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Having a goal in mind can improve photography outcomes | Lifestyles

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We talked last month about the importance of waiting to improve the photographs you capture and how the best images are often in the future waiting to be captured.

Now this raises the question, what are you waiting for?

Waiting for light

Years ago, when I was just beginning to catch a passion for panoramic images, I saw a great sunset coming.

It was one of those spring evenings with heavy overcast and rain showers along the Blue Mountains and clear skies far to the west.

It was the kind of evening where you just know there is a good, good chance for that sun to break out beneath the cloud cover and bathe them in glorious golden light.

And with the showers, there was a chance for a rainbow bonus!

Now, if you wait at home for the light to be perfect, you’ll be stuck with gorgeous skies and ugly power lines, trees and the neighbors’ roofs.

Or a ticket for racing 100 mph to get somewhere worthy of the light.

Photography In Lehman's Terms - May 2023 — Three panoramics of the old Tertulia vineyards (now Patterson Cellars), south of Walla Walla. When I first arrived (top) I was prepared to wait for something magical. About 12 minutes later the clouds had darkened, but the setting sun was only lighting the vineyard (center). Finally, after a total wait of about 35 minutes, the light was what I’d hoped for and MORE (bottom).

Greg Lehman Photography

Better to head out to the perfect spot and realize your predicted outcome. Hopefully.

I much prefer eastern skies sunsets for their more subtle beauty, so I headed out to one of the many vineyards where I have permission to shoot (the old Tertulia property) and got into position with a specific composition in mind. And then I waited.

The wait was worth it.

On the roof of my old Blazer, I sat, prayed and enjoyed the changing light. You can see the results in the three panoramics pictured here.

Waiting for the fugitive moment

This wait is less definable than the one for light. The moment is just that “something” that makes a photograph.

One of the fathers of true photojournalism, Henri Cartier-Bresson says, “composition must be one of our constant preoccupations, but at the moment of shooting it can stem only from our intuition, for we are out to capture the fugitive moment, and all the interrelationships involved are on the move.”

I like that – the fugitive moment. It can be as subtle as the gleam in the eye, or as bold as a cowboy hurtling through the arena space from the back of a bull.

I chose to illustrate the fugitive moment with two shots from this past Guitar Festival.

I chose a position stage-side and had a composition locked in, but for things to come together within that frame, I had to wait.

Since I was focused on the headliner and his guitar player, I needed something from both at the same moment. My knees held out, and I got the shot.

Waiting for what you need

There are times when I know exactly what I want from a shoot. Sometimes it can be achieved by perfect framing.

Often, most often, it is achieved by waiting for exactly what I need.

At a recent high school track meet I could completely see the shot I wanted from the long jump event: a jumper soaring above the bleachers on her way to the pit.

Composing it was easy, low angle with the camera on the ground and a 24mm lens pointed slightly up. (After all these years I didn’t need to look through the viewfinder.)

Then it was a matter of waiting… and hoping. Not all young jumpers have the kind of legs-high form the shot required. Mya Adams did, and I had the shot.

In this case, the perfect shot I envisioned wasn’t required. The editors would have been happy with less, but I needed it.

Practice patience and waiting. Often the wait is not only worth it but can be a reward within itself.

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Ansel Adams exhibit mulls nature amid a changing climate | Art

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Ansel Adams created some of the definitive photographs of the Western American landscape long before climate change threatened to obliterate it forever. Born in San Francisco in 1902, Adams is best remembered for his lush black-and-white pictures of the Yosemite Valley and the Southwest, as well as for his role as an educator who influenced generations of photographers after him.

Now, the de Young — the site of Adams’s first exhibition in 1932 — hosts “Ansel Adams in Our Time,” a major retrospective organized in partnership with the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, examining the artist’s legacy in relationship with the work of 23 contemporary environmental photographers breaking new ground in the genre.

While the exhibition is full of iconic Adams shots, like “Clearing Winter Storm,” c. 1937, or “Moon and Half Dome,” 1960, both made in Yosemite National Park and many deep cuts, the artist’s work is only a jumping off point.

Richard Misrach’s “Golden Gate Bridge” series, shot from the back porch of his home in the Berkeley Hills, responds directly to Adams’s “The Golden Gate Before the Bridge,” 1932, a breathtaking view of the mouth of the Bay between the Presidio and Marin Headlands – sans bridge. Mark Klett implements collage to converse with Adams and other seminal landscape photographers. The titular view of “View from the handrail at Glacier Point overlook, connecting views from Ansel Adams to Carleton Watkins,” 2003, photographed in color by Klett, is overlaid with collage elements snipped from Adams and Watkins’s earlier black-and-white pictures.

By returning to the source, both artists play to photography’s chronological promise, revealing how much – and how little – has changed.

Others are more concerned with interrogating the act of looking itself, challenging the ubiquity of the White male gaze. Catherine Opie’s landscapes, like “Untitled #1 (Yellowstone Valley),” 2015, respond to and contradict Adams in almost every way: colorful and completely out of focus. Binh Danh’s daguerreotypes of Yosemite, a printing process using a highly copper surface, mirror the viewer in the image.

Both Opie and Dahn’s pictures raise the question of how who looks changes what they see, placing the viewer inside the landscapes they photograph. In fact, the traditional absence of humans from many landscape photographers’ work, including Adams’s, presents a bit of cognitive dissonance: The human footprint is increasingly present in nature, from population growth to climate change, while the particular absence of people in Western landscapes carries colonialist connotations. What you don’t see is just as important as what you do.

Some photographers of Adams’s era attempted more ethnographic projects, like Adam Clark Vroman’s 19th-century playing card sets, illustrated with photographs of Native Americans and sold as souvenirs. Contrast that with Will Wilson’s contemporary portraits of Native Americans like “Nakotah LaRance,” 2012, a young man carrying a portable video game system and a comic book, or Wilson’s own self-portrait “How the West is One,” 2014. Wilson’s diptych represents the artist on both sides: on one, Wilson is dressed in Indigenous cultural garb; on the other, he’s dressed like a cowboy, each staring gravely into his reflection’s eyes. Here, we get a clear view of what’s missing from the supposedly objective presentation of the hauntingly empty landscape.

While Adams’s vision of the West became ubiquitous, it was itself far from objective. Credited with several advancements on the technical side of photography, he studiously crafted many of his images post-production, often combining multiple negatives and using all the darkroom trickery available to him to create impossibly breathtaking views. These technological experimentations were cutting edge at the time, and his work continues to be at home in the company of similarly daring experimenters.

Chris McCaw and Meghann Riepenhoff both play fast and loose with the negative, accentuating the illustrative — even painterly — quality photography can possess. McCaw, who builds his own giant cameras, outfitted with periscope lenses, makes long-exposure photographs in which the trajectory of the sun burns its way across paper negatives over time. Riepenhoff’s pieces are contact prints made by exposing photo-sensitive paper to various natural phenomena, like ice, in addition to light. It’s a level of integration with nature Adams never achieved, embedding nature into their work in an inversion of human’s impact on their

environment.

In one of his rare, urban landscapes, “Housing Development, San Bruno Mountains, San Francisco,” 1966, Adams turns his own lens on the direct impact of development, a zigzag of prefab homes tearing through the hillside. Compared to Adams’s earlier nature shots, this feels like a slap in the face, forcing the viewer to confront the degradation of the landscape. There’s a way in which all of Adams’s photos could be considered depictions of humanity’s impact on the land, and the continued impact on the land is fully displayed by his contemporary counterparts.

Mitch Epstein approaches environmentalism through absurdism. In “Altamont Pass Wind Farm, California,” 2007, the arid wind farm serves as a backdrop for a group of golfers playing on the green course that abuts it. “Signal Hill, Long Beach, California,” 2007, offers a scene of an oil pump wedged between homes in a suburban neighborhood, showcasing the intersection of industrial greed, urban sprawl and willful ignorance. Laura McPhee’s diptych “Early Spring (Peeling Bark in Rain),” 2008, is a view into a dense forest of burned trees, the soot-black bark of each trunk peeling away to uncover new growth beneath. It’s a heartbreaking record of wildfire damage, with a hint of a promising future.

The beauty of the natural world has grown bittersweet. Every picture in the exhibition is gorgeous, sublime enough to teach the Hudson River School a lesson, but they’re hard to look at without recalling recent and increasing environmental travesties in the Bay Area and beyond.

By avoiding the sort of didactics often present in climate activism, Adams and company remind us what we have to lose by showing us why we love it, doing so without sacrificing any of the complex dynamics present in humanity’s relationship to the land. These pictures aren’t for posterity: they’re a reminder that time is running out.

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Defending the dark: Utah’s dark sky advocates protect Utah’s shining natural resource

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Estimated read time: 5-6
minutes

SALT LAKE CITY — In a universe full of irony, one contradiction is this: Dark skies are not dark. When our sun sets at night, the “lights in the firmament” come out in the thousands, lighting the night sky.

But in the age of artificial lighting, these brilliant stars have, in many places, been extinguished by the lesser lights on Earth — incandescent, fluorescent, LED. Truly dark skies do not exist for much of the world’s population.

Yet in Utah, where Gov. Spencer Cox has declared April as Dark Sky Month for a third straight year, Utah’s dark skies still burn bright. Virtually all of Utah’s population is an afternoon’s drive away from one of the state’s 24 International Dark Sky Association-approved Dark Sky Parks or Places. In this unique place in the world, the dark skies movement continues to receive support from all sectors.

“We wish to recognize the efforts and advocacy of federal, state, local and non-profit agencies, as well as Utah’s recreation, tourism and education sectors, which make night sky opportunities in our state available for all to enjoy,” Cox’s declaration states.

Convincing the public that protecting the night sky is important, however, is difficult.

Why protect the darkness

Herriman city planner and International Dark Sky Association advocate Laurin Hoadley said the most common misconception about the organization’s movement is that “dark skies means ‘turn off all your lights.'”

Hoadley, who graduated in the first cohort of the Dark Sky Studies minor at the University of Utah, explained that the first step to reduce light pollution is for individuals to simply replace a bright light bulb with a warmer one.

“Personally, I feel like it is a no-brainer to at least try,” she said.

Astrophotographer and founder of NightSkyScience.com, Ryan Andreasen, has found more success in advocating for the night sky by personal experience than by any amount of scientific persuasion.

“I’ve got to have them touch it,” he said. Andreasen regularly teaches astrophotography classes at Antelope Island State Park. Going to a designated dark sky park and seeing the night sky for one’s self, he said, gets a person out of his or her “fish bowl” and leaves a lasting impact.

However, Utah’s growing population still threatens the night sky of at least one dark sky park designation. Antelope Island State Park assistant manager Wendy Wilson has long been a champion of Utah’s night, helping her park reach International Dark Sky Association standards in 2017. She explained that ever since then, the night sky over the island has grown brighter, as evidenced by regular measurements she takes by pointing a small sensor straight up into the night.

“It is minor,” she said, but lights from growing communities to the south and north of the island are suspect.

“More development means more lights; more lights means more light pollution,” Wilson said, adding that some communities are not as good as others at enforcing lighting ordinances.

Layton, which is east of the island, has one such lighting code. A city official told KSL.com that the city can only enforce the code on properties built under a specific code, but that city officials “definitely take all complaints seriously.”

We are protecting the highest concentration of accredited dark skies in the world.

–Lisa Stoner

Light pollution comes in four basic forms: glare, skyglow, light trespass and clutter. Skyglow, which washes out the stars, happens when light shines into the night sky “needlessly,” as most dark sky advocates will point out. By fully shielding, or covering light fixtures, “useful light” shines on the ground and not into the sky, according to the International Dark Sky Association website.

Once you’ve shielded your fixture, a warmer light — at 3000 Kelvins — will further help the night sky, said Wilson and Hoadley.

While Wilson and Hoadley, as well as Andreasen, each point out these measures individuals can take to help, many municipalities throughout the state have or are in the process of adopting dark sky lighting ordinances. A walk down the amber-colored paths winding through Ivins, in southern Utah, shows the fruits of their long-adopted ordinances. A survey of all residents last fall confirmed the importance of the night sky.

Torrey and Helper already hold the association’s Dark Sky Community status. The cities of Moab and Park City, as well as their respective counties, have adopted dark sky-friendly ordinances, which go into effect at the end of 2024.

How do you bring all these disparate groups together? That is the mission of the Colorado Plateau Dark Sky Cooperative, headquartered at Utah State University.

“We are protecting the highest concentration of accredited dark skies in the world,” said coordinator Lisa Stoner, who added that many of those designated dark sky parks fall within state boundaries.

On April 5, the Colorado Plateau Dark Sky Cooperative will host the first of four Quarterly Connections meetings, where it hopes to bring together people “ready to engage,” said Stoner, in the cause of the night sky. The cooperative also works with state and national park officials to enhance astro-tourist activities.

More than enough to share

Utah is also willing to share the night sky with others.

“We identify dark skies as an important travel motivator,” said Utah State Office of Tourism public relations manager Anna Loughridge.

This is because of the benefit that small, dark sky-friendly communities reap from visitors stopping and staying the night, so they can take in the night sky. Gas and a Snickers, Loughridge and Hoadley pointed out, turns into gas, dinner and a hotel room.

The Utah Office of Tourism has said that astro-tourism contributes to the state’s “Red Emerald Strategic Plan,” which promotes attractions that are “rarefied, distinctive, unique to Utah and highly coveted,” according to the office’s website.

“The night has a thousand eyes,” mused the poet Francis William Bourdillon, illustrating the stars that seem to blink. He continues pointing to the importance of the skies, and the sun, in particular.

While many human eyes, these days, cannot behold a truly dark sky, advocates and activists in Utah are hard at work to keep Utah’s dark skies shining.

Most recent Outdoors stories

Ryan Boyce is a lover of science and history. His first writing project was compiling the history of space exploration on his 3rd grade teacher’s computer, and he hasn’t stopped writing since.

A photography exhibit celebrating the shared strength of Indo-UK heritage

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The British Deputy High commission in Kolkata hosted a three-day photography exhibit titled ‘Unplugged: Best of the UK’ recently.
Describing the event as an excellent opportunity to celebrate the strength of shared heritage of both the nations Peter cook, Acting British Deputy High Commissioner said, “As a Bengali born British citizen, I can say with passion and some personal pride that our heritage is not only worthy of our past but also offers the promise of a prosperous partnership in the future.”

Stemming from the imagination of Amit Sengupta of British Deputy High Commission and Saptarshi Kar of Indo-British Scholars’ Association, the exhibition was curated by Surasree Seal and Pallavi Majumdar. The three-day exhibition highlighted a total of 84 photographs taken by 19 photographers from Kolkata and London. From the rolling hills of the British countryside to the busy streets of the cities, every image at the exhibit told a noteworthy story.

WhatsApp Image 2023-03-11 at 12.25.14 (1).

The showcase was a part of the ‘Great British Season’ British Deputy High Commission Kolkata, which included a series of programmes and events to highlight the shared culture, education, sports, technology and tourism between the two nations in the past, present and the coming future. The ‘Great British season’ also featured an Indo-British Heritage Cup cricket match at Eden Gardens, the historic Queen Elizabeth II Memorial Cup, Week of Whales, the Indo-British Taste Challenge, launch of the UK-India sports Calendar, the Great British open Quiz and the celebration of St. David’s Day among others.

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Bloomington-raised poet, photographer talks Midwest stories for TEDx

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Is ‘flyover country’ an appropriate moniker for the Midwestern U.S., or other overlooked places in the world? Through photography & poetry, this talk explores that question through inspection of the overlooked or the avoided: rust; thunderstorms; work; everyday people doing everyday things; politics; social class; et cetera.

A lifelong Midwesterner, Justin Hamm is the author of four poetry collections, two poetry chapbooks, and a book of photographs. His most recent book is Drinking Guinness With the Dead: Poems 2007-2021 (Spartan Press 2022) . . .

BLOOMINGTON — Most Midwesterners, like Justin Hamm, can say they once had childhood dreams of leaving their hometowns for somewhere “things are really happening.”

Now 42, Hamm is speaking about how he changed his perspective on life in the Midwest through the power of poetry and lens of a camera. The 1998 graduate of Normal West Community High School was featured in a TEDxOshkosh talk published Wednesday on YouTube, titled, “The American Midwest: A Story in Poems & Photographs.”

011522-blm-loc-1poet — Bloomington-native Justin Hamm, in Mexico, Missouri, holds a stack of his poetry books in this provided photo from 2022. He was recently featured in a TEDxOshkosh talk.

FOR THE PANTAGRAPH
Mel Hamm

Hamm, who mainly grew up in Bloomington, theorized before listeners in November 2022 in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, that “there really is no such place as nowhere.

Everywhere is somewhere, and everywhere has a story to (it) we can uncover if you learn to use the poet’s or the photographer’s eye.”

Pushing back against negative stereotypes about the region, like the “flyover country” label, he said the Midwest has kept him artistically busy and interested. Some of the prose recited by Hamm told of the beauty of a rust, “the mysteries of barn wood” and forgetting his jockstrap for a double-header baseball game.

Read this Wednesday, June 10, 1998 file story covering a Normal West High School baseball game against Olney High School, including quotes by then-catcher Justin Hamm.

PANTAGRAPH ARCHIVES

The former catcher for the Normal Wildcats chanted verses of “Until Death Do Us Part,” as photo slides showing the exterior of Keller’s Iron Skillet & Catering in Bloomington were displayed. He drew parallels in his poem “Rust — Or Perhaps Fine Art” between decay and impressionist painting.

In a Friday interview with The Pantagraph, he said he tries to take photographs that would make good poems: “Quiet little scenes that illustrate something about the region.”