How I interview people

When I began doing street portraits, I tried to study how different photographers approach their subjects. I learned from Brandon Stanton of Humans of New York who has spoken extensively about his approach, the importance of developing trust, and how to work with a subject to tell their story. From David duChemin I learned how to cross lines of difference with humility and respect. How to close both physical and emotional distance to create space to help people open up.

But 'learning' these ideas in abstract is just one step - applying them in my own context, my identity, and personality requires disciplined practice, reflection, and ongoing improvement.

A moment of solitude

A moment of solitude

When I approached this man sitting near Columbus Circle, he looked simultaneously serene but also conflicted. His music offered one way to block out the crowd but I sensed he had other thoughts swirling in his mind.

I've borrowed HONY's strategy for approaching strangers by asking simply, "can I take your photograph?" No pretext about a project or interest, but just a desire to connect. From a first photo or two, I'll then ask a few questions. Also borrowing from the HONY method, I skip the small talk. This is really hard for me - asking strangers to share vulnerable moments, hopes, challenges, is not something that comes naturally. But there's no way around this. While many people have said 'no' to my initial question, almost no one has declined to share once we get going. Being a stranger helps. They have a chance to open up and talk without concern for consequence and the connection that creates is powerful.

If I'm being totally frank, I think my camera and neck-strap actually help a lot. They are items of interest - tools of the trade that signal more than a passing interest. Yes, there are many significantly more talented photographers who can work with just an iPhone. No, you don't need a fancy camera or craft neck-strap. But from my own experience, they create a small amount of trust that I take what I do seriously. I'll often actually get questions about my camera - is it film, who makes it, do I like it, why did I choose it? While these questions have nothing to actually do with my approach to photography, they help create a connection with the people that I photograph. I'll take it.

Opening up

Opening up

As we continued talking, he shared a deeply personal and honest story. As it unfolded, he seemed relieved to have a chance to share it. It was that moment of relief, honesty, a touch of timidity, that I tried to capture in this second image.

In the end, there's something revealing about that first image too. It speaks of a man with a need to get a way - who has lived much of his life hidden behind a facade. But personally I like the second one better - it speaks of the connection we had in that moment. Fleeting, earnest, sad, but still hopeful.

This is my process and it continues to evolve.

A new perspective with CHIHULY

First, if you're in or near NYC, you need to go see the CHIHULY exhibit. Second, this piece is the second in a series going deeper into my process and craft of photography. It's both an out-loud reflection and self critique but also a way of opening up more about my approach so that I can learn from my own voice as well. Thanks for joining me.

Straight forward

Straight forward

I would have loved to be in the studio as the CHIHULY team put this piece together. Did they sketch out some master plan? Select a color palette? Or let themselves go willy nilly? Did the canoe come first or did that come later as a clever after thought? Was the reflection - for many the main subject - a focal point as they started or a brilliant realization as they started? I've been asking more of these questions as I interrogate my own process more.

As I looked around me and saw photographers with tripods, with huge zoom lenses, and those with iphones, I realized they were all basically doing the same thing - standing about their normal height and honing in on the boat or a part of the boat from a few different perspectives. These shots would look vaguely similar down the road. Nothing wrong with that, but it made me wonder whether there were other ways of seeing the artist's work.

Gentle movement

Gentle movement

With a little intentional hand shake a low angle, both the piece (and the photograph) take on an entirely different meaning. For me at least, this second perspective accentuates the artist's intent to play with light and highlight the power of glass to bend, transform, absorb, and reflect it in all different ways. Here the colors act more as ghosts dancing on the water with their partners. The edges of the balls soften and the different shades, gradients, and sizes - the forms - become more salient.

As I continued my journey around the garden I tried looking for different ways to express what I was seeing and how I interpreted what the artist had created.

A reflection - or is it?

A reflection - or is it?

I loved this because because of the endless options it offered. Nestled in a reflecting pool, these glass rods shot up out of a wood pile. But I was more interested in the way that they had a never-ending presence in the reflection below. At just the right angle, you can't quite tell whether you're looking at the reflection or the 'real' thing and so my intent here was to capture that sensation of surprise and wonder. Could the artists have designed it for this moment? Who do they let in on their little secret?

Finding the right balance of motion and shutter speed

Finding the right balance of motion and shutter speed

I began searching for even more ways to understand what I was seeing - slowing things down, changing the angle, swiping left, swiping right. I realized in that process that creating intentional blur is more than just about slowing the shutter. It requires really understanding what story you want to tell and how much the blur plays into that. Do you want to totally abstract the shape or just nudge it out a bit? What emotions change as more or less blur is introduced and what do you gain and lose with those choices? I realize there was also a delicate balance of how much motion to introduce within the chosen shutter speed and whether that motion followed one direction or many.

There are so many questions to answer but I loved how this exhibit gave the opportunity to experiment with new ways of seeing.

Storytelling - getting deeper

I'm trying something new. For the next few weeks I'm going to be posting an image I've taken - some recent, some years old - along with some commentary and self-critique. At some level it's part of a self-guided course I'm taking, but at another it's a way for me to be more open about my process, my approach, and hopefully getting something closer to an articulation of my vision.

Unlike past posts I'm opening these up to comments and hope you'll join me in the conversation.

Copy of 20161022-EvanAmyWedding-DSCF8496.JPG

When I saw the fireplace and the soft indirect light I knew I had to do something, but taking a photo of the fireplace itself was just boring. The guiding lines of the old stone toward the fireplace hinted at a fun way of directing the scene and more importantly, my fun loving wife dancing in front of it offered an even better option.

I took my first few shots from various 'standard' perspectives - shoulder, a little above, a little below. But when I looked back at what I had taken I noticed how dramatic her shoes popped out against the background. I loved the forms, the shapes. It speaks of decades of dance training. It speaks of her playfulness.

And so I tried a new perspective. Getting down low, I focused on just her shoes and the fireplace, sending it out of focus but still with enough clarity to leave no doubt about what it was. I got an extra bonus because it looked like it may have been on its way out. A hint of the end of the party.

But it's far from perfect. I cut off her raised ankle on the left foot and the lines lead away from the rest of the frame. It's confusing and requires the viewer to have the energy to draw themselves back in. Then there's the choice in aperture. Did I need to get so radical with the fast approach or could i have stopped it down and gotten a little more of her right foot in view?

It's still a favorite of mine and continues to connect with me but the process of going through this self-critique will hopefully pay off down the road.

A moment. A story. A family.

A friend recently approached me to do a family portrait session for them. Their little ones were growing up quickly and they wanted a chance to capture the preciousness of their ages and the memories of the moment. 

Little guy stole my hat

Little guy stole my hat

My family never took portraits and the idea always struck me as a bit odd until I started seeing some of the photos my friends had. They were natural, fun loving photos that captured that small sliver in time for the family. I've seen them in hall ways, frames, and yes, social media too. And so when I thought about what I wanted to bring to the shoot, my focus was on finding ways to capture the little personalities running around the park and the dynamic the family has together.

Penguin style

Penguin style

This didn't mean no direction at all - just a careful mix of direction and giving kids room to be themselves. It meant keeping a read and pulse on how much patience both kids and parents had and choosing moments for a little more careful composition carefully and making sure I was ready to capture it.

up in the air

up in the air

I'm still finding my style with family photos but loved the opportunity to bring this one to life. Thanks Meghan and Brendan for letting me into your world for the morning.

Fear is real, but so is overcoming it (or how FDR was wrong)

About a year ago I started on a journey to become a professional photographer.  Whatever that meant. At the time, it meant that I aspired to be paid for my photography. Seems simple enough. And when my first client threw in their hat and gave me a chance, and then another, then another, I thought I might be on to something. 

My beautiful amazing wife.

But I'll admit I didn't think I could make it as a full time photographer. I was indoctrinated in the gospel of the 'real job' and even if no one said this to me explicitly, I felt it in what everyone did around me. When I wanted to apprentice myself at a restaurant where I had made friends with the owners and chefs, ultimately I was my own barrier (that one may have been a good choice - professional kitchens and epilepsy don't go so well together).

That fear of revealing yourself to the unknown is all too real and faced down by entrepreneurs and go-getters the world over. I'm not just talking about start up silicon valley types who so frequently have a comfy safety net to fall back into (as did I). I'm talking about people who feel the fear and face it down - the teachers who chose to join a profession that's getting hammered from every side, the women who don't just break through the glass ceiling but imagine a new sky, the justice fighters who shove aside snide labels and bigots on social media to do work for a higher cause. That kind of fear.

It wasn't too long after I began working as a semi-full time photographer that I also came to a realization about where I got my energy. What I wanted most was to bring people joy, to tell their stories, and capture portraits of nature so that we might treat it better. I started spending more time talking with strangers and working on special projects with friends to help build their brands and personal branding. I waded into the world of engagement photography to celebrate the love of two dear friends.

In the end, I didn't want photography to be a full time thing - at least not yet. I couldn't give up my other passion working in education to help build and grow the teacher talent pool our city needs. But I also couldn't let photography go and I'll admit - I get a thrill each time a client shares an idea for a project or expresses interest in a particular print.

And that's where this story goes. The fear of reaching into the unknown, of taking a risk, is quite real. But one of the great rewards of taking that first step is that you realize how little we actually know and control in the first place. And once you're able to let go of that, you can open yourself up to new opportunities. Like selling prints. 

I don't mean to be trite. It hadn't even occurred to me that people might want to buy images that I had already taken. It's like a restaurant selling leftovers (oh hey, brunch!).

Far from letting me settle in, the requests pushed me to go further. To know that someone might one day pick a piece of mine to hang in their home or gift to a friend is just pure joy. For all the benefits that digital photography has brought, there are few things like printing, framing, and hanging a piece of art. I hope I can hang one for you.

More bad stuff

A few weeks ago I wrote about the value of looking through old photos for the 'bad stuff'. It's an essential learning exercise for any artist, and photographers are no exclusion.

So here's some more - a look deep into the archives to explore how my craft has evolved and what I can still learn from those early shots.

Take the domes. This is a good example of where an interesting idea gets muddied by poor execution. Jerusalem is a wild city, and the powerful juxtaposition of religious symbols is a key part of understanding the past, present, and future.

On the top right are two domes from different eras and represent both how different but close the religions are in this melting pot of holiness. But that's also where this photo flops. The dome on the bottom right is cut out off, leading the eye away, there's too much empty space by the Dome of the Rock, and the whole thing is dark, hazy, and lacking clear focus. The eye wanders through the dark buildings between the domes and outward along the treeline instead of focusing on the story.

The camel sign one is a classic: potentially funny story packed with impatience. Seeing this sign in the US would be really odd, but it really wasn't out of place in the desert where camels are abundant and very useful. Had I stuck around and waited for the right moment - the "decisive moment" - perhaps a story would have emerged. But without anything else this is just a "hey, look at that funny camel."

Taken together these are good examples of ways my eye was starting to grow but where I also lacked the patience, craft, and technique to pull off what I wanted to convey.

The lesson from these photos remind me to:

  • Take notice of what draws your eye, but explore different perspectives and compositions. The first one probably isn't the most compelling print.
  • Remember the story. You can kill a story with bad composition (see domes) or lose a story without patience (see camels). It's not always easy to have the time or patience for a place (waiting for hours in the hot desert isn't everyone's cup of tea, especially if you're travelling in a group) but make those decisions.
  • Don't take pictures of big things without a focus. That landscape has like 8 things going on but nothing specifically to draw the eye. Ditch it or figure out if there's a stronger geometric composition or narrow story.

Vancouver

When snow-capped mountains meet rain forest, nature expresses itself in dazzling arrays of emotions, sounds, and sights. Where fresh fish, local and sustainable cooking, artisanal craftsmanship, and heavy Asian influences mix, food is distinct and memorable (huzzah sriracha maple bacon!). And when Canadians are Canadians, they'll climb over ledges of snow to save sunglasses for you.

On the rocky shores

For my first visit to the Pacific Northwest, I had no idea what to expect and Vancouver opened my eyes to a culture connected to nature in ways I've never encountered before. I go to the Catskills, Hudson Highlands, and Adirondacks often and love the hikes whose trail heads spawn just a few hours from New York City. But that connection is different. It's in everything from the prevalence of bike lanes to how the city gets its electricity. It's about the size of the parks and commitment to land preservation. It's about sustainable development that's good for both the city and in reverence for the land around it.

Sea to Sky and so much inbetween

From our first day out on the rocky beaches of the shore to exploring Vancouver island, I was struck by the lush greens and moody sprawling skies. For those of us used to the muted palette of the east coast mountain ranges, this was like walking through an enchanted forest. Old growth forests protect a vast ecosystem of moss, lichen, bulbs, and so much more. Even a little mountain lion pee.

Canada Geese in their natural habitat before getting bundled into jackets

As I tuned into the subjects and light that drew my eye, I realized that being present meant more than communing with the Earth. As I slowed down to take in different vistas, I also began to tune out those around me. I love how photography has made me more aware of my surroundings, but as I went deeper into composition I also lost the main reason I was out here in the first place: travel with my partner and friends.

I'm still learning how to strike a balance - one where I can be attentive to and embrace my love of photography but also where I'm fully present with the people I love. Maybe it's about making clearer distinctions about when I'm in the "photography zone" or setting aside specific times of the day for it. Clearly something to work on. But I learned over the trip that as much as I love photography, the greater need is to be fully with the people I love. For while these moments and memories give me real pleasure, it's the moments with people that cap them all.

My first engagement shoot

Portrait photography is my thing. I love exploring new ways of seeing people, of sharing their stories, of sharing the spectrum of human emotion.

So when I offered a pair of close friends the gift of an engagement shoot I was totally upfront with them: this was my first, I would probably be gaining a lot more from the experience than they would, but they would be happy with at least one thing from the shoot.

But I was scared - feeling perhaps I had stepped farther outside my comfort zone than I was ready for.

I've been thinking a lot about creative fear recently as my team at the DOE embarks on designing new tools for educators and support staff. It's hard to break away from conventions. Bar graphs are easy. Good bar graphs are really hard.

And so when I first began to look for ideas an inspiration, I realize I went about it all wrong. I looked at Pinterest boards with titles like "top 50 engagement poses for the fall" and other eye-glazing leads. I was preparing for an engagement shoot by doing what other people did, not by reflecting on why they had agreed to do it with me.

That was the most important insight I took away from the day. I was so worried about delivering something conventional and "likeable" I lost confidence in what they liked about the work they had already seen. It was only until later in the shoot, when I began to feel my rhythm more, that the shots we took together were more inspired and authentic to my style.

Not gonna lie - when their invite came with a few photos from the shoot I was over the moon. I'm pretty sure I would have paid for the opportunity for the chance to make them something special.