On synthesis

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For a part-time photographer, finding time for photo projects is not always easy, as the main job, not to mention family and other obligations, demand a lot of time. I am fortunate that in my case, photography became an integral part of work, family life and martial arts studies.

This cross-pollination between the various spheres of life is very much in line with David Whyte’s point of view , presented in his book called “The Three Marriages: Reimagining Work, Self and Relationship.” He argues that the idea of “work-life balance” is fundamentally flawed, as neither of the two (or indeed, three) major areas of activities can be effectively quantified and balanced against each other. Perhaps, it is wrong to wear different hats depending on the roles we are playing at a particular moment, as doing so automatically limits our capacity to wholly engage with the activity at hand (as other “roles” that we have in our life would be tugging in opposite directions in the background.) Instead, it would be better (for the lack of a more appropriate word, as I think “productive” would miss the point, since the underlying issue here is the relationship between presence and productivity) to synthesize one’s various roles and bring all of them simultaneously into everything we do, taking advantage of the interconnectedness of the various fields and applying our skills and experience across the disciplines.

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Tools of the trade

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Over the last couple of months, I have been repeatedly encountering some very insightful comments and writings by Kevin Kelly, one of the founders of “Wired” magazine, and the author of “Cool Tools,” among other neat books. Recently, he commented on the value of finding one’s own “trade” – a skill set that enables some useful and universally-applicable contribution to society. This skill would be tradable for money or other means to support living in any part of the world. In other words, the personal “trade” is the core skill behind one’s occupation.

Finding and cultivating this skill set is inherently difficult and can (and probably should) take the entire lifetime. I think that perhaps examining the tools that we use in everyday life can give an indication of what our personal trade is or could be (at this particular time, anyway).

The problem with this analysis is that we do many things. I my case, for example, the activities range from teaching and research to photography, calligraphy and kendo. Each area has its own tools, which often change in line with technology. Some patterns stand out, though. Most of the tolls that I have been using consistently since elementary school have something to do with either visual or written communication – books, pens and pencils, brushes and paints, photo cameras. I wonder if this general tool set is an indication of what my particular “trade skill” is or simply has to do with how the modern society functions, communication being at the foundation of most human activities.

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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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Does photography have to be expensive?

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Photography is generally viewed as an expensive hobby, the primary expense being the cost of the equipment. For professional photographers, both full- and part-time, this is an even more important concern, because their gear has to represent the state-of-the-art for the photos to have a chance for being competitive in the very crowded market. The initial expense of entering into photography is there reason that there exists the whole industry that supports (or is supported by, depending on your point of view) by both pro and amateur photographers. The high cost of the hobby is also one of the main reasons why amateurs want to explore photography as a business.

It can be argued, however, that if photography is considered as an art, then using it as a vehicle for self-expression should not be limited by the technology involved (and, consequently, by the cost of hardware). Many authors share the view that an artist can create an image using either a brush or a blade of grass. In the context of photography, perhaps, the analogy would be to use a pinhole camera instead of a DSLR.

I think that, unfortunately, this argument only applies to pure art, with no applied aspect (commercial or scientific, for example.) In order to be competitive either in business of photography or in its scientific application, using state-of-the-art technology is a must. Even from a purely artistic perspective, if, hypothetically, the cost is not an issue, why wouldn’t we consider pushing the limits of high-speed motion, low-light conditions, harsh environment, microscopic scale, etc. that the technology allows us to explore? In reality, cost is always an issue. I have to deal with financial constraints both when setting up budgets for new research projects in our lab (we do use high-speed photography in our fluid mechanics research) and when choosing what gear to use for my photo shoots.

Not all types of photography are equally expensive, but action and sports photography, which is what I do most often these days, certainly is. Incidentally, here is a nearly ideal (and very expensive) combination of Canon cameras and lenses that my friend and associate has been using for soccer matches:

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Facing challenges

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According to many psychologists, most satisfying activities are either new, challenging or both. The problem with doing challenging things, of course, is that the probability of failure is high. When we worry about failing, we tend to postpone the activity, reduce its frequency, over-plan and over-analyze past results.

Gretchen Rubin, who wrote “The Happiness Project“, points out that if something appears to be difficult, the best, although counter-intuitive, thing to do is to engage in this challenging activity more often. Doing so not only increases the quantity of practice, but also reduces the psychological significance of any single attempt. For example, if a research group regularly publishes technical papers, then if an occasional paper is rejected by a journal, this is not taken by the authors as a sign that their work is of inferior quality. Similarly, if I do not feel well during a kendo practice, I am not worried about not being able to put out 100% of the intensity on that particular day because I know that usually I practice well, and that very soon there will be another opportunity to do better.

Importance of practicing a difficult activity often, rather than shying away from it because of the fear of failure, is the reason why many top professional photographers say that one of the most important things for any photographer is to keep shooting new and challenging personal projects, even though they might not directly lead to commercial opportunities. After all, the difficulty and the novelty of such projects is what makes photography such a rewarding and satisfying activity for both pros and amateurs.

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Back-loaded workflow

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Photography projects can be broadly categorized into front- and back-loaded ones in terms of production process. The former involve elaborate setup and production prior and during the photo shoot, while the latter rely on more extensive post-processing. I believe that the back-loaded workflow has many advantages, particularly when working with amateur models.

If the photo shoot itself feel simple and not stressful, the models are more likely to act naturally in front of the camera. If possible, the majority of the taken photos could be candid portraits, perhaps with natural lighting. If such candid photo sessions are done using state-of the-art equipment (cameras and lenses), and if the photographer has solid technical skills and a sense of lighting and composition, the resulting image quality would still be quite high, particularly considering the expensive post-processing phase that would follow.

Creative post-processing is what separates professional photos from amateurish snapshots in the case of a back-loaded production. Extensive photo manipulation would go beyond cropping, exposure and colour adjustments and noise control that are typically applied globally to the entire image (or even a group of images in the case of high-volume shoots of sporting events, for example). When I do serious image manipulation, I usually end up touching every pixel with a brush tool in Photoshop at some point in the process. Incidentally, I find that using a graphics tablet for this kind of work is imperative. Working with a mouse or a trackpad would be so inconvenient that it would spoil the entire fun of making the images.

I think that a combination of a low-key photo shoot and high-end, creative processing often results in the photos that pleasantly surprise the models, particularly non-professionals. A good example of when this workflow works well is concert or performance photography. I find that the performers like seeing striking, attractive images of themselves, especially because they were not focussed on looking good at the time of the shoot, but were in their element – dancing, singing, etc. Perhaps, realizing this, conveys a message that people don’t have to try too hard to look “good” (substitute “cool”, “tough”, “sexy”, “strong” as appropriate), but that they are already seen that way from the outside.

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Old news

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Most of the content that is being generated in research, art, literature, etc. is not new, but a re-statement of old concepts. This does not mean that re-visiting old ideas is a useless exercise. In fact, calling something an “exercise” implies that the activity has some intrinsic value.

My three-year-old daughter and her friends like listening to the same stories, watch the same cartoons and play the same games day after day. Of course, their preferences change periodically, but it is still fascinating to see how much children like repetition. Naturally, this is part of their learning process. Similarly, perhaps, re-visiting old ideas helps us learn the underlying concepts and even shape the ideas themselves.

Many authors wrote about the benefits journalling or blogging. One of these benefit is the ability to formulate an idea or point of view. For example, Kevin Kelly, the author of “What Technology Wants,” among other popular books, points out that the writing process does not start with formulating the idea in one’s head and then setting on expressing them in written words. Instead, we start writing, often on the same topics that we or others have addressed before, and through this process, the old ideas become clarified and (re-)formulated.

Similarly, photographing or painting a familiar subject, such as a still life or a landscape, not only refines the technique, but opens up new dimensions of the subject. Perhaps, this is why the old works of art are sometimes entitled “studies.”

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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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Making plans

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I wrote earlier that my view of the planning process had been influenced by the books I read a few years ago, when starting my work as a university professor. One of them is “Advice for New Faculty Members” by Robert Boice.

In this book, Boice makes a case that planning as a process lends itself well to brief, regular sessions. In other words, I don’t have to wait for a large chunk of uninterrupted time in my schedule to begin planning something (e.g. a lecture, a photo shoot, a vacation, etc.) Not only this large segment of time might not appear for a long time, but when it does marialize, it would be better used for a more creative or “deep” activity. As far as planning, it works just fine when done in small chunks.

Working on planning in small increments accomplishes two things: (a) it allows us to start the process early, which reduces the stress as the deadline approaches, and (b) it allows us to visualize the actual event (the lecture, the photo shoot, etc.) between the planning sessions. I find the latter part particularly valuable, because without a clear vision of the outcome, the plan itself is not particularly useful. To borrow an analogy from Matt Mullenweg, a dog chasing a car might have a good plan for how to catch it, but no idea what to do if it succeeds.

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Action photography: when to stop shooting

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In sports and action photography, capturing the decisive moment of the action is most important. High framing rate of a modern DSLR greatly helps in this respect. Having said this, there is a fine balance between capturing an interesting moment and shooting too much during a sports event.

I find that sometimes it is better to stop shooting, look up from the viewfinder and just observe the athletes, the venue, the spectators, the referees, etc. Doing so calibrates my overall experience of the event and provides the necessary pause to decide what would be the best subject, the lens, the viewing angle, etc. to convey my impression of the game to the viewer of the resulting photograph. By the way, I think that the impression of the event photographer is inherently valuable, if only for the unique proximity to the action that this position provides.

This balance between shooting and observing has some parallels to the larger issue of presence over productivity, which has been raised by many authors (e.g. Anne Dillard in her “The Writing Life.”) I personally find that so much value is presently placed on action, that it is easy to miss the point, when the action becomes mindless and the original intent of it is lost.

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