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

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

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

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

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?

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

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.

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.

Slowing down with nature

I find there is nothing better than a walk in the woods to settle and orient. Whether its because the woods harkens to our inner forager brain or because noticing the small things can help distract from the big ones - I don't really care. A walk in the woods can rejuvenate, replenish, and refill.

But do you notice how easy it is to walk without noticing? For me at least, a camera in my hand significantly shifts the level of detail I see in the world. It opens me to see opportunity in a snapped branch or a flower saying farewell to the summer. The dials and knobs are reminder of my creative capacity, the eyepiece a hint at the power of imaginative composition.

Final rites of summer

Over the past year I've attempted to see and photograph nature as a portrait photographer would. To sense its emotions, build a connection, find the right moment, and open myself to new angles of perception. From mountain silhouettes to intimate flowers, the various guises of nature present a continuous challenge. Not just to photographers but to all - to be able to see them with fresh eyes, to visit the same place week after week with an ever growing sense of possibility. It's hard. It takes discipline. And a lot of the time I suck at it - my memory card filled with nothing but the same but in different shades of flora.

There were no gems on this walk. No photographs I'll print or hang on my wall. But the walk itself was all I needed. And sometimes that is the point.

Transformation of a Portrait

"You caught me on a short beard day!"

I met this man sitting on a bench enjoying his paper in Union Square and his beard and hat immediately caught my attention. There was a story there, but I wasn't sure what it was. Pulling out my camera, I asked him if he would be ok if I took his photo - "I really like your beard" I said. I definitely wasn't ready for his response (the "short beard" comment above), but more importantly over the next ten or so minutes we continued to talk with me occasionally taking another photo.

What started as a portrait of a consenting but unconnected subject transformed into a glowing portrait by the end as our connection began to become more real. There's still a lot more story there (about how his predatory landlord was working to evict him, how he's been squatting for decades), but without the connection, there is no photo. But almost all of them start with the same question and the willingness to be told no: "can I take your photo?"

Team Time

"How many will you be?"

"A lot." It was a jerk answer I realize, but the bar was empty and from first glance there were only booths available and I figured we were just going to stand around. Jerk move, like I said.

"Can you give an estimate?"

"About 20."

The bartender took us to the "back room" where there were a dozen tables we could sit around and a much more open space. They were more than accommodating and as our team entered crunch time, it was time to loosen up a bit too.

This sums it up about right

It was great to have so much of the team out together. We don't go out often, and too frequently in the past couple months it was to say goodbye to teammates leaving.

So, here's to more laughter (and less jerk).

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

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

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

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.

A Chance Encounter

It's funny how so much of New York City life boils down to whether you live on an avenue or street (or outer borough equivalent). When I first lived in Harlem, we did both and it was a decidedly different experience. Later, when we moved to Brooklyn we experienced both within a short period. While the microcosmic neighborhoods of South and North Park Slope were definitely different, there was an undeniable change in the tenure of the pace of the street when we moved from a quiet row to a mainstream avenue equivalent.

But then there's Eastern Parkway. Designed in the fashion of the gallant boulevards of Paris by none other than Olmsted himself, Eastern Parkway is not your typical busy street. 

So I made a commitment to take a walk every night down the promenade and soak up the rays and sights. At least on days when it's not nasty hot outside.

Shadows converge

There's a spot right before you get to the Museum where the sun hides behind the trees and the last warm glow of its rays stretch out as far as you can see. On days with cloud cover, the effect is even more spectacular, and the dome of the museum glows. I also love these moments because bikers, walkers, runners, strollers, and just about everyone else is also out negotiating the space.

Garden in flux

One of the wonders about the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens is how quickly it morphs from week to week. In late May, the Cherry Blossoms steal the show and by the time mid-June rolls in it's the Rose Garden that gets the spotlight with many cameos from other blooms in between. 

I love watching plants in transition, like the rose above, with some buds just making an appearance as others are in near full bloom. Some plants shine for only a week while others last nearly the whole season. And behind the scenes is a team that has to think and plan through this change, letting some plants come and go naturally while replacing others seemingly overnight.

These were once dazzling blue bells

The Botanic Gardens does more than tell the story of seasons changing. It also brings out the lives of those who come to the garden. From your day-dreamers to your artists, from bird-watchers to photographers and everyone else in between, the Gardens offer a respite from the city that simultaneously celebrates its urbanity (if that's a word) and connection with the ecosystem.

An artist with the roses

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. 

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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.

NOLA 2017

The streets of New Orleans are full of amazing life and scenes - a town that at once struggles with deep inequity but also thrives on its own spirit and pride. It's a town unlike any other in the country and from the moment you here the tubas or taste the distinct culinary traditions, it's quite clear you have been transported.

On this latest trip to NOLA, I was increasingly intrigued by the architecture and neighborhoods a little more off the beaten path from the side streets of the Garden District to neighboring suburbs. There is fierce pride here and when you're able to get away from the concentration of tourists circling the French Quarter, you can sense it in the bones of the old homes overflowing with flora to the streets with distinct art of their own.

Art in all its forms seeps through the every nook and cranny here. From the live music to the vivid architecture, gardens, street art and tattoos, every part of the city expresses itself differently. And the reverence that the town has for its own particular forms of art is palpable, if not increasingly appropriated.

Second line bands, still the hallmark of high school drumlines and more, lead wedding parties through the streets onto their never-ending parties. Maybe its honest. Maybe they're locals and this is their tradition, but it doesn't come off that way.

I'm sure I'll be back. New Orleans is growing, changing, and continuing to evolve in ways that sometimes mimic trends of gentrification but also in deep ways that cling to its roots and depth of culture. 

Cherries Arrive

Across the East coast, the arrival of the cherry blossoms harbor the beginning of something special - spring, with its festivals, outdoor eating, picnicking and more is here in earnest. 

Well, that's the idea anyway. When the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens opened their doors to members last week for a special 'pre-viewing' of the cherry blossoms, they looked almost comically out of place. As though, like a bear popping up too early from its hibernation, they shriveled up and cuddled close to stay warm.

This weekend - when the BBG hosts its annual Sakura Matsuri festival - the weather should be great and I have little doubt that the cherries will find a way to rise. But I couldn't help but feel as we walked around the garden last week that they wanted a little more time to sleep, a little more time to dream of better times.

SXSWedu 2017

I've been to one other conference before - a "web 2.0" type thing in Boston focusing on collaborative and open work. I went alone, met some interesting people, attended a few thought provoking sessions, but overall embraced my inner introvert and went all wallflower. 

So my expectations for SXSWedu were all over the map. I knew it was going to be different - I was traveling with a group of folks from the NYCDOE and that companionship alone would make a big difference. I had an opportunity to meet up with friends and former colleagues who I hadn't seen in years - some in over a decade. There were workshops that provided an antidote to wallflowerism and truly engaging sessions on race and equity that by far bested more traditional panels.

But I also knew that it could be completely overwhelming.

In the end, it was all about the people. There were courageous conversations on race and identity, practical workshops on making design thinking less racist and more oppression-aware. There were early morning taco runs and late night food truck jaunts with friends new and old. There was Chris Emdin who spoke truth to power and, at the opening event of the conference, called out over half the audience as frenemies. Yea, he did that.

Sure, there was also Tim Ferris doing a great job of showing what a frenemy looks like while espousing the values of Japanese Horseback Archery that you can learn in a week.

The most valuable time was what happened in-between and after though. That's where conversations went from abstract to personal, flush with emotions, rants, raves, and everything in between. I met with a group of past and present data fellows who were working across the country to help districts and schools do better for kids. I connected with local entrepreneurs who are helping teachers innovate in their classroom and others who are providing coaching and funding for entrepreneurs of color to address a systemic gap in venture capital.

And then there were the pedi cab drivers. I'm not sure what drew me to them, but their stories were illuminating. From the Golden Lion, an aspiring ukulele player, to Yaw, a music producer from Nashville who comes down to Austin during the festival to make some extra coin. Their stories brought home the changes and challenges that the rapidly gentrifying and changing Austin is feeling and I'm grateful for the time they spent to chat with me and share some of their story.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Snow hiking

After my trip to Montreal I realized that I wasn't particularly good about working in the snow. I love hiking in the snow, and I've sometimes brought along a little point and shoot on excursions, but the snow adds both some technical and compositional challenges that in the past I had just kinda ignored.

Exposure, white balance, contrast, and visual weight all act totally different when whole scenes are covered in white. Instead of getting technical, I'll share more about how a few hikes in Vermont helped me use the snow constraints to take stronger images.

Depth of Field in the Snow

While there's no 'right' way to shoot a landscape or nature, many photographers and most guides you'll read nudge toward near-infinity focusing. I'll often take this approach with a wide shot where I want the details and textures to pop, but with snow you lose so much of that. I took a different tack on these trips - aim small with a wide aperture.

I found this approach helped me focus more on choosing strong foreground objects and also pushed me to take more extreme angles. More importantly, it helped me see the nature around me in new ways, slowing my eye and pushing me to stay in the moment.

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Post Processing Matters

While Fuji JPEGs are great, the snow requires a more nuanced approach. In particular, I knew the dynamic range of my camera is pretty solid but once highlights are blown there's no bringing them back. So in almost every case I underexposed a bit so that I could pull up the parts of the scene that really drew the eye - that conveyed the story I wanted to tell. 

There are probably other ways to do it, but for me this was the best way for me to be honest about what I felt. Paradoxically, that 'honesty' required a bit more post-processing work but I don't think that's a bad thing. I've learned to embrace the approach that post-processing is part of the workflow that takes your intent and turns it into art. My favorite photographer and author on this subject is David duChemin and I highly encourage you to take a look at his work.

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And of course kids in the snow are extra cute.

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Montreal

It wasn't my first time in Montreal, but when my wife and I visited over New Years it felt like discovering the city all over again. Perhaps it was the foot+ of snow on the ground or how we spent our time, but part of what was different was how we took in the city. 

Hoping from neighborhood to neighborhood, we talked with locals, sampled all sorts of poutine, local beers, hot chocolate, and a range of "new canadian" fare. We marched through parks, got lost in city streets, and took in what was decidedly familiar yet also distinct. It was a lot like being back in Brooklyn - just with a northern twist.

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I was particularly struck by both the architectural and natural beauty of the city. Parts of it are centuries old while others speak more of a modern tongue. There's even an Olmsted park (more themes of Brooklyn)!

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As much as I loved my time in Montreal in the Spring, there was something magical about it in the snow. Whether it was the coordinated and graceful dance of the snowplows or the way runners embraced the 15 degree weather or the way couples slide across the ice on skates to a groove of their own design, Montreal comes alive in its own element in the winter and I loved it for that.

I'll be back.

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The bad stuff

That's a bad picture. There are many things wrong with it - the composition, the focus, the perspective. But there's also one big right thing about it - it was an attempt. You'll never get a good photo if you don't pick up the camera and shoot.

It's one of the earliest digital photos that I have in my storage drive from a shoe-string trip my wife (then girlfriend) took to Ecuador in 2006. I don't really know what I intended to do with the photo - I think I was intrigued by the way the dew played off the colorful flower petals balanced by a strong green background. But I would approach this very differently today were I back in the same scene.

And that's what this post is about - the value of looking at your bad stuff and why you shouldn't get rid of it.

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The bad photos are helpful because they show what you were interested in but where you missed artistically. They show the moods you were trying to convey, the things that drew your eye, but maybe you failed to pull into a coherent and strong story.

The photo above is a lot stronger, but still misses on some important marks. Perhaps most important, it pulls out emotion and tells a story. The letters on the bench hint at a welcoming area or port and the seals taking their nap hint at the whole oddity of the islands. It's "cute", but it also draws out a laugh, a smile, a hint of curiosity, and feeling of playfulness and serenity of nature mixed with people.

But again the composition is weak. The seal's face is cut off and when their connection is one of the most important parts of the scene, that's a big miss. Everything is super centered which requires the viewer to use a lot of energy to move eyes to the edges.

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Good colors and a feeling of peace? Sure. Everything else about it is crap. But I know I'm drawn to sunsets (so original, right?) and being at sea so I'm continuing to explore ways to explore that scene with greater creativity and technical skill.

If you take the time to back-up and store your images in a way that's easy to retrieve them (think cloud services), I strongly recommend you spend some time in your archives and look for the bad stuff. It's so valuable as a learning tool.

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.

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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.

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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.

Get Outdoors

"People who spend time outdoors are generally better humans. Getting them out there, leading and supporting them to that end is what I (and the DBA team) do.

Working outside is the easy part, even if I'm exhausted. I'm almost always sharing the outdoors with people who are having a great time, connecting with nature, and gaining perspective.

The office work is the greatest struggle - overcoming the fear of routine. Embracing (and owning) the routine makes me more consistently productive, levelling out the peaks and valleys of productivity."

- Dave from DBA