I stumbled upon a YouTube channel where a young photographer spoke about his introduction to film.  I love to hear how young people were drawn to film because it is so different than what I experienced.  I grew up with film, but never took photography seriously until I was older and shot digital.  After a bit, my father gave me his OM-1 and I took it out to shoot and never looked back.  I was reintroduced to film.

But young people did not grow up with film and had to be introduced to it fresh. This is a massive undertaking so I respect their journey greatly.  I probably would have given up at the third frustrated loss of images.

Back to the YouTube channel, here was this young man speaking about film and he mentioned something very insightful.  The size of film you shoot dictates the camera you use and the camera will dictate your style.  The example he gives us is the following...

If f you are new to film and pick up a roll of 35mm and then reach over for a simple camera for a beginner you will grab onto a pocket sized automated, point & shoot camera. This has all manner of electronics to focus, determine exposure, decide if a flash is needed and shoot the picture with a single button press!  But if you select medium format lets say in 6x6 then you would pick up a Hasselblad which has no light meter, no automated function and nothing to help or guide you.  

So the film size you select dictates the camera choice and the camera choice then determines your photography. A Hasselblad 500com is a wonderful camera, one of my favorites but it is not for street photography. It is for portraits and perhaps some landscape but certainly nothing fist action like street or sports. 

So, young grasshopper, pick your film wisely as all you do after that will be determined by your film size.  

Ah, the Leica camera—an instrument so revered that it inspires a dedicated following comprised of enthusiasts, zealots, and fanboys. You know the type: the Leica loyalists who believe that unless you’ve committed to that little red dot, you're simply not a “real” photographer. They’re the ones with an arsenal of gear that could fund a small country, and let’s be honest, we all love to roll our eyes at them. Yet, despite this, I can’t help but count myself among the Leica admirers. 

There’s something undeniably magical about the rangefinder format. Maybe it’s the promise that one of these beautifully crafted machines could, in some miraculous way, turn me into a photography god (hey, we all have our delusions, right?). Plus, the thought that a Leica can last a lifetime is tantalizing—imagine passing it down to future generations, who might use it to capture their own awkward family moments. What a legacy!

But here’s the kicker: while I adore my Leica M series cameras, I find myself rather underwhelmed by their lenses. Don’t get me wrong; they’re exceptional pieces of glass. It’s just that the price tag is so intimidating it might as well come with a side of therapy bills! 

Years ago, I splurged on a used M6 for a cool $2,000 (it was either that or redesign my living room to fit my hoarding tendencies). Naturally, I needed a lens, but the thought of surrendering my entire paycheck—maybe even my dog's college fund—for that pristine Leica glass made me break into a cold sweat. So, in what I can only describe as a poor life choice wrapped in the delusion of practicality, I opted for a used Zeiss 50mm f/2 lens. The moment I attached it to my M6, I was hooked.

Now, let me sing the praises of this “backup” lens for a moment: it’s sharp, full of character, and boasts fewer shortcomings than my last romantic relationship. It’s perfectly built and offers a buttery-smooth focus within a two-inch range that makes me feel like a photographic ninja. I can nail my focus quickly without worrying about glare or other pesky artifacts, and the bokeh? Let's just say it’ll make angels weep tears of joy. It matches the silver aesthetic of my M6 perfectly, and honestly, this lens has become somewhat of a permanent resident—it's rarely detached from my Leica.

Here’s the real conundrum, though: despite my occasional dalliance with a Leica lens (I did buy the Leica 28mm f/2.8 while on vacation—what can I say, I was feeling spontaneous), nothing compares to my beloved Zeiss 50. I mean, I might as well serenade it; it’s been with me on epic journeys, shoved into hotel room safes like a rare treasure, and put on display atop some world-class restaurant tables. 

This camera-and-lens duo has traveled to crazy places: Germany, England, Indonesia, Australia, Argentina, Cambodia, Malaysia—the list goes on like an overzealous travel vlog. There was that one time in the UK when my camera meter failed me, but honestly, it was just some moisture—like the unreliable friend who promises they won’t bail on plans and then ghost you at the last minute. But my trusty Zeiss lens? Flawless.

So here’s my take: great cameras are wonderful tools, no doubt about it. They won’t magically transform you into the next Ansel Adams or Henri Cartier-Bresson—trust me, I’ve tried. But a good lens, one you truly understand and bond with, is like a sturdy partner who sticks with you through thick and thin. Those lenses that resonate with us, that help us realize our creative visions and fit so seamlessly into our style? They deserve a celebration.

While I’m not exactly waving a flag for Leica as a brand (I do own a M9 after all), I’ll gladly defend my love affair with this specific Zeiss lens. It's a faithful companion, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: in the quest for photographic excellence, what matters more than the name on your camera is the glass you choose to put in front of it. So here’s to Zeiss—the lens that makes me feel like a superhero, even if my photography skills still put me in the sidekick category!

Ah, large format photography! That lofty realm where the phrases “Wait, I just need to adjust the tilt,” and “Did I remember to close the lens cap?” blend seamlessly into an art form that resembles an ancient ritual (some call it the "dance"). My journey into this universe began with a simple question: if medium format is the tastefully-sized bento box of photography, why not opt for a grand buffet of 4x5 large format? After all, what could possibly go wrong with lugging around a camera that weighs more than your average toddler?


From Medium to Mammoth: What Drove Me

My love affair with film photography kicked off with medium format, wielding a lovely 6x6 camera that allows for some darkroom magic, giving me the luxury to recompose without sacrificing image quality. With a cool dozen shots, finishing a roll isn’t the kind of protracted saga that keeps me cataloging indefinite “half-rolled” films. Trust me, a half-finished roll is the film photographer's equivalent of wearing mismatched socks—always there, glaring at you, mocking your lack of decisiveness.


So, bigger must be better, right? My sparkling ambition was further fueled by a desire to slow down and embrace the complexity of large format. With a camera sporting movements that could make an origami artist weep, I anticipated profound creative choices and—here comes the big one—greater control over exposure. This, I thought, felt like a Picasso painting compared to a stick figure. 


Thus, I delved into the world of large format photography, investing about $2,500 to acquire a 4x5 camera, two used lenses, and a brand-spanking-new spot meter (stay tuned for the review—I’m still wrestling with it). 

The Roller Coaster of Reality 

As I wandered deeper into the realms of 4x5, reality took a friendly jab at me. I quickly realized I had signed up for a rigorous masterclass in “Mistakes 101.” Sure, it slowed me down—the rhythm of shooting transformed from the quick click of the shutter to a meticulous five-to-ten-minute setup. In that time, I’ve seen many scenes slip away like summer rain in London. 


And my past life, trained in the decisive moments of Henri Cartier-Bresson, became laughably irrelevant. Instead of capturing gestures and fleeting reflections, I found myself studying composition and subject matter as though it were a game of chess, only the pieces were made out of glass and wood and could decide to flip over at any moment.


Ansel Adams, bless his soul, chose mountains that gracefully stood still for the duration of his slow exposures. Me? I'm anxiously watching the clouds shimmy in an existential ballet, awaiting the moment a magical shot is apparently just about to happen. Oh, but wait! My camera is still adjusting its position. 


The Learning Curve: A Steep and Humbling Ascent

Each foray into large format is like peeling an onion. So many layers, and every tear has a lesson attached. What did I learn? Well, large format is technically demanding. Dozens of choices induce profound anxiety, and each decision—be it tripod placement or focus adjustment—has a monumental impact on the final image. Contrast this with good ol’ medium format and 35mm, where you simply set the exposure index and move on like you’re cruising on a Sunday drive. 


With large format, I must bypass the instant gratification of shooting into a world of carefully orchestrated, deliberate movements. My camera starts to feel less like an extension of my eye and more like a trusted (yet overly complicated) drunk friend who’s teaching me life lessons at every turn. 


For instance, if I changed my camera orientation to capture a different shot, I had to mentally prepare myself for a cataclysm of decisions—a kaleidoscope of considerations that could make or break the shot. Suddenly, humility became my closest companion, and I felt like I was fumbling my way through eye surgery after years of confidently operating at a desk job.

A Long Way to Go: The Road of a Humble Novice

As I sit here contemplating my 20th negative out of 50 on this grand journey, I remind myself that being a novice again has its merits. The recent inquiries I’ve dared to make of those wiser and more experienced in the large format world have been met with varied responses—ranging from thoughtful insights to the occasional eye roll at my “dumb questions.” 


Yet, this journey isn’t solely about perfect images; it’s about learning and the humility that accompanies the mistakes often swept under the rug in the realm of social media perfection. Each misstep provides a nugget of wisdom, revealing my limitations and encouraging deeper respect for the titans of photography like Adams, Strand, Weston, and Avedon. 


In conclusion, while the gulf between their mastery and my own could be likened to the distance between Earth and Mars, the journey through this intricate world of large format is bound to teach me invaluable lessons. So, here’s to many more mistakes, a labyrinth of learning ahead, and eventually capturing magic on those large, glorious negatives! Stay tuned, for my next adventures might involve wrestling with technology and perhaps a photography guide to setting up camp in awkward public spaces. Because who doesn’t love a little chaos with their creativity?

When Your Leica M6 Light Meter Takes a Holiday in London
Ah, London! The charming city of double-decker buses, endless gray skies, and my dearly departed light meter. Yes, the universe has a sense of humor, and it decided to test mine while I was on a work trip, looking forward to a glorious morning of film photography—just me and my Leica M6. 

After a successful day capturing memories on the bustling streets, imagine my shock when I woke up to discover my trusty light meter had gone on strike. One minute I was happily snapping photos, and the next, my meter was as dead as my enthusiasm for cloudy weather. (And if you’ve ever been to London, you know the feeling—cloudy is basically the national mood.)

Standing right in front of the iconic Westminster, I found myself fiddling with my camera like it was a Rubik's Cube. I jiggled it, I changed batteries, and I may or may not have pleaded with it to start working again. No luck! It was almost poetic—every bit of frustration echoed by the low-hanging clouds above. 

Now, let’s be honest; I don’t live in London anymore. I had been daydreaming about revisiting my favorite snappable locations and capturing the essence of this vibrant city again. Instead, there I was, at the mercy of a meter that apparently decided to drift off into the great unknown. It was a bit like taking a trip back to your childhood home only to find that your old toys have been replaced with nothing but sentimental regrets.

In utter desperation, I glanced upward at the typical London sky: gray, flat, and as welcoming as a wet sock. “Ah, London weather,” I mused, recalling a classic quote: "If you don’t like the weather in London, wait five minutes.” Well, I didn’t plan on waiting—I needed a light meter, and I needed it now!

So, what’s an enterprising film photographer to do? I whipped out my iPhone, turned on the trusty light meter app, and began to gather my readings. First, a shot of the sky—a cloudy palette that would leave every artist in a fit of jealousy. Then, taking a reading in deep shadow, I could feel that creeping sense of strategy begin to replace my initial frustration. Finally, I even measured the gray cement path I was standing on because, hey, every bit counts, right?

With this newfound knowledge, I established my light meter boundaries. I’d keep everything on the middle marker unless I was shooting something in the horizon or deep in shadow; then I’d bump it up a bit. It felt oddly triumphant—like I had cracked a secret code buried deep within the shadows of Westminster. 

With my DIY light meter method in place, I spent the entire day capturing shots—two rolls’ worth of pure bliss. Each frame was well exposed thanks to my unconventional approach, using the magic of Ilford HP5 B&W film. Sure, color film would have turned this exercise into a guessing game, and slide film? Forget it—it would have sent me into existential despair!

In the end, what started as a frustrating morning transformed into an unplanned adventure in urban light management. My Leica M6 and I ended that day not just with excellent exposure but also with a hilarious story to tell. So, let this be a lesson to all you aspiring film photographers: when technology fails you, remember to improvise, embrace the clouds, and always carry an iPhone for backup. After all, creativity often flourishes in the most unexpected situations—just like my photos from that London trip!

I love photography projects.  I have started hundreds but finished very few.  I have written about why I like photography projects as a way to delve into a particular aspect of the photo narrative.  But I have never openly admitted my almost universal failure at these.  So here I am, ending 2023 a bit less burdened by my guilt. 

The one project that I keep turning to that keeps working is the idea behind "one day in...." the place changed depending where I. am living or where I am traveling to.  But the great thing about these projects is that they are finished in a single day.

One such project was done in London.  I keep going back to the work I created over these eight hours and I  keep finding new things to like about it.  So now that I am about to start a new study in Small Town Texas, I thought I would dig back through these photographs and explore London again...while sitting in Houston.

This is a shot that I love. I took several cameras with me that day, and here I am shooting with a Digital Leica.  I put on a wide angle lens and captured this image.  In post, I made it square and did a B&W conversion.  I love everything about it as it makes the subject small compared to the black. The wonders of an industrial super power can be made to look small.

Here was my trip home after a full day of taking pictures.  I loved the reflection of this woman daydreaming as she sees the city of London go by. The color rendition of this camera is mind boggling good.  I need to shoot more with it but the sensor needs a good cleaning...

Not all street photography must be in B&W.  Here I could not help but love the colors from the bright to the muted. A simple scene, but one so difficult to capture in a photograph. The trouble with life is that it does not photograph well....

There is the book called "Look Up" or something similar about a couple of photographers who go around the city shooting what is up.  Most people focus on their feet and never look to the heavens and appreciate what is there...not metaphorically but just looking up and seeing the buildings.  I was contemplating that as I  toured London that day.  Here at St Paul Cathedral I looked up and found this wonderful convergence. Lines, art, strength and textures all combining in the deeply tonal scene.  

One of my last shots of the day.  I would turn around shortly after this picture was taken and walk to Waterloo station and grab a train home. I arrived around 08:00 am and lefts after 5:00 pm.  It was full day of shooting and it seemed right to end it with a frivolous photograph.  This one, where the man is making bubbles in front of the backdrop of the city of London seems right.  

I was speaking to a fellow amateur photographer, who was telling me that they did not take as many pictures as they would have liked in 2023.  They felt that they were not advancing in their photographic journey.  I have long held that you do not have to take a picture to improve your photography.

There are many aspects to learning photography, and not everything can be picked up with a camera in hand.  For example I am a better photographer because of my darkroom experience.  I understand how to visualize the final product and the importance of getting it right in camera.  A wonderfully composed and properly exposed negative makes the art of photography easier and more fun. If I dont get it right in camera, I will spend ten times longer getting it right in the darkroom and may still fail.

So you see, photograhy is a skilset that must be arrived at through practice, study and through active particiapation in art.  Without one of these key elements, a photographer will be limited by their own talent.  While for some people this is no real limit at all, in my case, I must rely on building my skill set. 

So yes, my friend may have a point that her photographic journey did not advance much this year, but she cannot blame it on a lack of picture taking. Going to an art museum and really working to understand what the artists are trying to convey is what I call "active participation in art".  It teaches you something that you can bring back to your own camera work.

You can also pick up a book and study the photography of the masters.  They have spent their lives in careful study of this art form. They have so much to teach us but we need to pick up the books and read. 

Consider a lesson I am learning from Diana Arbus who turned her camera lens to “freaks” because she viewed them as special.  She argued that people live their whole lives hoping to avoid the tramatic events, but freaks are born with their trama. They have alreay passed their test, they are aristocrats.  They fill us with shame and awe. 

In a few simple lines, this photographer captures what draws our eye when we see a freak. She did not come about this quickly or easily, but rather through introspectrum into her own motiviation and art.  And hence we walk away with a better understanding of our world. And this makes us better photographers.

Take another line of hers, “ there’s a certain point between what you want people ot know about you and what you can’t help them knowing about you”….we live balancing that point. Our fear of the all seeing eye of the camera, is that we cannot control what people see so that point becomes harder to manage. Again, amazing insight that can only be found through study.

So while, picking up a camera and practicing with it is critical to develop photographic skills, it is also important to open up books on the masters of photography and learn through study.  Grab a picture, and do a personal deep dive. What pulls you into it, what was the photographer wanting to convey?  How would I have taken this shot?

A few weeks ago I made a very quick Instagram Reel in my darkroom.  I enjoyed it a great deal as I can share with family and friends.  The subject is the same, each Reel of mine is a different print I am making. I go through showing the same basic steps and the final product.  It only takes me about 2 minutes longer to make a reel when making a print so all things considered it is rather quick. 

I have absolutely no goal beyond sharing what is making me happy. I pick the music rather quickly and don't do any fancy post processing. But it is a fun way to share with family and friends....and it makes me happy.

Man creates technology to solve a problem. The adaptability of man requires them to adjust to the change of circumstance. So, in the end, we are changing our world to adjust to the new technology that was designed to solve a problem in our world. It is the classic definition of the tail wagging the dog.

But this is nothing new. Man has been doing this sine our arrival and will continue to do so. Some might even argue that we must continue to do this if we are to survive. Once Pandora's box was opened, and all the evil escaped, man committed atrocities to try to contain evil again.

In 1930, Sheldon Cheney wrote a book titled "The New World Architecture" and he included the following prediction of the future.

​"There will ultimately be machine-developed energy to solve all men's work problems...the elements themselves will be tamed, weather tempered, transportation become effortless, cleanliness universal.  The worlds of the intellect and of the artistic faculties will be transported instantaneously to all. Living will be speeded, concentrated, regulated, as never before...[and] you may turn around and find a gloriously clean, austere, and liberated art rising up out of the machines themselves."

Is his prediction astonishingly accurate? Can this man, writing before the jet plane, before WWII, writing before man made it to the moon, before television became universal actually be contemplating what we are today struggling with? 

The machines themselves providing clean austere and liberated art...sounds like AI. But are we there yet?  AI algorithms, such as Generative Adversarial Networks (GAN's) can create original artworks, music compositions and even literature. So I won't dive into how they work because...I can't. But essentially it is running two Machine Learning programs at the same time, pushing one against the other (hence the word Adversarial).  So take an AI program written to detect fakes and put it against one that is made to guess what is not there. So a picture with a gap can be filled in but the fake detection program forces it to become better. The can make images where there was none.

So, photographers around the world start to get nervous...similar to how painters felt in 1860's when photography began to replace the hired painted portrait. Time moves on and our approach to art has always changed with it. So can humans collaborate with AI to make art? Sure...kind of like how photographers started the pictorial movement where they would alter the negative by hand to make the photograph more "human". Where did that leave us? Directly to the world of straight photography where we acknowledged that the camera can be used to capture art without painting the negative.

Can AI replace photographers? Absolutely. Will they? Well I am unsure however there is an argument that having a human take the picture, we have at least one human confirmation of what the scene was like. AI can create one that never existed. But anyone who follows the sage of Steve McCurry can testify that we are already doing this.

But can AI do other things for us?  Why not consider Art Restoration and AI? So much of what we try to restore has to have human intervention, but AI might allow us more accurate restorations of these things.

Here is a great one...How about Art curation? The toughest job a photographer has is selecting which of his work to show. We are emotionally connected with the picture and even friends find it difficult to tell us the hard truth. I personally would love AI to step in and help me select the more powerful pictures...

Art Education, conservation, accessibility, and protecting the market from fake works of art all seem reasonable. Now can we be entering into a world where a computer is telling us what art should be? Why not...we have been listening to art elites tell us this for a very long time...maybe it is time for a change?

I see three unavoidable results from AI creation...a genie that we cannot put back in the bottle.

1. AI will increasingly alter how we create, interpret and value art.
2. People will rebel against the "cleanliness and austere" art that is created, so AI will adjust and make art that is unclean and less austere.
3. People will value art made by human hands more than they do today. Proof of items being purely man made will become important and there will be an entire genre that will just be focused on man-made art.

So don't give up on that darkroom...it just might start coming back into Vogue.  

I thought I would spend the next few weeks considering how different photographers approached photography.  I am focusing on the past tense because living photographers are still adapting their art (or should be) so it would be difficult to pull this sort of post mortem analysis from a living photographer. My goal, as with everything on this site, is to see what more I can learn about photography.

The first photographer I would like to discuss is Julia Margaret Cameron who is a fascinating photographer of the Victorian period. Just as photography was growing, Julia received a camera as a gift from her family and went to work changing how the world sees. But what of her approach makes her so unique? 

Let me lead with that. Her focusing technique. Aside from all the amazing art she created, the one aspect that keeps pulling me back in is her use of focus. While most photographers (including myself) focus on an image until the object is as clear as possible, Margaret would focus "until the image is beautiful". Wow...just....wow.

And there, twenty or so lines into this post you have what took me days of consideration to understand. What draws me to her art is the absolute adherence to the beauty of an image and a willingness to break any "rules" to get there. And the result....well she achieves it.

I learned of Julia Margaret Cameron when I first began digging into the masters of this art that so intrigues me. Her work did not speak to me immediately as I was naturally drawn to "straight" photography with sharp, angular shapes and strong contrast. Her work was too subtle for me to understand at that point. I bought a book to come back to later and left her and her work alone. I was not yet ready for it.

I recently went on a trip to San Diego where I was fortunate to see a exhibit of her work. This time, with a bit more photography maturity behind me, I looked at her work from a very different perspective and began to "fall into" her photography.  I say that because it is how I felt...I felt as if I was falling into her photographs. I went and stood before each of her works that was on exhibit (no Iago was not one of them) and allowed myself to fall into it. I started with the details, then the facial expression and then I would allow myself to let go and...fall.  

Side by side we can see the differences. Note the movement of Mary in the image on the right. Perhaps this is why Julis printed the one on the left. She was already controversial for her use of out of focus shots and maybe she felt the movement was a bit much. But the distortion of Mary is minimal and it captures a look beyond the lilies...the thousand yard stare and some have called it. But with either image you have the subtle beauty that for years I was ill prepared to recognize.

The very first image in this post, is on of "Iago" was a paid model (some debate as to which model exists but let's move beyond that) and the image is a classic portrait of Julia's. Contrasting background, soft focus, filling the frame and amazing use of light. He does not look at the camera, he is looking down. The model is playing an evil character, a great manipulator in Shakespeare's Othello.  Perhaps he is ashamed, perhaps he is just pausing before his next manipulation or perhaps he has been caught and the image is the instant before the fall...this was not a candid shot...this was a carefully prepared, choreographed shot and it comes across amazingly well. 

But what of these elements makes it a memory of something I have never seen? That careful departure from the technical perfectionism and embracing or allowing the imperfections to aide the beauty of the image and her innate ability to capture emotion. But that soft focus, really pulls you in and then you realize that this is how you remember your dreams. They are not sharp in focus, they are soft, wiggly and imperfect but the convey our fears, anxieties and loves. Julia Margaret Cameron managed to capture images as we remember our dreams. 

Photography has changed since 1827 with Niépce. Consider that the art form has gone through plate photography, film photography and now is in digital photography. But beyond the technology used to capture an image, the styles of photography have changed and so have the photographers. 
George Eastman made great strides to turn a pastime of the elite into an adventure of the common man. While film photography was never cheap, he made it accessible to many more people. This changed the person behind the lens and their journey, and the art they created was different.
For an example consider Henri Lartigue, a young man who was born into the upper class of France in 1894. He was given his camera by a father whose belief was that his children would never have to work a day in their lives so they should enjoy life. And enjoy life they did and fortunately (for us anyway) Henri Lartigue was given a camera and he rarely put it down.

Both photographers created art. Both were true to their convictions. Both are master photographers that I admire. But their journey's were very different from one another and as we can see from the art they created, the journey really does matter.  

I am reading Edward Weston's Daybooks which is an interesting glimpse into his daily life. There is a bit on life in the 1920's, a bit on convention, photography and technology in there to enjoy. But one concept he brings forward is the evolution of an artist. He speaks to Diego Rivera's work and is initially enthralled by his work.  But over the years he does not see Diego evolving. He sees him merely mimicking previous success while other, less known artists, kept evolving making better and better art.

This got me thinking about the journey that Lartigue and Hine had and how this impacted their art. I also began looking to see how their work evolved over time. And an interesting thing struck me, the vast majority of the masters of photography evolved in their work. Their journey took them to different paths and new ways of seeing the world. And this impacted their art.

We are all going on a journey and it is influenced by everything we have around us. Social media has made a massive impact on the journey and by its nature, the outcome as well.

If I look at my photographic journey so far, I would note that I was first drawn to photography because of a need to take pictures of my growing family and out international lifestyle. I became fascinated by the physics and mechanics of the equipment and I pushed to learn more.

I quickly found the internet to be a very powerful tool to learn photography. We had been transferred to Saudi Arabia and photography was frowned upon back then. So I could not take my camera out, so I made up for it by studying and learning. I found photography forums and began posting and learning. It was wonderful to take still life's in the house and then get the critique back. I tried HDR photography, and made all sorts of wild photographs that were clearly impossible to actually exist. Every element I tried I felt would be it for me. It became my photographic world until the next gimmick was found.

This then took me to look for on-line classes and I found Kelby Training. Wonderful videos on demand to teach you all kinds of photography related concepts. I kept trying to understand how to build an image worth looking at. Snapshots were not good enough I wanted to image that grabs the viewer. In one of the video classes I was told to try some photography tours, which I did. In all the places we visited I found a local photographer who would be willing to take me along on a day trip. I watched them work, I learned.

My next step was to look at the masters of old. I found a YouTube channel where Ted Forbes introduced me to a bunch of master photographers. He began speaking about their motivation, inspiration and their evolution. I began to buy photography books and I began to look through them. Every Sunday morning, while the family was asleep, I had my coffee and I went on a journey with one of these master photographers. Paul Strand, Edward Weston, Alfred Stieglitz, Richard Avedon, Henri Cartier-Bresson, Brassai, Robert Frank, Helen Levitt, Sally Mann and so many others. Some alive, most dead.

Now my journey is still evolving. I am in the darkroom making chemical prints and I am pick up my camera based on the type of photography I want to shoot. I stopped carrying so much gear and lenses and stick to the basics. I now shoot based on shared memory. I believe we all have a memory of a simpler time, of simple objects and simple pleasures. Tapping into this shared memory is what fascinates me at the moment. I rarely get it right but I am trying and having a great deal of fun with it.

Now I am making prints of simpler things and then going back to the print to improve on them. Not only am I going on a journey so are my photographs. They are not done until they are put in a frame and few get that honor and even fewer stay in their frames. My tastes are changing, my photography is changing but much as Lartigue did, I shoot what makes me happy.