 
### 13th Frame

by

Marcin R. Szymczak

Copyright 2011 by Marcin R. Szymczak.

All photographs without captions by Marcin R. Szymczak.

All rights reserved.

Translated by Yasmine Muller/BILINGUISTIC

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
To my mother,  
who wanted to see this book  
but passed away few months before this publication.
Table Of Contents

Preface

Hardwareholics

Show me how you frame, I'll tell you who you are

Did you see fjords?

On waiting

Brother Nemo

Photographer, where art thy business card?

Style placement, or the photography market in Poland

Child-free zones

Wet weekend

Paranoia, or: watch out when you turn in film to the lab

Leap to the future

Beauty – an extinct species?

Caveat Emptor

13th Frame, or vodka with a side of photography

Tourists

In what weather should you not take photos?

Power Up Your Vision!

Sometimes you just have to give up

How to find your very own Photography Master

Secrets of Our Forefathers

Digital Master

Flagrancy, or the desire to meet someone?

On commenting

Subway

A camera darkly...

How to go from digital to analog photography – a guide

Morning conversations over breakfast

Desperately seeking inspiration

Just say NO to fast food!

Bicycles, panic and rescue

The true life of a photographer

My father's house

### Preface

Why 13th frame?

Pretty simple – the author uses medium format camera which can take only 12 frames on the standard film magazine. But sometimes, some magic happens, and then the 13th frame appears. No scientific research has been made to determine is it real or not, but you cannot rely only on what scientists will tell you, right?

So, that's what this book is about. It tries to tell some photography-oriented stories from a perspective of one single guy from Poland. It sometimes is very genuine, sometime very out-of-human-mind's-boundaries.

Dramatis Personae

As you will see, main character in this book is bald and bearded Rudolf. That's the author's nickname. But it's not so simple, you know – sometimes Rudolf is referred as Rhododendron, or other strange R-something name. Among all these, there is Roderyk, Rudolf's alter ego. He sometimes argues with Rudolf, sometimes they even want to fight with each other. Of course, there are others: Kasia, Keek, Jacek, Emsi – they all are from Poland too, they all have significant meaning in Rudolf's life and I'd like to thank them for being there and providing help and inspiration.

Read it, enjoy it, and if you like it – tell your friends about it.

Marcin R. Szymczak

November 2011

### Hardwareholics

Mark stood in a dark hallway before a small notice that someone had printed and clothed in plastic, then hung carelessly by three thumbtacks. He adjusted the camera bag on his shoulder and went inside with a squeaking of hinges.

The open windows let in the cool spring air, intensified by the emptiness of the room in which five chairs stood in an untidy circle. On the chairs were sitting: an unattractive woman about forty years old wearing glasses on her long nose, a lanky and thin blonde man with a bristly head of hair, and a small, swarthy, cross-eyed fat man with a camera bag by his chair. There were two empty places.

"Welcome!" The ugly woman addressed him confidently and stood up, offering her hand. "I'm Eva and I'll be leading the meeting. Sit wherever you feel comfortable."

He sat next to the blonde. The fatty he deemed his enemy – his bag did not inspire optimism. He knew that the fatty would try to use that bag to create an advantage for himself – he'd pull some super bright lens from it, or something...

"Let's start by introducing ourselves. I'm Eva, and I have fifteen years of professional experience in treating psychological addictions and compulsions. As I'm sure you know, because we get European Union financing, our meeting has to follow a strictly defined program, and we have to follow an established treatment schedule. I want to make you aware of this at the beginning so that there are no misunderstandings. We will stick to the plan that I will give you in a moment, and we will not shorten sessions. Now I'd like each of you to say a few words about yourself – how you found us and who you are."

The swarthy fatty started. He talked and talked about himself, nervously looking from side to side with his dark little eyes, until it just about made you sick to watch him. Then he started to talk about his equipment. The blonde next to Mark pricked up his ears when the topic turned to cameras and lenses; Mark also felt that he tensed up and his eyelid began twitching. He absorbed the parameters of the fatty's equipment with a flushed face, automatically comparing what he heard with what he could boast himself. The result wasn't bad.

The blonde was next. The blonde...was boring. He spoke slowly, languidly, probably just to show how very laid-back he was. At the end he pulled out a digital Leica with a careless movement, which evoked visible aversion from the other participants of the meeting. The leader was affected too, and reacted immediately.

"Jack, please put that equipment away!" she squawked with a sharp tone. "In the name of order, I will remind you of the rules. The meetings are meant to help you with your everyday problems, which means that the only form of communication will be conversation. Not email, not taking photos, not showing your photographs, but conversation. Conversation; in other words: dialogue, listening to another person. Maybe we'll change the form of presentation. Mark, why did you come here?"

Silence fell. Mark felt himself getting red. His heart began beating wildly and his throat became so dry that he couldn't get out a word. He was furious with the leader for not letting him introduce himself like all the others.

"Ahem...why...ahem...did I come? Joanna, I mean my fiancée, said that I should."

Restrained snicker. He hated himself for having been persuaded to this madness.

"I mean, Joanna and I came to the conclusion that I would like to have someone to take photos with. No one wants to, because...well, that's how it is. Whenever I'm talking to someone over the Internet, it turns out that I just can't come to an understanding for some reason. It's not that I'm strange or something, because I usually have friends, it's just..."

"No one wants to take photos with you?" Eva guessed screechily.

Mark nodded his head enthusiastically. He looked around and saw that he was no longer causing laughter – his "friends" waited eagerly to see what was next.

"Exactly!" the leader proclaimed triumphantly. "Each one of you has a problem with one basic thing. You are incapable of talking about photography! The only thing that you can talk about are parameters. Equipment! Size! Weight! Lenses, flashes, and batteries!

"Excuse me," the tall blonde growled, raising his hand. "I am not a hardware onanist."

"Are you able to talk about photography with your friends?" the woman asked cagily. "Can you, Jack, talk freely about equipment without paying attention to, as you called it, hardware onanism?"

"Uhhhh....no...yes and no."

"Which means???" Eva was leaning fervently in the direction of the speaker.

"Well, you know. I...sometimes I get a little blocked. I despise people who only talk about equipment, but...how can I put this...I just don't have anything to talk about. Because what can I talk about, if not about equipment? People's photos are nothing but trash. They're not sharp, they're overexposed, they're blurry, they get image noise..."

"Stop!!!" The psychologist covered her ears with her hands in a gesture of despair. "No, no! WE ARE NOT SPEAKING about parameters! Not only about parameters of cameras, but also about parameters of photography! Now it's time for a few rules and then I'll give you one exercise to do at home. I want you all to know that I am proud that you have come here. It's a first step, a very important one, towards healing. Second, we can only carry out treatment in two stages. The first stage is having a conversation with another photographer without mentioning parameters. That includes the technical parameters of the image! When you have learned to do that, we will move on to the second stage, which is an essential element of the treatment. We will learn how to talk about equipment."

"That's shit," Mark thought. For a moment he had thought that this whole mess made sense, but when the lady started to get warmed up and talk about teaching them to talk about equipment...there was no way anything could come of it. We're going to attack each other again and end up arguing, or worse, he thought bitterly.

***

"The breakthrough happened in the moment that the Internet addiction was officially accepted. Then everything else started to flow, more definitions of addictions and other forms of compulsions, which thanks to public funding, we can finally treat. It also became clear then that I had to learn something myself about photography, in order to understand them, and know what they were talking about," recounts Eva J., a psychologist who has treated addictions for years. "Why do we help people like that? Because it is truly a serious problem. Try to imagine an artist who cannot meet with other artists, because he or she immediately gets into a fight. It's something like that. Here, though, we are dealing with a broader phenomenon, because it does not only affect artists, but also so-called artisans. These people often make their living from photography."

"I had the problem two years ago," says George S., a wedding photographer. "I found the center through the Internet, there was an ad on a portal. And it turned out that it is effective! I can talk with my buddies about my photos, and when a couple comes to me for a session, if the guy turns out to be an amateur photographer, I don't yell at him, I just start a nice chat. Jobs just keep pouring in!" he laughs easily.

"I was sure that it was a huge scam," confides Mark, a photography lover. "I don't earn money from my photos, I don't sell my work to anyone, but I value it very highly. I don't find myself to be any kind of great artist, but you know...So when I went to the first meeting, I'm thinking, it's impossible that we'll be able to speak calmly about our cameras and the differences in our equipment. Anyway, what was the point? It turned out that it was necessary. Good cooks, chefs, as they told us, also have to talk about good pots or pans sometimes. It's normal and there's nothing to be ashamed of. And all the more, there's nothing to fight about, or anything like that. Thanks to our conversations I changed my attitude to taking photos in general. I bought an old, large format camera, and now taking photos is a joy for me. And my wife is happy – I'm less nervous at home."

"That first step is the most important," explains psychologist Eva J. "They have to voluntarily and independently come and sign themselves up. Then it's smooth sailing. We teach them the one most important principle: we can only talk about equipment when it changes the way we act. You want to talk about your "medium format"? Ok, but only when you're demonstrating how it has changed the way you take photos. It's very important – talk about equipment, talk about parameters, lenses, or weight, but in such a way as to show that it has an impact on your actual behavior. In one group there was a fan of the large format; at the beginning every other word from him in discussions with the rest of the group was "quality!" Later, when he had learned to talk about equipment, it ended up that that stiff guy integrated the rest of the group by talking about how he had to lug that enormous camera across some tracks, running away from speeding freight trains."

Every year, hardware neurosis causes two good photographers to give up photography.

March, 2008

### Show me how you frame, I'll tell you who you are

I came to the conclusion, on the basis of an altogether decent article in Black&White Photography, that I like squares because of my age; that supposedly I'm old. It's been getting to me more and more often lately – my wife brings over friends who have barely seen 20 springs, and in a certain conversation with a trainer, I was classified amongst those who, while studying under communism, made money by cutting grass and picking cucumbers. ;)

But the fact is that the choice of the format in which one frames reflects one's character in a certain way. And I imagine that before too long, a psychological test like this will appear in Ladies' Home Journal or Redbook (or some other Us Weekly):

Choose one of the photos from the following page, and I'll tell you what you're like in bed:

**A**. You are an extremely dynamic, dominating person. You are not afraid of a challenge, you take initiative and you give all that you can from yourself. Your partner could be a little overwhelmed by your domination, but your energy and commitment compensate for any feelings of discomfort.

**B**. You are a sedate woman who is very sure of herself. You know your potential very well and are proud of your body; you know that you give your partner a lot of pleasure. Your life together operates on the principle of full partnership – you are not afraid of being dominated by him, and you show him the importance of the roles of both partners during sex.

**C**. You like sex in its most classical form. You are not attracted by experimentation, and for you, your man is more of a caretaker than a hot Latin lover. Regardless, you are happy and are not looking for change.

**D**. For you, sex is above all a complement to your feelings. You are aware that your approach is a little old-fashioned, but that doesn't prevent you from getting the maximum of enjoyment from your relationship. You are not afraid of experimenting, and you and your partner often allow yourselves to get crazy together.

**E**. Intercourse with your partner is above all great fun for you. You love to do it often, and you sometimes dream of making love in various strange places. Sometimes you surprise your partner with new ideas, but it also happens that instead of sex you'd rather just cuddle.

;)

November, 2006

### Did you see fjords?

Two unshaven men strode towards the convenience store of a gas station. They kept their hands in their pockets and tried not to make eye contact with the employees. Even if someone had said "Good morning" to them, they wouldn't have understood anyway, because they didn't speak Norwegian.

Taking advantage of the fact that the employees were concentrated on scanning normal customers' goods, they pushed roughly into the small room holding the toilet, deftly pulled toothbrushes and toothpaste from their pockets, and...quickly, even deftly performed the first ablution of the day. Wordlessly, they wiped their face and hands, put away their gear, and with serene calm painting their freshly washed faces, left the gas station. Their swift action did not, however, escape the notice of a security guard in the background, who shook his head with distaste and whispered gutturally in Arabic: "Stinking gays."

We will not go deeper into the fate of the security guard – suffice it to say that when he returned home he complained of his distaste to his brother, who was equally orthodox, which resulted in a chain of telephone calls and emails, which metamorphosed into an uncontrollable avalanche and caused a panic and bloodshed at a certain very well-known, but controversial, parade a few days later in western Germany.

***

No doubt somewhat more careful readers have already noticed that the two alleged gays were not gay at all – just the opposite, one of them displayed clear homophobic tendencies; both came from Poland and had not washed for two days. Their story is not, however, quite that simple, so allow me to go back in time a few dozen months.

At that time, both of our heroes were working in large companies. One of those corporations had a custom of organizing cyclical Internet "chats" with the most important people from the Board of Directors. Because the organization was made up of departments in various countries of Central and Eastern Europe, those virtual lectures took place in English. And it so happened that during every chat, one of the heroes of this tale read a question from his monitor screen posed by the "anonymous" crowd; a question that absolutely did not conform with corporate standards and that amazed, every time, another high-ranked fellow. That question was: "Did you see fjords?"

Because our hero was relatively highly situated in the hierarchy of that organization, his sick and shorted-out mind dreamed up that the paramount goal in life should be to answer suchly posed questions affirmatively – whenever someone happened to ask them. In the meantime, however, Fate carried out its own plan, which meant that both of our heroes were left without a job, but with pockets full of... optimism.

And so one day...

"Rudolf?"

"Hello? Is that you?"

"Rudolf, can you hear me?"

"Hello, hello? Jacek? The connection is bad! I can't hear anything!" Rudolf held his cell phone to his mouth and mercilessly cursed new technology. It always betrayed him in important situations.

"Pshshshh pshshsh krrrrrrrrrt pshshshshsh," he heard.

"Whaaaat?? Where do you want to go?"

"Kshshshrway! To take photos!"

"Fjords!" It came to our bearded photographer out of nowhere.

"I'm going!!! Just send me an email, and I'll take care of my wife!" he yelled and hung up. He wiped sweat from his forehead, and imagined in his mind's eye all the beautiful frames he would bring back.

He already couldn't wait.

***

If someone thinks that getting two photographers to an open-air photo shoot thousands of miles away with a supply of vodka and a few cans of Spam is easy, then he is seriously mistaken. Two photographers, when each of them has an overgrown ego (that's what the Internet teaches us, don't hold it against them!) – means a ton of conflict-ridden situations every day. And there were supposed to be four days.

Before the first day dawned, the men were driving a dark blue Volvo to the airport – and Rudolf was crying.

It made Jacek rather uncomfortable to see the other man's tears, but in spite of it all, he continued his tales – the colorful history of photographers, history from those lands, history true and made-up. The truth was that the bearded man's tears resulted from an invisible defect of his eyes, which simply rebelled in the presence of waterfalls of air coming from the air conditioning, but in spite of it all, the situation looked dramatic.

Equally dramatic was the situation in which the men – in late evening, at their destination – picked up the rental car; after checking the luggage it turned out that a mistreated bag hid within itself some equally mistreated butter, which had befouled half of the dry food supplies. The process of cleaning everything with the help of Bambino wet wipes was interrupted by a rental car agency employee, who was getting ready to go home, as he would on any day. Seeing two Poles, the asphalt befouled by butter and wipes, an open bag with dry foodstuff in a brand-new car – he managed to croak out "Sacrebleu!" and lost consciousness.

"It's cool, I've got trail mix just in case," the bearded on said to his companion, seeing his despondence.

"Quail chicks?"

"Trail mix. You know, nuts and fruit."

"Ahhh," Jacek answered lucidly. "I thought you meant some animals and I was confused why we hadn't heard them at all."

"That day we didn't take any photos," Rudolf wrote in his journal.

***

The next day did not bring great improvement – it poured constantly. Despite the fact that both gentlemen had similar cameras and framed in squares, their approaches were totally different –one loved ever-present, even obvious frames, and the other, just the opposite: he grumbled and complained that there was nothing to fix the eye on. Obviously, creative tension arose. But so what, since only one of them took any photos?

"How do you do that?" the bearded one grumbled. Jacek smiled mysteriously and framed another "photo of the day." Over his shoulder flew a silver pixie, like from Peter Pan. She made tinny noises and sprinkled silver dust.

"Who on earth is that?!"Rudolf complained. He stood to one side and envied his friend, who was obviously inspired, with all his might.

"That's Maya."

"Did she fly with us, or did you catch her here?" The complainer leaned in the direction of the flying phenomenon with a grimace. The slender miniature of a woman fluttered her wings and thrust out her breasts.

"Not bad at all," the bearded one muttered under his breath.

"Oh, over there's a great place, and maybe we can get to it. Let's go?" Jacek cried, and happily scurried onto a large boulder. His friend dragged after him lugubriously, looking around him. In a moment the unique snap of a Hasselblad shutter reverberated, and Jacek measured the light on the scene that he had just photographed. A moment later, the situation repeated itself: first the snap of the shutter, then the measuring of light.

"Uhhhh," Rudolf began. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You know, first you take the photo, then you measure. It's kind of strange."

"I always do that. And that's why I always have perfectly fucking exposed photos."

"Listen, I've heard that, yeah, in quantum mechanics, certainly, there can be something like a violation of causality. But in photography?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Are you trying to say that your photography operates on the borders of quantum mechanics?" Rudolf inquired to his friend. Jacek evidently anticipated him again.

"On the borders??? It crosses those borders!" he yelled, and laughing cruelly, ran towards the car with Maya on his shoulder.

There was nothing to do but drive farther.

In the car, the tension grew: Jacek whispered with Maya, and Rudolf felt more and more alienated with every passing minute. It's not out of the question that that was precisely the reason they chose to stay overnight in an old, abandoned cemetery. The cemetery appeared to be magical, because at a certain point a splendid, proud stag with large antlers evinced himself to Jacek – they stood facing each other for a moment, motionless. Finally the stag disappeared into the bushes.

"According to pagan beliefs, a stag with antlers is a symbol of the Horned God. Masculine Vitality. The partner of the Great Goddess," Maya whispered into Jacek's ear. "He usually waits in a place which is lifeless, so it seems that everything is exactly as it should be. That's a Meeting of Powers!"

The photographers looked at each other wordlessly.

***

The third day finally brought real fjords. Ones like you can sometimes see on photo.net – with little solitary boats and other bullshit. The fjords turned out to be nice and tame – they didn't even bite. Despite that, not much happened, because Rudolf had to take care of some business on the phone, and Jacek kept whispering to Maya about his own affairs. Finally, however, a place appeared which slightly raised the blood pressure of both photographers – they swiftly stopped the car and jumped out with their cameras. They then jumped back in swiftly, because a fat, bald Norwegian chased them away from freshly-cut grass.

"Yoo ken bee heer, baht kennot park eh kar," he explained delicately.

Fed up (because frames were escaping them), our heroes moved the car and took up the pursuit of images.

Of course, while they were there, they very dignifiedly slowed down and attentively, even discreetly, observed everything around them: a river, branches swayed by wind, clouds and children playing. Rudolf found it beautiful that they were both delighted by the place and circumstances, and simultaneously pointed their lenses in extremely different directions. Thinking about it brought a smile to his face as he set up his camera in order to capture a little boy playing in the water.

"How's it going?" the one with Maya frolicking on his shoulder came over and stood in front of the bearded one's lens. Seeing that he evidently (finally) had some inspiration, he smiled widely.

Rudolf silently waved his arm, indicating for his friend to move to the right, which made the other one smile even wider.

"Fuck off!" the bearded one hissed impatiently, effectively shutting down his friend.

The latter walked away, hanging his head; he then stood off to the side, watching, shifting from one leg to the other.

"Do you think he has pedophilic tendencies?" he whispered to the winged silvery figure. She broke into pearly laughter but did not answer. Finally – after ten minutes – the long-awaited snap of the shutter resounded and Triumphant Rudolf joined the pack.

That night was decidedly lighter – both heroes slept soundly and peacefully, despite having decided again to sleep at the local cemetery. This time, however, no moose appeared.

***

The fourth day meant it was time to return – and it was probably for this reason that depression fell upon the team.

"I'm depressed," the bearded one grumbled, driving the car.

"And I don't know what's next," he continued, seeing that he had not inspired great interest. "Maybe I should take more photos? But if there are no frames...

"I would do one of a boat, too," he muttered to his friend who was leaning over another frame, "but I don't know how."

"I would do anything to break this streak of bad luck. Or maybe it's your fault, this depression?" he wondered, walking with his friend past bushes and stones, towards a derelict bridge.

"Who knows? Maybe it's because," he continued, driving, more and more certain that no one was listening to him, "I haven't been wearing my magical hat this morning?"

"Stop here," Jacek cried frantically, pulling out his equipment and light meter.

"Sure, why not," the bearded one replied morosely and stepped on the brake.

"You know, I think I have a problem," he wheezed, barely able to keep up with his friend – they were walking in the direction of a solitary tree, and local youth stopped cutting grass with puzzlement, looking at the two loons.

"I know, you're depressed."

"No, no, it's more serious than that. You see..." Rudolf paused, turned pale, grabbed his hat with one hand and the dangling light meter and bag with cameras with the other, and darted towards the closest toilet as fast as strength would allow.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, he returned to Jacek, who had of course long ago finished taking photos.

"I'm here," he said briskly. He looked around, then nodded his head approvingly:

"This tree is not bad at all. I just need..." He stuck his tongue out, stood facing away from the object he was photographing and looked into the camera he held over his head (upside down and backwards).

"Have you found some quail chicks again?" his friend asked with distaste, taking a photo of the berserk Rudolf with his cell phone.

"Yes! Now I feel like I'm alive!" Rhododendron cried and rushed to the car, pushing his friend in front of him.

As if to confirm those words, about a half hour later he drove onto the shoulder again, and gracefully snapped another photo.

"You see, you see?! Now I know how to get out of depression and find inspiration! I know!" He was as happy as a child.

Jacek and Maya looked at each other silently.

"The trip was great, all in all," Jacek later said at the party where he showed his photos, "but I'm not going to go anywhere with Rudy anytime soon. Eh, I don't have time."

August, 2010

### On waiting

"You know, I'm thinking..." Grey scratched his head, "this might not be good at all."

"You spend too much time thinking about morality and too little time acting," Macon answered dismissively. He was drinking his usual beloved V8 tomato juice. Supposedly Campbells made one too, but V8 had that extra something special; it was "first class," as his grandma would say.

"No, it's not about morality...I mean, not only. Because, you know, I recently stood in the freezing cold for an hour and a half waiting for a frame. It's not normal, I thought, to do such things. Besides the fact that my fingers froze because I didn't have good gloves, I also have the feeling that it's deception, in a way."

"Deception? All photography is deception, man! Look at what I read on the Internet once." Macon pushed his white laptop with an open browser window towards his friend. "Read the highlighted text!"

"...'he opened the drawer in order to take from it a Leica M7 with Summicron-M 35mm – on the way back, if the light is charitable, he'll stop on the street, in the place where long ago he'd dreamed up that one special photo – only a small coincidence is necessary,'" Grey read out loud.

"You see? Everyone does it – there's a frame and you're missing something, you just have to wait and it'll be cool. Do you remember that photo by Kertesz? The one from 1928 made in Meudon that shows a street scene with a man carrying a package and a locomotive passing by on a viaduct at the top?" Once more he pushed the laptop towards his friend, with an image displayed. "He took this photo several times, he waited, tried different things and kept coming back to the same place, because it never felt just right. Finally it worked and...you've got one of the most famous photographs ever!"

"Yeah, but even guys who take photos think I'm crazy sometimes. You know, we go somewhere together, and I suddenly stop and wait – and they don't know what's up. Or sometimes I loathe myself, because if I get bored waiting, or I see that the light is going and the frame is still not filled...I help out fate a little, know what I mean?"

"Take it easy. Show me what you've got. Is that one of them?"

Grey nodded his head lugubriously, seeing the way his friend looked at his print.

"Not bad. Not bad at all. It definitely draws on Eugene Smith's photos, continuing the story at the same time – here you have an adult couple who turn away from that "Paradise" and are one step away from starting down some bad road, in the dark. And this figure of the Holy Mother is like the last checkpoint before that step. Very tasteful."

The one who took the photo looked askance at Macon, who was lost in interpretation.

"You know, I just liked the composition – I mean, I needed those people to fill in that light area. But if you say so, it must be true."

February, 2010

### Brother Nemo

"...and suddenly you wake up, and you're totally shocked that you're actually not a turtle...has that ever happened to you?" Rudolf looked at his woman coldly. There was no effect. He looked at her icily. Still none.

"A turtle, you say?" he muttered, trying to end the conversation. "Some turtles live more than 150 years. I know because I watched Brother Nemo."

"Bear. It was 'Brother Bear,' if you're talking about the brother. And if you're talking about Nemo, it's "Finding Nemo," Kasia explained to him diligently.

"It's not important. It doesn't matter at all. I'm just talking about the fact itself, you know?"

"No. But I could drink a beer. What about you?"

"I'm going for a run," he muttered, pulling on a grey hat and moving towards the door.

"You're leaving me alone?" she asked with badly-feigned disappointment.

"I'll be right back." He opened the door, threw his cell phone into his right pants pocket (he always threw his phone into his right pocket) and went into the stairwell. It was pretty dark, so he turned on the light.

***

On the ground floor, near the exit from the building, some workmen had been mixing concrete, blocking the entire doorway and getting dust on absolutely everything in a 6-foot radius.

"I'll go through the garage," the cunning thought flashed into his head.

"Hup," he whispered to himself, hopping over the threshold of the garage and letting the doors bang mercilessly on the doorframe. Two steps inside were enough to make him stop, as a result of the fact that his brain registered what his eyes were seeing.

"Uhhhh..." he stammered at the sight of a girl leaning over a not-too-conscious man lying on the floor.

"Don't just stand there, help me," said the girl, dressed in a red and white dress, checking the pulse of the lying man. "I think he's dead," she added, looking around intensely. Rudolf was still in a stupor. He was afraid to move, because he was afraid that the image that he was seeing was not real.

"Help me!" she said after a moment, taking the deceased by one arm. "Come on, take him by the other arm! We have to put him somewhere."

Grunting, they dragged the body to the least-lit corner of the garage. Seeing that the matter was taken care of, the girl moved towards the exit without a word, leaving Rudolf alone, who was still unsure how to behave.

"Hey!" he finally managed to yell. The girl, already standing in the door of the brightly-lit exit, turned around and made a gesture as if she wanted to pinch herself on the arm, and with a whisk of her dress, disappeared out the door. "You mean, pinch myself?" the not-so-clever thought flashed into his head. He moved slowly towards the door, wondering what it all really meant. After a few steps, he involuntarily mimicked the gesture of the girl in the red dress. After a moment he lost his sight and sound.

***

"Shit, the light there was in that scene, that light," Rudolf muttered, waking up. The bed was already empty and the appetizing smell of toast wafted in from the kitchen.

July, 2006

### Photographer, where art thy business card?

"Hey man, where have we gotten ourselves?" Rudolf exclaimed quietly to Emsi, driving over potholes at a speed approaching 15mph. They were in the center of Warsaw, but the neighborhood looked like they had gone back in time to the 60s or 70s. Streets flashed past by with names like Dance and Music and other such musicalities, and Trabants and Polonezes stood in driveways of garden plots.

In spite of that, neither of them felt like taking any photos there. Eh, that kind of mood.

"You know what? Maybe we should go to some park nearby, or something..."

"Park, park...where would the nearest park be?" Emsi wondered.

"I know!" he finally exclaimed, "let's go to the park on Zywny Street. We'll go down Idzikowski Street, that way, capische?"

Having parked the car, just by the stairs that led down to the park, the view of the small but charming park stretched out before them.

"Oh, you see?" Emsi indicated a young woman walking slowly towards them on the path.

"Oh, check out those babes with the purses walking over there."

"Look, that little guy is fishing!" Rudolf gestured with wonderment at a small boy waving a fishing rod over a microstream. "Come on, let's take their picture."

"They won't get spooked?"

"No way, come on!"

After taking up a suitable position, Rudolf started the procedure of taking a photo. He took out his tripod, opened it to 2/3 of its height, took out his Camera, then measured the light with the digital, after which he took off the lens cap (from the Camera), and after setting the time, aperture, and removing the dark slide, he began framing and setting the focus. In the meantime, obviously, the boy's grandfather began sending uneasy looks in the direction of the two strange fellows with equipment set up on unfolded tripods.

"Whoa, man, you're fast as hell," Emsi commented sarcastically.

"Quiet, or I'll take your picture," Rudolf blustered, a bit unhappy at the fact that the boy and his grandfather had set off and escaped in a direction known only to them.

"Oh yeahhhh?" Emsi retorted, quickly set up the shot and snapped it with the lens pointed at Rudolf.

"Ugh..." the latter groaned and pointed the entire bulk of his machinery at his friend. The former managed to get in two or three more shots before the sound of the snapping mirror and shutter emitted from Rudolf's side.

***

"Holy schnikes, it's steep here," Rudolf exclaimed breathlessly. They were climbing up the road at the upper part of the park, towards the historic Rabbit House palace, with a heavy backpack full of equipment and an altogether not featherweight tripod. After passing through the gate, Rudolf stopped and began taking out all his little toys – tripod, camera, lens, and so on.

"What are you seeing here?" Emsi lifted his viewfinder to his eye, and standing next to his friend, looked in the direction of the expected photo. "There's nothing here," he whined.

Rudolf finished his setup in silence, adjusted, framed, and took a photo of who knows what. Then he looked around.

"Look, what a cool old guy, should we take his photo?" he asked his friend, who was already testing out his 50mm portrait lens from a distance.

"Ahhh, I'm already shooting..."

"Come on, let's get closer."

They moved slowly, Emsi a bit behind, Rudolf with the expanded tripod in his hand.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, setting the tripod on the ground and smiling friendlily. At least he tried to. "Hello," he added, seeing that he had managed to attract the gentleman's attention.

"Hello," the elderly man answered with aroused interest, lifting his eyes from the book or notebook which he was studying carefully.

"Could I take your photo?" Rudolf gestured airily at his camera.

"A photo???" the old man was surprised. "What an unusual request, I have to admit," he laughed.

"Exactly," Rudolf affirmed eagerly, already beginning to set up.

"For 20 years, when I was working for the documentary section of TVP television, no one ever asked me for such a thing. Always the opposite..."

"You took photos???"

"Oh, photos, and film, and I even developed my own photos for many years. Color photos!" he emphasized with pride.

"Really??"

"Of course," he became lost in thought for a moment, "and I took photos on a 6 by 6 format! Maybe...I might be able to show you men a photo of my daughter. So what position should I take for the photo? Literary or spatial?" he joked, asking if the photographer desired the model's gaze to be concentrated on the notebook, or directed out into the empty space in front of him.

The end of the session did not pass smoothly. It turned out that Rudolf did not have a business card.

"I'm so sorry, I always try to have one on me," he explained embarrassedly, digging through his wallet with the last rays of hope.

"So give me your personal data, I'll give you mine, and we're set," the old man proposed.

"Sure, of course." Rudolf provided his name, address, and telephone number. It soon turned out, however, that that wasn't the end of their bad luck. It turned out that neither Rudolf nor Emsi had anything on which to write the information from their model.

"So maybe I can record you on my phone," the cursed photographer proposed with desperation in his voice, and activated the cell's voice recorder.

August, 2006

### Style placement, or the photography market in Poland

I like looking at pictures when I'm tipsy. I like exhibitions more then too, which is why I once took my wife and son to see the work of Michael David Kennedy. The exhibition wasn't bad, but I was talking about something else. ;) So, seeing the confidently placed (and not low) prices of the photographs hanging there, I asked the woman bustling about in the role of host what kind of interest there was in the sale of those works. She said that it was weak, but there is starting to be a visible increase.

And so I had that in the back of my mind, until recently when I was watching a pleasant American TV series called "Monk" and realized a certain strange truth.

Monk is a person who, being a detective and widower, lives alone, and – look at the walls in his house – on just about every one of them are decent framed black and white photographs! Also, it seems, there are quite a number of other black and white pictures (trees), but also photos of his late wife. It's all quite subtle, but it does make an extraordinary aesthetic impression. The main character's apartment being decorated with a ton of monochromatic photographs can be explained in some way, though – maybe the guy just likes photos like that, and that's all, right? But it's not that simple – what can be seen on the walls of rooms at the police department? Here's the thing – again photos, again black and white, again Rudolf goes nuts. ;)

Surely everyone has heard of "product placement." I have a theory – it seems that in the media in so-called "developed" countries, there is a trend of giving viewers a style of life, through just that kind of innocent suggestion of how to (for example) decorate the walls of one's closest, quotidian environment. A kind of "style placement".

I think that it's a good trend, at least for photography. Photographs should hang in homes. They should be looked at every day, because that's what they're for. They should get out of the gallery, out of our computers, of magazines that we look at – and make themselves at home on the walls of our nests. Oh yes! And if the media have to promote something, let them promote photography, rather than some stupid bank loan. This makes it clear why the fact that in developing countries the photography market is so poor – people don't know that they should be buying them and hanging them on the wall, so they don't hang!

Also, yesterday I went to the Empik Megastore in Warsaw (Poland, Europe, in case someone didn't know) in order to test out this theory. I looked through colorful magazines, I looked at the ones from the British Isles (Vogue), I looked at those from Central Europe (Elle Polska and other lifestyle and fashion glossies), and finally I had a look at the Internet in search of Polish television series, and full of self-satisfaction – I came to some conclusions.

Despite my worst fears, it was not so bad – of course it was to be expected that I would find a confirmation of that secret trend in Vogue. I didn't find any examples worth mentioning here from Polish women's magazines (but that is probably a matter of time – we do like to imitate) but I was able to find a little something in a third-rate Polish TV series.

Maybe it's not all that great – the photographs are mostly (from what I can see) of families, and not that nicely displayed – but some of those frames give me some hope. Hope that we will begin hanging more good photography in homes, that interest in images will be promoted – not poor, cheap reproductions, but in the form of prints which will genuinely decorate the home.

And I think I know why our home-grown TV serials are not of the highest quality – producers, directors and scenographers don't pay attention to details.

And the devil is in the details. He's in the details and laughing at us. ;)

January, 2007

### Child-free zones

"Have you ever felt like something was walking on you? Something without legs? A curtain for example??" Rudolf looked warmly at his woman sitting opposite him.

"No, dear. But sometimes I have unsettling dreams."

"But I'm not talking about dreams...Anyway, it's not important. I just want us to leave already."

"You don't like it here?" Rudolf looked around the restaurant in which they found themselves. A rather unvibrant, even lazy, atmosphere dominated. People who appeared to be businesspeople involved in their own affairs talked in muffled tones on their phones. It was one of the best restaurants in that part of Warsaw. Plus it had pretty, young waitresses.

"I don't mean that I don't like it. It's quite pleasant. But we left our son by the entrance and I feel a little bit uncomfortable."

"Don't worry. It's probably because we don't come to places like this very often. Everyone leaves their children by the entrances to restaurants; anyway, you know that it's the law, and we can't do anything about it."

"Yes, dear," Kasia said sadly. They sat in silence for a while, picking with their forks at the remains on their plates. It was the eighth anniversary of their meeting each other – it was supposed to be romantic, and besides eight years was not just any old five – and so they had decided to go out together to a restaurant. They had wanted to return to those years past, aided by memories and atmosphere, but instead of that there was a certain tension in the air.

"I still have quite a few vacation days left," Rudolf said, breaking the silence. "Maybe we could plan something for August, or maybe September? You know, some small excursion...maybe we could go abroad, finally..."

"I don't know if I'll have any vacation. I only have a few days left and there's so much to do at work constantly."

"Ok, that's fine. You know, I read this book recently – some French guy wrote about the end of white civilization, not a bad piece of SciFi. It was about how Indians get onto these destroyed steamboats and miraculously make their way to the southern coast of France, where they just get off, without any weapons, without anything, hungry, dirty, and mentally exhausted. You know, a kind of peaceful landing. And all those white Frenchmen couldn't resist, because it had been ingrained in them for so many years that whatever they say against non-whites is racism..."

Outside, the now-empty parking lot was lit by street lamps and a full moon. On one of the curbs bordering the grassy median was sitting a six- or seven-year-old boy. It was beginning to get cold. The restaurant doors open, exposing for a moment the lit interior, and Rudolf and his wife emerged from the building. Noticing that they were exiting, the boy sitting outside got up energetically and ran to his parents.

"Hey, little guy, how was the waiting."

"Bad, Daddy. Are we going home now?"

"That's right, sonny."

"Come here, I'll wipe your nose." Kasia leaned lovingly over the child.

"Mommy, why can't I come inside with you?"

"It's the law, honey. But don't worry, we're going home now."

July, 2006

Note: This piece is based on an article about a new "invention" propagated mainly by people known as "singles" – an invention, as you can surely guess, that was based on the creation of a new type of restaurant (or more generally, public place): those in which children would not be allowed. Finally, a break from them.

### Wet weekend

The weekend is over, and I still have two free days ahead of me. Excellent! :)

Today I went to the photography market, of course. Or rather to some reflection of a photography market.A reflection in a warped mirror.

But first things first.

Everything started from the fact that my digital camera broke, the one I measure light with – obviously. I therefore decided to buy a selenium light meter – because it's cheap and old-school. Again, obviously. Then things played out like this:

First I searched eBay. It turns out that of course there are light meters, there are even selenium ones, but only one is from Warsaw. I wrote to the guy asking if I could pick it up on Friday – I could not. So I started looking further. I found one in Magma, a consignment shop. Since I was on vacation, I decided that while I was going to pick up a back (cartridge for 120 film) that I'd had sealed, I would go check out Magma and the light meter.

"Hello," I entered politely and with a faint aura of respect, as I always do when I go to a shop with a large quantity of photo equipment.

"Hello. How can I help you?" In spite of the modern equipment on the shelves, there was an atmosphere in the store like from 20 years ago.

Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a little.

"On your website I found a light meter on consignment. I'd like to see it."

"Go on over to my colleague."

I went over. After a moment of consideration, the guy reached for the appropriate merchandise and presented it.

"Could you tell me how it works? Because I've never held one of these before in my life..."

"There are two buttons here, one for weaker light, one for stronger."

"And does it work well?" I questioned persistently, because on the Internet page it had been written clear as day: "The light meter is fully operational."

"I'll have to check," the kind sir replied. After loading the batteries (because it was the Leningrad 6 model, not the selenium), he wound, wound, muttered, checked what he could, and said, "Well, it should show 1/60, and it's showing 1/2000."

"So it kind of doesn't necessarily work?"

"Not necessarily."

"Oh well. Thanks, goodbye."

It was with that baffling accent that my search for a working light meter ended at Magma. After picking up the magazine from the repair shop across the way (both are on Armia Ludowa street; that repair shop is reliable and great, I really recommend it), I wandered around the city a little more, and in spite of my heart-felt desire, the matter was shelved until the market on Sunday.

On Sunday (today), I put my wife and an umbrella in the car and took off towards Stodola, the club where the market always took place. We get to the entrance, and people are standing there by the building, displaying equipment.

"Hey, look what's happening!" I said to my wife

"Maybe they signed up so many sellers that there weren't enough places?"

"More like there were so few that it wasn't worth it to open up." My own pessimism was frightening. A pessimism which, as it turned out, wasn't misdirected this time: there were only a few sellers and not the greatest weather, and everything was outside: definitely not the best conditions. But there was still nowhere to park, as usual.

We walk up to a guy who has a kind of old device that looks like a light meter.

"Does it work?" I ask cautiously.

"What, this one? Does it work? Oh, if I had to test out every piece of equipment... What would you like to see?" The seller furtively and imperceptibly realigned his interest onto another potential customer.

"Oh, nothing, nothing." He got scared off and escaped.

"Nice service," I said gloomily to my spouse and we shuffled along. Then it was all downhill. Another guy, who was prepared for the question "Does it work?" took out a Nikon D70, measured, took out two similar models, chose the ones that worked and presented them:

"You have to adjust it +1 EV," he said honestly.

I took it for 30 zloty (about 10 dollars). Ha!

Two things to check and so little time... ;)

I made a set of it and took my backpack with equipment, loaded in my old Agfa APX 100, and drove with my sexual partner to the stadium to reach climaxes. I mean stairs. I mean not reach, but photograph.

Whatevs. ;)

Stairs are stairs – everything would have gone smoothly, but it turned out that after closing the aperture to F32 , I barely had enough depth to get the frame. _Scheisse!_

I tried like the devil to make something work with that framing. The result was that I wasn't paying attention and it started pouring rain. That's why in these situations I always say: a good assistant is more important than a good wife! And if your wife is that assistant – man, you've got heaven on earth!

That's just how it was in my situation – my wife-assistant appeared with an umbrella above me, as I concentrated on the focusing screen – having first protected the backpack with the rest of the equipment with a second umbrella. In any case, we had to wind up everything quickly and get to a safer place. We found one under an expansive tree, because it was raining so hard that our umbrellas starting leaking a little. Like at the end of the world (or on the outskirts of Warsaw).

After the shower, since we didn't have much to do at the stadium, we set off towards a park not far from Three Crosses Square. It wasn't at all out of the way, no, no... In any case, the park, which had looked promising from the street, turned out to be mediocrely photogenic. Today, anyway.

My attention was drawn to one set of stairs (leading nowhere, or more precisely – down;)), on which I decided to teach my woman to measure light with my new light meter. The little scoundrel figured out how it worked before I had a chance to blink.

In the so-called meantime, the angle of the Leningrad 7 was confirmed - oh, so, so wide – kind of like with a 30mm for a small image. I was also overcome with the desire to buy a good spot meter – one that could measure to 1 degree of precision. But there aren't any on Polish eBay – only these blinged-out ones for two thousand zloty (more than 700 USD). What the hell do I need one like that for? But, maybe in time...

In any case – I've gotta sit down one of these days with the digital (or some other reliable point of reference) and take a look at what the funny little lever on the left side of my new light meter does. I don't have the slightest flipping idea what it's for.

As a last note, I wanted to say that the umbrella that Kasia is holding in the photo was bought specifically for photographic purposes. But not in order to protect photographic equipment. In order to look attractive when it's raining. In my opinion it does the trick, plus it's decent and light. I will never forget the face of the lady who sold it to me when I asked: "I'm about to ask a very unusual question – will raindrops look good on it? Because I'm going to be taking photos with it..." :D

August, 2006

### Paranoia, or: watch out when you turn in film to the lab

In November of 2006, I read an article about a particular type of people: the so-called "Invisibles." Those are people with weaker or stronger paranoia of being followed, conspiracy theories, etc. They know how much can be determined from the dumpster, from a carelessly tossed-out receipt, or even more – from a credit card statement. For this reason they try not to leave any unnecessary traces. They live under constant pressure and try carefully to avoid ever-present surveillance...

<may>you know what went down?

<may>I went to see the young'un yesterday, at the lab...

<brawn>the young'un?

<may>my brother's, ya know?...he works at the lab, I told you...

<brawn>oh, right

<may>and listen to what went down

<may>there's this guy that works with him, a kind of quiet dude

<may>the guy works at the machine, so he doesn't talk to customers at all, but he sees everyone who comes to drop off photos

<may>so I'm watching, and he looks at every roll of film going through there, and every once in a while he takes his little notebook and scrawls something or other in it

<may>so it's nothing, but the dude made an impression on me – he's a stereotypical geek, you know glasses, unkempt hair, all that stuff

<brawn>so what, he was looking for photoporn?

<may>wait, I'm getting to it, don't get ahead

<may>so I'm watching and observing him

<may>I ask my bro if that's normal behavior

<may>the young'un waves me off and says the guy's psycho

<may>so I was even more interested. so I wait until it's not busy as shit and I go up to the guy and ask him what he's writing

<may>I'm winding him up, telling him oh, what cool and interesting work, that the young'un tells me about it, that all kinds of people come in and all that

<may>and so the guy opens up – he starts going on about how he likes to make observations

<may>that supposedly those notes he's making are about what kinds of photos people take

<may>he organizes them by individual client (and he says he has good memory for faces) and he makes psychological portraits

<brawn>that fucking guy, dude

<may>and he goes on about how he's careful himself, how when he takes photos he gives them to random labs

<may>that he doesn't buy food in the same shop all the time, because someone could try and describe him in that same way and he doesn't have a cell phone or internet at home, so he's anonymous

<may>and he says he knows where most of the cameras are in the city, and if I want he can sell me a couple of tricks for not being recorded

<may>this dude! I ask him why he does it, no one's going to use that stuff

<may>and he looks at me strangely and he starts going on about how it's a kind of hobby and that I don't even know what you can find out

<may>and he takes out his little notebook, looks for something and after a second reads something like this

<may>client number such and such, short dark hair, thin, glasses, yellow band on right wrist, that kind of shit, and he keeps reading – date, time, and description of film

<may>and here's the best part

<may>he says: photos taken with telephoto lens from hiding (hard to see objects in foreground outside depth of field) showing the health minister in various places and at various times of day, indicating well-organized surveillance

<brawn> lol! fuck, man, the guy sniffed out a scandal! ;)

<may>you laugh, but the dude really showed me a few entries about that client and if he didn't make it up it's a decent con

<brawn>more like a scam

<brawn>he probably picks up girls with that notebook

<brawn>besides, if he suspects a crime, why didn't he go to the police with it?

<may>I dont' know if it's a scam or not

<may>but I asked the young'un what his name was and I wrote made a note of it in the log

<may>you know, it could be something bigger, have the guys check it out

<brawn> lol, the dude is so careful, bread from different shops, and he confesses his paranoia to some strange guy who just happens to work for the fbi

<brawn>for real

<may>I mean, I'm not that strange, he saw me a few times before, has worked with my brother for years, and anyway the young'un didn't tell him where I work

November 2006

### Leap to the future

As I observe the advancement of technology, my mouth waters more and more.

Under my skin, I can feel that moment approaching when photography will be limited only and exclusively by the photographer. Because as we know, technology today can sometimes hold you by the hand, pulling you two steps back – gotta use the tripod, gotta use the flash, gotta change the lens.

All of this is why whenever a man wants nothing other than to talk about the heart of the matter (read: about photography), the conversation immediately switches gears to be about equipment.

I'm guessing, then, that very soon, in my lifetime even, there will come a time...

***

"...in the last lesson we started to talk about the light sensitivity of photographic cameras at the end of the 20th century and their limitations, so today," a boring bearded man in tortoise-shell glasses and a tweed jacket beat a pointer on the board, "we will more deeply analyze that theme and draw conclusions from the development that those limitations brought about. What are the three basic parameters that define exposure value?!"

"Uhhhh..." a student groaned. The student was tall, thin, and had a stupid look on his face brought about by the constant asking of stupid questions. In addition, he always came to the classes alone, since no one liked him because he gossiped and was prejudiced against girls with small breasts.

"Uh what! Uh what, you imbecile!" The teacher was traumatized. "Speed, aperture, and time! Tomorrow you will recite all the types of film used for photographs in the first chapter of Ansel Adams "The Camera", tenth edition – forwards, backwards, and randomly!!!"

"Returning to the lecture," the lecturer slowly began to regain his calm, "in those times we had an oft-occuring problem with a lack of light. By loading film with a speed of ISO 100 and with a lens with an aperture of 4.0, and time set for 1/125 seconds," the lecturer scribbled on the board with white chalk, "what would we need to take a portrait of a beautiful woman in a room with a 60-watt tungsten bulb?"

He looked inquiringly at the listener. The dull look on his face did not portend well.

"A flash!" he answered himself, drawing the next element of the puzzle on the board. "Flashes, as they were known, were in common use until the introduction onto the market of light sensitive elements we know today using ADSe-0 technology. However, as we know, the contemporary trend ordering young photographers to do away with artificial light sources is IM-PRO-PER and causes a certain theoretical task to arise."

The bearded man was getting wound up, and it was obvious that he was talking only to give himself pleasure.

The student began to doze off, propping up his head on his skinny arms. His head was illuminated by a magnesium bulb, like the ones he had read about in an old book. With his last strength, he turned his gaze toward the slide being projected by the lecturer and thought: photography was actually quite complicated once.

January, 2010

### Beauty – an extinct species?

We are living in interesting times. I once read an article in Psychology Today called "Why I hate beauty".

(http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/200107/why-i-hate-beauty)

I encourage you to read it if you are interested in finding out why young men who teach youth (especially female youth) are often single. But abstracting away from the singledom of those teachers, the problem touches everyone who uses the media every day – TV, Internet – everywhere that viewers can see photos, images, or films, a danger lurks. We all know that if someone has an excess of something, he or she will start to hate it. Try eating five pounds of chocolate a day! It's not possible, it's just not possible! That same thing can happen to us when we visit Internet websites, watch television, films at the movie theater, or even see billboards in the city. We are attacked from all sides by so-called beauty, which has seemingly gotten some people good and bored - to such a degree that the ennui is beginning to be observable in everyday life, as well as on TV, on the Internet, and in newspapers.

For a very long time, in order to create so-called "art," it was necessary to show beauty. The beauty of women, the beauty of scenery – look at the classics of painting. Ugly things were simply just not painted. Of course I'm thinking of those old, I would even say ancient, classics. Up to a certain point, the situation was stable. It was not too long ago, because it was in the 19th century that the trend started to turn around.

"Meanwhile, French painting of the mid-19th century had its share of problems even without photography. With growing strength, subjects that were undignified, because they were realistic, began to show up: low-class protagonists, an effort not for glory, naked women without a heavenly entourage, earthly activities, steel constructions, private situations, casual poses, and sometimes even the back (the result was overwhelming criticism, derision from the public, scanty chances for an exhibition and therefore the sale of paintings).

Photography took up exactly the same subjects."

(above is a quote from Agnieszka Galas' blog, now non-existent).

Why, having painting's beautiful heritage of painting, did people start turning towards greyness, towards everyday life, and finally towards ugliness? Of course there were those who still tried to maintain that painterliness, sure. But where did that movement for the cult of ugliness come from? Why was even the representation of death once full of delicacy, innuendo, full of respect for the dead, and today in films I see dead fatasses covered in hundreds of gallons of blood? Look at old films – at one time, dying men were nicely dressed, and even if they met a truly tragic death, the director didn't show it like it's shown today, exposing a bald fatty dressed only in tightie whities, with his intestines oozing out. Today truly everything is shown.

The same trend can be observed in photography. The creation of the "New Documents" exhibit illustrates this very nicely. I have read some day on one of polish photo sites:

"In 1967, John Szarkowski, Director of Photography at the Museum of Modern Art, "discoverer" of many photographers and many movements in photography, organized an exhibit called "New Documents." The artists that he gathered, and their work, caused a sensation. Here were photographs of ugly people, seedy yards, decrepit cars, deserted streets, vile rural areas, hanging on the walls of one of the most respected art galleries in the world. Diane Arbus, Lee Friedlander, Gary Winogrand, William Eggleston –they made up the "New Documents" group, and they created a new kind of photographic document, which had its roots closer to film. Until that time (the 1960s), photography, being able to capture only one moment of reality, chose those moments carefully – they were not coincidental, each one said something, each one had meaning. Film, which because of its length shows much more, could also present, alongside the story being told, the uglier and less-attractive background".

And now that boredom with beauty comes to the surface again very nicely. Everything has really been very natural so far. Intelligent minds even thought up a special name for that negative reaction to beauty – anaestheticization. A kind of dulling of the senses, a kind of throwing out of heretofore held canons. So what will happen next? Well, as reality shows us, two extreme things could happen. The first type of reaction is a search for ugliness and finding something like beauty in it. I have the impression that it's the most marketable good in the media – shock, using ugliness to amaze – ugh! For some people, ugliness is their trademark. But do I really want a culture based on something like that for my children?

The second type of reaction to the beauty that surrounds us is a constant enhancement of perfection. Do you remember the video from the Dove campaign? (You can watch it on youtube: just search for "dove evolution".)

It's ongoing– we're fed by mythical images of woman, which there is no point searching for in the real world. Graphic artists improve the appearances of images captured by photographers to such a degree that they stop resembling the prototype. Later we look at billboards, we turn our heads to look at our partners and it can happen, in the end, that we conclude that our women are getting uglier every day. It's terrifying!

STOP! It's time to stop this madness, dammit. Beauty, if we look back in history, was always there and we have to start caring for it again, as if it were an extinct species. But careful – we need to take care of the true beauty, the beauty in the women around us, and not that beauty seen on television or on the Internet.

Oh, yes – I don't want to look at any more photoshopped models that I will never see in reality (because the graphic designer got carried away by his imagination), and I don't want to see old, wrinkly, scar-covered vagabonds outside the alcohol shop (especially those that have been "Draganized") – really, there are enough photos like that already. If you are going to take photos of elderly people, make sure they tell a proper story.

Really – I'm waiting for the time when there will be photos of really beautiful and natural female buttocks (without photoshopping!), when on the screen, killers will again be well-dressed men, and not disgusting, denuded psychopaths with rotting, crooked teeth. I'm waiting for the time when people thrilled by gruesome, nightmarish, and abhorrent art will really have to work their asses off to find something for their collection.

October, 2007

### Caveat Emptor

Caveat Emptor, or on equipment in photography: a short and exceedingly subjective treatise.

This text will not be a handbook about equipment, nor will it be a guide for how to buy your first digital camera. If you want a guide for which camera to buy, ask a photographer :P

First of all – a camera is today an anachronistic concept. It is not true that to take photos, it is necessary to have a camera per se. Ha, you are probably thinking that I'm crazy – but no! Listen to this: Colin and Christian Jago had a blog, a photostream. A while ago they described a little, seemingly meaningless situation – how one of the photos was taken. The photographed object, as well as the lens with which it was captured (meaning the glass) were in Asia, but the medium on which it was recorded was in Scotland! There was no visible connection between the two – the recorded object made its way through the Internet (through cable) from Asia to Scotland, and there – after traveling the last few feet via wireless connection – was saved to the hard disk of Jago's laptop by a stroke of the keyboard. Evidently, the shutter release button's role has been taken over by the computer keyboard. Also evidently, that whole set of technologically-advanced elements used to take that photo is not a camera in a physical sense – it is an entire system, in the full sense of that word.

Why is that so important? Because photography is painting with light – and the division between the process of creating the image (in the photographer's head) and the equipment with which that process can by physically carried out has never before been so clear. In particular, this means that photos can be taken by anything – and for the viewer, as I have already mentioned, it will not be important what parameters the photographer's tool had. Let the evidence for this be the website created by Huge Symonds, on which the author shows images made using the camera lens in his cell phone. Look at his photos – who would say that some of them are taken with a phone?

Hugh has been into photography for years now, and – as he told me – his project, in which he takes photos with a simple phone camera is a kind of re-education for him – and not using Photoshop to post-process puts the emphasis only on the recorded photo, and equipment doesn't get any attention at all – first of all, there is nothing to set in those cameras!

And here we reach the heart of the matter – equipment, or tools, should not get too much attention – it should be almost transparent for the photographer! This is damned important if you want to take photos – otherwise you end up spending most of your time looking at menus and setting dials, and images escape from the lens.

I don't want it to sound like I think fancy modern digital cameras are unnecessary – oh no! If someone needs that sort of tool and knows how to really use it – let him use it! Myself, I love taking photos with a medium format because it's a good camera for me – I really feel comfortable taking photos (something I couldn't really say when it came to my Sony F717). Ken Rockwell also once described what to pay attention to when choosing the camera of your dreams.

Once (years ago), when I was working for an informatics company as a specialist on everything, I drove around to see my clients, installing some bullshit, configuring servers and things like that. At that time I met an older guy, a writer, who used an ancient (even for those times) computer to write a book in Word 6.0 about his wartime memoirs. That guy lost so much time and inspiration thanks to that computer! Every so often he'd fight with it – with the notoriously-freezing Word, or with a non-functioning (dot-matrix, obviously) printer – in a nutshell, instead of concentrating on writing, he had to service equipment that was not adapted to his needs. Just before my visit, a Word malfunction had caused him to lose quite a few pages of text, which really shattered the old guy and made him pull out an old typewriter from the back of the closet.

Do you want to lose great photos thanks to a poorly-chosen camera that doesn't match your character or the way you work? I don't think anyone would be so consciously careless – but there does exist a kind of mentality that orders everyone to buy some fancy camera, half of whose functions will never be discovered.

This is why I answer the question of "what digital camera should I buy?" which some friends of mine have posed to me recently, with "one that you like." And, dammit, no one takes me seriously.

And I, because I take others' problems seriously, started to consider the matter a bit. Buyers generally fall into three groups: snappers, professionals, and hobbyists.

Snappers

For snappers, the most important thing for them is taking photos which they will be able to either show to friends on a computer screen or print out in a smallish format. That's basically it – full control over the process is not required – so why should you go out and buy a reflex camera?? The only rational choice, then, is to buy a piece of equipment that will make the photographer feel comfortable – it should be pretty and convenient – and that's the end of the requirements! Today basically any point-and-shoot can take "nice" (meaning colorful and sharp) photos – so why make things complicated? I sincerely recommend this approach – you will save yourself a lot of frustration.

Interestingly, other kinds of point-and-shoot compacts are appearing that are similar to stylish medium format cameras – and thus I suspect that producers are going to be designing those products of theirs with more and more confidence. Take the Rollei MiniDigi – nice looking, and at the same time (because of its size) a great little toy.

Professionals

With professionals, the matter is not that simple – they have their demands in the form of parameters that result from the character of their work. They then choose equipment according to those parameters, et voilà! This means that they have to have fast equipment (both with respect to reaction time and the number of frames per second, as well as the time required for the lens to focus), and it has to be convenient and have a lot of accessories. This is why high-budget digital reflex camera rule, or quite often medium formats with a clipped-on digital wall. It also happens that professionals place a large emphasis on ergonomics, like the German company Leica does with its products.

Hobbyists

Hobbyists complain the most out of all the groups of buyers. They are eternally unsatisfied with their equipment; in search of the ideal tool they attempt to take photos using an old shoe box with holes, or with enormous large format cameras, quite often exaggerating in the whole overcomplicated process. It is in this area that the most interesting things happen – things are invented like the Seitz 6×17 (go and google it!), and that's just the beginning! At the Photokina fair in 2006, Horseman presented some products to just this group of consumers – including the very wide-angle medium format digital model Horseman SW-D, as well as the enigmatically-named LD system. The latter is truly a revolution on the digital market – a bellows that makes it possible to move the lens up and down or back and forth along the matrix! In this way, digital reflex cameras acquire the capability to correct perspective and depth of field in the manner of a large format camera! A similar model, the Cambo X2-Pro, was described on many photo sites. I don't have any further objections!

That's just the thing – there are so many new ideas, so many solutions implemented, and I still need one. I need one to make my camera stop interfering with my photos.

Just listen.

Long ago, before anyone had ever thought of digital technology, the image was recorded on light-sensitive material, which had its caprices– most of all, at the very beginning it did not record color. Later, after it did record it, there was the problem of it not recording it as humans see it. This meant that the photographer himself had to make sure the process of making prints resulted in true colors, which in turn meant that he could control the appearance of photos so that they matched his own subjective, remembered impressions, or impressions imagined at the moment the shutter release was pressed.

What's happening now? Our beloved cameras interpret colors themselves, automatically creating a white balance. Of course, maybe – objectively speaking – the colors are all right, but in my opinion there is a certain misunderstanding! The fact alone that a sneaky camera like that shows just-taken photos on the LCD on its back means that one proper interpretation is imposed upon us – and that is a bad thing! A lot of people create, say, HDR images – so the image on the LCD shows them something that doesn't have a lot in common with the final effect.

So what is there to do? Maybe show something completely different? Maybe, say, visualize what tonal range was recorded, where visual noise will be and what kind, how much information can be taken from a RAW file, or in some way show the distribution of local contrast? I don't know, I'm making it up. But what I mean is that it would be necessary to show the possibilities for further processing that exist in recorded megabytes, and not an interpretation of it created on the basis of some algorithms in the form of an image. Because later it turns out that the image rules the camera, not the photographer.

Consider the histogram – it changed recently to be three-dimensional, and not only a graph of light - but it still shows too little information!

Also, with respect to imaging the thing to be photographed in the viewfinder, I have this theory – the photo should be reversed in the camera. Just like that – upside down, like in large format cameras. Why? It turns out that that image is looked at in a completely different way. The fragment in the viewfinder doesn't create a whole from the rest of the world seen around it – it is like a separate being, and it must be remembered that the viewer will see it exactly in that way – without all the surrounding scenery that we see when we look through the viewfinder at the real world outside the camera. Try looking at the world upside down – it makes a completely different impression.

Me, when I'm taking pictures, I reverse things on the focusing screen (left to right) – and damned if it bothers me. What's more – I like it, and when I lift a regular camera to my eye (my digital, say), for the first few seconds I don't know which way to move the lens in order to move the image that I see to the right or to the left.

Despite the fact that I have well-chosen equipment, I'm still looking. I am mainly looking for a great way to measure light. Measuring light is an important thing, and it's treated a little incidentally; it's true that new light meters do come out (there was a news about some Sekonic that takes the tonal range profile into account), but maybe there's still something to come – we'll think something up, right?

October, 2006

### 13th Frame, or vodka with a side of photography

Yesterday, after a conversation with my six-year-old son, I found one thing out – as we get older, we see more and we see sharper – and that's a bad thing!

What I mean is that – as far as I remember – when I was young, I paid more attention to shapes, colors, but in a kind of blurry way. As you get older, and you see more and more sharply, you concentrate harder on the details of an image, on its technical properties and so on. We break images down into prime factors, we analyze them. We penetrate them bit by bit, losing the overall picture.

This is why adults usually like everything that can be really delved into, things that have a lot of content in a small space; children are the opposite – that bores them.

And what happens when you drink? Aside from obvious difficulties with control, you see the world around you in a completely different way. :) An example? Here you go – I come from a small town, situated on a small river.

The town is not developing, and does not guarantee its inhabitants a bright future – it's basically boring and grey. The street my parents live on, moreover, is peripheral, so there's truly not much going on – and there is even more grey.

My father, being the good man that he is, and since sometimes a long time passes between our visits, when we do visit, it happens that he offers us vodka. Wyborowa – classic. About two years ago I was out for a walk with my wife after a drunken evening. How different that little street looked to me, despite the fact that I have seen it many times over the years! An orange hue to the entire scene, and a light fog in the distance, had me running back home for my camera; I measured the light, and without a tripod, put the equipment on the ground and snapped a photo.

Really, I would never have thought to take that photo while sober! ;)

It happened to me for a second time a few months later, in a similar situation – after leaving my parents' home, I saw the moon in the clouds; the scene caused (in addition to my excessive amazement) me to make a lot of commotion going back for my camera, setting up the tripod and so on. The most interesting thing is that it's really fun for everyone else! And in the process, they pay attention to those images – you can really sow the seeds of photographic obsession in a situation like that;)

That photo that I took – it didn't come out at all!

While the frame was being exposed, a car drove by, which – as far as I recall –pissed me off pretty well, and in addition, as it turned out later, there was pretty significant lens flare in the image. So what that it didn't turn out? I really like it today. In spite of the rules that I broke.

Ah, yes – breaking one's own rules. By taking these photos I am breaking one of my basic principles – when you drink, don't pick up a camera!

The matter is really quite important – and unfortunately, I have good reasons to confirm the above rule.

Everything started when I got invited to a wedding. Everyone knows that a wedding is a serious matter, and because I take pictures for fun, I always refuse when someone asks me to take pictures at that kind of event. Ugh! I refused my cousin once, nearly offending her! There was not really any issue here, though – I advised my friend to hire a professional, and he listened, and we didn't talk about my taking photos even once. (Everything was great, fine, but of course I took all my equipment with me – the party was far away, so I thought I would take some photos for sure on the trip back to Warsaw.)

At the day-after party, when everyone had started integrating and toasts to the new couple were free-flowing and uncontrolled, the groom himself came up to me and went, "So Rudolf, will you do us some photos with your medium format?"

So what was I supposed to say?

There wasn't really any pressure: the professional had already taken a ton of photos with some advanced digital camera, so after yelling to my wife, who was frolicking in the crowd, we gathered the present company and made for a picturesque little church, which I had scoped out earlier as a great backdrop for the newlyweds. Don't misunderstand me – it was not late enough for any of us to be considered drunk – oh no, impossible! But my friend's uncle had made a decent little moonshine, and as it would soon turn out – that beverage can really go to your head. ;)

The session was really great – the bride was attacked by ants, the weather was beautiful, the newlyweds looked truly fantastic – it was mostly because they looked so extraordinary that I didn't have to be talked into taking photos! The session was so great that I clicked away like it was my job – meaning that I took two rolls. :) (For me that's a lot for two hours, which is how much time we spent there.)

Now listen – a medium format square is characterized by the fact that with standard 120 film, there are 12 frames on the whole roll. No more! Twelve and that's it. Not 13!!!

And thirteen is what I took. :D Below is a scan of that 13th frame (or rather, a fragment of it) – and a symbol of my stupidity.

I honestly have no idea how I did it.

So the choice is up to you – either you drink, or you take whole photos ;)

I don't believe at all that vodka is an enemy of photography. Some, like say Witkacy, aided their work with truly varied mind-altering substances, and it turned out pretty well for them. But not all of us are a Witkacy ;)

In any case, the next time you drink, look at the world with the eyes of a photographer – you will see something that you don't see every day. And drink responsibly, if you're going to do it – first have a warm, filling meal, then drink something with a lot of vitamin C, and finally it's best to take a walk (it could be to the 24-hour store for another bottle). I try to eat well-seasoned meat, and I drink vodka with black currant juice.

So on that optimistic note, I will finish. Time to go shopping for a nice dinner ;)

August, 2006

### Tourists

Bob and Marla entered the glass high-rise with their hearts in their throats. The sun was nice and warm and lit the interior of the building in an amazingly attractive way. Marla took her husband's arm with an automated gesture and squeezed it, giving herself a little encouragement with the movement.

"I'm a little bit afraid," she whispered to her husband, still unable to move towards the modern-looking reception desk.

"It's ok, honey, you'll see – this is going to be the best vacation of our lives. And all our friends are going to turn green with envy. I'd especially like to see Jack's face, and that thin, prissy, well-dressed wife of his."

"Welcome to Holbein TimeHolidays," a woman with the name Betty on her shirt interrupted their conversation. She was wearing intense, modern makeup and had totally white, thick hair, cut above her shoulders. "My name is Betty and I'm going to take you to the person who will lead you through the rest of the procedures. Please follow me."

***

"So what kind of vacation have you chosen?" Their caretaker was dressed in an old-fashioned suit that contrasted with his fashionable haircut and glasses that were the absolute cutting edge of technological fashion, which to the casual observer only appeared as a dark fog hovering in front of the wearer's eyes. In reality they were an extremely complicated electro-optic mechanism which very few people could afford.

"First of all, we have only one and a half thousand credits," Bob began, clearing his dry throat. "We'd also like to take a photo of the Holy Father."

There was a moment of silence. Derrick, their caretaker, muttered and looked through some printouts he held in his hands.

"Ahem...So taking into account all possible discounts...Ahem...so," he lifted his eyes to the young couple, "with the discount for couples and for the promotional period going on now, I can propose the 22nd century and three entire days of a fantastic vacation at the Holy See of that time in Kathmandu."

Marla went pale and squeezed her husband's hand harder.

"But we...we really wanted to see John Paul II," she looked beseechingly at Derrick, "and we – we've really prepared for that audience very carefully. Bob and I have read historical accounts and all the encyclicals and about the most important events from the life of that great man, and you see...it's our life's dream."

"Please wait just a moment, I'll be right back. I have to speak with my boss." The large man in the old-fashioned suit stood up and quickly left the agonized couple.

"Dear, I don't know if we really should be spending so much money on something like this," Marla took advantage of being left along for a moment to address her husband, "and we'll be paying off the credit we took out for the next 35 years."

"Take it easy," Bob's dark face made it clear that he was stubborn and not backing down, "I will show you how to negotiate with people like this."

30 minutes later...

"So one more time," the technician in a laboratory apron explained, "we are sending you to the beginning of the 21st century. You will get a standard-equipped camera from that time period with a standard 5-megapixel matrix. Unfortunately, according to our strict rules, we cannot give you anything more modern. This means, in particular, that you are going to have to bring the camera to your eye, like this, and after you get the frame you want on this little screen you push this button here." He showed them each how to use the antique.

"Once you arrive, your group will be met by our guide, and we ask you that you please do follow his instructions exactly. The length of the visit is 4 hours, so it is not too short to take a few shots. Any questions?"

"How do you manage to send so many people without anyone from that time noticing?"

"Those people think that there are over 6 billion people in the world, and a large part of them are from uncontrolled regions of the third world. The problem of overpopulation that they had then was, after all, a result of our predecessors' lack of proper controls – they did not have as strict rules governing travel as we do. That's why only the best remain on the market."

"It wouldn't be possible to put us back 15 years earlier? To the pontificate of John Paul II?" Marla tried one last time.

"The years 1945-2005 are especially protected, and it's really very hard to send someone imperceptibly and without special permission granted by the Commission. Anyway, you two are lucky – the time of Benedict XVI's pontificate, when we're sending you, is very close to the time of his predecessor's death. So you can consider yourselves lucky. Is everyone ready?"

"I still have one question!" a wiry older man with a stiff figure spoke up. "Since we have to take photos with such archaic cameras, how will we show them to our family and friends?"

"When you get back, our specialists will use special tools to transfer the photos you all take to very modern media. You will all receive the results of your trip in both formats. Shall we begin?"

Since there were no further protests, the technician started up the apparatus. There was a quiet sound, like something wet hitting a hard floor, and then everyone suddenly found themselves in a spacious Roman room decorated in twentieth-century style.

AP/FOTOLINK

October, 2006

### In what weather should you not take photos?

I am by nature the type of person who likes to be well-rested. So I got up quite late, and taking no notice of the fact that it was practically noon, I went out to take some photos. Some time ago, I would never have done that. Why not?

I hear it from time to time: "Don't take portraits at noon – the strong shadows will beat into your model's face."

Or: "In the sunlight it won't come out!"

The time came to dispose of those prejudices –to either admit that some weather is just not good for taking photos, or acknowledge that our behavior is controlled by superstition and witchcraft.

Sure, the weather can sometimes be especially uninviting. It also happens that we just can't make things work in certain types of weather – say, when it's pouring rain and there isn't anyone to hold an umbrella over the camera. That's obvious. Let's try, however, to find a kind of weather, which by definition rules out taking good pictures.

What's the first thing that comes to my head? Let's start with weather that is simple and happens quite frequently; a kind of weather that is theoretically photogenic – but we can't skip it, because there would immediately be someone to accuse us of being biased and avoiding truisms.

Clouds on a nice, sunny day

What can you do on a day like that? Probably anything – you want to do people, you do it. You want landscapes, you do them. This is probably really one of the easiest examples. Sometimes you might feel like snapping a photo that doesn't represent much at all – the frame will look nice thanks to the weather. And if we go for capturing a dramatic scene with a red filter (of course only with black-and-white photographs) –ooh lala!

There are all different kinds of clouds– and they can be used in a multitude of ways. They can be the main element of a photo, thanks to their shape; they can regulate the amount of light, allowing only certain regions to be illuminated and shading others; or they can also work like a great reflector – a cloud like that has a size and height that allows it to disperse strong light and put the model in just the right lighting conditions. But more on that later. Since that weather is so great for taking photos, let's move on to the next case.

A sunny, cloud-free day

So, since clouds are so fantastic and useful, how do you deal with a sunny day without clouds? Is it possible, or is it not? Of course it is possible. Obviously, we're not going to be able to make artificial clouds (though I heard that for the last Olympics, the Chinese were able to control the cloudiness). So what is my advice? In my opinion, the easiest solution is to take advantage of the existing situation and use it for your own nefarious purposes. There are no clouds? The sky is uniform or has gradient? Take a minimalistic image that takes advantage of that fact! I was once at the seaside and I was totally annoyed that the sky was nondescript. Finally, in an act of desperation, I took the photo you can see here. The photograph is terribly minimalistic, and I know that there are many people who will not appreciate its charm – but take a look: would that little white sail on the horizon be as visible of the sky had been full of swirling white or grey fluff? Would anyone pay attention to that element? In a moment I'll probably hear: landscapes you can do, but certainly you wouldn't be able to snap a portrait in a situation like that. Fine – let's up the difficulty level and imagine that we want to take...

A portrait at high noon; not only a sunny day, but cloud-free

I'll be honest – for a long time, when the sun was strong I didn't leave the house. I could get up at three in the morning, go out for the photos, and by the time the noontime sun was strong, I was laying back down to sleep – first, in order to get rested, and second, to avoid the god-awful (or so it seemed to me) light. But one day my worldview changed so much that today I can write with a clear conscience: it is possible to take portraits in such difficult conditions. And that's not tilting at windmills, but a well-thought-out combination of the type of photo, light, and time of day. I'm not going to say anything truly revolutionary or insightful – you must take advantage of the fact that the light is strong! I will give an example: a woman on a hot day, in a situation where she can't hide in the shade, when it's not possible to do much of anything at all and where that sun is supposed to play on her face in just such a way as to convey that heat and unbearable temperature. How to depict that? Take that lady out at high noon for a session, as simple as that! Sure, sometimes you'll have to use reflectors – but excuse me, what portrait photographer today doesn't have a reflector of some kind??? A reflector can be anything at all that reflects the light to some degree – even a piece of styrofoam! So, is it possible? Sure it is. My only comment is this: in photography, nothing should be forced – if the weather conditions are what they are, either rebel and control the light 100% (studio lighting), or take advantage of the weather and take the kind of photos it allows you to.

A cloudy day – sky full of clouds, zero sun rays

If we have already told ourselves that clouds can be a great reflector, we should go for it and say straight out that a cloudy day is ideal weather for taking portraits! You should especially try it out yourself in autumn: that is a time to find truly inspiring light – not only cloudy skies but also rain, strong winds, bitter cold, or brisk mornings – not to mention the great colors that are especially present during that time. Maybe I'm writing this unnecessarily, because I'm sure you know it better than I do. I have so little time lately that I sit most often closed up at work or in some other unattractive room. In any case, one more word about totally cloudy weather – man does not live for portraits alone, of course. And here is the next virtue of immense clouds – for cameras without internal light measures, walking here and there (for example, taking photos out on the street) it's not necessary to change the parameters of aperture/time, because the atmospheric conditions on a day like that are simply invariable.

A propos photos in which there are no people, I think that it would be worth making one more easy comment: in this type of weather it's easier to concentrate on quite tight frames, and frame in such a way as to capture and detail the truly interesting elements of a particular place. Sometimes – of course – it happens that you can try to fit that cloudy sky into the frame, but that's more when you want to take a minimalistic image; maybe if the clouds have an interesting formation – then, sure, it's worth getting them into the frame, but that kind of situation is not at all common on cloudy days.

Rain

Sure, it's difficult weather. But mainly because we don't feel like leaving our cozy homes! There are people on this planet who really love being out on the rainy streets with a camera in hand. When it rains, a lot of things really become kind of magical – people act differently than stuffed-shirts from office buildings with ties around their necks, dull places acquire a flavor, and regular stairs become exceptional.

Generally speaking, when it's raining it's worth paying attention to a few important details – when it's pouring hard, think carefully about a good umbrella (or even an assistant who could hold that umbrella over your camera), or get special protection for your equipment (a transparent plastic bag). It's really worth it, even more so when your camera has electrical elements and you already managed to take some decent photos – it would be a shame to lose great photography because of a stupid malfunction!

Another important thing – return to places that you know well and look at them with new eyes, looking for frames even in places you've been a thousand times. An ordinary street just after a rain can have a surprising fresh harmony! When there is a light rain – one that's hard to capture in a photo – I sometimes try to concentrate on the details, portraying the rest outside the depth of field. Sure, sometimes strange things come out, and my wife screws up her face when looking at the effects, but so what – there's no better place to experiment than in photography. I, at least, get great pleasure from it. In rainy weather (and not necessarily only when it's raining), it's also a good idea to take a walk through the woods and photograph trees. Maybe you don't like trees, but that's just scary. :P

Snow

Snow is a phenomenon which in my opinion is less and less common in Europe, and when it does snow, instead of a white fluff on the streets, there is only a dirty, dark, muddy slush.

Maybe it's just for that reason that in winter, it's a good idea to get out of the city, to witness the stunning whiteness that super-modern light meters in the newest digital cameras can't handle. Or maybe by now they can handle it?

In any case, if snow is something new for you, you will easily find advice on the Internet to the effect that – in order for it to come out white and not grey – you have to correct the light measurement by letting two or maybe three extra EV units of light through the lens (depending on how much snow there is in the frame and what you're really trying to achieve).

But those are the basics, and I'm sure I'm writing about them needlessly again, because everyone knows them. So what is really worth paying attention to when photographing snow? The temperature! Sometimes even the most tenacious among us forget to bring extra batteries – and that kind of energy source is characterized by the fact that at low temperatures they lose power unusually fast! And here, unfortunately, I have to acknowledge the superiority of analog photography – especially of all cameras without batteries – medium formats, for example. Ha!

Old technology is still more useful in those circumstances than the most technologically-advanced inventions! And if we're already on the topic, why not move from digital photography to analog? ;)

A white snowy surface is ideal for demarcating people's silhouettes – as long as they are not units of special military forces, dressed in camouflaged jumpsuits blending in with the white background. It's also great weather for showing a wide range of people's reactions – I actually have the impression that people take much better photos in unfavorable atmospheric conditions; precisely because many of their features, which are usually hidden on a day-to-day basis (in their warm houses), become visible. Why not, then, take advantage of that?

So we have various types of weather that can occur during the day. None of them are difficult enough to warrant foregoing taking photos, right?

Fog – in the morning or evening

Honestly speaking, fog is dangerous. Oh yes, for us, photographers, fog is dangerous! I remember that for as long as I've been taking pictures, strange weather conditions – like for example fog that hovers mysteriously over the ground – have always caused a desire to arise within me to immortalize those beautiful vistas. How many times I've taken my car and gone out before sunrise, specifically to capture those foggy images in my camera!

And what is dangerous about that? What is dangerous is kitsch. Oh, how often I've fallen prey to that! A little fog, a little tree, sometimes a dewy spiderweb – and Internet galleries are full of that stuff! It's so banal... Well, sometimes you just can't escape from banality. So do a lot of fog, so what! And if you manage to take one that somehow stands out from the thousands of others just like it – all the more to your credit. Sometimes, in order to achieve this goal, it's a good idea to go to an unusual place, or include people's silhouettes in the frame. It works, but you still have to be vigilant every day. Sometimes you might want to do some architecture – and a danger lurks here too; obviously, all monoliths, large buildings, bridges, or other wonders can look great, sometimes even fairy-tale-esque, in the fog. That's why I repeat again – photos should always be taken when you feel like it; they should be shown, however, only when they contain something unusual, new, or moving.

Evening hours

The late afternoon and evening is a special time of day. On the one hand, you might hear about the "magical hour" when theoretically magical photos are taken, and on the other hand I've seen a ton of photography that was messed up for the precise reason that someone decided that the magic of the time of day was enough – the rest didn't count. It is actually just the opposite. At that time, both the frame and the light count – and believe me, you cannot just count on the fact that the time is right – the light should always be used in a particular way, to its best advantage! Landscapes in the evening can often make a deep impression– but sometimes, like now, during the shorter autumn days, you've gotta hustle pretty good to capture that quickly-changing light in the lens. More than a few times I have run, fully outfitted, with my tripod, sometimes even with a small portable ladder, in order not to miss the photo. And more than a few times, I was too late and could only wring my hands.

Is it possible, though, to take portraits in the evening? It is possible, it is definitely possible. It is possible even with an awkward medium-format, with ISO 100 film inside – ordering the model to pose without moving for 3 seconds. Interestingly, female models usually accept these ideas comprehendingly. Sometimes, a great effect can be achieved with lights (from a city, for example) in the background of a late-evening portrait. It can also be the case that it's a good idea to have a flashlight with you, so as to, say, light up some part of the frame – because for such small quantities of light it makes no sense to lug all your lighting equipment with you.

Night

Night is the last time of day that I would say is not good for taking photos. In any case, if you are a frequent reader, you will be familiar with various night photos that I have shared. Obviously, it is possible to take those photos. Some better and some worse, some easier and some more difficult – but it is possible. The question remains of which types of weather are better or worse for taking photos at night. In order not to complicate matters, I'll say this: if you like really long exposures, choose a moonless night. If, however, you prefer to take more than two pictures in one night, go out on a night when there is a clear moon shining proudly in the sky. That really makes things easier. So if night or strong midday sun don't make it hard to take photos, what kind of weather does make it hard? Let's analyze some more interesting examples.

Photos against the sun

Photos against the sun are something that those who have just bought themselves a digital point-and-shoot are forbidden to take. Of course only because the measuring mechanisms in those devices cannot deal with contrast. But for us, photographers, who want to take interesting photos, photography against the light is a quite common practice, is it not? I am not talking about photographing with low contrast, back-lit by the sun, as is often done with pretty ladies, in order to emphasize the storm of beauteous and delicate hair that frames their faces. I am rather thinking about a situation in which the sun is shining directly in your face. Full on, no compromises. Is it possible? Sure it is. For better or for worse, but it is possible – and often, if someone approaches the theme bravely, it brings about truly interesting effects. Unfortunately, in difficult conditions like these, it is important to simply think hard before pushing the shutter release button. But I have the fuzzy impression that there aren't really any witless photographers. And there definitely aren't any among the readers of this book .

:)

Other extreme situations

There are, clearly, other moments that I haven't written about. There are situations in which it is hard to even think about taking a photo, not to mention correctly framing one or measuring light. I have myself been in such situations, and honestly speaking– I'm not going to say anything that would answer the question that is the title of this piece. So again: it is possible to take decent photos in extreme situations. Imagine a scene like the following: a squall on a small yacht, in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, part of the crew regurgitating their breakfasts over the bulwarks, everyone is freezing, and moving about the deck is only possible after buckling on a special safety harness to a fixed element of the ship. So what does Rudolf do in that situation? Obviously he affixes himself to the deck for safety, but he also takes a light meter, measures the light and holding on tight to his camera, he shifts around, looking for a good frame. The ship hurls him to the left and right, water floods the deck, ladies and gents emit disturbing sounds – but nothing stops our brave hero from getting his frame, and, spitting out salty sea water, clicking the photo after several pendulations.

Once I encountered a text on the Fotopolis.pl (polish photography site):

"I look through all the books devoted to the science of photography that are published on our market. If there is any mention of photography in bad weather conditions, it is only in the context of a difficult oddity. If I were to start taking photos today, I would think that taking photos against the sun or in the fog is a task for only the very advanced. Or that it doesn't bring about interesting results. But unusual lighting conditions are the basis for the atmosphere of thousands of photos that haunt the memory. Honestly speaking, I am convinced that the majority of photos that have earned a place in the collective consciousness are photographs taken in "unusual" conditions. "Normal" photos pass through us like neutrinos (neutrinos are elemental particles that don't have mass or charge and can easily pass through material – Ed.)."

Isn't that an interesting observation?

But does all the above then decidedly and unambiguously go against the title of this piece? Is there really no weather or time of day when photos should not be taken?

I think there is.

There is a fragment of the day, when the night ends, and we who have gone outside at night to take photos notice that it is beginning to get more and more light. Not yet light enough to consider it morning, but enough that film (or a digital sensor) will unexpectedly register a sky gradient where we didn't exactly expect one.

There is also a theory that the best time of day for good, fulfilling sex is the early morning!

Why not then combine these two observations? We then have an unambiguous, simple, pleasant and useful conclusion: just before dawn, in the moment when night begins to end, you should forgot taking photos. You should turn over and wake up your woman (or man), and initiate good, morning sex, which I believe will bring a great mood and energy for the coming day.

November, 2008

### Power Up Your Vision!

"What's this you're mixing up?"

"You'll see in a second." She mixed the contents of a little pan, covered it with a lid and took out a pair of latex gloves.

"Come on, we have to go make some room."

"Room? Room for what??" he asked, not really grasping what was going on. It was hot in those digs, and Matthew had the impression that the atmosphere was so oppressive that he was about to asphyxiate. He couldn't understand why all the windows were closed.

"Why don't you open a window?" he asked again, growing more exasperated.

"Don't bother me now."

She sat at her desk and began rooting through the drawers. She took out a camera and film, and began to load it, paying completely no attention to him. As if he was there every day. "It's as if we were married – she is paying completely no attention to what I say or do," the thought flashed through his mind. He pulled over a chair and sat with defeat. He observed her loading the film and wondered what kind of freak you had to be to lock all your windows shut.

"What are you concocting over there?" he asked, breaking the prolonged silence.

"Can you throw this away?" She gave him an empty film canister, ignoring the question.

He involuntarily took the trash and got up to throw it into the can.

"You're not interested in why I came? We haven't seen each other in a long time, don't you think?" he asked irritably, holding the packaging in his hand.

"I know why you came." She looked him straight in the eyes, freezing for a moment. They sized each other up for a while – he completely wet and agitated, she completely calm with a cool, calculating gaze.

"What happened to your eye?" he asked and turned around, not able to maintain the contest. She broke into joyful laughter, like a little girl.

"Nothing happened to me. Just the opposite, in fact – my vision was restored," she retaliated, again laughing happily, baffling him even more.

"But I can see that you have a bruise of some kind. Maybe you have a broken blood vessel? That could be dangerous. I knew a guy once, something broke in his eye. It was Pavel's neighbor. Later it turned out that he had strained too hard on the toilet. He spilled the beans over some vodka. It was a riot," he added bitterly. "Later he had an operation, which by the way cost him a pretty penny, and they did something to him so now he sees everything double."

"Like Yossarian!"

"What? Who is Yossarian?? What's with that name again? Who are you hanging around with?"

"Yossarian from Catch-22, brainiac!" Laughing, she slugged him in the ribs and elegantly moved aside, then leaned again over the prepared concoction.

"Done!" she cried after a moment without turning around.

Matthew exhaled loudly and sat on a chair by the door to the kitchen. His smiling sister turned around, wielding an old syringe that was partially filled with some orangey liquid, and like a doctor about to administer an injection, brought the instrument to eye level, checking for air bubbles.

"What is that?" he groused, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"I know why you came. You came to ask me to take photos, right?" She looked at him straight in the eye again, pausing for a moment. As usual, it rattled him and he dropped his gaze.

"Yes," he said, looking at the floor.

"I knew it!" Delighted again, she walked over to her desk and the freshly-loaded camera. She sat, took out a small standing mirror, and leaning against the tabletop brought the needle of the syringe to her eye, holding her eyelid with her other hand.

"What do you think you're doing???" he asked weakly, not believing what he saw. He was aghast, but also felt paralyzed – his sister's confidence and her grisly preparations took away his strength; he could not even move his arm in protest.

"This is a novelty for the market. I'm only testing it now, as you can see, brother of mine. It really gives a kick to the way you see the world. It will create a new generation of fantastic photographers, you'll see. Now be quiet, because I've got to get it in the right place."

December, 2006

### Sometimes you just have to give up

I'm going to tell you a story today, a story that – and I observe it sometimes – happens to many photographers. A story about a chair. ;)

The story begins one beautiful, moonlit night, when that incandescent satellite of ours unleashed in me – with its presence – the desire to photograph. The moon is an awfully mysterious personality that paces our firmament – it moves our oceans, and it happens that it unleashes a desire to howl in its light, and a friend of mine even thinks that during a full moon... hair will grow instantaneously all over his body.

This time I got the urge to take photos. As quickly as I could, I packed my trunk with backpack and equipment, tripod, and my wife, and I set off on the hunt. Down Pulawska Street – one of Warsaw's main arteries.

The first stop – and I already see that there will be something. We dig everything out of the car and I start to look around. I go this way, and that, crouch down, lean over, look down, up, and sideways – and my wife patiently follows me in a state of readiness.

You know, sometimes it happens that despite a favorable aura, it's just not possible to frame anything good enough to merit picking up the camera. So we walk farther. I see that my woman is starting to have had enough, so I try to approach the problem in a different way with the time I have left, and we go a few steps farther to the underground passage.

"Look!" I yell, stopping suddenly and gesturing with my arm to the left. The poor girl nearly gave up the ghost.

"What happened, honey?" she asked quietly with eyes goggling.

"A chair, you see?" I ask excitedly.

My wife looks at me like I'm an idiot, and her face slowly loses the paleness – she seems to be recovering. We fall silent for a moment, measuring each other up. I look into her tired eyes...

Sometimes I wish I had two wives. One for the day, and one for the night. Then I wouldn't have to deal with her constantly nodding off by the computer at midnight, while I fervently browse through random sites, and she would love to be snuggled under a warm blanket already, but she insists that she can tough it out with me. Wives on two shifts wouldn't get in each other's way, and I would have someone to carry the tripod 24 hours a day. All perks!

But for the moment, we measure each other up, and I see that my one and only completely doesn't understand my excitement.

"Look, a chair on the grass!" I holler, wanting to infect her with my enthusiasm. "See? Over there, someone put a chair, in the middle of the city, in a place that everyone forgot on the grass, where cars fly by without stopping, and no one would even think... "Never mind." I cut myself off, resigned. "Set up the tripod."

In a matter of microseconds I forget that I am the only one here enjoying the situation, and I rush to get a frame of the weird scene at hand. It quickly turns out, however, that I can't find a place! The whole thing looks extraordinary, as I walk around and look – the atmosphere of the place is truly rare – but everything that I see is somehow...awkward to photograph!

Because look – there is the chair on the grass. Nearby, on the left – a multi-lane road, on the right, some little birch trees, and among them a mattress leaning on a tree, another chair (less comfortable), and a camping table.

I slow down the shutter, but I know that the photo is hopeless. I don't like the fact that the context isn't visible at all – when I get the scene in that way, I lose the transportation thoroughfare on the left.

I try it in a different way – keeping in mind what I have written recently about interesting places, I get closer – and I try to capture individual, rather tight frames. I don't even know – it's sort of better, because you can even see the strings that are probably for hanging clothes (or whatever you would hang in a place like this). The second chair, next to the trunk of a birch tree, is a little bit better in the frame. The table on the right, outside of the depth of field does give a little sense of coziness, but that's just not doing it somehow.

Fine, I mutter under my breath, let's do this wide. I wander with my camera over to the cement part of the barrier that divides the sidewalk from the grass and sit down on the narrow surface, using it as a tripod. I snap a photo – the frame includes the street, chair, grass, even the birches and the now barely-visible mattress; bah! Even the moon was captured, who knows why. I wind the film, holding onto the barrier so as not to fall.

"What is it?" I suddenly ask my wife, alarmed, eyes goggling.

"Dear, aren't you afraid?" she asks delicately. Dammit, flashes through my head. I had completely forgotten about my paralyzing fear of heights. Now clutching the barrier, I move to a safer place.

But I have a problem – none of the photos are what I wanted. I can't photograph that place in a way that portrays the most important elements of the scene, despite the fact that I have the feeling that it should actually be possible! Shit, shit!

Sometimes I see photos (on the Internet) where there is something missing. It's obvious that the scene has some potential, but the photographer just wasn't able to take advantage of it. Either the shot was framed too much from the side, or too tightly, or too widely (it's actually usually too widely). And I'm dealing with just that problem, and experience and knowledge don't help. What the devil? Deep in my soul, I feel – even worse – that it is possible to do it better. Closer, farther, from behind – nothing is as it should be. Maybe from a bit above on the right side? From about six feet away. But where do I get the anti-gravity platform? ;)

In any case, to my wife's delight – I give up, and... I turn around, only to be captivated by the beautiful freshly-laid asphalt with a rugged surface. Of course I shoot a frame and we go back home.

...the rugged surface of the asphalt...

Sometimes you just have to give up, right?

September, 2007

### How to find your very own Photography Master

In the beginning...in the beginning there is euphoria. The first photos that "come out," pride, showing everyone, joy from that magic that comes from stopping time in a photograph. Later, however, there comes that time for everyone when the question emerges – what do I really know how to do? Do I know how to take pictures?

And the hunger for knowledge emerges.

You can learn photography in all kinds of different ways (from books, from a friend, uncle, your grandmother on your mother's side, or the Internet). Sometimes people take courses, take part in workshops, even study it in college. There are also those who claim to have taught themselves to photograph, without any kind of help. Don't believe them – they simply sold their souls to the devil.

There is, though, a way to learn that has proven itself to be the best for hundreds of years: you have to find yourself a Master. I'm sure you know the Institution of Master from movies, maybe even from books. The Master scolds, advises, looks after, complains, gives instructions to do dozens of senseless exercises – you know how Masters work, right? One thing is sure – once a Master accepts you, you are sure to learn something from him. It has always been that way, is so, and forever will be. If anyone thinks, however, that you don't meet Masters anymore – they are seriously mistaken.

Allow me to mention the short history of Tomek Niewiadomski. It is a typical story, just like from a movie, whose climax was an exhibition in Warsaw about 3 years ago and the opening of Galeria 65. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. First there was the hunger for knowledge, the student (Tomek Niewiadomski), the Master (David Michael Kennedy) and the traditional platinum/palladium technique.

"I insisted on having workshops with David," Tomek says in an interview for the Polish newspaper Rzeczpospolita. "You cannot teach yourself the secrets of the platinum and palladium technique; they are conveyed through direct contact to the student by the master."

"...David never takes more than one student. The novice studies and lives at his home, as a family member. First the candidate is given a difficult test. The Master orders him to call at a time specified down to the minute, for example at 2:11pm. If the call is even a minute late, David announces that he does not have time to talk. He gives another time, just as specific. That's how he judges if the study is truly important to someone. I managed to prove that it was."

Sounds exotic, right? But as we can see – it worked.

All right then. We are searching for a Master. You see yourselves that when you find someone, you have to prove to him that you are worth the dedication of his precious time. Sometimes it's harder, sometimes easier, but with the right amount of determination – it will work out.

It did work out for me, too, to find someone that I could learn a lot from, whose photography impressed me and who could criticize me sufficiently. I found a Master.

The only thing left for me to do was to get in the car and take him for an outdoor photo shoot.

I was very well prepared when I set out: it was a sunny day, and I had two umbrellas in the trunk just in case (one of them was big); additionally, I brought along a truly wide variety of film: Ilfords (Delta 100, Hp5 and Delta 3200), Fuji Pro400H, and even a roll of slightly-expired Velvia. A small two-step ladder was also lying in the trunk.

We're driving. For the moment, the subjects are unrestricted – from the Quintessence of Ever-Presence Existence to holey underwear and socks without pairs. I conclude that it is the right moment to extract some of the secrets of photography.

"So the places where you take pictures, do you choose them somehow?" I ask.

"Places? What do you mean?"

"You know, when you're going to take some photos, but ones with people, where there's a person, do they happen in a specific place that's a favorite of yours? Or maybe a type of place? I don't know, bars, playgrounds... "

"I don't really know what you mean. Maybe talk in photos, it'll be easier for me to tell you something."

I fall silent, chewing my lip. I recall the Master's photographs and it turns out that he takes them in places where I often am too. I tell him that.

"You see," he laughs. "It can happen anywhere. You see a situation, you're ready, so you press the shutter release and you have a photo. Another thing is that you have to help along fate a little bit. For example, the one I showed you most recently. I made the guy walk in front of the lens about four times before it worked and I could shoot the photo. Turn left here now."

We're driving on roads so precipitous that the speed limit is 15 mph. Finally we drive up to some ruins. We get out of the car – and we run into some young children with little boats on strings, on a little bridge. I hadn't seen that kind of thing in years! How did he know that this opportunity would present itself? I suspect that once you're a Master, Fate herself sends you such things.

Unbelievable.

We spread out with our equipment – I a little farther on, in the distance, but the Master walks into the midst of the children, and they release their vessels into the water as if he wasn't there among them. Ha, so it is actually possible to get a bit closer, I think to myself.

We don't play long, though, and less than twenty minutes later we move on, top stop again, because he saw something through the window. He gets out and frames and I stand and do nothing.

"Why aren't you taking photos?"

"Something's not right. I don't see the frame," I explain with my hands in my pockets. He shakes his head in disapproval:

"You were supposed to be learning something!"

We drive farther. We chat, listen to the radio, pass eighteen-wheelers. On cruise control, you could say. Suddenly I see a beautiful old tree surrounded by water, with the setting sun and clouds in the background. I brake.

"Let's do that bush, ok? But we've gotta hurry, because the sun could be gone any moment."

We walk over – we take a look, we frame and we start to get annoyed, because in every setup there is a blasted pipe. I dash for the car to set up the tripod and ladder – but it doesn't help – the pipe is in the frame, period. We give up and I collect our mess and take it back to the trunk. I get in, catching my breath, because of course we'd had to run a nice little distance (the sun really can set fast).

Naturally, we don't find anything worth photographing before dinnertime. The meal illustrates our relationship perfectly – the Master chooses a proper plate with meat, sauce, and a little tower of veggies, and the student picks up a sandwich and munches on the go.

"Adam Malysz had a diet that supposedly helped him when he was ski jumping," I commence. "What do you eat? Other than stuff like that, of course," I add, so as not to appear stupid.

"I eat cold fish at home in the morning. Canned. Later some chocolate. And a banana. When I'm not at home, I eat like you can see here," he adds, spearing his last pea with consideration and finesse.

Supposedly you can think better after a meal –but we had unhappy faces. A moonless sky meant that it could be hard to find something. We drive up to a railroad crossing and I slow down.

"Oooooh, a railroad crossing. And what does that mean, my young Padawan...hm?" My passenger smiles widely.

"Uhh...a photo opportunity?"

"Good! Precisely."

"Eh, Master," I voice my doubts, "a crossing like this is no good. Besides, look, ha! There's another one, even bigger!" I slow down again, a dozen or so meters after the first crossing there really is a second one, bigger. "You were blinded, Master, by the desire for photos of railroad crossings."

We drive on a few meters farther, and then...we find another set of tracks. We look at each other in silence, not knowing what to think.

We are finally standing in a place where you could take a photo. Of course a photo of train tracks. A lamp blinks on and off. It is blinking, but in a precisely-defined rhythm – for exactly 20 seconds it blinks off, and then after exactly the same amount of time it turns on again. Since the light ruins the atmosphere, the exposure has to take place in that third of a minute. The Master aims his lens, I stand and watch.

"Why aren't you taking photos?"

"I don't know? It's kind of strange, this frame. I'm not feeling it."

"It's a good one, look," he explains, "here the tracks come together in the light of that other lamp, only to disappear a moment later into the darkness, emptiness."

"Eh. I just sense the emptiness when I look at that frame. It won't come out for me."

"You were supposed to be learning," he complains again, but he sets up his camera and settings himself.

"But you said," I give a counterargument, "that there was supposed to be point and counterpoint in photography, some counterbalance, or contrast."

"And here there is something totally opposite, something that breaks that rule," he explains. We both see that the lesson will end in failure.

We return to the car.

"You see," I say when we're by the car, "I like those little leaves, over there. They've got decent contrast, you know, that lamp behind them, and here the symmetry of those posts," I explain vaguely.

"I don't see it. You weren't feeling my frame, and I'm not feeling yours," the Master says, insulted, and heads for the car, and I set up the exposure. We wait 17 minutes, taking a leak in the meantime. Shit, can you imagine? He even peed for twice as long as I did, so masterfully...

Unbelievable.

We're finally on our way back, driving down some muddy and deserted roads with potholes. Water on one side, an embankment on the other, and the end of the road nowhere in sight. In the background there's some good Bielorussian rock playing. Exhausted from driving on precipitous roads, we finally spot the end – a derelict barrier with a STOP sign. I'm bummed – a half-hour drive just to find out that the road was closed. I try to figure out how to turn around, but the Master stops me:

"Drive to the end of the road," he says.

I start driving. It is simply hopeless – I see the lights of the power station growing nearer to one side, and a dark sheet of water on the other. We make it to the end and stop – the barrier is a decent piece of metal; a little warped, eaten by rust in some places, but still awfully heavy and durable.

"Drive under it," I hear.

"Are you nuts? No way I'll fit!" I protest.

"You'll make it. Drive."

Millimeters, or even less. That's how much space was between the roof of the car and the bottom of the barrier. I don't know how we made it.

"You see, my young Padawan," my passenger says calmly, "always drive to the end, even when the road is closed, if you're driving down it already."

In terms of photographs, the open-air session did not go well. Neither of us really has (will not have) anything to boast about. Just before two in the morning we drive up to the Master's house.

"Master," I speak up in farewell, "not only did we not take good photos, but I also failed twice in your teachings. What conclusions should I draw from that?"

The Master looks at me coolly. I do nothing. He looks at me altogether coldly. Still nothing. So he gives me a glass of cold water with ice and gets out of the car.

Having your own Master is a good thing, I think to myself, speeding down the nighttime streets towards home.

April, 2008

### Secrets of Our Forefathers

"Did you know that Plato tried to convey something to his students, but he never allowed them to write it down?" Roderyk asked the woman with whom he was walking near an enormous shrine/shopping complex. Since the Church had become the world's most powerful country, shrine/shopping outposts had popped up like mushrooms after a rain shower. Of course, like well-guarded mushrooms. Every venue was hidden by a small garrison, in which were stationed special "antiterrorism" units.

"Ridiculous," the woman answered, modulating her voice to mean "I don't care."

"Not at all," Roderyk continued fervently. "Supposedly those transfers had something to do with Plato's prophetic visions. Unfortunately, none of them have survived until our times, or at least that's the official position."

"Documents for control, please," a mighty officer of the Guard appeared in front of them with a highly eloquent assault rifle hanging from his shoulder.

"Sometimes I feel like we were at war with someone," Roderyk complained, obiediently displaying the essential documents. His spouse smiled dimly at the soldier, as if she wanted to apologize to him for her partner's behavior.

***

The wind whistled bleakly through abandoned barrels and old, broken-down cars. Here and there the remains of fires burned, and around them stood small groups of figures dressed in old coats – and the late autumn made its presence felt with a bitter chill. The relative silence was broken by the clatter of high-heeled shoes. A group of ragamuffins standing by a bonfire looked on, carefully observing the woman passing by them. She was dressed in a dark leather coat; light-colored, shoulder-length hair fell temptingly on the coat's leather collar, pleasantly contrasting with its darkness. The woman passed the group of people observing her with swift strides, and then after covering a distance of a few meters, entered the unremarkable door of a rather seedy rowhouse. The group warming itself by the fire wordlessly turned back towards the heat source.

"I hope you didn't announce to the whole world where you were going," a nimble old man said, helping the attractive blonde take off her leather coat.

"As usual, you are paranoid, uncle," the blonde smiled. "Of course I didn't tell anyone. Do you still have some of that green tea you served me last time? It was delicious."

"Of course, I'll just brew some. Make yourself comfortable and wait – I'll be right back."

***

"You said you're looking for what?"

"We're looking for slides. Unfortunately, nothing specific is known. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that Plato conveyed some things to his students that he did not allow them to write down."

"And have you heard that Pythagoras did not let his students eat kidney beans or broad beans? He believed that passing gas allowed a bit of the soul to escape."

"Excuse me??"

"Never mind. Go on, my dear."

"So the thing is that a sect was established on the basis of those conveyances. Nothing was known about it until the last century. A week ago, members of that informal organization discovered that there were only five of them left, as from the thirty of them that were supposed to uphold tradition, twenty-five died either in accidents or were killed in unknown circumstances. They reported to the Temple where Roderyk works, saying that they needed to be taken into custody and that there could be a terrorist attack. Pavel of course jumped on it right away, you know how he likes secretive things like that. Finally it turned out that one of the members of that sect is our close friend, the famous hacker, Ash. We have to find out what those conveyances were, because none of the five remaining will reveal it to us over their dead body."

"Hmmm...I think I know who to ask. But it will take me a while to get to that person."

"Just please, hurry. We don't know how much time we have."

April, 2007

### Digital Master

Somehow it happened that we hadn't seen each other even once in many weeks. Significant changes had arisen in each of our lives, so I was looking forward even more to that outdoor photo shoot – a short one, but nonetheless an outdoor shoot.

We met in the city center, in a quite cultured spot. First glance – shock. The Master grew a moustache! I looked again – shock! The Master smiled sunnily in greeting. "Oh, hell, time does march on," I thought gloomily and came closer in order to greet him obediently.

I didn't fail to note that, in addition to a large phone (or smartphone, or whatever it's called), the Master was equipped with an enormous, modern, name-brand digital camera, with a big zoom lens. A small bag with a medium format hung lugubriously at his side.

So that was the start. Then it just got better.

"How come you started using a digital? Especially one like that," I inquired. "It's big, it's conspicuous, it's loud, and one single reset and you lose all your photos!"

He stopped snapping colorful frames of the city evening and gave me a dirty look.

"You don't get it. It doesn't have anything to do with some dreamt-up ideas, but with what is necessary for whom. Look: can you take a picture of that little kid over there playing with his dad? I can!" and he snapped a photǫ.

Clearly I couldn't take the picture. The little one was about three years old and he moved as a three-year-old does, and the flash lit up the scene so much that with the super-fast 1600 film that I had, and the lens as wide open as possible (F/2.8), I could only dream about 1/8 or 1/15 sec.

I shrugged my shoulders and turned around, looking for a frame for myself.

"Oh, or look at this. I usually use ISO 6400 with these conditions, but what harm is there in using ISO 2500? None! Ok, maybe it's a little noisy. But I'll get the picture!" and he snapped a photo of some bushes.

"Also," he continued with his eye to the viewfinder, "this," he added, gesturing to the digital, "is something that I carry because I have to. My work requires it of me. But this" gesturing to the bag with the medium format, "this is numero uno!"

I looked at him and we moved on without saying anything. The discussion, thanks to our avoidance of the topic of the equipment he was wielding, somehow managed to continue. I tried not to push, and being a nice person, tried not to draw attention to the fact that he'd already taken about 40 photos (including 8 of just bushes), and his "numero uno" didn't even get the chance to take a breath of fresh air. So we chatted for a good while like we used to.

But nothing good lasts forever, right?

"See, speaking of the darkrooms that they used to carry around on big wagons, now look at this. It's got a mini-photoshop built in!" He showed me, triumphantly, pointing at the LCD of his camera. "Look, look, I can change the white balance, frame, or even make it lighter, darker, or whatever!"

I gazed silently at the Master's silhouette inclined over the glowing screen. He sensed something, because he slowly straightened and noticed my expression. I didn't have a very good opinion, at that moment, of this fascination of his and it was clearly evident.

"Faggot!" he spat spitefully.

I burst out laughing. I actually like seeing these changes. The Master was acting completely as if he'd found himself a lover 20 years his junior, and that – as various sources have it – has a fantastic effect on the health and duration of a man's life. So let him be healthy!

It was just a shame that he was leaning over the digital's LCD and stubbornly flipping at something on it, and didn't notice the great frame in front of him. It was also a shame that I, who did notice it, had just snapped my own last frame, so I couldn't take the picture. All in all – the end result was the same.

July, 2009

### Flagrancy, or the desire to meet someone?

Dear Doctor,

I'd like to write to you today, for a change, about square photos.

I saw that ass with the camera again – he was walking through some fair, looking through the stands. I saw that he was all discombobulated, because he didn't even say hello to me. To hell with him, Doctor, I don't have anything against him for that.

Of course I followed him, purely out of curiosity. I had bought only milk, so the shopping bag wasn't as heavy as it was last time. Do you remember, Doctor, how I fell down the stairs and scraped up my arm, when I rushed with the milk before? But it's not important.

Coming back to it – people obviously looked at him as if he were crazy, because in a small town, where everyone says hello to everyone else, it's bizarre to see someone lugging a big old medium format camera! I will assume that he thought that he was not very visible, and I myself am a witness to the fact that Krystyna, the lady from the gas plant, showed him the finger. But anyway.

At a certain point he went to see the old biddy selling garlic. Of course he took her picture, and how. He even barefacedly tried to chat her up. And at this point I was moved at the sound of what I heard, coincidentally, from where I was standing not too far away.

The poor woman comes to that fair regularly every week; she comes with all her "junk" for the sole reason that when she's at home she misses people. I felt sorry for the granny, but I wasn't about to make a scene on the street, especially since I was holding that damned milk in my hand. I would have banged myself up again.

My dearest Doctor, tell me please – is that not premeditated flagrancy? That bastard talked to her only for the photo! Then he left and surely forgot about it, and the poor woman had something to think about for the next week... Maybe I'm getting too aggressive, but is that not goddamned human exploitation? He says that he meets people that way, or something, but I simply see the egocentric desire to attain a frame!

Which is it?

I am attaching a photo – in which I personally see sadness. The sadness of the poor old lady, who came to the fair with the pretext of a head of garlic, only in order to be with other people. And sadness, because no one really went up to talk to her except for that pseudo-photographer. Sadness, also because he did it for the photo. That's what I think. I am certain that it's exactly that. Son of a gun.

Sincerely and awaiting a response post-haste,

Roderyk

PS. I hope you enjoyed the wine I sent you.

January, 2009

### On commenting

I once set up an account on obiektywni.pl, a Polish online photo gallery. Everything was great, but for some reason I stopped going on there. I don't know, maybe it was kind of my fault, because lately time just seems to slip away from me. But there is something irritating about that site, and about many others. No, rewind – not at all. It's some of the users that irritate me. The comments, to be exact. Often, as I was browsing through the galleries – people were out-and-out arguing with each other and almost coming to blows. Wherefore so many emotions in those comments? Interestingly, the emotions are not about the photos, but about what others are saying.

It turns out that the art of commenting on other people's work is immensely difficult. The Internet has taught us to be blowhards – maybe because of that apparent anonymity that it seemingly provides. Mike Johnston has written something about that swaggering.

(See:  http://theonlinephotographer.blogspot.com/2006/06/great-photographers-on-internet.html)

Maybe it's precisely that set of negative experiences that has resulted in the fact that I don't feel like participating. And this is probably why I like altphotos.com, where there are really not many comments at all.

(Unfortunately this page no longer exists.)

But what can be done to make a comment meaningful?? To make it helpful to the photographer?

A while ago I read a decent book by E. Aronson ("The Social Animal"). It had a little something written about giving "feedback" to people in general. Which, I think, can be of great use in Internet galleries.

First of all – the creator of the image gives it to you to look at it. That is a gift from him. A piece of himself. That person shows you that piece, simply opens himself up; exposes his soft underbelly. Since he has given you something, how can you react? With aggression? With ridicule? With devastating criticism? With details about what he did wrong?

NO! You also have to give something from yourself. Preferably a piece of yourself, too. But how can you do that, since you can only leave him a bit of text?? Tell him what that photo made you feel. Don't say how the photo is, just say what you yourself feel when you look at it. That is certainly much more valuable than writing "not a bad photo" under the image.

We often want to say that we don't like something. We don't like it so much that we have to yell it in someone's face. Preferably the face of the one who created it. And the method above allows us to do it in such a way as to:

\- not provoke aggression (you don't criticize the image or its creator, but you speak about your own feelings);

\- convey concrete information (you say that the image brings up certain negative feelings and not others, through such and such of its features);

\- get it off your chest (because after all you're conveying that something is unpleasant for you).

It is not easy (because so very often our "expert" mode turns on – I would have framed it differently, I would have done it in black and white, etc.), but it's probably worth a try. When I approached it in this way, I started spending more time on the photos (attentively observing them), which has resulted in the fact that I simply find more good photography!

April, 2007

### Subway

I don't know when it started. I do know, however, that there is no reason to ask "why."

For me, the world is simply constructed that way. Believe me or not, but I meet people like me everywhere I turn. Their gaze, or the expression on their face – I have no idea why, but it just simply is that way. You can believe me or not.

I grew up in a decent home. My mother also came from a decent family, and enforced strict rules on our behavior, which I should probably be thankful to her for. I have always tried to be a good person: I said "good morning" to the elderly, I didn't chew gum when speaking, I honored my father and mother, I did not steal, I did not covet my neighbors' wives, and so on.

Of course, I had my own problems since I was a child – there were a lot of things I couldn't understand, or even "feel." When others were able to act instinctively, I had to analyze the situation in order to adapt to my surroundings. I had particular trouble with those moments in which I was surrounded by a lot of people; each one of them meant another portion of data to analyze and it was so tiring that gatherings in large groups actually irritated me. No, "irritated" is the wrong word. They pissed me off. Yeah, that's it.

Despite that, I still tried to be a good person. Because my parents told me that school is very important, I did what I could to bring home good grades. When my teachers at school said that a valuable person is one who reads a lot – I checked out a lot of books and consumed them one after another. In turn, I read in books that I should know foreign languages and play an instrument. So, in addition to the obligatory Spanish, I learned fluent German, and I signed myself up for piano lessons. Music has played an important role in my life as far back as I can remember, so I didn't have any difficulties with playing.

Of course I also had problems with girls – the biggest role in this matter was played by that intuitive understanding of moments, I think. So I was single and still am until today, although minor and short-lived relationships allowed me to experience the pleasure of sex more than once.

I know that I should also mention a dramatic event or two from my childhood, but there simply weren't any. I repeat myself, but it's the truth – for the entirety of my existence, I have been trying to be a normal, well-adjusted, and good person.

I see it like this – because I have thought about it many a time; you are all surrounded by a mechanism that you have created yourselves, that not only do you not control, and not only that you don't understand, but you also aren't even yet aware of its existence. So-called society is a shallow definition that applies to only the smooth surface, which covers so much that that usually...

Okay. No lecturing, no exaltedness, no generalizations or incomprehensible blathering. I just don't have that much time.

Maybe like this: if I wanted to visualize it... I would compare that state to, say, a subway train. No, maybe not a subway, because it runs too regularly. Maybe one that doesn't run on schedule. So a train. I'm standing at the station and I'm waiting for it to pick me up. And when I get in and start moving, at that moment it's just like with the train - it's not me that's controlling which way I'm going and when I turn (or speed up, or slow down). That's controlled by something else, I don't know what.

Yeahhh... this subway makes sense. So I go into a dark tunnel – and this is the moment where we differ. For a normal person, driving into a dark tunnel is associated with anxiety – and I love it. I feel a rush of bliss, like a traveler setting off on his next adventure. And if a tunnel is especially dark and unpleasant – many people feel discomfort at the very sight of it. Then everything happens very fast – if you want to see how fast, just observe parts of a subway train speeding past. It's that fast.

That's it. Then I return and I try to be a good person again.

It's just that I'm not the only one. I'm telling you – there are people like me, prepared and waiting to drive into that same dark tunnel. I know that they do it, I meet them and I know that it frightens you. And just as you have looked at me hundreds of times without suspicion, you also pass them by, every day – feeling an instinctive respect, because they are usually well-dressed, even classy. Often young, friendly, very polite...

I like that metaphor with the subway station for one more reason – just before I lose control a bit...I cleanse my mind and body – like those pale tiles – that I once saw – that are hung in some stations, lighted by bright, cold, and simultaneously insipid fluorescent lights.

I don't know if what I'm writing helps at all. I don't know why I allowed myself to be convinced. Maybe it's a kind of reparation?

No, not really. I don't really care about your moral laws. I also don't care that you treat execution – I like that word thanks to Nabokov – as a form of punishment. For me, it's not a punishment. It's a consequence. It essentially completes the pair of cause-effect.

But – I think I know what makes me get into that wagon. It's that specific smell, that animals smell too, as I read in one of those smart books. The smell that I will not give off when you sit me on that chair.

The smell of fear.

April, 2010

### A camera darkly...

Once apon a time, long, long ago, in a land far, far away, there lived a dragon that ate a beautiful princess. Back up, that's not it.

Not that long ago, and not that far away, I showed a photo of a certain little boy. The little boy sat by a green garage door and chomped on a cookie. There would be nothing strange about that, if it weren't for the fact that that image never, ever existed in reality. There is no such garage door and there is not such boy.

That does not at all mean that that image cannot be seen on a frame of film that I took! The image is simply reversed – pulled through infinity, as my favorite (and deceased) author would write.

The whole thing wouldn't impress anyone if no one noticed that paltry reversal. Because you see, it did it **on purpose**.

I once read that there have been certain mistakes in photography, which have been noticed only after publication of the photos by careful observers, and were revealed by reversed writing. That happened in the times that prints were made under an enlarger, and so there really was the risk of committing that error. But today we have digital cameras and no one would imagine that someone would want to alter their photo – and especially **to alter it on purpose!**

How is it that someone like Rudolf, who snaps photos with a trendy Hasselblad cannot – despite some obvious notches on the left side – properly represent reality?

I will reveal the terrible truth, hidden under the terrible truth. I actually care as much about reality as about grass growing in a watched pot (I inherited the mixing of metaphors from my father). I just want there to be nothing in the photograph that distracts me when viewing it. Sometimes it's bushes, other times it's a beam coming out of a head, and other times it's just that reversal of sides.

I'll put it like this – sometimes when I'm framing, and I frame through a viewfinder, I release the shutter just because all the elements (on the focusing screen!) – and I read them, like every European, from left to right –are arranged as they should be. On the focusing screen, and no other way. By lifting your head and using your eyes – all the magic and enchantment of the shot is gone. I lean over and look again – and there it is! The magic is back – right down there, on the focusing screen, which reverses the image, changing the left eye into the right one and vice versa.

It's not outside the realm of possibility that if I were using a digital, I wouldn't notice that enchantment. It's not outside the realm of possibility that I would lose something in life.

One thing makes me think – because of course there are various photos. There are those in which you can see unambiguously that something is wrong with the directions; there are also those in which you have to really take a good look to see that reversed "60" on a speed limit sign (yes, yes, that one above). There are also those in which it is never, ever possible to tell which is the true version.

As an example, the photo of Ana. A portrait without writing, without a frame, and without any indicators as to which way it should be. Can someone tell me if that photograph is reversed? Theoretically, if I had a photo that I was sure showed Ana's face the way it really is, I could attempt an analysis and compare the model with this example. It's known that people's faces are asymmetrical to a greater or lesser degree, and surely I would somehow work it out. Here is the basic question – does it do me any good?

As long as I'm not blatantly reversing letters, as long as it doesn't hurt (and, as I said – it sometimes helps) the photo's reception – what is the significance of the fact that a photo is reversed? I (just for clarification) have no idea if the photo is actually reversed. Of course, I could take a look at the negative and find out. But it doesn't interest me at all.

Fine, maybe I'm strange. But I'm writing this for one important reason. Some of you always show images in accordance with reality, only so that no one accuses you of interference – let it go. Throw off that fear, have some fun, and do what you want. As long as you're not taking photos for a self-respecting periodical as a professional reporter, there is no photographic analogy for Prime Directive (google it, if you don't know the idea). We can interfere, as long as it's within the bounds of good taste. And I will leave the task of defining good taste up to each one of you.

Today's entry was sponsored by the letters K and Z (Z like a certain Zosia who also manages to tailor people).

September, 2007

### How to go from digital to analog photography – a guide

For sixteen years there has been a product on the Polish market commonly known as a digital camera. Doggone it – that's enough time to get to know the thing; it's also enough to realize its virtues and flaws; finally, it's enough – knowing how much good mankind has brought about – to switch over finally back to analog photography! ;)

So what's the deal?

Listen to what is in your hearts. Listen, and see if there is a romantic note of deep longing for analog photography. For taking photos without computers, without advanced electronics and **processes** , over which you have long ago **lost control**.

I heard it a couple of years ago, when, convinced of my own good luck (after buying a brand-new Sony F717), I ran around clicking photos to the right and left. I clicked my son, I clicked my wife, my uncle, father, sister, and I clicked her rabbit too. I didn't click the dog because it died, poor thing.

I don't know what came first – if I liked the look&feel of old cameras, or the square frame. The fact is that I went whole-hog and started taking photos with a medium format camera of Polish production: Start66. Why can you be so pulled in by that kind of "complication of your life"?

Analog cameras still have some virtues which are worth remembering:

The majority are sturdy and reliable constructions – have a look specifically at cameras that serve for the duration of a generation – for dozens of years. Do you think that a digital would hold up like that? If it did hold up, the software, file format, and standard of connection to the computer would change. And that's that.

A large portion of traditional cameras (unlike electricity-sucking digitals) do not have batteries (you can forget about charging them), or has ones that last for months. Of course, that could change someday, but not to the degree that you could take a digital to the jungle for two years.

A digital data drive can be attached to some kinds of analog cameras; you cannot put film into a digital camera. ;)

Okay. But you can find just as attractive arguments for the benefits of using a digital. And that's great!! Digital technology is fantastic! It's just that analogs have soul. :P

To be clear – I use a digital. I always carry it in my backpack, and it serves me very well as an elaborate light meter. It's not that I'm against them, oh no. But there are certain traps that modernity places in front of us, and the old, heavy cameras of our forefathers help us to avoid them.

When using film, the photographer does not have immediate feedback about how the photo looks. He must visualize what he really wants to capture **before** he releases the shutter. That requires thinking. Digital cameras, however, show the photo **immediately**. That is invasive(!) to such a degree (ah, and insidious too) that people are starting to spend more and more time looking at the LCD screens that show them a review of what they just shot!

Take a look around – isn't it true that there are more and more people who, instead of thinking **before** taking the photo, mainly do it right **after**?

Ah yes – that computer-imposed visualization... That aspiration for perfectly-replicated colors... That entrusting of the fashionable white balance to the automaton... Hey, wait a sec! The creation of a photograph should be made of up at least two basic stages: making good preliminary material (properly lit and framed negative) and creating a final print! The negative should be a kind of sheet music that is yet to be played! Nevertheless, what happens? Oh yes – **a computer is playing** our notes.

Plus, getting rid of unsuccessful photos at the first glance is not at all that good. Gieraltowski, for example, our Polish portraitist, continually publishes photos that are the result of technician error. Because they have that something. Because they are not technically ideal.

How to begin?

First of all you have to want it. Oh yes, that is a fundamental criterion, and no prompting, bribery or the like do not have a raison d'etre. There are four roads towards analog happiness:

1. Small format – or standard 135 film (36x24mm)

This is the option for people who want and love to take photos quickly and surreptitiously. The only advisable way to go into small format with analog materials is, in my opinion, by choosing a rangefinder camera; reflex cameras have really been completely replaced by their younger, digital brothers and sisters. I don't know how to take street photographs (sometimes called reporter photographs). That's why I've never used a camera like this. However, dear reader, if Streetphoto is your middle name – don't hesitate. Get to your nearest Leica distributor and buy (yes! spend that money you've been saving for the last 5 years in one careless heave) what feels best in your hands. Maybe you don't like to or don't want to spend a terribly snobby sum of money on something small and you prefer, for example, to buy a Zorki on eBay. That's also a good solution, and how.

2. Medium format – or a "tape" 6cm wide (120/220)

Ha! My beloved segment of analog cameras (and not only – there are also tempting digital versions). The most options to choose from are probably found here. Here you can find a choice of such varied types of framing: from 6x4.5 to 6x6 (the sexy and always fashionable square), 6×7, 6×9, 6×12, and even 6×17!

It is essential to choose the frame proportions that match your character. Some people frame after taking a photo to another format than the one their equipment is designed for – but please, don't do that. There is something bad in that, a Dark Side of the Force; that is why sometimes it's possible to see photos that have the perimeter of the frame in them, indicating that they are presented without being framed again –a sign that you are on that proper side. ;) Medium format means above all a modular construction.

There is therefore the body, to which can be introduced many changeable lenses, accessories, cartridge chambers (I have two – once it was BW and Color, today it's BW-ISO100/ISO3200), viewfinders, prisms (with light meter or without), focusing screens, etc. Here you must be careful, though – not every element of model is interchangeable, clearly. You might run into the general conviction that medium formats lack autofocus and zoom lenses. This is untrue – both of them exist, but in few models, and it does jack up the price significantly. Although for me using zoom lenses leaves a disagreeable aftertaste, those who like them can poke around on luminous-landscape and see which zoom lenses those photographers are using. ;) Twin-lens reflex cameras (TLR) are also medium format, and have a rather dense, non-modular construction, like the Mamiya C330 above – the only camera of this type that has changeable lenses. They are quieter than their single-lensed brothers and sisters (the mirror also doesn't clack), but they have certain flaws (in relation to the rest of the family) –parallax error, non-interchangeable cartridges, and in general there are few accessories available. But just because something is simpler, it doesn't mean that it's worse.

3. Large format – or truly large film sizes

They are large and they are impressive. They are a class unto themselves – but they are not for everyone. The large format is demanding – there are no more shortcuts. Not only does film get loaded one at a time, not only that everything is done manually, but the image on the focusing screen is upside down! Large format cameras require that every frame be approached with the proper attention. By nature, they allow each photograph to be treated individually – the film is loaded one at a time. Its bellows, which cover the path of light between the lens and the film/focusing screen surface, allow for "lens tilt," which in effect makes it possible to control the tilting of the plane of depth of field (and here we have the application of the Scheimpflug principle). In this way, we can take photographs in which the depth of field is only in a selected portion of the image. A good source of information on large formats:

<http://www.largeformatphotography.info/>.

4. Weirdos

If you've had enough of your obsession about a clean lens (ah, those little scratches!), you're intimidated by complicated handling, you want to feel like a True Artist, or you simply like to have fun with photography, you can always try out other ways to use film – for example, making a camera yourself from a shoebox, a wooden box, or even a carefully-taped carton.

Just be aware – the lack of a lens means that you can say goodbye to images with ideal technical parameters – goodbye focus, hello aberration! Sometimes, in order to properly expose the photo, it is necessary to dedicate a good few hours. But what, it's not worth it? It's worth it, it is.

They say that it's not the camera that takes photos, it's the photographer. A key feature of photographic emulsion is that it does not typically let the photographer shoot without good reason. On the other hand, with the proper camera, a person starts to behave differently. Mechanical (and sometimes large and unwieldly) cameras also teach (maybe with their aura) the culture of photography – and thus not only does respect for individual negative frames grow, but also for the object being photographed and for other photographers. It could be only my devout wish, but I have the impression that taking photos in an old, pesky way makes a person feel more respect for his surroundings than does clicking on a point-and-shoot.

And how much can I lose on this?

A Hasselblad like this was always synonymous with the mountain of money that one had to spend to come into possession of an acclaimed 500. Today you can buy this fantastic camera with a standard 80mm lens for around 2,000 PLN, or 700 dollars. Used, of course. You want a new one? There are new ones too: 4,000USD. Large format? A new Tachihara without lens costs 700 USD. Expensive? Taking the quality into account, there is probably no digital that could compete with the 5x7 format.

It is known, though, that from a long-run perspective, the entire cost of use is important, and so the cost of film is also counted. One frame of Ilford Delta 100 in 4x5 format costs almost 5 zloty (less than $1.75). A frame of that same film in 120 format costs only a little more than 1 zloty (35 cents). Of course, the cost of developing and prints go into this; but on the other hand there is no danger of descending into a spiral of purchases of better and better electronic gadgets – ever-faster memory cards, ever-better printers, ever-better bodies (because old ones have a fastest time of 1/5000, and new ones 1/10000).

I once read somewhere a calculation that the Total Cost of Ownership (TCO – meaning the total cost of ownership in a long-term perspective) is comparable for digitals and analogs. I don't believe that. But I don't regret even one cent spent on film, processing, or prints. This is a hobby, and it has the right to cost money.

What effect does that have on my life?

Once you've caught the bug (if it's your first time or if you're a convert), you have to realize a few things. It's better that I write about them here and now.

You see the photos when you develop the film, and not immediately – in this way, you will develop at least a little bit of the virtue known as patience, as well as a necessary distance to your own photography. Maybe it's worth thinking about large-format individual frames, after all?

It's not out of the question that you will be consumed by the compelling urge to develop your own photos and make prints yourself – you have to have a good place for that and a lot of time. An alternative that I myself use (and for the moment am recommending) is giving the film to a lab for developing and later scanning and printing yourself. But this means obtaining a scanner and a printer, if you don't already have them. WARNING – neither scanning nor printing photographs is at all a simple thing, even for a seasoned professional.

It's not out of the question that the time it takes to take photos will become prolonged – if you take photos with friends, acquaintances, your wife, or your lover, they might all nag you about it. Have a popular board game handy for those types of situations, to give the complainers something to do.

In certain situations, when for instance you have only one roll of black-and-white ISO100 film, you are certain to see a frame that requires you to quickly capture the beautiful moment/landscape/whatever on film none other than color ISO400. Give yourself a reprieve by thinking that the gods are exercising your willpower.

It may be that companies that produce photographic emulsion will stop doing so someday. Count on that and go give a donation at church this very day.

So how will it be?

They say that it's not the camera that takes photos, it's the photographer. I know, I know, I'm repeating myself; but it is very important – you can take a good photograph with any equipment. You must, however, choose a tool that speaks to you. You must also take control of the process of taking photos, and allow yourself the luxury of dedicating time to think before pressing the shutter release button. This is important, because the more you give to the photo, the greater the probability that you will get from it (from its effect and from the very process of getting to it) immense satisfaction.

Apart from all that, sometimes photos taken with analogs, despite their technical flaws, have their charm and flavor, which it's pointless to look for in digital creations.

May, 2007

Morning conversations over breakfast

Prologue

4 in the morning, I come home and hit the bathroom immediately...

"Was it cool?" my wife asks, awoken and curious.

"Uh huh...and you know how many photos I took?" I stop brushing my teeth to brag. "Not one, but two!!"

"Oh, that's great. You want to tell me about it now, or tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow. I'm too tired now, going to sleep."

The Next Day...

On a beautiful Saturday morning, I woke up with an aching heart and dragged my sleepy butt to the living room, where my sexual partner was already waiting for me with breakfast ready.

"Hello darling!" she chirped joyfully.

"Yawn..."

"So tell me about it, because last night you fell asleep too quickly."

"Fine. It started, as you know, when I was still at work..."

One Day Earlier...

...Late Friday afternoon, I got a message on skype from an unknown user with more or less the following contents: "an evening stroll?" Of course I thought at first that it was from some horny teenage girl, which on the one hand was gratifying (because no one had ever picked me up on skype before), but on the other hand was unsettling (because who could it be and what freaking right did they have?). Illusive hopes scattered a few minutes later – it turned out that it was the fault of a temporary lack of Internet at home. Let's skip the details – it turned out to be KEEK. We arranged to meet at 10pm.

At ten in the evening, the sedan pulled up under my apartment block and we set off. A spontaneous open-air session is not such an easy matter, especially on Friday, when a man is tired from work, life, and has only one roll of ISO 100 left. And that's exactly how it was – but I noticed only just before driving off.

First were railroad tracks and crossings. Nothing, zero inspiration – neither of us felt that thrill of emotion that you feel when you spot the right frame. That thrill can be big or small, and is sometimes so small that you really have to pay attention not to miss it. Because if you miss it, the pangs of regret grow and grow. You can even get a moral hangover. Anyway – we then try frames from above the tracks – still nothing.

Finally the driver calls "Zegrze!" (place near Warsaw) and we eagerly go in the direction of the lake. In the meanwhile, the navy blue sky turns black, and the road disappears faster and faster under the wheels of the powerful carriage. In Dębe, close to the lake, we slow down near some bushes that are hiding a path heading steeply downhill. From my position (of passenger), the path appears to drop off steeply and in the first few moments I really don't know what to think when I hear a desultory.

"Just don't scream" from behind the wheel. After catching my breath, I cough out a dignified.

"Thanks for the warning."

Ha, we're driving just under the dam, by a lovely waterfall – and right away, I feel that there will be photos!

We set ourselves and our tripods up and shoot some test shots – short shots, to get started, to warm up. I do a 3-minute exposure, Keek exposes for 13 minutes. In the meantime we plan our next frames – the sky is quite interesting, only the ole moon is still missing, so it's darkish. In a moment it turns out that that will be of crucial significance in the course of the next while.

I set myself up in another place, by some miracle the tripod freezes in a stable position just over the water, resting on a barely-visible rock. I measure the light, account for corrections, and...I get almost an hour and a half of exposure with F/4!!! Shit, I must have fucked something up, I think to myself and measure again. Once again – exactly 89 minutes. Damn it! Oh well – if you want the picture, there's nothing to do but wait, or – as Keek comments cattily – buy myself a brand-new digital camera with an F/1.2 lens and nearly noiseless ISO3200.

"Very funny," I respond. "And what's with the Turkish flag?" I ask, curious about the red symbol on the LCD screen on my friend's digital.

"What flag, what flag, that's night mode, don't you see? A moon and stars – that means night."

"Buahaha, not bad, not bad at all. Hey, but at least we'll be able to walk freely in front of the lens," I mutter, setting up my camera for the hour and a half countdown and pushing the shutter release button.

Keek does his next 30-minute photo as fast as lightning and we wait. Time passes, and we're still waiting; in the meantime we get into the car, and Keek packs his belongings, because another frame was ruined by disobedient clouds. Around two in the morning, about an hour after my exposure had gotten started (so with a half hour still to go), a car comes down that killer path. It stops a couple hundred feet from us and four male figures get out.

We freeze in the car. After leaving their vehicle, the men walk over to the water and perform there some strange movements, almost dance-like. They illuminate themselves with an insipid blue light of some kind. We watch the spectacle with growing unease – after all, what could four men be doing at two in the morning by a thundering dam, and without flashlights? The continued movements of the unknown figures can be seen against the lighter background of the sheet of water – one of them rather suddenly bites the dust.

"Did you see him? I think he fell, don't you?" I whisper to my friend.

"I don't know..."

"Maybe it's some kind of ritual? Maybe it's a sect of some kind?"

"Maybe so – what intelligent person would come out here without flashlights to this kind of place at this hour?"

"Well, I guess we don't have flashlights," I observed lucidly.

"So maybe they came out here to take photos too?"

"Or maybe it's a UFO? It doesn't look like they've set up any tripods. Besides, for taking photos there's too much arm-waving and their poses are too strange."

"Or maybe they're Teletubbies?"

There was a short silence.

"If anything happens, there's a Glock in the glove compartment."

"The question is if I'll be fast enough to reach it in time," I think to myself.

Finally the time comes to stop the exposure. I'm going to have to reveal myself, cover those few dozen feet that separate me from the equipment – and in both directions! With a decisive movement I open the door, walk calmly to my camera and deftly pack my equipment. I gesture to the car, which is already warming up, and we set off.

"I can't resist, I have to see," the overly-curious driver says and shines his headlights on the suspicious "gang" – the light reveals from the darkness four silhouettes with set-up fishing rods.

We return via an illegal and magical road, on which we cannot stop, so that we don't tempt a security patrol to intervene.

Once Again Over Breakfast...

"...so once we'd left and entered more civilized and legal territory, it turned out that the sky was already light with the breaking day," I finish my breakfast-time story with my mouth full of food.

"Fine, but I see that you only took a couple of photos. What about the rest?"

"What rest?"

"Well, you said that you took two rolls..."

"Two photos, woman, two photos!!"

The disbelief and shock visible in my spouse's eyes bid me to consider – am I abnormal, or is the fact that I get satisfaction from such results the domain of all photography lovers??

A Word Of Commentary...

Solitary nighttime ventures really are all right. But sometimes it's truly a good idea to set out in twos, so that – even if you meet harmless fishermen – you can give each other moral support. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. ;) Sometimes it's even worth being very careful, even when you already know that the other party is someone totally legal.

June, 2007

### Desperately seeking inspiration

Motto: Travel broadens the mind (photographically)

The symptoms appeared long ago. Rudolf started getting into chats with Roderyk, which reflected onto their relationships with everyone around them, especially with the wife of the former. Taking photos was becoming more and more crippled with undefined expectations, and the situation did not look like one that could improve. Action was necessary.

"But what do you really want?" A youngish blond woman almost screamed to a dour Rudolf as they walked arm in arm through a crowded shopping mall. It was the time of pre-holiday fever, which further exacerbated the situation; anyway, no one mentally stable likes Christmas!

"I want to take a photo."

"But you do take photos, you nut!"

"Nooo...A photo that hits you. One that would be a symbol for all my photos. One that, one that...you know."

"No. I don't know. You're dreaming rather than concentrating on shopping."

Rudolf leered dourly at his wife. Most evidently, she once again didn't understand anything. And what was worse, he wasn't even able to articulate himself, which did not help matters. He wrinkled his forehead and let go of the hand of the woman, who was consumed by shopping. He definitely needed an impulse of some kind.

"Impulse, schmimpulse," he thought dourly. Looking around, he saw only greyness and frames which had already poured through photo.net, long ago. Since he'd stopped drinking and he never got tipsy anymore, he couldn't even see in that particular way that sometimes led to taking photos. The world was crashing down on his head, and there was no one around to see the catastrophe, much less to help somehow.

"Hello there, why don't you take part in this promotion!" a young woman dressed as an angel chirped at them, handing them a flyer with a beguiling smile to Rudolf as he stood in the middle of the promenade.

"Thank you," he muttered, receiving the gift automatically; just as his mommy had raised him. He also did not neglect to evaluate the figure of the woman walking away, which quite elegantly swayed its litte rear. Involuntarily he glanced at the scrap of paper and crumpled it, wanting to throw it away in the nearest trash can. He took a couple of steps but stopped suddenly – a peculiar smile bloomed on his face, and his eyes moistened visibly. He smoothed out the rumpled piece of paper and began fervently reading its contents.

"Voila! This is my impulse!" he muttered aloud to himself and ran off in search of his wife.

***

A couple of weeks later, Okęcie Airport, Warsaw, Terminal 2

"When I think that we're going away only because you were handed some flyer, I feel like I'm dreaming. But I'm happy, darling." Kasia cheerily smooched Rudolf's cheek, who was weighed down with cameras. He looked at his 9-year-old son, who was weighed down by the tripod and looking at a little girl his age with braids. So far everything was going ideally.

So far. Suddenly a familiar figure was waving at them from the end of the line – a figure whose presence at this time and in this place cast a dark shadow on Rudy's happiness.

Roderyk. That obstreperous baldie had gotten into the same line in which the excited little family was standing. He smiled sourly from a distance with eyes shining, evidently pleased with himself.

"I'll be right back," Rudolf muttered to his wife and walked over to the fresh newcomer.

"What are you doing here, you creep?!" he rasped out as he approached.

"That's not the nicest greeting, considering the ties that bind us. I'm going on vacation, heh heh."

"I'm the one going on vacation. You can't spoil them for me now!"

"Calm down. I'm going there for the contest. Look," and he gave Rudolf a folded flyer. Our hero's heart received a painful stab. On the paper were the words:

For a moment there was an unpleasant silence.

Pale, Rudolf took a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket with the same contents and showed it to his interlocutor. The latter grimaced and shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm going to win anyway, you should know that. But at least you're going on vacation, don't worry. Did you bring your starter pistol?"

"My what??"

"Starter pistol, don't you know that trick? You buy a starter pistol so you don't have to lug all your cameras with you onto the plane! Eh, I see that you don't know about it. So you pack all your equipment, lenses and cameras," Roderyk continued excitedly, "and of course you've gotta have a totally stiff bag. Then you order this rubber thing that holds all the bits and pieces in one place, so nothing nasty happens when they throw it around like they do. Then you put in a starter pistol; according to regulations, since they were tightened in 2001, a pistol like that has to be declared, and airport security gives bags with weapons the highest priority. There is just no way anyone could steal it or lose it. So you get on the plane easy street, and some agents are taking care of your toys as if you were bringing half of the federal reserve in them. Smart, huh?"

Rudolf looked dourly at the figure representing his alter ego. Without a word he turned and went back to his still-happy wife and son. He sensed that the trip might not be as super and great as he had imagined.

Before he got to the check-in counter, his thought were consumed by ideas about how to win the Ilford contest. He imagined individual frames, ideal shots, with tonality, ones that would bring people to their knees. He received the next blow as he was checking in the luggage.

"This is special baggage," proclaimed a woman with Mediterranean looks standing behind the man servicing the counter. The latter sighed heavily. She was talking about the tripod that Rudolf's son had placed on the scale with relief.

"What does that mean, 'special'? Does it have special dimensions?"

"No, no, it's just special. What is it, exactly?"

"A tripod. For photography. What is special about it?"

"It's a special object. You're going to have to sign a special declaration saying that you take responsibility if it is damaged."

"Whaaaaat???!!! All right, fine. I'll sign it. It's pretty hard to damage, anyway," Rudolf said resignedly.

"And your carry-on baggage is too big and too heavy," said the dark-featured woman spitefully. The Polish airport staff was evidently fed up. The backpack with camera that comprised his carry-on landed on the scale. Rudolf glanced with an indistinct expression towards a glad Roderyk. The man operating the counter took advantage of the surly woman's distraction, having seen that there were fragile lenses and a camera in the backpack, and told Rudolf and his family to move on.

"Not a bad start," flashed through the family's minds.

***

Upon arrival

Obviously, the uniqueness of that particular trip was contained in details which no one has mentioned yet. One of those was the fact that on that same, tiny island, one of Rudolf's work colleagues by the name of Haberek had been relaxing on the beach for a week. He was staying with his wife in an exclusive hotel, 10 minutes away from where our hero was staying. The whole matter would have passed without notice if Haberek had not filed a request for a patch cable.

Having packed himself up (photographically), Rudolf – and his whole family – set off towards his colleague's hotel. It was quite promising, because that hotel was located right next to the oldest lighthouse on the island. "That's not any old lighthouse, maybe I'll get some inspiration," our photographer thought to himself naively.

When they reached the spot, it turned out that the lighthouse was (ugh!) a tourist mecca. It was so pristine, so uninteresting and so un-sea-like, that it just about repulsed the gaze. The only interesting highlight in the area was the ocean, which an entire herd of tourists was attempting to photograph.

"The only interesting highlight in the area was the ocean..." (by Kasia)

Luckily the time came quickly to meet with Haberek, who had to come out with a special pass to let guests into the hotel.

"Come in, I'll show you what a great hotel this is. Here is the security guard, who all the ladies try to pick up," he gestured to a large-shouldered guy who had the looks of a German prison guard, "and here is the pool, maybe you'd like to snap a photo?"

Rudolf scowled grimly at such a proposition. He did not have the slightest, not the slightest desire to take photos of tourists. What next!

"This is a very unique swimming pool," his colleague went on with unconcealed pride. "Look from over here; you see? The pool connects to the ocean. That's why the beach on this part of the island and the ocean water in general are so clean – all thanks to an incredibly efficient cleaning machine. And here, look, we have this great spa..."

Rudolf left the visit exhausted. He could not imagine spending two weeks of vacation in a hotel, and the whole touristy atmosphere was making him sick – definitely not a place conducive to photography. He longed for something more natural– something that would enchant him with its natural beauty to such a degree that the photo he took would guarantee fame and immortality. The only thing to do was to rent a car and explore the island, looking for that magical place.

At the car rental agency, the swarthy owner did not create any problems – he brought around a red Jeep, granted a nice discount, and looking meaningfully at the bottle of water Kasia was holding, emphasized that water was worth its weight in gold there.

"What about gas? Is it expensive?" the young couple asked.

"Cheaper than water. Water is worth its weight in gold," the owner repeated, looking meaningfully at the half-full bottle.

"Strange people," Rudolf thought spontaneously as he tore the keys away from the man, who was now holding the bottle.

The whole excursion was quite well planned. The place was chosen on account of the temperature (so that they could wear short sleeves the whole time) and on account of the fact that it was an island full of a rich variety of diverse places – little villages, mountains, bigger villages, the ocean, a lot of green plants and trees, as well as desert sand. In a nutshell, everything all at once, enough to make your head spin.

At first – since the landscapes weren't going anywhere – a picturesque village along the road to the center of the island was chosen as the first aim. A village where the daily struggle of the natives with reality was supposed to be visible. A village in which there were no tourist attractions.

That type of place should be attacked first thing in the morning, and Rudolf did just that. The following day, just after dawn, he packed his tripod, cameras, wife, and son into their rented vehicle and set off, full of good thoughts and sensing the frames to come.

In a nutshell, he hoped for the best. It turned out like it always does.

The natives turned out to be sleepyheads. Until ten in the morning there was practically no one on the streets. It was like that in the first village, in the second one, and the third. Then it was noon and they had to eat something.

"I don't understand at all. Can it be that they survive here from tourism alone? After all, there are banana plantations, tomatoes, and other bullshit," Rudy complained, inhaling the rest of a paella.

"I'd love to drink some local wine," Kasia said dreamily.

"And I want ice cream!" his son Mateusz cried. The father of the family released a sigh of torment. Things were not good.

The next few hours did not help at all to improve the situation. "Maybe I should be looking for frames closer to myself?" the stubborn photographer thought naively. No matter that he had just traveled thousands of miles from home.

He decided to take a walk on the beach by the hotel. That was not such a stupid idea – for a couple of seconds he was granted a view of a totally decent frame: in the afternoon sun, with nice contrast, a mother and daughter made a strangely nice view under the streams of running water. Nice enough to stand and stare. Stare so long that they walked off, disappeared.

"I'm such an idiot," Rudolf said out loud, in Polish, when after several quarters of an hour of watching the spot with the shower, it turned out that those types of scenes are about as rare as a total solar eclipse. A black man sitting on the sidewalk selling souvenirs smiled indulgently at his words. Rudolf grimaced and shrugged his shoulders in return. Basically, he thought dourly, if I were him, and sat here all day long watching that shower, that frame would probably happen again sooner or later. But I don't have that kind of time.

The following days did not bring any improvement. The figure of "Senor Armageddon" had an intriguing ring to it – supposedly a local butcher who drove around in his free time with an old tape player and played cassettes about Armageddon. An interesting and inspiring person, even more so because he stuttered unbelievably – but totally visually uninteresting. What a nightmare.

"Actually a contest like that would be hard to win by doing a portrait. There has to be something more, something that will surprise the observer both with its form and content. And it's hard, after all, to make a portrait that would be surprising in its content," Rudolf tried explaining to himself.

"...drove along hard-to-access roads..." by Kasia

So he began driving. He drove along hard-to-access roads, he drove along mountain roads so narrow that only one car fit on them. Because the oncoming cars were driven by pushy types, he learned to drive quickly in reverse.

Literally and heroically he drove into the clouds, only to drive right back out. Which, incidentally, really tickled his wife and son.

With even more heroism, he threw himself into places that no one sane would go – everything in order to get that one and only photo.

And so on, and so on.

At a certain point, he was even convinced that he had that photo that would guarantee him immortality.

"...into places that no one sane would go..." by Kasia

That moment lasted for several days. Those were beautiful days. Despite the fact that his wife and son – returning from colorful lands to the cold, muddy, and dark Warsaw streets – fell into a post-vacation depression, he held up well and cheered everyone around him up. Until he developed the film.

***

"That's not it. I guess there are some good moments in there, and probably if I combined everything I saw, I'd have the photo of my dreams. Yes, I'm sure I would," he complained to his wife, who did not know what he was talking about.

"So why didn't you take that photo?"

"I don't know! I just don't know how to take photos anymore! Maybe I'll take up writing, or music. Yeah, I'll start playing an instrument," he explained to a friend on the phone. The friend was also into photography and also got depressed sometimes, so there was immediately a thread of common understanding between them.

"Come on. You're whining. Go out for a little open-air. I'm the one who's depressed – I haven't bought sneakers or an iPhone and no one appreciates me. You see?"

The bearded man, broken, considered deeply. Yes, that was true. He didn't bring back the photo of his dreams from his trip. But there were effects that he hadn't appreciated, and he should: he had relaxed (in spite of it all), his son had finally said that he really likes taking photos, and his wife...Ah well.

His wife was probably a story for another day. During that special outing, Kasia, Rudolf's wife, had invented a new, fantastic idea for a photo. An innovative and cunning idea. Because framing through the viewfinder made her lose a lot of frames, and the LCD was no good for taking photos quickly, Kasia figured out that the best method was to blindly point a wide-angle lens more or less in the direction of the subject and through a window or the open top of a speeding car, push the button, making Intuition the mastermind of the frame.

"And you know what? Those are even better than the ones I was taking before!" she bragged, smiling triumphantly.

So it's not clear what is really the cause of Rudolf's depression. One thing is sure – travel broadens the mind. Photographically, too.

January, 2009

### Just say NO to fast food!

[00:00] "Put it on two thirds, please," I said to my sexual partner, tossing my photographic backpack onto the sidewalk by the pedestrian passageway.[00:11] "No, stop. One third," I corrected myself after a brief consideration. In a moment I had the tripod set up on the ground at the proper height, right next to me, ready for use. My woman didn't ask any unnecessary questions, because she saw the spark in my eye clearly, and experience had taught her that in such moments it was necessary to be maximally useful in order to avoid generating an argument.

[00:20] I had the light meter around my neck, so I just had to take it into my hand in order to – after pushing one button –get the reading of the light in the place where the model was supposed to walk. [00:27] A short look and the next thing to do – the lens had to be changed. Those were valuable seconds, dammit.

[00:41] Fine. The lens is on, now to "quickly" set everything which usually gets set before the shutter release is pushed. [00:48] Aperture. Done. [00:50] The time reading from the light meter – done. [00:52] Focus – at the moment pedestrians had the green light – so I jump up with the camera on the tripod, I set up a potential frame, I instruct the model where she has to stand and I also order myself as well as her to remember where we are standing. I open the viewfinder, attach the auxiliary magnifier and set the focus by turning the lens's ring [01:12] I order the girl to take two test steps, when it turns out that the green light starts flashing and it's time to get out of the road [01:19]. Luckily this is a good city and they don't shoot photographers, even when they get a little in the way of traffic patterns.

Waiting for the next green light, I explain to the model how she is supposed to behave. In the meantime a pretty decent tram passes us. Unfortunately, when I feel that I must have it in the frame, it passes through the intersection and disappears into the gloom of the city, just to spite me.

[03:20] Green. We jump to our rehearsed places and the model moves. I quickly set up the tripod, frame, and give some final instructions to the girl. [03:26] Click, the first photo done, but I feel that it's not the one. Repeat. More changes to the model's behavior, click.

Nope, again.

People walk by, these drunk jerks all around, but luckily everything goes expeditiously. Certainly, they notice, but basically no one voices anything against.

[03:35] Pedestrians have the red, we escape to the sidewalk. Things aren't good. Valuable time is running out, and I'm not satisfied with what I see on the focusing screen. I know that a tram has to pass buy, I just know it. We wait. [05:35] The next green, there's no tram, we take some more photos as tests. Ridiculous.

[05:50] Red, we go back. More minutes.

[07:47] A tram is coming. [07:50] The light turns green, and the meter in the ass of my camera shows 12 – it's the last frame. We jump out onto the crossing. Tripod in the rehearsed spot so that the focus isn't lost, the tram drives into the frame, the model sets herself up where she should be, a quick alignment of the frame and click [07:57]. We get out of the crossing, I take the camera off of its mount on the tripod [08:07], I put in the dark slide and (now slowly) I change the film [09:52]. I'm not sure if I fucked something up or not, but now there's no reason to hurry. The photos were taken. 9 minutes and 52 seconds passed from the beginning. Not a bad time, I almost worked up a sweat, that's how fast that photography happened. ;)

Time.

A concept which causes a lot of confusion in everyday life, modern physics, and philosophy.

It causes particularly much in photography, ladies and gentlemen.

Many people are hung up on it – some, taking photos for hours and hours, and others just the opposite – for them, the time dedicated to photography equals fractions of seconds necessary to direct the camera towards a given fragment of reality plus the time the shutter is open. Well under a second. And all without reflection. And what for, since photos don't cost anything anymore?

I see what's happening on the streets – there are plenty of heinous instances in which the person holding the camera doesn't consider at all if the time dedicated to taking the picture is a good investment – bah! There are also those who take pride in the fact that they took 15 thousand frames in a month! Excuse me, but for me that raises the question: why?

In a strange way, that approach really reminds me of the culture of food that has made its way over here from across the pond: fast food. A culture based on the fact that we respond to the instinct of hunger, we enter a place where we quickly buy a hamburger and chomp it, already thinking about what's next.

It's just like that with photography – we snap a couple of quick photos, because for a fraction of a second it seemed like we should, and then we let go of the camera and stop thinking about that photo.

It's an abomination and an atrocity. This is why, starting today, I am officially (earlier I did so indistinctly and without naming it, but for a long time) promoting photography that is meant to contradict that approach to life.

It's along the lines of movements like Slow Food.

A kind of "Slow food photography" (I saw that description somewhere on the Internet, but I can't remember where).In defense of taste, health, and the culture of food. Eh, wait – **the culture of photography**.

Of course, let's get a few things clear. First of all, I have nothing against taking quick photos. I will allow myself to cite a fragment of a certain book (though I don't know the title or the author, because I got the fragment in an email):

In photojournalism, which is very common and in which we are often late to push the shutter release, the capacity to react instantaneously is essential – a reflex like the one that a racecar driver has. It is important to master the technique of photography to such a degree as to forget about the camera or any manipulation of the aperture, focus, etc. In addition, we also have to deal with not just one lens, but with more of them. It is that much harder to get a clear photo that is artistically good, in which the interconnecting arrangement of silhouettes and the background make up one logically connected and harmonious whole. It is often difficult to take such a photo. Even when the protagonist of the photo is one person, it is often hard to get a good photo. We should always remember that a seemingly minor detail, a small difference in the facial expression or in the arrangement of silhouettes can have a fundamental significance. The legendary photojournalist, Henri Cartier-Bresson, is right when he ascribes an essential role to intuition. He often spoke of the decisive moment, singular and unique.

As for that quickness which I oppose, I am thinking about a **lack of reflection** rather than the quickness with which the shutter release button is pushed. The latter depends upon the character of the photographer, or the character of the photography that we are doing. In reporting, after all, much really must be **foreseen** (a photojournalist often takes photos in his head before the elements align for him on the focusing screen), and a fast "shot" is often the capstone of a lightning-fast evaluation of a situation, a cultivated habit, intuition, but also of thinking through the frame.

Assigning the appropriate importance to the choice of what we photograph, dedicating an adequate amount of time before taking a photo, allows us to not only choose the best, but also to prepare well – visualizing the desired effect.

Let's look at the classics: both Adams and Weston, as well as the author of this article (heh, heh...) often take **hours** to arrive at one photograph! :) Of course, that is not always possible – but how articulately that portrays the respect a photographer has for his work.

Let's also look at portraits, where time is often overlooked. Allow me to again cite a fragment of that mysterious book, an excerpt from which I got in an email:

The meaning of the moment in which the shutter release is pushed is also unappreciated in the case of portraits. Let's take untoward moments in photography, not only in the case of reporter-style portraits, but also in the creation of studied and posed portraits. The facial expression can change very quickly, considerably faster than we often think. Even a minimal change in the tension of the facial muscles can change the face's expression to a considerable degree. We can convert a sensual, romantic girl into a vulgar call girl from a low-class escort agency, if we snap the picture even a tiny fraction of a second too late. It would be enough for her to wrinkle her forehead in boredom or to look unwittingly at the sun... Because reflex is an essential thing, it should be trained. It must be!

What does it mean to train? Of course, it doesn't mean to deploy the camera like a crazed gunman at high noon, but to feel out the moments, catch the tiny errors, make corrections, put in the effort, and above all – **pay attention to time!**

I'm not going to encourage you to throw yourself at Large Format – despite the fact that that type of equipment can slow down the process, giving you time to settle down, visualize what you want to achieve and so on. There was a very nice article about this topic on the New York Times blog, LENS.

(See:  http://lens.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/05/17/essay-slow-photography-in-an-instantaneous-age/)

I'm not going to recommend it, because one, he who is going to move to Large Format knows it himself, and two – really, all equipment is good at giving you time to think before taking a photo.

And I do encourage that.

August, 2009

### Bicycles, panic and rescue

In 2008, I asked a question on my polish blog, ZawszeKwadrat: "Is it a good idea to take a picture of a cyclist riding by?"

So I got into those cyclists. It's actually your fault, readers, you got me into it.

And just think, I've never seen the majority of you with my own eyes!

Anyway – I bought myself a bike. Bicycle. In order to get further integrated into the biker world and to be more mobile, driving around villages and cities. It turned out that that bike saved my ass, at least once. It was like this:

I was having a lazy day. I was roaming here and there, because – imagine – I had the entire day free to devote to photographic roaming. So I roamed, what else!

In the afternoon, I sped on my bike in a direction known only to me, when I suddenly spotted an idiosyncratic image: some workers were cutting and laying cobblestones. For a mere mortal, there would be nothing strange in that – but not for me. I felt a light squeeze deep inside, in my mind something jumped, and a decent injection of adrenaline appeared in my blood: dust from cut stones in combination with the afternoon sun evidently formed a backdrop for a frame. I felt that I had to take a photo.

I stopped by an advertising column and hopped off my bike. I measured the light, and after casting a look around, I got the camera ready, with the right aperture and time set with a wide lens, and...I laid in wait – like a hunter – for my prey.

Of course – as often happens – fate gave me the finger, with all the malice it could muster. Basically nothing would arrange just right – either one part or another of the frame didn't suit me.

Finally – like in slow motion – I saw a photograph slowly coming together: from the right, across the street, in a beautiful patch of sunlight among the trees and bushes, someone was approaching on a bike. I didn't have anything in the foreground, and my hand was gripping a wide-angle lens! What to do?? Panic! Maybe someone would come out from behind the pole, filling the frame? I glanced to the left, but there was absolutely nothing to suggest that help was on the way.

Believe me or not, but at the last moment an idea popped into my head, a revelation of sorts, or a light bulb in a comic strip. I bounded two steps back (not even looking behind me) and threw my own bicycle in the left part of the frame before pushing the shutter release at the last moment. If it weren't for the bike, I'm sure I wouldn't have gotten the photo – especially since not too long after that, the workers stopped generating that beautiful, breath-clogging dust.

The gods are watching over me!

October, 2009

### The true life of a photographer

Photographers have it rough.

They've got to bust ass at uninteresting paid gigs for the money, they lose inspiration and have a hard time finding it again. Then on top of it all there's winter, which manages to really get some people down; your neighbor makes too much noise for you to sleep, and friends turned their backs and don't want to drink with you anymore.

To make matters worse, you go for a civilized walk, with the intention of taking photos, and the world can only offer you nothing other than: greyness, an uninteresting frame, and a train that just pulled away.

What then?

First of all, don't fall apart. Here's what happened to me recently: I found a lovely shop. Cozy, quiet, small and well-equipped. It was in the Prague district, and everyone knows that that part of Warsaw has the most artistic (upper-case A) atmosphere.

Sure, I regretted a little that the salesperson was a man – I would have definitely felt better if there was a red-headed, green-eyed beauty behind the counter, but oh well – sometimes it's wrong to complain.

What next?

You do your shopping and get into a tram or other carriage. You call your woman, or you pick up a female encountered by chance. If you choose your purchases well, you should have no problem with the pick-up. Make sure she's older than 18, or you could have problems.

Next: you go to her friends' place. Or friends of friends. Anywhere, just not where they know you too well. You can go to their place or walk around the city – it doesn't matter, just don't insist on your own preferences too strongly. Let Fortune guide you on that beautiful evening. And remember – the basic thing is to make sure your lady is smiling; have fun, whatever you end up doing (if it's reading books, drinking tea, or solving crossword puzzles in groups).

Have so much fun that later, suddenly... you wake up the next day around noon...it strikes you that you don't remember half of the previous evening, and strewn everywhere are...those crossword puzzles you were solving.

Now – you're close to your goal, but you have to eat something. That's key. That which you eat must result from the interior of your inner "you." But not that shallow you, a deeper one. Come out and demand attention.

If you don't know what you want, try saying aloud the names of foods you know: sausage, sauerkraut and meat stew, pistachio ice cream, herring, strawberries, carbonara, pizza, kabob. Kabob. KABOB! Meat, vegetables, sauce – everything wrapped up and ready to eat. If that's the thing, buy that juicy kabob ASAP and eat it, letting the sauce drip down your chin. You can groan with pleasure while you do it.

Of course, instead of meat, vegetarians and vegans can eat grass – but where the hell do you get fresh grass in the middle of winter?!

And that's it.

If your stomach is full, take a look around the world and consider your luck. You're tired, but you slept; you partied, but you're calm; your liver is destroyed, but you're full. The only thing you need is to pick up the tripod and hunt something down.

That could of course be birds, deer, or...the "Secret" hidden in plain sight on drugstore shelves. I like bikes and bikers, which is why I would recommend that you do something completely different. When you've snapped that photo that you were waiting for, only then will you sense what a fantastic person you are.

And then you can go back home, in order to start everything all over again in the evening.

PS. The photos above are only illustrations and do not serve as evidence in accordance with the penal code in effect in the Republic of Poland.

I don't know who took them, where they are from, or where they are going.

In addition, I hereby report that the consumption of alcohol and taking photos can result in unpleasant side effects.

February, 2010

### My father's house

I don't know about you, but sometimes I don't have any idea where to go and take photos. I know people who never seem to have those problems and for some reason I can't seem to learn much from them. As you can see – I'm unbearably dense.

But anyway, I survive in my own way.

A ton of ideas flow through my head, and sometimes I'll write something down, but basically there are those moments when I don't know what to do. If the same thing happens to you, then this text is precisely for you.

Everything started from the fact that I get unconsciously, overwhelmingly attached to places I've lived. I remember dreams that had to do with the two houses in which I spent my childhood – and believe me, the same thing happens to many people. Family homes, places where childhood was spent – they mean a lot.

Young photographers are often fed the following piece of advice: go and take photos of your family. But obviously, your closest family can't be photographed over and over... For this reason, I've had it in my head for several seasons that I would take my camera and go to my father's house.

That house isn't entirely ordinary, it's true. It's large – and today it is an image of poverty and despair. Despite that, someone lives there, and honestly speaking, I had a little hope for those inhabitants - driving past not too long ago, I saw a child's stroller, which led me to conclude that there is at least one family with children, which gave the place some color.

I wasted some time listening to my father's promises that we would go over there – ah, he didn't have time, ah, the weather was bad, ah, we fought, ah, some problem or other popped up. At some point I started to worry that the place would disappear, as always happens, and I would be left with my memories and not a single frame taken.

But no – it worked out!

We drove up to the place and left the car a few dozen meters from the entrance – and I have to confess that the magic of memories began working right away. Having his memories confronting reality, my father began telling stories – oh, that the alley used to be different, and that the thick tree above us was once a flaccid bush, and so on, and so on. It was a true pleasure to listen – it was like entering someone else's world; better than a 3D movie!

We started looking for people. Those that still lived there – could it be that there was someone that my father knew?

"There used to be this guy, who had this tic, where he would spit on the ground every so often. I don't know what happened to him over these years," he said, walking around the mansion. You need to know that my father lived in a mansion – left for dozens of years to the storms of fortune, not renovated and, I think, dangerous. But still inhabited.

"Hello!" we shouted to an elderly man in a hat, who was carrying a piece of sheet metal. He looked warily at me, at my dad, then growled out something resembling a greeting. He had a slight limp.

"We're looking for a well that used to be here," my parent explained. "I used to play around it when I lived here."

"A well? It's over here," and he gestured to some unkempt concrete rings.

"But it was a different one, probably over here more to the right."

"To the right? Noooo... The well is here. There was no other one. You're Janusz, right?" The man with the metal looked at us with hostility. It was apparent that this was the moment in which he would either order us to leave, or finally smile.

"Well, yes! My son dragged me here to show him where I lived when I was a little shit – and here we are. It's been so long. And so much has changed!"

The guy with the metal smiled crookedly, and I relaxed. The men, having recognized each other, entered a discussion and moved slowly towards the building, and I listened and absorbed it all. It turned out that I was listening to two friends, more or less of the same age. The visual difference between them was enormous – and to think that they grew up in the same place!

"So do you live here too?"

"Oh yeah! Over there, see that window? There. Sometimes there, sometimes somewhere else, depending on how the wind blows, hehe."

We walked over to the entrance. My father talked with his old buddy, and I was charmed by a little girl hiding behind decaying doors. It was the first time I'd ever been in a place like that, not as an intruder, but more as a guest. It was strange, and I didn't really know what to point my lens at.

"Do you remember, son, how I told you about the story with that rabbit we shot when we were on duty?

I nodded my head eagerly – those war stories had been trotted out so many times that I could tell them myself to my grandchildren. The stories about the use of illegal ammunition were especially colorful.

"Yeah, well this is that friend. Do you remember, Grzesiek, how the commandant came, all panicked? Those were the days!"

A man in a plaid shirt walked up to us, the said Grzesiek. He carried a hefty BB gun with an optical sight.

I snapped a photo of the men as they talked, and still no one was protesting!

I have to confess that I was a little stressed. I had never taken that type of photos, I had never gone up to people like that, whom I didn't know from Adam, and invaded their privacy, in a way. Despite all that, I felt that I had to do it, that what I was doing – it was right.

On the other hand, I felt a little left out – with my camera like a shield, I was more documenting the events than taking part in them. It's possible that that was a mistake, but maybe next time...

We went inside. Automatically, I began worrying about the light – despite having really wanted to go in and see what it was like inside. Those contrasts and that darkness made it very clear to me that it could be tough to get photos. Even despite the fact that I'd swiftly attached a second magazine with TriX ISO 1600.

"Ah, those stairs," my father crowed. "No one keeps them up, do they?" He turned to his childhood friend.

"No way!" He waved his hand.

"They look like they're about to fall apart, but look," he tried to shake the banister, "they're strong as hell. Healthy wood! They've lasted almost a hundred years, and they're still good now. Let's go!"

He then saucily walked right up onto them, climbing to the top. Wanting to but not wanting to, I followed him, hearing from behind me warnings from the inhabitants that one of the steps was fucked, and that I should watch out.

Inside it was fantastic, but dark as hell. Of course I didn't have my tripod with me, to first: be able to move about freely, and second: not frighten the inhabitants, who would think that the TV crew had arrived. More than once, people have taken me to be "TV." So I didn't take that contemptible tripod, period.

Dad was getting warmed up. He told us who had lived in which room – where they played games with the other little kids, where the kitchen had been, and so on. I won't bore you. Approaching the place where his room had been, it turned out that it was one of the few rooms that was still used on a daily basis by the whole family. Two little girls peered out through the door. One of them was the one I'd seen twice before – by the stairs and hidden by the main entrance.

"Hi," said the room's former inhabitant. "Where are your parents?"

"They're not here," the older one blurted out.

"At work," the younger one said indistinctly, her finger in her mouth.

"And you girls are playing here alone until they get back? How old are you?"

"I'm nine," said the younger one.

"Oh, so you're going to be in third grade this year, right?"

The child nodded her head earnestly.

"Are you happy about that?"

"Yes."

"All right, let's keep going," he commanded.

We tried to get into the attic, up some more stairs – even more destroyed; but we got out of there fast. It turned out that a colony of hornets had taken a liking to the place. I wasn't prepared to be quite that dedicated.

We walked around the mansion a bit – the yard was overgrown, but my guide recognized everything without fail. Here's the shed, here's the path that went to the shop, here I used to sit by the little creek, watching the leisurely current, here we used to play soccer...

Walking farther and farther, and feeling that the outing was coming to an end, I was sad. It was a truly beautiful place, and now there was no one to take care of it; those people had lived there for years and had stopped caring how the building (and the grounds around it) looked.

The best part – and the saddest – was that the building and everything around it had a real atmosphere! There was evidently something to remember – considering what I heard, in comparison to my own son's childhood, I concluded that things were once more... colorful, interesting!

But enough complaining – the idea was brilliant, but I feel deeply that I didn't take full advantage of it. So I'll try to make a couple of prints and go see those people again – I'll show them what I did, chat a little, and maybe do something else that's better?

Anyway – I can recommend a trip "into the past" in that form, or in any other. Who knows, maybe you'll learn something new about yourselves?

July, 2010

###

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