Nothing on the top but a bucket and a mop...

After spending a couple of glorious days in Kerry - soaking up the only sun of the entire frickin' summer, I'm increasingly convinced that I have reached a potentially dangerous plateau with my photography. The last year has been largely exhilarating; learning new techniques, in the camera and afterwards in post-processing, as well as rules and tips about exposure and composition. And it worked. I'm not an amazing photograper - I probably never will be - but I'm almost immeasurably better than I was this time last year. Looking back at old photos is (sometimes painful!) proof of this.

However, the whiny emo at the back of my mind is finally telling me that my best stuff may be behind me; I reached my level and this is where it stays, ridiculous though this may be for somebody who has only taken photography seriously for less than a year. I've spoken previously about how my will to learn new techniques drives me forward and motivates me to take photos, and even though I view this as to some extent negative, an even worse scenario is one where I don't feel I can learn anything at all.

Perhaps I've just reached a stage where I am a technically competent photographer. Perhaps it is time to learn other, more important skills; how to think creatively and how to 'see' a photo before putting your eye to the viewfinder. I'm also extremely interested in the other side of the lens - controlling lighting and in some cases subjects. Skills I certainly don't possess at the moment. While I realise I have much to learn, I have a feeling I'll never get that concrete satisfaction you get from seeing an obvious, indisputable improvement in your work.

Gear is another issue; Somehow I feel that acquiring new stuff could be the key to moving off this plateau and back to an upwards slope in my photography, despite the irrational argument here. I have an almost painful lust for an ultra wide-angle lens (the Sigma 10-20mm), and although I try not to, I often think that it will be the answer to all my problems. Which it won't be. As it could be a long, long time before I can afford even that inexpensive piece of kit, I'll have to make do with what I have and not let it make me complacent and lazy.

After that musing, I should probably post some photos (the first time I post something without photos I will probably delete this blog - I'm bad enough as it is) As I mentioned above, I was in Kerry for a few days last week; one of the most glorious places on earth in good weather: one of the most miserable in bad. Luckily we had the former. Despite the weather, I came away with fewer 'keepers' than I was hoping for. It's difficult to make time for photography when you go away with one other person, but that's a subject for another day... Without further ado, some photos. Click on the image below to go to a slideshow of my favourite images.

Moment of Clarity

I was going to write a post with a couple of pictures - nothing special, but mainly as a celebration of how I had overcome a (fairly) lengthy period of photographer's block. But, I just had a slight epiphany while out smoking a cigarette so I felt I should commit it to virtual paper while it's still fresh in my mind.

I was thinking, as one does, about the reasons why I enjoy photography, and came to a somewhat depressing realisation, which may or may not be entirely true but certainly made me think. I've noticed a certain pattern in the way I take photos and my motiviation behind them. I spend a lot of time looking at photos I admire, and trying to emulate the ideas and techniques behind them. This I have no problem with - I think it's something everyone does and it is probably the best way to learn the craft.

My epiphany revolves around the way I do this, however. As I try to emulate these pictures, I will often try it out as a 'proof of concept'; I will attempt to take a certain type of picture, and even when I don't entirely succeed I am happy if I think that I have got the basic technique right and with a little more effort, or perhaps the right conditions, I could take a picture 'just as good' as the one which I am copying.

I think this probably started with those long-exposure water shots. I always wondered how they were done before I bought a digital SLR and was using a completely automatic point and shoot camera, and it was one of the first techniques I tried to copy when I bought my Nikon D50. I had some success, then read up on filters and bought a cokin filter set with an ND filter. Even though I haven't taken any photo of flowing water that I am particularly happy with, I am satisifed that I have the technique mastered, and unfortunately this has subconsciously made me think that this is ok - it's as if just believing that I could take a picture as good as one I have seen somewhere that impressed me is all I need to do. The picture itself has never materialised and up until now this didn't really bother me.

If the above situation was a one-off, then perhaps I wouldn't be worrying so much and writing a blog post whining about it, but the more I think about it the more examples I can think of. The following picture is a particularly good example:

As you can probably see, this picture is nothing special. However, it's perfectly indicative of my problem. I was always interested in taking photos of star lines, having looked at and admired many photos of the night sky with amazing circles of stars taken over a period of a couple of hours. So I researched what I needed - a tripod, a full battery, a wide-ish angle lens, a light-pollution free sky. I tried a couple of times with little success; I didn't realise just how bright the sky around cities is, or how much of a drain on batteries long exposures are. Finally, I was somewhere dark enough to take a picture, and I tried it out. I left the shutter for about half and hour or so, and got this. It wasn't very good, but I thought that if I had just left the shutter open longer, and perhaps composed the picture a little bit better, then I could have taken a picture just as good as those I admired. Again, unfortunately, the picture never materialised. This was enough.

Again, my infra-red pictures followed this pattern. I looked at photos. I read up on filters, which lenses didn't produce hotspots, and how to post-process the pictures. Eventually, after many failed attempts, I finally produced some pictures like these, which I blogged about in my last post:

I'm repeating myself now, but again, I wasn't happy with the picture as a whole - I don't think it has anything special. But, yes you guessed it - I was happy enough to leave it at that.

It's the same for others. Those ubiqutous long-exposure, sunset-and-rocks photos, the photos of a huge sun reflecting on the water, the list goes on. It's hard to believe that I've only just realised what I have been doing all this time, and worryingly, if this trend continues, I'll run out of techniques to try and stop having fun (I can't deny that I enjoy what I do - no matter what the problems are with it) That would be a disaster.

So I'm drawing a line in the sand. I'm going to take an infra-red picture that is as strong compositionally as it is technically. I'll do the same for good ol' sunset-water-and-rocks, and I'll take a well-composed picture of proper circular star lines. This post will remind me why I'm doing it, and I won't rest until I've posted at least one good example of everything I've tried. I've 'mastered' the proof of concept, now it's time for the real thing.

All (fairly) quiet on the photographic front

I haven't had the time or inclination to take many photos recently, but there were a few fantastic night-time skies, and I did spend an hour or so with my telephoto lens and the wireless remote, trying to take pictures of the moon. It's hard. You need absolute stillness, and although I figured my shutter speeds were fast enough, I never took into consideration the movement of the moon which is massively magnified when you use long lenses. Even though the pictures looked crystal clear on the LCD, they were disappointingly soft when transferred onto the laptop. Here is the only one I was reasonably happy with, and even this required great sharpening and cropping.

Astrophotography is like this great white elephant in the corner of the room that I refuse to acknowledge the existence of. I know I'd love it. I also know that I don't need any more equipment, other than a simple device made out of a couple of pieces of wood and a bolt, and a stopwatch. I used to think that photographing 'deep sky' stuff was a question of great magnification, but in fact what you need is lots and lots of time to collect enough light to bring these things out. I can feel that this sort of photography is within my reach, and I can already imagine the shivers of excitement that I'd get when successful for the first time.

I also know that it might drive me utterly, irreversibly, insane. Astrophotography involves stuff that my brain was not programmed for, such as Hard Sums, and Following Instructions Properly. Even trying to follow the instructions for something that is supposedly simple, calibrating an equatorial mount, drives me just a little bit mental. It's frustrating that something so incredible is within my reach, but at the same time quite far.

The only other photo I put up on Flickr recently was this one:

This was actually taken a few months ago. I never delete any photos. Ever. Even blurry, out of focus, boring photos that were just taken at the spur of the moment and have to real meaning. This isn't because I think I might use them, but I think more just a natural instinct that I have as a hoarder; I subscribe to the timeless fallacy of the hoarder, that "it might come in handy one day". Well for once it did. This shot, in colour dull and lifeless, sort of appeals to me in black and white. I saw it while looking over some old pictures, and when I turned it into black and white, it instantly looked miles better. You can make out the nice lighting of the trees, their long shadows due to the fact that it was taken late in the evening. The figure on the right, just out-of-place when in colour, takes on something of an ethereal quality when the picture was transformed. I think if I saw this picture I would be fairly impressed.

But is it art? Probably not. I didn't intend to take the picture that eventually emerged; I must be honest with myself about that. It's technically bad, as it was taken in bad light without a tripod. I didn't see it as a black and white picture at the time, nor did I think about the effect the 'figure' would have on the photo. Still though, it may not be art, but I know what I like. Even if it wasn't an intentional moment of artistic inspiration, I think that the fact that I saw it and realised its potential at some point means that I must be getting somewhat better at this photography malarkey.