The Camera as Inspiration

Documentary style photography has always appealed to me. Stark black and white images, beautiful grain, moving images. Naturally as I became more and more interested in photography the classic rangefinders that represent the birth of the 35mm format began to call out to me despite their limitations and high price tag. When I began looking at rangefinders I was of course drawn to Leica's. They are simply beautiful, well built, stylish cameras. Of course, the 1000 dollar cost of admission (and that's a film body only), led me to believe I'd have to start somewhere else. I've heard good things about Bessa's and better things about Zeiss Ikon's, and Leica's are just for rich people who value style over function right? I mean, if you can mount an M Lens on a new 500 dollar Bessa body, then why would someone dish out the cash for a M7 or even a used M6 that's twice the cost of the Bessa?

Every photo book, guru, and internet poster loves to throw out the "it's not about the camera, it's about the cameraman" cliche. We've all read it and taken at face value it's pretty good advice. We've all seen the great work some photographers have done with disposable cameras and iphones. So if that's the case why not just get a decent point and shoot and be done with it?

Another cliche, "the best camera, is the one that's with you" just might hold the answer. Photographers take inspiration from everything around them. By definition they are concerned very much with aesthetics, great design, and in most cases, capturing a little bit of history on the film or sensor. If a fine camera, such as the Leica, inspires the photographer to take their work seriously and aspire to carry on the tradition of the great documentary photographers of the past, I say, such an acquisition would be money well spent. I've come to the conclusion that the history behind the camera is important to me and the kind of work I want to do. I've decided to go with the kind of camera I really want. A Leica Rangefinder.

Return

I abandoned this blog sometime ago with the intention of starting a new blog focusing mainly on photography, but as my hobby of photography became a more of a profesional ambition and my blog became integrated with my business website, it began to feel inappropriate sharing my views on modern music and annoyances with the government with my potential clients. So, here I am again.

New Life...

My cousin, to whom I'm very close, brought her second baby into the world yesterday. With that occasion in mind I started this poem, of which I've only just begun.

As the sun rises on the chilly morn,
And the cars all line the streets.
The passengers with their coffee cups,
Bump to the urban beat.

The men in orange work the roads,
And Toil in the dirt.
As a lady passes through a crosswalk,
In a short black hounds tooth skirt.

We putter here and sometimes there,
The truth far from our sight.
A crying baby brings me pause,
And the cars fade in to night.

Professors utter empty words,
Unbecoming of a princess.
The street preachers mumble in the street,
Making far too much of less.

The sun sits high upon its breast,
The rocks warm to the front.
I sit in the shadow,
And the crickets whimper for want.

We putter here and sometimes there,
The truth far from our sight.
A crying baby brings me pause,
And the crickets fade from sight.

Born Under a Bad Sign...

...Been down since I begin to crawl.

I picked up the "Born Under a Bad Sign" record by Albert King today. It came out 1967, and basically revived the dying blues brand, leading to a resurgence in old-fashioned blues aesthetics. King was a huge influence on Stevie Ray Vaughan, and it shows. I can hear licks all over the album that most people would probably associate first and foremost with Stevie, but King was able to convey the same emotion with less notes. He probably lacked the virtuosity of a player like Vaughan, but was able to create more personable grooves that mastered depth and space. That's what's so great about the blues. On the outside, it would be easy to dismiss the style as one dimensional and limited, among the ranks of the great players, every possible emotion is covered within the same scales of eight beautiful notes.

A Gift From On High...

Well, my 7th intersection with one Bob Dylan was very successful. The venue was beautiful, the band sounded great, and I even scored some Dylan's 1984 "Real Live" on vinyl, which fills a void in my record collection. The trip couldn't possibly have been better. We stayed in a Holiday Inn in Cincinnati which functioned as the perfect place to take in political coverage. The airwaves were ripe with coverage from my home state with Obama and Biden in town and all. Of course the highlight of the trip was the 5 or 6 minutes in which Dylan played my absolute favorite, "I Believe In You". It was really something to see him play something from the Gospel period which I was cheated out of due to my late arrival to this world. Anyways, Bob treated me to a little taste of that last night, for which I am grateful.