Headshots using window light

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I am planning to take headshots of colleagues from the Mathematics department for their website. My wife, who works there, and I met for lunch and explored possible locations and settings for the photo shoot.

The math building has huge windows that spans the entire wall facing the courtyard. Since the shoot will happen during daytime, I want to use this window as the main light source for the photos. Since the window is very large compared to the subject (a statistically-average math professor), the lighting that the window casts on the subject is very “soft”, i.e. the transitions between the light and the shadows are very gradual, which is typically flattering to the above-mentioned math prof (or any typical human being, for that matter.) I will use a white plastic card sticking out from an on-camera flash to create a catchlight in the subject’s eyes. This also has an added benefit of slightly filling in the shadows on the side of the face opposite from the window. Combining flash with window light is not an issue from colour-matching standpoint, since the flash is daylight-balanced.

I plan to use the Canon EF 70-200mm f/2.8L IS II USM lens on a Canon EOS-1D X body. The longer the focal length, the less prominent the protruding facial features (read: nose) appear in the photo, which, again, makes the statistically-average math professor appear more photogenic and more closely approaching the unrealistic standard of human beauty perpetuated by professional models.

I plan to shoot wide open, at f/2.8, or maybe slightly stopped down in order to blur the background, which will be just the interior of the mathematics building. I do not want to set up a paper or fabric background, since there are several alternatives offered by the interior itself: an abstract, brightly-colored mural (the window would provide a frontal light in this case – the easiest setup), a grey-coloured staircase receding into the distance (subject facing sideways from the window – the best background colour and most artistic lighting) or the exterior courtyard (subject facing mostly away from the window – nice edge light in this case, but a lot of fill-in flash required, which is not ideal.) I am curious to find out which background/lighting combination would be most popular among the math professors.

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When less is more

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Using self-imposed constraints in the way the information is delivered can make the message more powerful. Similarly, economy of information, i.e. how much of it is being transmitted, is also an important concept. Amanda Palmer pointed this out in her interview with Tim Ferriss in relation to music, but I believe it also applies to visual arts and teaching.

In photography, painting, calligraphy, etc., the use of negative space allows the viewer to complete his/her own personal version of the image, given the limited amount of visual clues provided by the artist. Personally, being a fan of Japanese art, I would like to explore simplifying the composition and limiting visual elements in some of my typical shooting scenarios (sports, travel, landscapes, portraits) without necessarily resorting to minimalism.

On a similar note, teaching often fails by providing the students with too much content (for their level of knowledge, duration of the class, etc.) and rarely (if ever) by giving too little information. Leaving something for self-study allows the students to engage with the material and make it “their own”. I must say that having just finished teaching a relatively large course, I am looking forward to limiting the course-related information that I both receive and transmit to bare minimum for the next few months.

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Definition vs. understanding

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In his book “The Wisdom of Insecurity: A Message for an Age of Anxiety“, Alan Watts argues that to define a process or a phenomenon is not the same as to understand it. Of course, it is possible to become lost in the semantics of what the definition of “understanding” is, but in general, I believe this viewpoint provides a great insight.

Even though we can define something, we often lack the deep understanding of it until we can experience the concept in question. In kendo, for example, it is almost trivial to memorize the names and superficial biomechanical descriptions of various techniques (waza). However, the understanding of the implications of the techniques develops gradually, through practicing them in multiple matches (shiai) and training sessions (keiko) against different opponents. I suppose, a similar difference exists between defining the various mechanical processes and artistic concepts that are involved in extracting a piece of music from a violin and actually playing it. Practice, as in physical doing, is the key word here.

By extension, the same principle applies to photography. It is not sufficient to mentally grasp the concept of camera shake, for example, that is caused by excessive rate of pressure on the shutter release button. To really understand the effect in conjunction with various focal lengths, shutter speeds and lighting conditions, one needs to practice rolling his/her finger over the shutter button hundreds of times and examine the results.

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Learning to be an extrovert

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Any personality type has unique advantages and disadvantages. At certain times, though, it is important to be, or more precisely, to act, like an extrovert. This is particularly true in the case of teaching, where engaging the student(s) is of primary importance. Incidentally, this is a challenge to many academics in analytical areas, such as mathematics, where concentrated, solitary thinking process is an effective, perhaps even necessary, mode of operation, which naturally favours introverts. But since teaching is a necessary stage of any learning process, sometimes, even the most introverted person has to summon the ability to gladly engage other people at an emotional and intellectual level.

I believe that both martial arts and photography (or any visual or performing art, for that matter) offer excellent training grounds for the skill of behaving like an extrovert. Martial arts, by definition, involve communication with an opponent, and in photography, sharing photos, receiving and providing feedback and interacting with models, assistants, colleagues and the audience are the points of communication with other humans.

I do not suggest that one needs to change his/her natural behaviour in general. On the contrary, trying on a different personality type can enhance the inherent character strengths and, at the very least, help understand the other people’s perspective on the common issues.

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On training

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Training to improve physical fitness not only directly benefits photography by improving work capacity through endurance and enabling certain types of shots that would have been inaccessible for a less fit individual, but it also helps improving one’s skills by developing relevant learning and traing methods.

I wrote earlier about the importance of overcoming self-imposed challenges for developing one’s craft – the photographer’s artistic skill set. This concept is similar to the principle of progressive over-loading used in strength training. Taking the analogy further, it is well know in the world of physical training that continuously increasing the load (e.g. the weight of the barbell) would result in over-training. Increasing the amount of the exercise would eventually lead to the same result: diminishing returns and ultimately, a burnout.

An effective way to challenge one’s fitness level without monotonically increasing the training intensity is to periodically learn a new sport or physical activity, which is known as cross training. I think that in art, such as photography, a similar approach of exploring a new genre or learning a new technique can help in breaking through a creative plateau. Moreover, the habit of regularly trying new things would have a cumulative effect on other related habits, such as involving other people in photo projects, exploring different workflows, composition, lighting, post processing, and publishing media.

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Do you need a teacher?

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With the abundance of learning materials available in various forms (books, online tutorials, course notes, etc.) the question of whether a human teacher is necessary for learning any particular subject comes up more and more often. I encounter this in the engineering courses that I teach, and in photography, kendo and calligraphy that I learn.

I think that elementary aspects of many (if not all) activities can be learned independently (from books, etc.), but at some (relatively high) level, the social aspects become important. To be more precise, I think that a teacher can make a substantial difference at the very beginning of the learning process, by teaching the fundamentals in a “correct” way, and at a relatively advanced stage, after some “homework” or internal processing has been done by the student, by providing feedback and calibrating the newly developed approaches, skills and techniques (and sometimes, the underlying values and motivations).

I wrote earlier about the importance of teaching, i.e. of being a teacher, but recently thought about the role of the teacher from the student’s perspective, after watching a documentary called “Monk With A Camera” about Nicholas Vreeland, a photographer, who became a Buddhist monk, but kept shooting photos. I find it insightful that at all stages he actively sought a teacher – first by applying, though his mother’s connections, to work for a famous fashion photographer and then by learning from some of the most illustrious Buddhist teachers.

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Conditional happiness

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I find that if I have some experience in a particular type of photography (e.g. travel, street, studio portrait, etc.), this experience makes it more difficult for me to improve in that area than in a completely new situation. I think it has something to do with what is referred in Zen Buddhism and Japanese martial arts as shoshin (beginner’s mind) – a condition of openness and lack of preconceptions in studying a subject. The very fact of gaining experience removes this openness, as we start to project the experience to form ideas of how further learning should occur.

This lack of mental flexibility is particularly frustrating in street photography, where photo opportunities are fleeting and highly variable, which makes them easy to miss, if the photographer’s mind is locked on a preconceived idea for a particular type of shot.

Interestingly, there is a parallel between letting the preconceptions shape (and constrain) our view of the learning process and the concept of conditions that we attach even to the notion of being happy. The following quote from Albert Camus describes the latter concept:

“Those who prefer their principles over their happiness, they refuse to be happy outside the conditions they seem to have attached to their happiness.”

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Flow

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Consistency and routine are important for developing various skills, from photography to martial arts to research and teaching. However, I think that without some sense of excitement and the resulting enthusiasm, consistency alone is not effective. In fact, what is ultimately effective and satisfying is the state of “flow”, when self-censoring mode of thinking is turned off and we can “get out of our own way”, so to speak. This condition has a lot in common with the elusive state of “no mind” (mushin) that martial artists are striving to attain.

I have recently came across a reference to a book by Steven Kotler called “The Rise of Superman,” which discusses the role of flow states in human performance. It is interesting that the sense of excitement is an important component of flow. When we do something that we like, something that we closely relate to, we feel as if we are doing the activity (taking photos, painting a picture, training in kendo, reading a research paper, teaching a class, etc.) for the first time. When this feeling is combined with the expertise developed through years of consistent practice, the resulting confidence allows us to trust the flow and to stop continuously cheating and editing our actions – to step out of our own way.

To me personally, the flow states are just glimpses of what is ultimately possible – they are not easy to either achieve or sustain. However, these moments are precious and powerful enough to help me maintain motivation and consistency in what I do.

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Inflection point

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When practicing a skill, at some point, an effect that is opposite to diminishing returns starts to show. The new skill begins to benefit other aspects of activity, even those that are seemingly unrelated to the original practice.

In photography, an example of this would be building a portfolio that attracts new work, which in turn enhances the portfolio even further. In other areas, examples of reaching the inflection point include learning the basics of a foreign language, which enables one to read books, connect with people, etc., or reaching a certain level of physical fitness, which enables a whole new range of activities: sports, work, travel, etc.. Malcolm Gladwell described a similar phenomenon of viral spread of ideas in his book “The Tipping Point.”

There is an interesting analogy between reaching the critical level of mastery of a skill and physical phenomena in fluid mechanics, which I teach to students. Particularly, separation of a boundary layer under the influence of an adverse pressure gradient happens after an inflection point (in a mathematical sense) in the local velocity profile occurs.

Just like in nature, though, predicting when the inflection occurs (in the case of skill development, how much practice is required before exponential changes start to happen) is most difficult. When we are just starting, the only comfort we can take is that the critical transition will happen for sure – this seems to be the law of nature.

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Value of art

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Sometimes, it seems that the value of art is purely in its entertainment aspect. I believe that this is misleading, as art has a tremendous potential to educate us about universal principles that govern various fields, particularly about human nature, which plays a role in everything we do.

These days, we have to carefully manage consumption of information, which is conveniently and constantly available to us in various forms. Since our inbound bandwidth is limited, it may seem productive to limit the consumed information to that with immediately practical value, e.g. technical and non-fiction literature, documentary movies, reportage and scientific photos, etc. However, doing so would lead to missing the potential to expand our knowledge base beyond what is necessary to function on the daily basis within our current social and professional roles. In other words, focussing only on what is immediately and obviously useful does not provide an opportunity of significant, i.e. non-incremental, learning.

Recently, I heard Brian Koppelman, who co-authored screen plays of “Rounders” and “Solitary Man,” among other hit movies, mention in an interview that the value of reading fiction, as opposite to non-fiction, is that people evolved to learn by association and metaphor. Consuming ready-to-use information is efficient for computers, but not necessarily for humans. I believe that there is some fundamental truth in this comment. Besides their entertainment value, artistic images teach us about communication. More generally, infusing information with emotional content, which is what art does, effectively transforms this information into knowledge, which is what learning is.

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