Take Out Photo

When plain old photos just aren't good enough...

2009-11-26T13:40:00.000-08:00

I saved the strangest ideas from Paris Photo for last.

If you want a creepy portrait of a friend or family member, why not just have them sit still for a video and then dedicate a framed monitor to your masterpiece? Because we're not at Hogwarts, that's why.

Don't know what to do with that old photo of your great great uncle Tobias? I hear embroidery floss adds zing when your Bedazzler has run out of rhinestones.

Covering a photo in semi-opaque cloth can serve as a socio-political commentary on the veil in contemporary Iran or it can just be a good way to use up that extra bolt of fabric in your sewing room.

Who says the glass over your framed photo needs to remain clear? Tell Windex and their neatnik cronies where to go. Fight the power in the comfort of your living room with some acrylic craft pens and some free association graffiti.

One example of the altered glass approach that I actually loved (but no pic, sorry) was a photo of a plain wall with graffiti tags sprayed all over the inside of the glass.

In spite of my mocking commentary, I do like how the examples above make me consider alternatives to the traditional framed photo.

What do you think? Ever done anything unconventional with photo presentation?

Ideas for displaying your photos (part 2)

2009-11-21T07:27:00.000-08:00

In the last post, I looked at examples of lines and grids of framed photos at Paris Photo. This post will give examples that break with those basic layouts.

This combination of portrait and landscape frames is made more interesting by staggering the portrait frames rather than keeping them symmetrical.

Here, the arrow-like triangular positioning leads your eye from left to right.

This is an attempt to break up the traditional gallery-style line of photos. I'm not sure how I feel about the near-checkerboard look, but I guess it depends on the context.

One central photo (hidden by the man's head) seems to sprout wings from either side. Note how the ample matting helps contain what would otherwise be too many competing images. To me, this looks very Martha Stewart. And speaking of Martha, one of her tips that I have used is to cut out paper versions of all your frames and arrange them on the wall before you commit. I use paper grocery bags and painter's tape.

If there is any philosphy behind this arrangement, it is to avoid lining up any two frames. In my opinion, the quare white space on the left side draws too much attention to itself.

I love how the one landscape-oriented frame pops out of the grid in this set of Lartigue photos (which can be yours for a mere 120,000 euros. Yikes!) Once again we see the small photo / large matte look.

I also love how a couple of huge photos can fill a room.

Two groups of three. Good? Not so much? What do you think?

Symmetrical, but different. Makes me think of an owl.

And finally, a reminder that you don't have to let the shape of your photo determine the shape of your frame. Experimenting with mattes can make your display look more high end.

How to display your photos: Ideas from Paris Photo (part 1)

2009-11-20T04:18:00.000-08:00

Paris Photo is a massive 4-day event happening right now through Sunday in the Carrousel du Louvre. The show features 89 galleries and 13 editors from all over the world. I went last night and found it to be at once heavenly and torturous. Heavenly, because the scale of the show and the variety of major photographers on display outshone any photography museum I have ever seen. Torturous, because I couldn't take it all in (much less take any of it home). Want to buy a Klein? A bargain at 9,000 euros. A signed Cartier-Bresson will run you about 25,000 euros. A passport-sized Lartigue (and I mention the size because I overheard some Americans talking about prices in the cliché "size matters" way) costs 30,000. Although most of the prices were on display, I think it's safe to say that the "Well, if you have to ask, you can't afford it" rule applied to everything.

If you budget is like mine, the only things you can take away from the show are the memories, maybe a catalog, and some inspiration. Since I can't give you the first two, let me help out with the third, specifically, some inspiration for photo displays.

How do the galleries display their photos? In the next couple of posts, I'll give a few examples (also, let me give a disclaimer that my photos of the displays are quick snapshots). In this post, we'll look at the most common methods of display: the grid and the classic line.

Simple, modern, and elegant. A line of photos gives a classic look similar to what you might see in a museum. However, many museums would put more space between the frames for the practical reason of filling the space and of allowing more room for visitors to look at the photos.

A variation on the straight line that I love is this symmetrical display with a round photo and frame in the middle.

Larger spacing in this six photo grid of Duane Michals photos (being photographed by a woman who looks exactly like the one in the photos), is a safe choice.

Large photos arranged in a triptych work especially well if the center photo draws the most attention.

A long two-line grid of photos with identical matting and with no spaces makes a bold statement.

A vertical version of the two-line grid takes a more innovative approach by playing with the colors of the frames (but keeping a sophisticated black, white, gray palette).

A dramatic three-line grid of large color unmatted photos and minimal spacing makes a strong, modern statement.

Closely spaced grids sometimes use large matting to let the photos breathe and give a more classic look.

In my opinion, the wide black frames and black matting in this grid borders on overpowering the photos themselves.

No spacing between frames, small mattes, and color photos on a unified theme (painted trucks).

Photos of different sizes are cropped here to fit in a grid of identical frames.

Getting inspired for displaying your own photos? I know I am.

Tomorrow, I'll go beyond the line and the grid for more inspiration.

Blurb books, an idea for using your photos

2009-11-18T11:07:00.000-08:00

A chocolate religieuse from Ladurée

Here's a simple idea for using your photos: make a book. Isn't that the same as making an album? you ask. Well, yes, but without having to first print your photos, then buy an album, then choose an adhesive, etc. etc.

With digital photos, it's so easy to take them and then never look at them again. They don't even fill up a shoebox, just a hard drive (which hopefully is organized and has backups lest disaster strikes). Wouldn't it be nicer if they sat on your coffee table or had a prized spot on your bookshelf? No disrespect to those bulky three-ring binders that are so popular for scrapbooking, but they are too deep to fit in my bookshelf. Imagine, instead, a collection of little 7 x 7 inch professionally printed books that feature your favorite things, people, places, or whatever else you choose.

My latest personal "book project" is a Blurb boo k of all my favorite foods in Paris. A square version of the photo above was for my religieuse "best of" category until I found an even better one at Carl Marletti (look at the amazing food photography on his site). People are always asking me what they should do when they visit Paris, and I always respond with food suggestions. I mean, they're going to visit the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Musée d'Orsay, Notre Dame, and other main attractions no matter I say, but they might not know about Hermé macarons or the amazing pâtes à choux at Marletti. So making a book is fun for me and a good gift idea for my friends.

But why Blurb? For me, it's about the best price/quality option. With unlimited resources, I would use Asukabook. Their printing is the best I have seen. I use them for wedding albums for most of my clients. But Asukabook is many times more expensive than blurb (and only for pros). I will use Asukabook for one-offs of special projects, but I can't afford to make a series a books for myself with them even at wholesale prices. Blurb books, on the other hand, are cheap enough to use as alternative to those plastic albums that hold 4x6 inch photos and they look a lot nicer.

I have only made two Blurb books so far, but here's what I can tell you based on my experience:

You download their software to create your book, which is convenient because you don't need much skill to get a good end result, but inconvenient because you can't get it printed anywhere but on blurb.
Keep it simple or you will be frustrated to no end. We did a 250 page book of poems (and drawings) that was a layout nightmare. The program was slow and buggy, and I swore I would never do another Blurb book after that. But I have learned my lesson. The end product looked better than expected, so rather than give up on Blurb, I will avoid text-heavy work and keep the layout simple.
The page limits are extremely flexible. You can do a short book (I did one as a Valentine a couple years ago) or a really long one (440 pages long!)
The site makes the books look higher quality than they are. Don't think this is going to compete with high-end coffee table books, but I do think they are nicer than what I have seen offered at comparable sites and stores.
When your book is done you can order a copy for yourself and/or others can order it from the site. This doesn't mean you can't protect your privacy (there are options for that). In my case it just means that the next time someone asks me what to do in Paris, I can tell them to get my book.
If you want to sell your book for profit you can do it, but I think Blurb is more of a convenient way to make a book than a good way to make money.
Finally, until Nov. 24, they have a -20% and free shipping offer that looks pretty tempting.

I'm having my kids do Blurb books about their time here in Paris. They can work on them here (which, to be honest, has been hard to get them to do) and have them sent right to our house in Utah. My 10-year old, Lucas, gave me the idea after he visited Les Invalides and came back with a series of photos he called "the last thing you'd see." They were photos of spears, horses in armor, and other museum displays seen from the perspective of someone about to be stabbed, crushed, etc. Morbid, but very funny. He did the same thing at the dinosaur museum. Now, if I can just get him to assemble them...

"Free Money" Sparks Riot Today in Paris

2009-11-14T09:50:00.000-08:00

I was going to go out and get some pictures of photo displays for a post, and then thousands of people showed up outside and, well, I got distracted.

This is the story of a publicity stunt gone awry. Apparently, a web site called "Mailorama" planned to give away money somewhere in our neighborhood. Things didn't turn out too well when a police officer announced that the event had been canceled.

Some wandered around looking disappointed...

while others decided to rock the police car from side to side. The lone cop promptly left, and that was the last we saw of law and order for at least a half hour.

Most people just wandered around the Champs de Mars, thinking maybe money would fall from the sky if they just waited long enough.

And of course, there are always those that like to climb whenever there's a big gathering. But with no real cause, people mostly looked confused.

But then, like the cliché butterfly flapping its wings in the Amazon, the word "money" must have escaped someone's lips. Everyone dashed to the "Carrefour City" grocery store right across the street from our place.

Still no money. Still no purpose. No monuments to climb on. But wait! Fruit stand!!! (check out the guy at left)

People were grabbing fruit, stuffing their pockets, eating as if they hadn't had a meal in days. (check out the guy at the right).

I mean, what else is there to do with food, right? Oh, wait a minute, here's an idea:
FOOD FIGHT!!!!!!!

It was like Christmastime in some Norman Rockwell "Saturday Evening Post" snowball fight illustration (or for you cinephiles, the snowball fight scene in Abel Gance's "Napoleon"), except instead of snow, there were only apples, oranges, tomatoes, and melons, and instead of quaint children of yesteryear, there were hordes of disenfranchised youth chanting "La banlieue! La banlieue!" (that's "suburbs," but here in France, it signifies the ghetto culture that strikes fear into the heart of every right-wing Frenchman).

On the bright side, apples, oranges, and melons taste better than snow. But don't mention that to someone who has just suffered a melon induced head trauma. The best thing to do in this kind of situation is RUN....

unless you're a person throwing fruit or an adrenaline junkie with a camera.

I was a little nervous that my camera would get smashed, but I wanted to get a shot that included the ATMs that say "RETRAIT," which in French has the dual meaning of "withdrawal" (as in "cash," or in this case, "fruit" withdrawal), and "retreat" which is what most sensible people do in this kind of situation.

Two details in the following photo that might not jump out at you: 1. The "Algérie" sweatshirt that basically evokes all kinds of things the French have tried to repress for so long, and 2. The poster in the background with a smug man in a suit that reads "THE DAMNED UNITED."

One of my favorite shots, I really wish it were larger here for you to appreciate the expression on the woman's face (cowering below the red awning) and the reflection in the window just above her head (you'll have to trust me on this one) that says OH (it took me a while to figure out it was from a hotel).

A shot where THE DAMNED UNITED poster is seen more clearly. It's one of those scrolling poster displays, so it was serendipitous to have that one visible.

One thing that surprised me was to see women gather fruit as if they had stumbled out of a Millet painting. The older woman (far left) found a nice melon, and the younger woman in the phone booth busied herself by filling a lovely rustic basket with fruit from two crates she had swiped just a minute earlier.

It may look relatively peaceful in that photo, but a few people had actually been hit so hard that they had fallen to the ground. Several people around me were hit, and my hair and camera took some shrapnel from a golden delicious and a clementine. Things were getting sticky, and I decided it was time to go inside for an aerial view.

A good view, but I had to take photos from behind a closed window once a couple of apples and clementines splattered into our living room. Eva was screaming, the computer almost took a direct hit, and Lucas' Nintendo DS charger got permanently wounded. We will now pause to watch Max clean juice off the wall:

But turning away from our living room trauma...

Yes, that is a car being overturned by the mob.

I ought to show some close crops so you can appreciate the expressions, but for now, just let me say that the media usually misrepresent scenes like this. Just like my experience with the youth at the techno parade, I found the violence to be playful more than angry. Most people are having a lot of fun (which I guess makes sense, given the expression "it's a riot."). The lack of rage makes it no less dangerous. In fact, it makes it more disturbing (like something Haneke would shoot).

The view from the apartment gave me some great shots, but it also distanced me from the crowd. Besides the threat of flying fruit, I had at least one guy give me the "I'm watching you and you're dead" sign from down below. When you're down with the people, you just smile and nod like you're enjoying the fun alongside them. But if you're looking down from your wrought-iron balcony, sniping photos with a long lens from behind the geraniums, you may as well be Marie-Antoinette saying "Let them eat cake!"—which, the French historian in me must note, she never actually said. Not that it mattered. Living conditions speak for themselves.

By this point, there's no going back downstairs. Mr. crazy eyes has already given me a death sentence and I'm stuck in my tower. As much as I want to go back outside, all I can do is make sure the windows are locked and speculate about why the riot police are taking so long.

Oh look, why there they are now...

From here, things go back to "normal."

By late afternoon, the streets have been swept clean of broken glass and car fragments. A salon is open, so I go get my hair cut in time for a ballet tonight at the Opera Garnier. We sit in one of the "loges"— a private enclave with lush velvet seats and a sofa. Six of us nestled behind a walnut door: a Japanese couple, an English woman with her friend from Greece, and us. We complain about the view. We rearrange our seats during intermission and decide we like the third act the best. Not a smashed clementine in sight.

We take the metro back to our rain-washed streets. The cobblestones remind me of that Gustave Caillebotte painting of a bourgeois couple sharing an umbrella. I take the boys out for a gelato on Rue Cler. We don't talk about eating cake, but we send Max to the Carrefour across the street to buy flour because tomorrow is Sunday.

Expanding your palette for photo prints (part 3: canvas, metallic, watercolor)

2009-11-07T05:17:00.001-08:00

I talked about the basics in the last two parts, now let's tackle three more: "watercolor" (aka "cotton rag" or "matte fine art"), metallic, and canvas.

Canvas
In my experience, Canvas is what a family buys for those extra special photos such as the family portrait above the fireplace, wedding and bridal portraits, or individual portraits of children. The common theme here is "portrait," but if I did landscape photography, I'm sure I would have clients purchasing landscapes on canvas as well. A canvas print costs many times the price of a photograph on paper, so what makes it worth the cost?

If you think about the psychology behind it, I think canvas enjoys the strongest connection to artistic legitimacy (i.e. a connection to traditional painted portraits), and that we have been conditioned to think of canvas as more special than paper. I would call this phenomenon the "nostalgia factor." Rare is the person who commissions a painted portrait, so the next best thing in most people's minds is a photographic portrait on canvas. Canvas has a more painterly texture and you can even add textured coatings that might give the appearance of brush strokes. I don't think canvas is inherently better. If you want fine detail, for example, you would be better off with a smoother paper. If you want something modern, you might consider other options. But for traditional looks, canvas gives off a feeling of classic elegance.

Lately, the trend for wrapped canvas (aka "gallery wraps") has been growing. The marketing pitch usually tries to exploit the inherent association of canvas with "art" while simultaneously arguing that since the wrapped image looks great on its own, you can save money by hanging it with no frame. Sans frame, gallery wraps make canvas a "contemporary" option, which is a pretty smart way for people in the canvas business to keep their product relevant.

Metallic
This has become a very popular alternative photo paper, but you might have trouble finding it at most local labs. Look online (Mpix and Bay Photo are just two of the many online options) for places that do metallic. Kodak Endura Metallic is the market leader as far as I can tell. I can't really show you what a metallic print looks like, because you have to see it in person and look at it from different angles. It doesn't look like a photo printed on tinfoil as you might imagine. Think "glossy," but more interesting. It has a smooth surface, and a silvery base that you will notice most prominently in the lightest colors. Colors are more intense and vibrant on metallic paper. Black and white photos can look stunning on metallic, and some people swear that it's good for just about anything. Personally, I would never use metallic paper for family photos. I have heard people claim that it produces good skin tones, but I would only use it on more stylized photos. Cross-processed and bleach bypass photos would look even better in metallic.

Watercolor
I mentioned in my last post that "giclée" is snob for "inkjet." To be fair, a giclée is usually a high quality inkjet and it is usually done on watercolor paper. Hahnemühle photo rag is my favorite 100% coton inkjet paper. It's not even in the same world as Canon or Epson as far as I'm concerned. Some of the reasons have to do with paper's weight, its D-Max rating (i.e. how deep can the blacks get?), how evenly the paper absorbs the ink, color gamut, and so on.

I would recommend watercolor paper for more dreamy, romantic looking photos (perhaps at a heavier texture), for classic looking black and white, or for most anytime you want a quality matte finish.

And now it's time to play [wild applause], "What paper would Marc choose?" [confused smattering of claps] The game where we get to look at some of Marc's photos and find out which paper he would print them on! [sound of crickets chirping].

photo #1: Boy with dog

Traditional elegance, rich tones. Taken for a client with a tasteful European-influenced home. Canvas.

photo #2: Champion gymnast

Desaturated, stylized, masculine, cool tones. Metallic.

photo #3: Wedding photo

Romantic, pink duotone. Watercolor.

photo #4: Fire escape portrait

Urban, trendy, cross-processed. Metallic.

photos #5 and 6: Bride

Classic, timeless bridal portraits. Canvas for the photo on the left and watercolor for the more contemplative photo on the right. However, if they were displayed next to each other in a home, I would choose the same (either one) for both.

photo #7: CNN Hero, Peter Kithene

Rich, dark, earthy, and timeless. Ivory-hued watercolor.

Obviously, these are just examples with my opinions. But it is my blog, so I won't pretend to be objective.

Parts 1-3 have taken you through the basic choices, but we have only scratched to surface as far as expanding your print palette goes. I am on day three of being stuck inside the apartment, and I am going stir crazy. This isn't the last you will hear about photo prints this month (In the eyes of many photographers, we aren't even close to alternative processes yet), but it had better be the last post I do in my robe in between doses of Advil.

Expanding your palette for photo prints (part 2)

2009-11-06T08:25:00.000-08:00

The basics
Whether you print using an inkjet (that's called a "giclée" print in snob), or a chemical process at your local photo lab (usually a Noritsu printer at 1 hour photo centers such as Costco), you have choices to make. Often, you only get two options: luster (or "lustre" in snob) or glossy. A typical third choice is matte. The names are pretty self-evident in that they describe how reflective the paper is. But let's get beyond the boring and obvious and talk about preferences, specifically, mine.
Glossy: I hate glossy paper. Glossy gives off a glare, it tends to scratch easily, and it picks up fingerprints better than most crime scene investigators. It can create brilliant color, but the only time I ever use it is in Asukabook wedding albums (which have a special coating and really aren't the same thing) or in metallic prints (I'll save those for part 3).

Luster: My preference for most purposes. Works great for wedding announcements and greeting cards because it doesn't scratch and pick up fingerprints like glossy. Luster is the perfect default choice (just ask Smugmug).

Matte: Labs don't offer it as often as they once did, and maybe because of that fact, matte tends to come off as a more "artsy" choice. I often make matte my default choice for black and white.

Done.

If only it were that easy. Each one of the above choices includes a wide range of options that your supermarket photo lab doesn't have incentive to offer. Think of it like this. You go to buy paint, and they ask if you want "gloss," "semi-gloss," "satin," etc. but there is only one kind of each. "But that is what happens," you say, "I go to Sherwin Williams, and I get Sherwin Williams paint." (And since we're on the topic, don't you find their logo of paint spilling over the whole planet to be just a tad maniacal? You can't stop me now, Mr. Bond. In just 10 minutes, my giant paint bucket will cover the earth in "Enticing Red" semi-gloss! bwah ha ha!).

The fact is, there are different kinds of paper under each category of finish. Spend a little time browsing the photo papers and art papers sections at inkjetart.com and you will begin to see how many choices are out there (three links in one sentence, they should send me free stuff). And the same thing goes for papers used by print labs. The luster Fuji Crystal Archive paper (used by Costco, for example) has a heavier pebble grain texture than the luster Kodak Endura paper (which I prefer). Next time you get a print done at a lab, turn it over and look at the paper, or ask the lab what paper(s) they use. Or if you print photos from your inkjet, look at the inkjet art forum (that's four links!) and see how many choices are out there.

It doesn't have to get overwhelming, and there is no way I'm going to attempt to outline every option (as if I could). But I am going to get a little more specific in future posts during the month. Yes, I'm afraid there will be a part 3, probably a part 4. If you've heard enough about paper already, if I lost you at "luster," don't worry, as soon as get out over this stupid (cold? flu? who knows?) and get back outside, I have some more visual posts to keep things interesting.

Expanding your palette for photo prints (part 1)

2009-11-05T09:56:00.000-08:00

Blame it on the really nice stereo system I got when I was 14, but I just can't listen to my ipod without expensive headphones. The same thing happened to a friend's wife, but with chocolate. A few months in Paris developing a refined palette, and now she can't order chocolate cake in most restaurants. It happens to everyone. Sometimes it leads to what we call "expensive taste." In children we usually dismiss it as "being picky." For the ill-mannered, it turns into snobbery. But for the polite, it is an expression of appreciation, of gratitude for good work.

When you look at a painting, do you see the picture or the strokes? When you look at a photo, do you notice the paper? the type of process? If you're an editor and you read my blog, you probably notice that I have an ongoing battle with punctuation. But hopefully (comma or no comma?) that doesn't get in the way of the message.

Since I'm spending a month about everything but the image, I thought I'd start with a look at printing processes and papers. My view on the choices is like my view on chocolate. I love a good Michel Cluizel bar, but I won't turn down a Hershey's kiss either. Each has its place (and that place is currently around my expanding waistline). And so while I would never criticize someone for liking Hershey's, that doesn't mean I don't think they're missing out if they haven't tasted chocolate from a plantation in Madagascar where mangoes once grew.

One of my goals this month is to look at the range of possibilities for printing your photos. Some will be cheap and readily available, some will be more expensive and more involved. There's a place for all of it, and I don't think that the most expensive is necessarily the best solution. The point is to explore the options. What's out there? How much does it cost? Would you want to try it?

When I first started my photo business, I was really into different kinds of paper. I offered various high-end art papers at an extra cost, but soon learned that most people really couldn't care less if their photo were printed on a nice heavyweight Hahnemühle cotton rag or on a basic Epson paper. It took me a while to put the paper back into perspective with the purpose. Just because one paper might be more expensive or better for art prints doesn't mean it is always the right choice.

Nevertheless, I have to warn you. Exploring your options can be dangerous. Keep reading this month, and you might develop some new expensive habit. For that, I apologize in advance. But don't say I didn't warn you.

Just before coming to Paris, it looked like my ipod had stopped working. I took it to the Apple store and the "genius" told me that my earphones had died. He offered me a free one of those plain white kind that come with an ipod. I rejected the little white bundle on impulse, quickly pushing it back to the other side of the counter. "No thanks," I said, trying my best to look gracious. Surely he understood. His t-shirt says "genius" after all.

November Monthly Special: Everything but the image

2009-11-03T12:32:00.000-08:00

This will be an unconventional monthly special. I have decided to dedicate the month to everything BUT the actual image in a photo. Frames, albums, books, decorating ideas, unconventional use of photos, papers, printing processes, and so on. I want to tackle the problem/exciting challenge (depending on whether your a half-full or half-empty kind of person) of what to do with the photos you take.

I don't scrapbook, and since there is a multi-billion dollar industry dedicated to scrapbooking, I won't try to compete. But I will talk about other book ideas that may or may not fit within your definition of a scrapbook.

I am not a professional framer, but there is a great one down the street here in Paris, and if I can get an interview, I'll give you some tips about framing.

Because I try to do monthly specials that force me to learn new things, I hope to explore alternative printing techniques as well as a variety of display ideas.

And because holiday season is already upon us, I hope to come up with photo-related gift ideas, both homemade and bought.

And here I am doing my post on November 3rd! I had better get moving.

As for your participation (we had 6 last month, that's better than the month before), should you decided to post something and share it with a link below, I'm sure everyone would enjoy it. For example, tell about a favorite photo gift you have given or received. Share how you print and display your photos.

Sure, we all take photos, but then what?

Happy Halloween from Paris!

2009-10-31T11:09:00.000-07:00

In George Romero's classic zombie flick "Dawn of the Dead,"the American undead—creatures of habit—head straight to the shopping mall. In Paris, they look at cafe menus, text their zombie friends on iphones, smoke, keep up with fashion, take photos, protest, and go on walks with their babies.

Scenes I stumbled upon today on my way home from a photo show...

huhs, hmms, and ahs : three very short stories

2009-10-26T16:02:00.000-07:00

Let me forewarn you that these one-photo stories probably won't make any sense. Worse still, once I explain, you may wonder why I bothered posting them. But I'll get to that, I promise.

story 1.

Discarded organizer outside the headquarters of "Le Monde" newspaper

story 2.

Pockmarked sidewalk

story 3.
By a stairwell outside the Kenna exhibit

I tell my students that I like writing assignments more than memorization-based exams (names, dates, that kind of stuff), because I can still remember essays I wrote in 7th grade, but I forgot my chronology of all the rulers of France a week after the final exam. Who am I kidding? I forgot some of it during the final exam.

There's something about the act of writing that makes the story stick with you. But maybe that's not the case with you. Maybe you're a numbers and dates kind of person. A former part-time secretary in my department could recite birthdays, phone numbers, or any other number with meaning attached to it with zero effort. Having just figured out that I'm a year younger than I thought I was (and I had the midlife crisis all planned out!), I can't even wrap my mind around that kind of numbers memory.

My memory likes images. I remember my first meeting with the museum director who wanted to discuss the possibility of an exhibit about my research. He was surprised at how quickly I converted written thoughts into visual form. What he didn't realize was that I saw all of my ideas as images before I wrote them. Converting the images in my mind into words on a page was the hard part.

The three image "stories" above were all taken within the last few days. The first two are from a walk I took today in an area with streets named after photographers like Atget and Brassaï. The third image was in the library where I researched most of my dissertation, and therefore the easiest to spin into a story with deeper meaning, which would be dishonest. Here is the extent of each story:

1. I noticed the organizers outside the newspaper building and thought that I could use them back at home, but didn't feel like carrying them around. Then I noticed the labels indicating they were sorting things by region (Brittany, Corsica, etc.) which made me think about the decline of the newspaper industry and the fact that regional reporting is one of the first things to go.

2. I noticed the little craters in the sidewalk created by pits or nuts from the tree above. Could a falling nut create that kind of damage? Maybe if the sidewalk had been resurfaced and was still drying or maybe if that is a patch of tar that melted during a heat wave. But why resurface a sidewalk only to let it a tree launch a full scale attack? Hmm.

3. The Kenna exhibit was just so beautiful, so moving, that I had to take a photo immediately outside just for the sake of release—by impulse, like applause at the end of a play.

Not compelling stories? Don't say I didn't warn you. The idea I want to put out there is this: a photo can be the story of how you think. It may not have the wide appeal of something pretty, but it might be a way for you to capture your thought process. I am imagining how a book of these moments, not the famous Oprah "aha!" moments, but more like the "huh"moments that capture the natural flow of your mind. This is what Rousseau was after when he walked around collecting plants during the last years of his life. He wasn't trying to make any great botanical discoveries. He was gathering his own thoughts.

It's not about gathering events or photos of loved ones. It's not about great philosophical reflection. It's just about the flow of thoughts and feelings we usually never document.

More than just photos...stories

2009-10-17T12:00:00.001-07:00

Plus que des photos, des histoires (More than just photos, stories) reads Canon's current slogan, seen on huge banners right now inside the Salon de la Photo in Paris. Naturally, it made me think of this month's theme. And I'm glad that it did, because thinking about story turned an otherwise crowded, hot, zoo of an atmosphere into my own personal safari.

The difference between the expo-as-zoo (complete with caged displays) and the expo-as-hunting-expedition was a sudden shift in my perspective. To return to (and mistranslate for my own purposes) the huge Canon banner— it's all about your reflex and your objectives. My initial reflex when I stepped inside the large exposition hall was to remember the PMA convention in Vegas not so long ago, say "been there, done that" to myself, and leave.

But then I looked at the Canon banner and found myself agreeing with their premise. Not the ridiculous commercial premise that photos taken with a Canon are superior (although I do use a Canon, so I wish it were true), but with the idea that not all photos are stories. In fact, I think that a lot of photos are not stories. Some photos are more like "to do" lists (Me in front of Notre Dame. Check. Me in front of the Eiffel Tower. Check.) or doodles (bokeh experiments, abstract streaks of light in long exposures, etc.). Sometimes a photo is a fragment of a sentence. But whole stories are not always so easy to come by.

Everyone taking the same photo of a model.

The photo I took of what was happening beneath their feet.

My best piece of advice from the experience is that if you want stories, you need to stop looking at the thing, and start looking at the story of the thing. When I made a conscious decision to look for stories at the photo expo, I became more interested in my environment. When people were all crowding into a space to look at a display in the way the vendor intended, I didn't feel the need to compete. Instead, I could step back and observe the competition itself.

From their end—elbowing other photographers to take a photo of a girl in front of a giant "Olympus" sign. From my end—no elbowing necessary, and I get a photo of the girl and the fight to photograph her instead of a camera ad.

I imagined a parent applying this same attitude to a kid's soccer game (I say "a parent" because we haven't had a kid in soccer since Max was 4). I imagined that parent taking a more documentary approach to the event, one that included other parents reacting to the game, other kids. One that included the other team.

Maybe I'm preaching to the choir, but if the general public is anything like it was yesterday at the photo show, I would venture to say that most people gravitate toward the same spot to take the same photo. Again and again.

Watching people interact with people will likely lead to some kind of story.

When I changed my objective from shopping mode to documentary mode, the stories began to appear.

"Older man befriends group of goth teens" was a nice story to witness.

If this "monthly special" about story and that Canon ad hadn't triggered a change in objective for me, I would have spent ten euros on a photo show only to leave after five minutes to spend 10 more at the movies. The movies are still in theaters. The photo show ends tomorrow. And even though I was not interested in any of the products, I am glad I got to see the stories.

Hot Chocolate

2009-10-16T13:32:00.000-07:00

(worst title ever, I know.)

Yesterday at the Paris Salon du Chocolat...

(If even spandex doesn't fit tightly, it might be time to eat one or two of those chocolates. Just a suggestion.)

(Wipe that smug look off your face, dude. We get it. You're a model AND you're wearing a coat made out of chocolate. No need to gloat.)

A story with no text.

2009-10-15T03:13:00.000-07:00

If you do scrapbooks, it might be tempting to "journal" everything just out of habit. But sometimes words are just redundant.

Your shoelace is untied.

2009-10-13T15:52:00.000-07:00

Recipes for stories: "told" book review

2009-10-10T12:33:00.000-07:00

mental photo—your participation needed. imagine a delicious pile of assorted macarons sitting artfully atop my copy of the book I'm reviewing. Got it? OK, then read on.

Cookbooks
How many recipe books do you own? Go on, take a mental inventory. One? Ten? Dozens? In our house, we have shelves and shelves of them. More than a person could use in a lifetime. If that "Julie and Julia" woman needs some sequel projects, may I suggest one of my books about macarons—those little French cookies that I like to think of as heaven's version of an Oreo. The cookbooks all feature beautiful images of both savory (foie gras cookie, anyone?) and sweet (so hard to get beyond chocolate) confections, each more photogenic than the last. I believe one of the books even has the word "simple" somewhere in the title. A cruel hoax, I assure you. But then, wasn't it the French who invented Sadism?

But let's get back to you. You and your recipe books, or lack thereof. If you don't have any, then I can only conclude that either you don't cook or you don't believe in recipes. If you do, and you are not an obsessive blogger living over a pizzeria, then I bet you have made less than half the recipes.

A brief review
Which brings me to my little book review. I bought Simon Aboud's book "told" only days after arriving in Paris because, like the macaron books, I found it visually appealing and on a topic I love. The book's subtitle, "The Art of Story," fits well with the recipe book comparison (replace "story" with, oh...let's say..."French Cooking"), as do the "Twenty Principles of Storytelling" (by Paul Wilson) that appear right up front like must-haves for the well-stocked pantry. The principles are grouped by category: first principles (such as premise, genre, etc.), storyworld (cast, setting...), character, rhythm, and craft. The rest of the book is a study in combining those ingredients to achieve different effects, all accompanied by masterful photography. "She Waits," for example, uses three ingredients: "Point of View," "Exposition," and "Intrigue, Mystery, Suspense." In fact, most of the stories use only three or four ingredients. C'est simple comme "Bonjour!"

I found myself flipping through the pages many times, just admiring the photos and whatever text was in a large enough font to catch my eye. Then, stuck in a bus to Fontainebleau, I finally took time to read...

And that takes me back to my macaron obsession. You see, in my quest to replicate the perfect macaron back in America, I searched the four corners of the web for almond flour (and found it at an intestinal health site in Colorado), I acquired pistachio paste from a pastry supply store near the Rue Montorgueil, and even bought Silpat, but all for naught. My macarons were a disaster.

Scarred by that experience, my reading of "told" led me to conclude that any attempt to cook up even a simple one-ingredient dish (see "Want Me? A Story of Desire" which lists "Hook" as the one principle at play) would lead me to shelve the book in frustration. And I don't want to do that. Because, in spite of its textbook-style hardcover, I see "told" as a rich source of inspiration more than an instruction manual.Let me try to explain by quoting Aboud:

"We believe story is everywhere. In a business context, marketing or whatever, that means, very simply, communicating is no longer about only TV or cinema or press or radio or internet [...] We're suggesting that any form of engagement will be more effective if it is about storytelling." (told, 186).

Aboud's book makes me think about story across disciplines and media. It makes me think beyond the book an to reflect on other people's recipes and principles (Umberto Eco's entertaining reading of Ian Fleming comes to mind, as do the nearly impenetrable early structuralist writings of Roland Barthes, the compelling recipes for history outlined by HaydenWhite, and the work of so many theorists). But for me, inspiration wins out over didacticism every time. So I am embracing "told" in the way I first discovered it, and not in the prescriptive, pedantic way I fear it may be (mis)used in some class on "digital storytelling" (I hate that term although I love the thing itself).

Take-Out Photo and its recipes, or "Why am I even writing this review?"
As a hybrid between a series of photo essays and pedagogical text, "told" stood out from the catalogs and monographs surrounding it in the Pompidou bookstore. (That, and the fact that it's in English.) That difference made me think about my own goals for my blog. Or for the Take-Out Photo book that I will write when I finish my Nostalgia & Technology book or when someone with influence at the offices of an "independent publisher of distinctive books" subscribes to my blog and makes an offer—whichever comes first.

I admire"told" just for existing. If there were a dozen more books like it, each with its own set of storytelling principles, I would buy them all. But there are not any others. At least not that I have seen here in Paris. Like Aboud, I want to create something people will use. My tutorials give some recipes, my "monthly specials" look at themes to develop, other posts might provide a principle or two, but my end goal is to encourage myself and others to tell our stories through images. In that way, I feel a kinship with what Aboud's book is trying to do. They even have a blog just waiting for participation—two followers and three comments—and look at me, I get loads of visitors, a lot of followers, almost no comments (drives me crazy), and yet I left no comment!

How hypocritical am I?

I like the recipe book (told, macarons, take your pick), but spend my time just looking at the pictures.

I want more photos and less text, but I am writing this now at almost 3 a.m. with no photo and I want to hit "publish" before my head hits a pillow.

Yikes! Now I'm going to have to contribute something to their site. Or maybe this is already a contribution—the story of people who participate, but not always in the most direct way. Part of me finds comfort in the thought that maybe that's your story too.

Three photos about dogs followed by one simple lesson.

2009-10-08T15:44:00.000-07:00

Inside the Musée d'Orsay

Outside the Centre Pompidou

Inside our apartment

A unified theme can create a story between different subjects and circumstances.

I was at the Photographer's Gallery in London last week where I saw an inspiring exhibition of André Kertész's photos of people reading. Photos of people reading on balconies, in parks and cafés, but also people reading from piles of trash, on top of discarded newspaper, photos of people reading in painting, and so many declensions of the theme that it struck me how much a unified creates its own story. Walking from one photo to the next, I felt a connection between cultures, classes, circumstances. Not that we-are-all-the-same sentiment that my cynicism interprets as willful ignorance cloaked in charity, but more of a look-at-this-human-impulse-at-work-in-such-varied-situations moment of awe. Together in that gallery, photos taken over the course of years and across continents told me a complex story about a subject that matters to me.

Before leaving the gallery, I visited the bookstore and bought the book On Reading, as well as an irresistible little contemporary work called Mrs. West's Hats—a book that features self portraits of Helen Couchman wearing hats left to her by her grandmother. I immediately felt attached to Couchman's book, not because of any particular photo in it, but because of the collection as a whole and the thought and emotion that it represents.

After returning to Paris, I prepared a brief introduction to Atget for my students and found myself thinking again about how a theme creates a story.

For this post, I rapidly pulled up three photos of dogs: one taken this week in the Musée d'Orsay, one taken a few weeks ago near the Pompidou Center and one taken tonight of my 4-year-old daughter's collaborative project with her grandpa (six dogs and a brachiosaur). My quick experiment made me think more about dogs and the people who feel compelled to portray them (in museums, on walls, on refrigerator doors...). It's certainly no On Reading. Nor is it Mrs. West's Hats. Three things that prevent it from becoming so are time, attachment, and development. Beyond this post, I don't plan on any dog-themed books (there are too many of those in the world already). But it is making me think more about how theme relates to story. And maybe it will start making you think about grouping your own photos into stories simply by organization.

October Monthly Special: Story

2009-10-03T09:26:00.000-07:00

This is your life, but processed. Hammered into the mold of a good screenplay. Interpreted according to the model of a successful box-office hit. It is no surprise you've started seeing every day in terms of another plot point. Music becomes your soundtrack. Clothing becomes costume. Conversation, dialogue. Our technology for telling stories becomes our language for remembering our lives. Our framework for perceiving the world. (Chuck Palahniuk, Stranger than Fiction)

In spite of an all-time low in terms of "monthly special" participation this past month (Shanna should receive some kind of award, I think), I am continuing down a path suggested by the August (triptychs) and September (points of view) themes by looking at "story" in photography.

Too many years of graduate training in literature have only worsened my ambivalence toward the conventions of storytelling. By age 9, after countless Sunday School lessons in the genre of "Susie had an iron lung" and "Johnny got hit by a train," I learned to become wary of the devices meant to illicit an emotional response from an audience—devices that, when overused, condition some people to measure spirituality in the number of teardrops shed.

In 17th-century France, back in the heyday of Cartesian body-as-machine enthusiasm, pulpit orators tried to get their rhetoric down to a science. A well-placed metaphor here, just the right simile there, and your audience laughs or cries at your command. Fast forward a few hundred years and you find everyone from semioticians to ad agencies trying to figure out the recipes for different kinds of stories.

Look through some of your photos—or better yet, a scrapbook—and ask yourself what kind of stories they tell. Do the photos stand on their own? Are they part of a sequence? Does text play a role?

This month I want to encourage you to pay attention to the story in your photographs. Think about when story matters to you and when it does not. Look for patterns in your storytelling. Are there recipes? Should there be?

I plan to look at those questions and more this month, and I may even throw in a Photoshop tutorial, who knows? And if I'm really lucky, maybe I'll see some stories from you.

Say what you like but...

2009-09-25T15:50:00.000-07:00

I think Dora started it.

That blond can pack a punch, but your kid's favorite bilingual football-head fears nothing.

Talk about unflinching optimism!

Hasta la vista, blondie!

Any reason for this post? No, not really, but if I am to milk some meager pedagogical tidbit out of these purely cathartic photos it would be that realism isn't always your best choice. I gave a cross-processed and highly contrasted look to these photos because—hey!—we are talking about a fight with a cartoon figure here. I admit, I was tempted to give it a gritty black and white Raging Bull feel, but then I would have had to call it "Raving Bull" and then you would just want to hit me.

Three views outside of Saint-Sulpice in Paris

2009-09-24T04:25:00.000-07:00

Serendipity at work. I had just assigned the next photo project to my students—something on the theme of religion and/or transformation—when I happened upon the following in front of Saint-Sulpice church (the church that no tourists ever visited until the Da Vinci Code cast it in a dramatic conspiratorial role):

A diptych of a visitor and an unexpected attraction.

A larger view of the right...

and left sides of the diptych.

And my favorite shot:

The three friends doing a subversive photo project in front of the church look to be of North African heritage (probably Algerian). They were using a blue veil made of tulle (at times worn like a hijab) as part of their provocative poses. To my surprise, the woman begging in the foreground—Starbucks coffee cup in hand—thought it was just great.

10 seconds at the Paris Techno Parade

2009-09-23T10:28:00.000-07:00

Warning for sensitive viewers: the following contains people giving me the finger.

Here are 14 frames that represent 10 seconds of my experience at the Paris Techno Parade on Saturday.

A group of guys arrived near the end of the parade to have some fun bulldozing their way through the crowd. One of them noticed me taking a photo of a bandaged guy and suddenly the whole group was coming at me in a manner that was both playful and dangerous. I have to say that I loved the adrenaline rush of the experience.

I took the photos while walking backwards in order to avoid being surrounded. When it looked like I was about to get mauled, I bowed out in as friendly a way possible.

Here they are in order. Which of the 14 frames is your favorite?

frame 1

frame 2

frame 3

frame 4

frame 5

frame 6

frame 7

frame 8

frame 9

frame 10

frame 11

frame 12

frame 13

frame 14

Paris Techno Parade as seen through the Auguste Comte bus stop

2009-09-20T10:34:00.000-07:00

I spent a good part of yesterday destroying my ear drums while being pushed along by mobs of techno enthusiasts who were bouncing their way through the Latin Quarter and on to Place de la Bastille. This was not a demonstration, but a "techno Parade," but if you ask me, ça revient au même—it's pretty much the same thing. Hordes of people, a mob mentality for better (solidarity) and for worse (violence), a mixture of exuberance and danger. Basically, one of my favorite things to see. If there is a demonstration, I'm there. If there's a riot, I shouldn't be there, but I am anyway.

I don't know how I filled up a 15 gig memory card so quickly, but maybe it had something to do with this month's "points of view" focus. Let's use a bus stop as an example:

I love the defiant use of urban structures during an event like this. I don't mean burning cars or smashing shop windows (and none of that was happening), but simply people using public space in ways that break with their intended design. Normally, I might have snapped the above photo and continued on with the crowd. With the way the guys were starting to jump on the structure, I knew it wouldn't be long before security intervened.

I cut through the crowd and worked my way to the bus stop. I love how the guy in the middle is trying to make a call on his cell phone. Good luck with that.
Once I was this close, I thought I may as well try a new perspective and go under the glass (which started to draw more photographers—an irritating side effect).
They loved the attention, probably hoping the photo would make it into the mainstream press.

This guy motioned for me to photograph him hitting a B-Boy pose and showing off his tongue piercing.

Finally, I moved to the back of the bus stop where one of the kids tried to get in one more chance to be seen. I guess he got his wish.

As in my last post, my point here is that thinking more about points of view can multiply your chances of getting photos you like. You have to move a little more—and often rather quickly—but it pays off.

Points of view: The Mona Lisa

2009-09-17T14:15:00.000-07:00

True confession: I have lived in Paris multiple times, I go to Paris every year, I have been to the Louvre many many times, but I have never seen the Mona Lisa until today. I mean, I've seen her ad naseum—on mugs, posters, key chains, with facial hair, in a Warhol serigraph—pretty much everywhere except in the actual Louvre museum. But for no particular reason, I gave in to the inevitable this afternoon and paid a visit to every tourist's must-see work of art. Here is what I saw:

I decided to take some "points of view" photos for this month's theme (well, somebody's got to do it.) One of my favorites is the following, in which a man's arms reframe the painting quite nicely:

I also like the smirk on the blurred woman's face in the foreground. The painting seems nearly postage-stamp sized from this perspective, which pleases me because that's how I have heard it described by so many disappointed tourists over the years.

I took a fair number of photos featuring tourists taking photos with their cell phones and various devices. The blatant disregard for the "no flash" rules failed to illicit so much as a sneer from the guards and made me wonder if the museum had replaced the real painting with a gift-shop copy long ago. Trust me, no one would be the wiser.

You would think that photos like the one above would be easy to take, but that's before you realize that you are photographing a sporting event. I am no stranger to museum fatigue, and I often spend less time contemplating art than an educated person should, however, nothing had prepared me for the pace of that room: Hold up camera (or 2 out of 3 times a cell phone), snap a pick, turn around, and get out. Wave after wave of people repeated this procedure. My autofocus could not even keep up. See the blond in the middle? I had my camera on rapid-fire and she was gone before the second shot. (Add some long black hair over her face and you've got a Japanese horror movie.) The efficiency exhibited in that room made me wonder where all of these people came from. They certainly weren't at the CDG airport ten days ago.

From another point of view, the crowded room looks vacant. Although the photo is probably too small here to show it, the security guard's lips form an impossibly straight line that is enigmatic in its own right.

Finally, just as I was leaving, I saw a sophisticated woman looking right at the painting. Not at the screen on her camera. In fact, she had no camera. Her arms were crossed and she just stood there. Looking. Long enough for me to take three photos. And in the Joconde room of the Louvre, three frames is a very long time.

frame 1

frame 2

frame 3

Which do you prefer? Part of the Sam Abell-inspired theme this month is the idea of choice and editing. The photographer and the viewer may have different preferences, but often the viewer has no choice. Comments about any of my points of view on the Mona Lisa are definitely appreciated.

For more points of view: Follow the photography of some students in Paris

2009-09-14T18:03:00.001-07:00

A photo I took today about points of view

I thought I'd point you to my "byuinparis" blog where my 28 students have just received their first photo assignment. Each week we will be studying a photographer for inspiration and then the students will post a photo essay (or a single photo this week) on the blog.

The students represent a variety of majors that have nothing to do with photography and most of them are working with point-and-shoot cameras. My goal is to help them learn to appreciate the work of important photographers and to use that knowledge to take better photos here in Paris.

Too many tourists go home with exactly the same photos (Here's me in front of the Eiffel Tower. Here's me pretending to hold the Eiffel Tower in my hands. Here's me in front of Notre Dame. etc.) Wouldn't it be great if more people thought about expressing their unique thoughts and reactions to what they see? I'm trying to keep realistic expectations, but I hope to see photos that make me understand my students unique points of view.

Another way to explore "points of view"

2009-09-09T16:09:00.000-07:00

I went shopping for photo books today and purchased Sophie Calle's brilliant (literally—it's shiny metallic pink!) book Prenez soin de vous (that's "take care of yourself" in English). It's not hot off the press or anything (pub. 2007), but it's new to me.

The entire book is a response to a breakup email (that's right, email) that Sophie received from her lover. Ouch. But a lot of good art has been born from love gone wrong (and a lot of bad country songs too, but let's not go there). If you write songs, you can vent through music. If you are a woman in any number of cliché-laden movies or TV shows, you can pull out a spoon and dig into a tub of Ben & Jerry's. And if you are Sophie Calle, you can print out your break-up letter, let 107 women interpret it, and then turn it into a shiny pink book that is heavy enough to qualify as a weapon.

From the guy's point of view, Sophie's revenge is about as frightening as Alanis Morissette's "You Oughta Know." But if the boyfriend was dumb enough to email a breakup letter to a photographer/artist/writer, then I guess he had it coming.

Prenez soin de vous includes the letter in morse code, braille, shorthand, barcode, and so on. Sophie lets expert women analyze the letter in exhaustive treatises. A researcher gives a lexical analysis, an editor provides a heavily corrected copy (the text is "short and repetitive" and full of punctuation errors—not unlike my own writing), a lawyer outlines the legal ramifications of the man's false statements and misuse of grammar (a crime punishable by death in France, I believe), a clairvoyant does a tarot card reading that doesn't bode well for the man, and so on, all accompanied by Sophie Calle's photos of the women reading the letter, which made me think...

Another way to explore points of view photographically is to physically displace an object. Moving an object into different environments gives it new context and hence, a new point of view. In my Eiffel Tower photos, I provide different points of view by displacing myself (the tower having stubbornly refused to move). In Sophie's photos, as the letter moves from one woman to the next, the angles, expressions, lighting, and body language illustrate how the same words can produce different effects.

During this month, you may want to experiment with how context affects point of view. Try photographing the same thing (or person) in different conditions. See what happens.

Oh, and remember: If you break up with someone, do it in person.