Harold Davis Workshops
Photography & Travel Offerings
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- Print Prices to Rise; Special Print Offer
- Photograph Prague, Vienna and Budapest (April 2015)
- Terra Incognita
- Great Hall Heidelberg University
- Cinque Terre one of the best places to photograph in the world
- Pilgrimage to Rocamadour
- New Harold Davis posters from Editions Limited
- Botanique on exhibit at Awagami Gallery
- Exhibition in Heidelberg, Germany
- Early Registration Workshop Discounts Ending Soon
- Making Memorable Travel Photos Webinar now available
- The end of the Berkeley Pier
- Creative Black & White Masterclass
- I never know which me
- Night Photography in San Francisco Workshop Feb 20-22, 2015
- We Happy Flower Few
- Ghosts in the Enchanted Garden
- Quo Vadis
- Sea-Girt Villages of Italy Photography Adventure with Harold Davis in October 2015
- Stairway to Heaven
- Making Memorable Travel Photos Webinar
- Photographing Flowers for Transparency Weekend Workshop with Harold Davis Oct 4-5, 2014
- Upcoming events and early registration discounts
- Dance of the Seven Veils
- Free Photo Critique with Harold Davis
- The Creative Portfolio Weekend Workshop
- Books by Harold Davis
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Category Archives: Bemusements
One of my favorite characters in fantasy literature, J.R.R. Tolkein’s Smeagol, would have appreciated the nice, plump and juicy slab of fish I brought back from the store. The fish meat rested on skin on the back, and the skin and scales glistened with a rainbow of pastel colors in the light. I knew I had to photograph the fish scales up close and personal.
I used my 85mm tilt-shift macro with a 36mm extension tube at an effective aperture of f/51 and an exposure sequence at ISO 100 from 1/8 of a second to 8 seconds. This is extreme close-up photography, with a magnification ratio of about 15:1, meaning you are viewing the fish scales fifteen times actual life size. Magnified this way, the fish scales look almost soft, and could be barnacles, or schools of fish themselves.
Smeagol a/k/a Gollum would probably not have approved of my light source: directed sunlight (Gollum preferred dark caves, and the sun hurt his eyes). He also might have thought that the way it was prepared (by smoking) “ruined” my nice, plump and juicy raw slab of salmon. But I, to use Gollum’s vocabulary, thought my nice piece of smoked fish was “tasty” indeed—when I ate it after photographing it!
What day is it today? For many of us it is “Fly Day”—no matter what the calendar says. And while flying, what better way to while away the time than to photograph the airplane wing with my iPhone, then play with the results (this iPhone image was processed using the Plastic Bullet, Lo Mob, Filterstorm and Snapseed apps).
Auvers-sur-Oise is hallowed ground for fans of Vincent van Gogh (and who isn’t a fan?). Here he painted many of his greatest paintings, lived the last 93 days of his life, and is buried. Today a suburb to the north of Paris, in van Gogh’s day Auvers was a pretty country village, home to Dr. Paul Gachet. Dr. Gachet was part of the same circle of avant-garde impressionist artists as van Gogh; he boarded and “treated” van Gogh for mental illness, although van Gogh felt that Gachet actually was in worse shape than he was.
Before his very untimely death by gunshot to the chest under ambiguous circumstances—often, but not definitively narrated as suicide—van Gogh painted many scenes around Auvers, including Dr. Gachet’s house, the famous Wheat Field with Crows, and of course the Church at Auvers.
The modern pilgrim to the hallowed ground trod by the great van Gogh finds many of the Auvers landscapes unchanged. While not quite as overrun as Giverny, there are plenty of visitors, and signs for tourists have been strategically placed more-or-less where van Gogh painted, showing his great painting of the location on each sign.
With the image of the Church at Auvers shown above I decided to include the tourist sign in my image. I left the right side of the photo including the sign without manipulation, and worked the left side in post-production so that one could perhaps be stepping into the reality of a van Gogh painting—or maybe a kind of dream. Because, as Vincent van Gogh put it, “I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.”
This statue was resident in the lobby at the Hotel Lutetia in Paris when we held the 2013 Photograph Paris with Harold Davis workshop. It amused me to snap an iPhone photo, more or less from the viewpoint of the front desk.
I think perhaps that The Incredible Shrinking Man, a 1957 film about a man who shrinks to nothing following an encounter with a radioactive cloud, had an indelible impact on a portion of my visual aesthetic. I know that The Incredible Shrinking Man was one of the first movies I ever saw (what were my parents thinking?). No doubt due to my tender years, I took the pseudo-profundities uttered by Grant Williams, the actor who plays the shrinking man as, well, profundities.
It’s hard to resist lines like this one: “So close — the infinitesimal and the infinite. But suddenly, I knew they were really the two ends of the same concept. The unbelievably small and the unbelievably vast eventually meet — like the closing of a gigantic circle.”
To this day, I enjoy playing with scale in my imagery. It’s one of my goals to create iconography that compels at least a second glance, and using indeterminate scale is one way to get there.
For example, the Sand Dollar shown above is captured at near microscopic level. But the vista of badlands in Death Valley (far above) could easily be an enlargement of the pattern in the shell. You see, it’s all a circle, with the large and vast ultimately smaller than the small and tiny—or vice versa.
For the record, the other movie I remember well from my early years was Some Like It Hot. My brother and I were supposed to be asleep in the back of the family station wagon at the drive-in movie theater. Now what artistic influence did Some Like It Hot have?
There’s one somewhat discordant element in this tableau of a metallurgic assayer’s desk, shot at Laws Railroad Museum near Bishop, California. What is the gun doing in the image?
According to the docent I spoke with, most assayers tended to deal in gold and other precious metals as well as to assay it. The natural tendency for miners hitting what passed for civilization out of their stakes in Death Valley or the Panamint Range was to want to get some ready money quickly—no doubt for some to spend on booze and women in wild boom towns like Bodie. These miners would often come to feel that they had been low-balled by assayers who had taken advantage of them; hence, a revolver to defend against disgruntled small mining stake-holders was standard equipment for most metallurgists.
Exposure data: 52mm, ten exposures at shutter speeds between 1/80 of a second and five seconds, each exposure at f/13 and ISO 200, tripod mounted; exposures combined using Nik HDR Efex Pro and Photoshop, and converted to monochromatic using Photoshop, Nik Silver Efex and Topaz Adjust.
For many years one of the pleasures of the two-mile hike down to Tennessee Beach in the Marin Headlands has been to view the wonderful hole in the cliff on the north side of the beach. This dramatic formation as it appeared in 2007 can be seen in the photo below, which is lit by moonlight. A star appears through the hole in the cliff in the photo.
Sometime during the tumultuous storms of the last few weeks this cliff collapsed, presumably brought down by rain and wind. The impact on the appearance of the north end of Tennessee Beach is tremendous and visceral, as you can see in the 2013 view of the scene below that I shot yesterday.
Looking at the fault line exposed by the landslide, it seems likely that erosion will continue. Perhaps the cliff jutting out into the sea is doomed to become an island sea stack in the course of time. But I am no geologist.
The cliffs looking north from Tennessee Beach are still spectacular, although I miss the unique formation of the hole in the cliff.
This slide in a beloved landscape is a reminder that nothing lasts forever, and that the only constant is change. Confronted with clear evidence that even something as apparently immutable as the iron-bound cliffs of the Marin Headlands are not static we have to conclude that our lives will change as well—in ways that are hard to expect or predict, and out of our control.
Change can be disconcerting, particularly when it is precipitated by exogenous events—the human equivalents to landslide. The way to survive in style is to eschew denial, and accept that the unpredictable is by definition unpredictable.
When you have four kids like I do, shopping for food occurs frequently. The one thing you want to do when you take the kids into the supermarket is to encapsulate them to prevent general madness, mayhem, and terrorizing of the civilian population.
What better way to encapsulate them than in a honey trap, like this shopping cart? Katie Rose and Mathew are shown in the “cab” and Nicky is riding on top.
It’s times like these that I am grateful for my iPhone camera because it is the camera I always have with me!
The idea behind Within the Canvas (below) is to show the model emerging from a background. It is not clear where the model begins and where the model ends. Model and canvas seem to flow together. The fabric the model is wearing is part of the canvas. Or, is it?
Even as an issue of three-dimensional spacial relationships consider: Is the model is in front or in back of the canvas? Depending where you look in the image, both are possible—leading to potential paradox and visual impossibility. A potential solution is to assume there is a slit in the canvas, but this doesn’t really work (observe her hand).
To make this image I shot the model on a white background. She was wrapped in sheer, white gauze. In post-production, I placed the model image as a layer on a canvas background, then added a series of textures on top of the Photoshop composite.
I fondly dubbed my shot of a wet cyclamen “Moby Dick” because the flower looked to me like a white whale. I never expected the New Bedford Whaling Museum—surely an authority on whales and what they look like—to take up the refrain!
Signifying the Whale is an exhibition opening at the New Bedford Whaling Museum on November 1. The exhibit consists of crowd-sourced images (via Flickr) of signified (as in, to be a sign or symbol of something), documented, or artistically rendered whales. The images in the exhibition do not depict actual whales.
I am pleased to have my image lead the way into this singular and amusing exhibition!
With this image featuring the travelling model Kellie my idea was to recreate something of the feeling of a Titian painting, particularly in the folds of red velvet draped on the couch. Besides the studio model shot I used a desaturated image of the setting sun (and bird). To complete the image, I add several layers of virtual textures (I will be writing about digital textures in a future story) and a small margin of background.
I’ve printed Kellie on canvas to reinforce the visual reference to historical masterworks, and am experimenting with adding by hand an actual (rather than virtual) coat of varnish that I can work to recreate the craquelure of an old oil painting.
Wandering around New York with my camera after an absence of many years was in some ways a dissonant experience. I grew up in New York City, but the New York of today is not the New York I remember from the years of my youth and as a young adult.
Of course, one can’t go home again and the only thing constant is change. But somehow this visit to my old stomping grounds made me feel particularly spectral, as if the photographer Harold of thirty years ago was also present and sensing my contemporary presence. To the Harold of the past I would have seemed like a ghost, inhabiting a future world that would have been almost unimaginable.
Past and present merged as one, and I tried to express this very odd feeling in my image of Grand Central Station and its ghosts.
How this image was made: When I walked through Grand Central Station I knew that I wanted to show this vast public space filled with people, many of whom would be partially blurred and therefore “ghosts.” Obviously, to achieve this effect I needed a long exposure.
The first hurdle was that when I took out my tripod a gentleman in camouflage khakis carrying an automatic weapon came over and told me I couldn’t use it. This was in keeping with much of my experience trying to photograph in New York—pulling out my tripod often led to its prohibition.
So I found a balcony railing on which I could rest my camera.
The next problem was that there was too much light for a long exposure. I solved this issue in two ways. First, I added a neutral density filter that cut the amount of light coming into my camera by a factor of 8. I then made a series of exposures at 4 seconds, f/22 and ISO 100.
The second way to extend the exposure was to rely on stacking. Stacking is a post-processing method for effectively extending the length of an exposure by aggregating shorter exposures. A common use is to extend the effective time of night exposures to create circular star trails as in Stars My Destination.
By extending the exposure time using a small aperture, a neutral density filter, and stacking I accomplished the intermittent blur I was looking for. People who stood still appeared solid and “real,” while those who were moving became spectral and blurred ghosts.
In this image I used the technique of stacking a little differently from stacking star trails, in which one wants the brightest pixel in a stack to be the one selected: In Ghosts of Grand Central I made two stacks, each consisting of six images, for an aggregate exposure length of 24 seconds. In one of the stacks I elected to choose the darkest pixel at each point. This is accomplished in the Photoshop Statistics action by setting the stack mode to Minimum.
The second stack used the Range stack mode, which is a statistical method that renders the spread between the darkest and lightest pixel at every point.
I combined the two stacks using a gradient, so the background of Grand Central Station (created with the Minimum stack) looked fundamentally as it does in “real life. But the foreground and floor of the space, created in the Range mode, was spectral and ghostly with some figures rendered normally and others as negative space.
If you go into any restaurant these days and look at the diners who are eating alone, most of them are likely to be playing with their smartphones. Some of these folks are checking email and some are surfing the web. Others, like me, are often using the camera in their phone to take and process photos. For example, creating semi-abstract images of packets of sugar while waiting for the first cuppa of the morning.
It’s well known that the iPhone camera is now the most used camera in the world. If not the world’s best digital camera, it is the camera that is always with one. But—like more professional digital cameras—if you treat it as just another camera that renders static and realistic images via a sensor (instead of film) you are missing most of the creative potential.
Digital photography is a completely new art form and a whole new ballgame. This is true if you make digital images with a DSLR, and also true if you create with an iPhone. New mediums require new thinking, new tools and new ways of seeing.
Case in point: While bored and waiting for breakfast in a restaurant on a recent trip, I created the image of sugar packets shown in this story using the Slow Shutter Cam iPhone app. Somewhat astoundingly, Show Shutter Cam lets you adjust effective shutter speed, blur, and exposure after the fact—you tweak these things following composition and image creation, and then save the image to the Camera Roll.
In other words, I was able to completely control the blur in the impressionistic image of sugar packets I had made by adjusting a slider after the photo had been made.
A new paradigm. Sweet.
So I love and hate my iPhone. My iPhone 4 is the camera I always have with me, and it is a joy to schlep compared to my full and weighty rig of DSLR, lenses, and tripod. But sometimes it feels like my brains are in my iPhone, and my external brains are always trying to seduce me to be online—ignoring the beauty and serenity of the world in exchange for instant access to email no matter where I am.
Whatever my feelings for my iPhone—and it is certainly a nifty device—I am not overly fond of Apple. I like apples, but Apple the company really doesn’t do it for me anymore. If you have to call yourself a “genius” then you are not one, and this certainly applies to the so-called customer service “geniuses” at Apple.
The only thing they are geniuses at is making money for Apple.
But don’t get me started.
The other day the handset speaker on my iPhone stopped working. The phone worked okay with the ear buds, and when I pressed the Speaker button I could hear fine, but when I put the phone up to my ear and called, or someone phoned me, I couldn’t hear it through the phone.
I tried cleaning the phone, rebooting it, backing it up and restoring the operating system, and so on, but nothing worked. I figured it was a hardware problem.
So I made an appointment with the geniuses at the Apple store on 4th Street. Sure enough, my genius told me it was a hardware problem.
All of the “solutions” the genius proffered involved trashing my phone and getting a new one. The cheapest “solution” was $149 for a replacement of the same model as my current phone, but the genius whispered to me that I maybe should “make do” without the sound and wait for the iPhone 5 to come out—I could then sign a new contract and pay to upgrade.
To his credit, my “genius” did also suggest that I could probably get a repair shop to fix the problem for less than $149.
Every “solution” Apple offered meant abandoning my current phone. Now, I don’t know about you, or about the average corporate warrior, but for me $149 is a lot of money to drop. The whole thing stuck in my craw. I figure my iPhone was made by slave labor in China. This thing was paid for in the currency of people’s lives.
Also, if I paid Apple $149 for a new one they would probably refurbish and resell my old one, and further add to their multi-billion dollar hoard.
So I took a pass on the $149 deal. You can’t even get cell phone service in the Bristlecone Pines (where I am heading to teach a workshop this week).
Next stop: a repair shop. Yup, they said, we can fix this for you. Take about a week to get the part, though.
Then I noticed “Joe” on Yelp with about a hundred 5-star reviews. I put “Joe” in quotes (the way it is on his business card), because almost certainly this is not his real name.
Finding “Joe” was a little dodgy because his address seemed to be at Starbucks. When I called him, at first he was guarded until I described my problem with my iPhone. I asked where to find him, he kept repeating to me, as if I were slightly dense, “Come up the stairs inside Starbucks to the mezzanine, you’ll find me there.” Mobile office indeed!
And yes, inside Starbucks there was “Joe” at a corner table in the mezzanine with his cup of “Joe”, unmistakable with two black briefcases, a black backpack, and iPhone tools in several Altoid boxes. “Joe” was surrounded by seven iPhones in various states of repair, and an extensive inventory of iPhone parts in tiny well-organized boxes.
He took my phone apart in the blink of the eye, had the right part, tested it, and put my phone back together in about five minutes. All for more than the cost of a cup of “Joe,” but far less than a new phone from Apple would have cost.
While I was there, customers came and called. He set up appointments, gave advice, and quoted prices. Busy guy. At one point “Joe” asked me to mind his shop while he delivered a repaired phone to a drive-by customer downstairs.
So I don’t need no stinkin’ “Genius,” I’ve got my “Joe”—at least until I (possibly) switch to Android. If you have an iPhone that needs repair and you don’t want an expensive replacement from Apple, here’s a link to “Joe’s” site on Yelp.