the circular target. Since in high school I typically did sports photography with a Minolta SRT-201, shutter speed was more important than aperture so I learned to set the shutter speed prior to shooting and then match-metered with aperture during events.

Given all of the G1's embedded technology, how could I have been match-needle metering? Well, one of the things I set as default on all of my digital cameras is to display as much information as possible on the screen and with that on the G1, not only do I get a histogram but I also see the exposure compensation graph at the bottom of the frame. The exposure compensation graph, which is coupled to the right-hand adjustment wheel below the shutter release, works like a match-needle meter. Here's how:

1. I set the ISO (auto ISO is disabled in manual mode) and shutter speed, adjust the aperture for the general conditions (like what I did for sports photography).
2. Then I compose my shot, lightly touch the shutter release button and glance at the exposure compensation graph.
3. Next, I turn the adjustment wheel left or right with my index finger until the graph indicates either +/- 0 or a little over or under exposed (depending on the situation).
4. When I've hit the "exposure target," I snap the picture.

I realize the whole process sounds complicated, but believe me, it is not. In fact, I started doing it without even thinking. This is my retro photography moment for you see, my brain somehow wired the action of my right hand with the exposure compensation graph and those nearly automatic match-needle metering instincts took over. Shooting with the G1 suddenly became very natural.

Photography for me is delightful blend of the creative and technical. The greatest delight thus far has been to reawaken those instincts and skills I learned oh so long ago. Truly retro photography mashed up with decidedly not-retro technology.

Why bother with manual focus and avoid Photoshop?

Lumix G1 with Nikon 85mm
Originally uploaded by smaedli

From time to time people ask why in this modern age I bother with manual focus photography? People are also often amazed to learn that I actively avoid the heavy use of tools such as Photoshop for other image post-processing. I mean, heck, I'm a technology guy so I should use all the technology, right? Wrong.

For me, photography is both an intellectually as well as physically creative medium, and in my life where technology plays such a huge role I find it necessary to set some of the tools aside and challenge myself in different ways.

On the intellectual side, photography to me is all about composition and exposure. When I look at something and want to capture it, what will it look like in the frame and how will it appear as a still image. Although I use autofocus lenses from time to time, when I'm imagining an image that incorporates a fairly shallow depth-of-field, I find autofocus gets in the way. In other words, I need to convince the camera of my creative intent, thus adding another step in the process.

Turning to exposure, I now concentrate on what I can capture within the camera itself. Like in the days of film, one had to make a choice as to what to shoot by loading a specific film into the camera. I treat my little Lumix G1 the same way. Some images really are best in black and white. So, counter to what many, many photographers recommend (and I've been in many, many a heated debate about this) I switch my camera into dynamic black and white mode and capture the image. Why? Well, it all boils down to the intellectual side of photography. I see a monochrome image in my mind and I want to capture it as I "see" it at that moment. Taking a color image and transforming it in Photoshop later is not the same thing. I don't "see" the image anymore -- I am left to recreate the vision I had at the time I snapped the shutter. For this reason, I avoid Photoshop.

Some equate Photoshop to working in the darkroom and for them, that's great. Go for it. However, I really was never a darkroom jockey and only learned how to develop black and white which was a set of skills I only used for about three years. Therefore, Photoshop does not mean the same to me as others.

On a technical skills level, I've been using Photoshop since version 1.02 (yes, way, way back) and I know I can get my images into any shape I want them, so what's the challenge in that? Capturing the image the way I "see" it in the first place is a greater intellectual challenge, so that's where I place my effort.

Photography is also a physical medium. What I mean by that is like a painter, the tools one use to create a piece connect the artist with the work at a much deeper level. One artist may choose a particular brand of brush, opt for a palette knife, or switch to a different type of paint to achieve a very different result of the same scene another artist is painting. The same is true for photography -- physical choices will dramatically influence the creative outcome.

There's been much debate around which system to use, which is best, etc. but to quote Jonathan Eastland where he his talking about arguably the most respected camera system on the planet, the Leica M-system, "the rangefinder camera is a fairly unsophisticated box for carrying film" and "it only remains for the user to point the lens and shoot, composing the final image in the mind's eye as the camera is aimed" (Leica M Compendium: Handbook of the Leica M System, Hove Books 1994). The same is true for any camera, film or digital. In the end, the camera body is simple a fancy box that captures an image. It is in the process of capturing the image where individual expression occurs. It doesn't matter what brand of system one uses, the type of camera, or approach; it is how one translates one's own vision into the still medium that matters in the end.

For the longest time I fell into the tool trap -- namely, got to get the best because that will create the best images. It wasn't until I started building my own tilt-shift/bellows lenses when I realized that's simply not true. I remembered Jonathan's statement about a Leica rangefinder and started thinking more about how one captures an image. At that point, optics really entered into the picture. In the last couple of years I've had a blast exploring different types of lenses (from the common to the bizarre) to help capture what I "see" onto the imaging element of my digital camera. It is that physicality that challenges me creatively. Picking a lens, learning its strengths, exploiting its quirks, fussing with its mechanisms all play in to the creative process not unlike selecting the appropriate brush for a particular painter's effect.

So, in short, settling on manual focus and avoiding Photoshop is a creative choice that best suits me any the way I approach photography.

Welcome to the Zoo

“Welcome to the Zoo” is a story based on a number of experiences I had during the nearly five years I spent riding the Chicago, South Shore & South Bend Railroad as a commuter from South Bend, IN, to Chicago. After spending a half-decade on the train, my view of the world as a commuter became a bit cynical and jaded. Here’s what five years of spending four hours per day on a commuter train will do to a regular rider.

Impending doom from an overstuffed killer whale and a fuzzy cute miniature dolphin can be in certain contexts, one’s worst nightmare. Like most of the other commuters on this train, I am trapped in a minute corner in amongst a raging torrent of tiny mouths. My friend is the quiet clicking of the rails and this beautiful eggshell tan, stained wall of cheap laminate plastic. A stench permeates the air, reminding me of the days of high school locker rooms and dingy gymnasiums, where as I recall, ventilation was just a blissful dream. All around me, herds of gremlins are shouting, perpetuating aural agony, in turn, creating an intense Bayer moment. A sea of baseball hats and braids extends from the farthest reaches of the railcar undulating with an unnatural motion only discernible from an army of rampaging ants.

Through it all, the lone conductor, Rudy, cuts a path. A certain sternness is in his eye this evening. He’s no one’s grandfather tonight. This night he is a man of an elite military, in charge of the greatest battle of all -- safely transporting critical troops through hostile territory. Unfortunately, his troops are extremely uncooperative. In fact, they don’t really care. It’s like every one of them is having their own private Mardi Gras.

When one has not been in touch with children for several years, such an experience can be traumatic at best. What seems so incredible to an uninformed outsider is the powerful herd mentality. For example, as one person speaks, the next must, and so must the next, etc. Pretty soon, each child is shouting at each other in one tumultuous roar until, at one moment, everyone ceases to speak. A mysterious lull rolls across them like an impending weather front. A hush falls across the children making the moment so serene and pleasant. Just as one begins to relish the silence, the talking starts and the cycle repeats.

In the distance, a boxing match is going on in the center of the car. It appears as if two girls are trying to rip each other’s hair out. Of course, the hair is in convenient hand-sized braids, just perfect for tugging. I’m beginning to like my corner. It is so secluded. Paranoia is starting to infiltrate my being. I am sitting in a remote corner of the car with an extremely interesting portable computer on my lap. So interesting, in fact, that it may attract the attention of the Game Boy wielding monster just one seat ahead of me.

Lord, they’re singing at the far end of the car. I really like my corner.

Oh no, one is approaching the seat -- my seat. Whew. He doesn’t notice the machine on my lap. I just noticed that the lights are starting to dim. Riding on an electric train has its benefits and drawbacks. A great benefit of electrified trains is the lack of any real pollutants. It is, for the most part, an environmentally safe mode of transportation. One of the major drawbacks (especially in this situation) is the tendency for the train to lose power from time to time, leaving the entire car in the dark. I can’t even fathom the mayhem a power loss would produce.

They’re starting to sing again.

With children (as I understand it), one has to constantly keep them occupied. Boredom is a constant fear of any adult when surrounded by large volumes of agitated kids. To offset boredom, adults create games to pass the time and occupy idle minds. One thing that adults cannot control is the environment. When a particular confined space (such as a railcar) grows old, containing the kids’ energy can become impossible. Well, this particular bunch is just sitting on the edge, waiting to explode.

Not to seem too excited, I think they are departing at the next stop or two. Hopefully, the lights won’t go out.

Well, we just had a cheer for “Father Mark.” Using my incredible powers of deduction nurtured by an incredibly expensive and time-consuming liberal arts education at a Jesuit university, I surmise that these kids belong to some kind Catholic Church group or school. There’s nothing quite like the leader of this mess wandering though the train to the next car, returning moments later with a bag of Solo cups for the water dispenser. Again, utilizing my deductive processes, that must have been “Father Mark.” Like a pack of rats, thirsty (or bored) children cluster around the water dispenser, clamoring for the warm water within.

Much to my dismay, they’re going all the way and not getting off at the next stop. I’ve got to put up with them for another hour.