Tag: Camera gear

  • Of Bicycles and Cameras

    Of Bicycles and Cameras

    Thumbing through a couple books recently — one a collection of photographs, one a book on improving your photographic skills – made something clear: Photographers commonly feel compelled to draw attention to their cameras and their camera settings, whether or not that information serves any purpose. I remain amused by photographers’ obsession with equipment; it reminds me of the ways cyclists sit around and talk about bicycles.

    Landscape #230615. A color photograph of water flowing through a narrow channel.
    Landscape #230615.

    If you end up in a trendy, upscale café on a weekend, chances are you’ve seen and heard the crowds of mostly guys, many of them older, sitting in lycra talking about the morning’s ride. An important part of that conversation revolves around their equipment, sometimes in subtle ways, sometimes not so subtle. One might talk about what gears he used in the sprint or on the climb. Another might talk about the stiffness of his carbon-fiber frame. Another might mention frame geometry. Cycling computers are often topics of conversation. Somebody inevitably brings up a recent review of equipment or an article about some professional’s Tour de France bike. None of this talk improves anybody’s cycling skills or fitness. So from the perspective of getting better, it’s useless. However, a significant part of their enjoyment, it seems, comes not from riding but from sitting around and talking about their bikes.

    Photographers seem to share this need to draw attention to their equipment. References to camera, lens, settings recall the cyclists talking about their gear choices for a climb. It doesn’t matter. You made it (or didn’t) to the top of the climb, just as you took the picture (or didn’t). What matters in cycling is: Did you make it to the top of the climb as quickly as you wanted? If so, great. If not, go ride more. In photography, what matters is: Did you get the picture you wanted? If so, great. If not, go take more pictures. And yet, in both the collection of photographs and the book on improving your photographic skills, captions include the location, year, camera body, the lens, the aperture, the shutter speed, and the ISO. None of that should matter, either for the viewer or the student.

    At some level I think photographers know that their equipment and settings don’t matter. After drawing attention to their equipment, they rarely even try to explain how it has affected their photographs. Even the author/photographer of the book on improving your photographic skills never refers to the camera and settings. I would expect an “educator” to explain the relevance of such information, were it, in fact, relevant. I would love to see how the camera body mattered, as if it were a choice he or any photographer would make before taking any given photograph. Imagine the photographer who sees an interesting scene, then thinks: Would this be better shot with a Canon 5D mk II or a Fuji X-T2 or a Nikon D810. I would also love to see that photographer in the wild, digging through a massive bag of gear that included different bodies and different sets of lenses and perhaps flashes. No, the camera doesn’t matter. This educator, like most of us, probably grabbed whatever camera he was using that year or on that trip, i.e., the camera he had with him. Nothing more.

    To be clear, I think we all find find equipment that for some personal reason we enjoy using. And because we enjoy using that equipment, it might help us realize our creative projects or help us become better photographers (if that’s our goal). Just as the old guys in lycra at the café don’t become better cyclists by talking about their bicycles, we don’t become better photographers by talking about our cameras.

  • The Tyranny of Tools

    The Tyranny of Tools

    Despite considerable handwringing, a species of photographer seems insistent on drawing attention to the equipment used to make photographs. I am amused by how many electrons and how much ink is spent saying some version of “gear doesn’t matter” by people who are themselves focused on cameras and lenses. Whether it is a “film photographer” (a term I don’t like but seems to be important to a certain group of people) is explaining yet again that “film slows me down,” while loading film, taking a shot, and winding the crank on the side of some vintage camera, or it is a “large format photographer” setting up the tripod and camera, screwing in the cable release, inserting the film holder, and taking the picture, or it is a person with a digital camera boasting about whatever gear some company has “lent [them] to try out” as they pull it out of their bag, the camera plays a starring role in the performance. The camera, its settings, or the film stock — all that is irrelevant, as many of these photographers will, in other instances, remind us. Rather, it is the image and the message or story or emotion or moment it evokes that matters. The camera, the lens, the film, the processing are all just tools a person uses to produce a photograph.

    Photographers are not unique in this obsession with cameras, deflecting our attention from the photograph to the tools used to produce it. People I would describe as “photographer-adjacent” reinforce and encourage the habit. Audiences continue to watch videos that foreground cameras. Exhibitions highlight the equipment used on panels describing shows. Publishers continue to draw attention to the cameras used. Over and over again book blurbs include statements like “photographing with an 8×10-inch Deardorff view camera” and “shooting with a medium format camera” and “everyday moments based on iPhone photographs.” Perhaps there was a time when photographers and the photography-adjacent didn’t draw attention to their tools, but if so those days are past.

    Still Life #230417. A spoon on a dark surface.
    Still life #230417

    Imagine if we drew attention to the tools we use to accomplish other activities. I use a teaspoon rather than a soup- or tablespoon when I eat soup, one that was manufactured in the 1980s. It slows me down and forces me to appreciate the flavors and textures. Because my teaspoon is constrained by volume, I have to choose where to put it and what to scoop up. Each mouthful costs more, both time and calories, so I am more careful with each spoonful. It takes me longer to finish my bowl of soup. Metal spoons are better than plastic. Their weight causes a reassuring sound when they strike the bottom of the bowl, and if you’re eating outside the metal spoon does a better job weighing down the napkin.

  • The Insidious Tyranny …

    The Insidious Tyranny …

    I want a new camera. Or is it a new lens? I want something to kickstart my photography out of its late winter creative slump. Ya. I think I would prefer a new lens, a new 50mm f/1.4. But first I need to do some research to be sure I get the best lens possible for me. Off to the internet to read reviews, to watch unboxing videos, hands-on reviews, long-term reviews, to compare sharpness, transmission, vignetting, distortion, chromatic aberration, weight, weather sealing, to listen to other photographers explain why they think this lens or that lens is the best (or the worst). And then the pleasure of watching sample images appear and disappear on my screen, examples of the miracles each lens can work. I can’t go wrong. Any of them will be better than my current lens.

    #181110.1

    I know. I’m not supposed to fixate on my equipment. I need only the tools that enable me to realize my vision, to make the photographs I need to make. Clearly good tools help make good photographs. But how, exactly? What strange alchemy occurs, transforming my base creativity into precious photographs, when I affix a new lens onto my camera? What if a new lens, a new camera, a new tripod, a new filter, a new [whatever] actually has the opposite effect?

    In large and small ways, explicit and implicit, concern for equipment permeates so much of the conversation about photography. The sounds gear makes, or a simulacrum of that sound, has become de rigueur for videos, as have clips of people loading film or attaching a camera to a tripod. We can’t look at a photo without wondering what film stock was used. People talking ostensibly about photographs and making photographs sit surrounded by cameras, usually lurking on shelves in the background or proudly sitting on the table in the foreground. For me, all of that emphasis on gear distracts. It unhelpfully deflects attention from the joy of photography, which is, again for me, making photographs. That is why, I suspect any new bit of kit will in the end dull my creative vision. That new gadget distracts me from doing what I need to do in order to realize that vision: from making photographs.

    #181027

    No. I don’t need or even want a new lens, let alone a camera, or any other fancy bit of new, or retro, gear. Those won’t help me realize my creative vision. Only going out and making lots and lots and lots of photographs will.

    In the chain that leads from vision to photograph, I am already the weakest link. Fortunately, I cost the least to improve.