Tag: camera

Monday Morning (Epilogue)

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Yesterday’s post, yesterday’s comments. Loved them. Link here.

The ask was: “Two different cameras, shot taken 1 minute apart, two different perspectives. What’s your favorite?” Same photos above.  Here’s my take.

  1. I didn’t really See them until I was at my desk, at home. Wow. What a difference!
  2. One taken with a camera that had dials for aperture, for shutter speed, for exposure compensation.  So it had to be better.
  3. One had a separate, expensive zoom lens. So, it had to be better.
  4. One camera was so much bigger than the other. And was made for still photography. And was so much more expensive then the other. So it had to be better.

Photo 1: Came from an iPhone, zoomed 2x. No other alterations.

Photo 2: Came from a Fuji X-T4 with a 50mm x 140mm zoom lens. No alterations.

I stared at the iPhone photo.  I wasn’t there. Not with this scene. Not with these vibrant colors. Yet, I was drawn to this photo. “Warmer” (Beth, Darlene, Jnana, Michael, yes.) “Better composition with light and dark contrast.” (Jnana, Lori, yes.) “Bright, depicts the awakening of life…under the kiss of blush” (Christie, Louise.  Yes.)

No. No. But it just can’t be.  It had to be an aberration.

So I did it all over again this morning. Except this time, I took 20 shots with each camera.

Result: Same.

Can’t be the camera. Can’t be. Has to be the Operator. What an amateur.  Can’t be the camera. Not with the money sunk into this device.

I’m standing under a hot shower a few minutes later, thinking about the photos.

I think I need a Canon.

Inspired by Jnana Hodson‘s review of my shots —  some day I hope to see and be 50% as good Jnana.

“The top one, though I would try to level the water to flat horizontal rather than its current slight tilt. It’s warmer and speaks of sunrise. The bottom photo is tonally too muddy. There’s no light detail and no distinctly dark contrast. Also, the right side of the shot lacks the compositional closure the bit of land gives the top shot, balancing the land on the other side, even though the power lines are a bit of clutter. That detail invites the eye out into the bay beyond before returning to the heron or egret in the foreground.”

Monday Morning

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Two different cameras, shot taken 1 minute apart, two different perspectives. What’s your favorite?

Daybreak. August 17, 2020. 5:59 am to 6:01.  63° F. Humidity 92%. Wind: 7 mph. Gusts: 12 mph. Cloud Cover: 11%. The Cove, Stamford, CT

Credit to Jim Borden for the request.

Running. With Perforated Edges.

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6:39:47 a.m. April 10th. The time stamp on photo.

I recall the moment. The end of my run, I’m rounding the last corner before home, breathing heavily.

Morning sun. A light warm hue painting the tips of trees and bushes. Beautiful.

I slip off my glove, the tip of my index finger is moist, trembling, and sticking to the screen. I wipe it dry and slide the menu bar from Pano, Portrait, Video, Slo-Mo, Portrait, and stop on Photo. Pleased, I pause for a moment longer, admiring the view, so glad I was able to catch the moment. 

I walk the rest of the way home, catching my breath.

I’m sitting in the backyard, 30° F, sweat drying, goosebumps form on skin. I shiver. Legs sore, but that good sore after finishing a run.

I open the camera app to check out the photo.

I tap the image, and it pops up. It stutters for a moment, then a series of frames, and it stops. Irritated.

I tap the image again. And there on the top of the image, a “Live” tag.  WTF is that?

I tap the image again. It stutters, pans through a series of frames, and then stutters to silence. Jesus. You can’t even get this right.

I grab the phone and slide my index finger along the menu options, and don’t see a “Live” option. Damn it!

Index finger. Dotted line. Bad outcome. Mind draws up the Moment.

35 years later, like yesterday. My hands trembling. The course of Life would change based on the GMAT test results in that ever so thin envelope. Before I tear it open, the tip of my index finger slides along the perforated edge, my skin tingling as it passes each tiny raised dot.  I don’t recall who was with me at the time: “How’d you do?” I walked away, needing to be alone, needing to be quiet, needing to be still.

I’ve been dragging that anvil around for 35 years.

I turn back to the photo. Love photos. But it’s clear, cameras, are not my thing.

The photo syncs on iCloud to my laptop. (Magic!)

I convert the Live Photo to a still image.  Upload it to the blog post.  And pause.  Didn’t notice my shadow in the photo until now.

I run my finger around the silhouette. There you are DK. 

You caught yourself in the shot.

Your legs look a bit long, but you turned out to be ok.

Memories

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Photographer (Pro and so much more)

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I don’t know about other people’s cameras. Mine is a thing I had cobbled up, it holds together with tape and is always losing parts. All I need to set is the distance and that other thing – what do you call that other thing? I’m not a fan of mechanics. I have had this camera, still the same one, since I started taking photos. It has lived with me, shared many moments of my existence, both good and bad. If I ever lost it… well, the very idea of having to live without it pulls at my heart. […]

(What kind of painting did you do?) I started with earth, which I mixed with other materials, such as leaves, I’m not even sure I should call it painting. After that I tried canvas and real colours. Then I destroyed everything. Later on I wrote poetry, which I also destroyed. Finally I discovered photography and realized that it allowed me to produce something more powerful. Of course it cannot create, nor express all we want to express. But it can be a witness of our passage on earth, like a notebook. […]

To be sure the landscape can’t run away, and yet I always fear that it may…I must set up my tripod, so I worry that the landscape may disappear the next second and I don’t stop keeping an eye on it while I get prepared. Then, when pressing the shutter, I hold my breath. These moments are the greatest joys in my life, as if I were undressing the most beautiful woman in the world – that is, if she will allow herself be undressed. If the photo is a success, it means that she was willing. If not, it has been a lovely dream. […]

A photo isn’t only what you see, but also what your imagination adds to it. My own imagination may add something else, a third person’s something else again. But does it matter? What matters is the contact between us, the fact that we talk about trees losing their leaves, about objects we crush underfoot without realizing it, about that house dying gently, abandoned by its owner, even though it’s the house where he was born, where he learnt to cry and to laugh.

– Mario Giacomelli, (1925-2000)

Don’t miss the entire fascinating interview by Frank Horvat @ Horvatland.com

Photo: Mario Giacomelli, maestro crudo (via lacarosella). Quotes: Thank you Beth @ Alive on All Channels