New Year's Eve 2003 - Philadelphia. © Jill Waterman

Waterman also wrote the fantastic book Night and Low Light Photography, which is not only a remarkably broad and in-depth guide on the the how-tos of the topic, but also serves as as a wonderful introduction to many image makers who thrive capturing images in the night.

For a number of years, Waterman served as my editor for the magazine of the ASMP, and she always challenged with me fantastic assignments, pushing me to write timely, balanced and valuable articles for the professional community. For Waterman’s editorial guidance I will always be grateful.

As much as I have deeply respected Waterman as an editor of on topics of photography, I gained a much deeper respect for her when I reviewed Night and Low Light Photography. I was simply blown away by the feverish energy and scope of vision that was required to see such an ambitious task completed.

So, given the connection I hold among night photography, New Year’s and Jill Waterman, it didn’t surprise me that on this New Year’s Eve I found myself thinking of Waterman as I made a few nighttime exposures — just for the heck of it. After all, I had thought of Waterman when shooting the Big Dog in Mendoza, Argentina, earlier in the year.

It did come as a surprise — a very pleasant one — when I checked my email this morning and learned from Waterman that she had received some nice (and much deserved) press for her New Year’s Eve Project.

NPR’s The Picture Show blog ran “The New Year’s Eve Project: A Documentary Photo Essay” by Claire O’Neill, which features a gallery of some of Waterman’s great images. (The twelve samples prove that Waterman’s vision is focused on the soft and intimate rather than the garish and obvious.)

Waterman received more kudos for her work this year on December 31 when PDN’s Photo of the Day ran her Global Countdown — an image she captured at Scotland’s Edinburgh Castle in 1999, as one century shifted to the next and while Waterman was doing what she been driven to do for nearly three decades: photographically recording the international, nighttime festivities of New Year’s.

I’ve interviewed Cohen a number of times and I am always refreshed by his utterly mellow, down-to-earth manner. A commercial photographer specializing in people, Cohen earns top dollar on big jobs for big clients. Before I first talked to Cohen I assumed he might be the rushed and frantic type. However, he invariably picks up the phone with a relaxed, friendly “What’s up, man?”, and he makes it clear that he’s genuinely interested in the answer.

Cohen’s book with “portraits of folks” is called Identity: A Photographic Meditation from the Inside Out (Dream Editions Press). It’s a labor-of-love, personal project that Cohen worked on for ten years, only seeing it come off the press earlier this year. I tell the complete story of Cohen’s project in “In Search of Identity,“ written for the latest issue of Rangefinder. I first discussed the topic with Cohen in 2007, and I think the long-term reporting paid off. Not only am I able to share with you Cohen’s perspectives after he has gone to press, but I refer back to Cohen’s earlier perspective — when he thought he ready to go to press, but when, it turns out, he was not even ready to stop photographing for the project.

"T. Boone Pickens" by Steward Cohen.

Throughout “In Search of Identity” I weave in a profile of Cohen, highlighting his career and trying to illuminate a bit of his identity. If you are serious about commercial portrait photography, I’m sure you will appreciate Cohen’s story, and how he remains dedicated to improving his craft after nearly three decades on the job.

I open the piece with a description of Cohen’s image of Erik “Lizardman” Sprague, and then share a quote from Sprague featured in Identity: “I generally find the claim of being unique to be rather trite since we are all by nature individuals and thus unique.”

I continue by saying:

“Sprague’s words lucidly challenge the assumptions most viewers would have if seeing only Cohen’s portrait. They also speak to the two interwoven central themes that Cohen explores through Identity: How does one photographic portrait speak to the identity of a person? And what can a group of portraits say about identity as a broader concept? Identity consists of 50 portraits that Cohen photographed between 1999 and 2009. The design, by Todd Hart, is clean and elegant. Each double-page spread displays a full-page portrait on one side. On the facing page, the person pictured has answered the deceptively simple question Cohen posed to them: ‘What makes you unique as an individual?’”

Clearly, it says something about my identity that I would talk about “interwoven central themes” instead of simply referring “portraits of folks.” I’m not sure what it says, but I do know that I think identity is one of the most interesting topics one can explore. Clearly Cohen agrees, but he likes to keep his explanations simpler:

“When I asked Cohen to explain what his book says about the nature of identity, he says, ‘It’s kind of a universal thing. The thing I walked away with from this project is that people are people are people. Whether you’re a drifter or a scientist, the human experience is the human experience. There’s no magic. People become what they want to become.’”

The Clip & Blog

This Good Morning Texas clip is from this post on Cohen’s Identity blog. My favorite post is this one in which Cohen shares his experience photographing T. Boone Pickens, noting in part that, “My philosophy as a photographer is if you can’t command center stage, then try to blend in as much as possible.” The post features an image of Cohen when he is center stage, signing the ass of one of his fans at an, um, “book signing.”

Price proves her music-video storytelling prowess in “C-17 Flight to McMurdo Antarctica.” In less than two minutes, she takes us from baggage security scanning and flight boarding to landing on “The Ice,” having shown us tons of interesting close-ups during this famous, windowless flight.

“Famous” is, um, definitely too strong a word for this particular flight that takes scientists and support staff to the McMurdo Station. But I’m an Antarctic exploration junkie so I’ve sure heard about it plenty, although I could never really imagine what it would be like — until I got taken for a ride with Price’s great documentary vision.

What does it mean that I’m an Antarctic (and Arctic) exploration junkie? It means that I’ve read Alfred Lansing’s “Endurance” three times, twice read “Shackleton’s Forgotten Men” (by the brilliant Lennard Bickel) and at least once just about all of the other classic books about frostbite and suffering in pursuit of knowledge at the southernmost (and northernmost) tip of the world.

I’m kidding about the pursuit of knowledge. It seems that back during the Heroic Age of Antarctic Exploration, only Douglas Mawson was really interested in science. He sure got a bad case of frostbite anyway, which you can learn about in “Mawson’s Will,” a riveting tale of survival (also by the incredible Bickel), which is better than “Endurance,” if you can believe that.

The kick-ass, ugly-nosed Norwegian Roald Amundsen is my favorite cold-zone explorer, and not because he won the race to the South Pole (arriving on December 14, 1911), but rather because he was the only explorer who seemed to consistently avoid the heroics of misery by using his noodle. That’s right. Amundsen was no dummy. He didn’t bring useless Shetland ponies to the Antarctic, but rather powerful sled dogs, which as planned all along, he and his team ate as their loads got lighter on their return from the pole. (Talk about an all-purpose form of transportation.)

Eating dogs with premeditated intent is something that would have horrified the English sensibilities of Robert Falcon Scott, who was the one who brought the useless Shetland ponies south, and who secured for himself an exalted spot in the annals of heroic adventure by dying on his return from the South Pole, and (just as critical) making sure to record the details of his suffering in a stoic manner that proved that he had died with a stiff upper lip the Brits could be proud of, and which no doubt immediately froze in that position.

For the record, Scott’s last days, trapped in a tent battered by a horrific blizzard, not far from his supply depot, was really not that bad for the poor chap. By then he was numb from months of cold and near starvation. The worst day of his life was behind him, when he arrived at the Sough Pole a month after Amundsen had left. There Scott found the tent that Amundsen had left erected for him (further lightening his loud), in which Amundsen had left a polite note to his English rival — creating what surely must be one of history’s greatest Ha Ha moments.

Not only did Scott learn that he lost the race to Amundsen, but he was pretty well aware that he and his men were not going to make it back to their little comfy base hut, which, by the way, although far, far from them was not at all far away from where the C-17 landed that was carrying the video-camera-wielding Price.

For the record, Amundsen got so dang smart about arctic survival — and this is why I really love the guy — not by reading books or thinking that he knew better than others (that was Scott’s specialty), but simply by “going native” with the Inuit on one of his early expeditions in the Arctic. Not only did he learn how to stay toasty and not lose all his toes-ees but, presumably, he also avoided suffering a dreaded case of (non-cold-related) blue balls when he followed local customs and got inside those cozy, co-ed group sleeping bags.

It boggles the mind to consider how Scott and Amundsen would have reacted to how people, a hundred years down the line, are keeping warm in the Antarctica. To find out, they would only have to watch Price’s snappy, “Antarctica Extreme Cold Weather Clothing” video. Amundsen would certainly be fascinated but, I don’t think, not necessarily impressed with the clothes, although he might like the idea of staying warm in a sleeping bag with Price. Scott, the poor bastard, might be blushing too hard from seeing Price in her undies to learn anything useful.

Two Great Books

From Still to Motion: A photographer’s guide to creating video with your DSLR (New Riders, 2010) is an absolute must have. Written by James Ball, Robbie Carman, Matt Gottshalk and Richard Harrington, From Still to Motion is an engaging, comprehensive techniques manual geared specifically for knowledgeable photographers. Very, very, very cool.

The Lean Forward Moment: Create Compelling Stories for Film, TV and the Web (New Riders, 2009) by Norman Hollyn is a lucid, eye-opening book focused on storytelling and production concepts critical to multimedia success. Drawing from famous movies to teach essential ideas, this book will have a long shelf life.

Three Super Web Sites

DSLRHD.com — “Get into the DSLR Video Game!”

DVInfo.net — “The Digital Video Information Network”

PhotoCineNews.com — “The first blog dedicated to the convergence of photography and video.”

Shive’s portfolio is a strong, lush statement that speaks to his capacity to create top-notch nature imagery. However, to get a much better sense of who Shive is — and to gain inspiration for possibilities in leveraging still images in multimedia projects — watch “Wild Exposure with Ian Shive – Episode One – The Southwest.”

Created with Chadwick, the original idea behind “Wild Exposure” was to create a multimedia promo piece for “Our American Landscape.” The thing is, returning from their 28-day, 7,500-mile National Parks road trip, Shive says the team realized that Chadwick “had shot 36 hours of the most stunning footage you have ever seen in HD.” What to do?

Keeping their eye on the all-important story, what the team decided to do was to use Chadwick’s footage, Shive’s stills, voice-over narration and an original music score to create a four-part series that is featured on their Vimeo channel. Much to their delight — and speaking to the unexpected possibilities that mark the new landscape of media — the series was picked up by Current TV, as well as Virgin America airlines, where it is currently playing on in-flight entertainment systems.

A Taste of Ian Shive and Awesome Multimedia

To get a fuller taste of what Shive is all about, you can check out his bio, and watch “Wild Exposure” episodes two, three and four.

To see a beautiful example of multimedia storytelling (Shive explained that Wild Collective aims for a cinematic experience that is more Hollywood than typical multimedia journalism),  watch “Ranger Doug Follett: 50 Years at Glacier National Park,” a heart-warming piece Wild Collective produced for “National Parks Magazine.”

To see the Hawaii through the vision of Shive of Chadwick, check out Wild Collective’s most recent story-driven multimedia experience, “The Island of Hawai’i.”

For “Identity” Cohen made 130 portraits, editing them tightly for the book. Although all his subjects can be labeled “famous,” they do fall into the any one, easily definable category, such as “musicians,” “scientists,” “Nobel Prize winners,” “activists” or “politicians.” Six of Cohen’s subjects point to the breath of his coverage: Bobby McFerrin, Erin Brockovich, Oscar Niemeyer, Jane Goodall, Stephen Hawking and Jack Kilby. (Jack who? He’s the Nobel prize winner.)

“Whether your a drifter or bad-ass scientist, the human experience is the human experience,” Cohen told me. “There’s no magic. People become what they want to become.”

The idea that even presidents put their pants on one leg at a time is not a new thought. But I found Cohen’s insight refreshing because it came to him as a personal revelation. Cohen is no pollyanna with canned, rosy attitudes. His shifting perspective on the human experience was a slow one. The more he worked on “Identity” — sometimes spending hours chatting and photographing in the homes of people he had admired from a great distance — the more he came to see that “people are people are people.”

The Identity of Successful Photographers

Many struggling photographers, admiring Cohen from afar, might feel envious of his commercial photography career. It’s a good one, with steady, big, satisfying jobs flowing into is studio. Yet Cohen — just as he reports of the large majority of his “Identity” subjects — is incredibly down-to-earth. Cohen never raves about the multiple, big-budget, big-crew jobs — stills and TV commercials — he is currently balancing, nor flaunts his success. He is usually too busy asking, “What’s up with you, Man?”

Although I do want to provide a sense of comfort that photographers are photographers are photographers, I put “Best” in my post title on purpose. In my experience, the better and more successful the photographer, the more down-to-earth they seem when one gets to know them up close, not from the distance of hero worship or professional envy.

Let’s face it, many photographers are real jerks, and very insular, liable to make other photographers feel like crap — especially those who are not as good as they are. But, I think this kind of attitude tends to run amok mostly among the less successful photographers, those struggling with their own careers, those who have enough time and energy to be jealous of those who are “better,” dismissive of those who are “worse.”

I think there must be a difference between the most successful photographers and many less skilled or committed photographers. Like the famous people Cohen encountered for his book — highly successful, very driven in their own, unique ways — the most successful photographers seem to be the most down-to-earth, the least pretentious and the most supportive of other photographers.

“What’s up with you, Man?”, they want to know.

Why I’m Sharing This

It’s natural in the creative world that isolated photographers might feel that some photographers possess truly unique skills or luck or lifestyles or something that makes them different, more successful. When talking today, in relation to photography and any other pursuit of passion, Cohen said that this just isn’t so.

No matter how successful his subjects have been, no matter what notable feats they had achieved, ultimately he sees that they are tied together by the commonality that is thier down-to-earth humanity. This humanity, he suggested, is what makes anything possible for any of us.

This post goes out to photographers who are:

1. Working hard at your craft and trying to succeed at your own creative goals, which are defined by you and nobody else.
2. Finding yourself mostly interacting with crappy photographers, whom I define as those who, regardless of how stunning their images might be (and who really cares?) seem to make you feel bad about yourself.
3. Limited in your exposure to “famous” or “highly successful” photographers.

I’m not about to try to make the (ridiculous) argument that all of the most accomplished photographers are utterly down-to-earth and supportive. However, I am going to suggest that there is a lot of truth to this sentiment.

Just as Cohen had to discover the down-to-earth-ness of his subjects — slowly and over time — so I have come to discover the down-to-earth-ness of the accomplished photographers.

I still get a little nervous calling up photographers I deem to be in a different stratosphere of creative and professional success. But only a very little. Almost invariably all these photographers are incredibly giving to me. They often share stories of the supportive photographers who were key in helping them achieve success.

When it comes to the best photographic pros, it’s a give-and-be-given to world.*

*A Big Ole Caveat

You know, as I write this and I force myself to think of it, I guess I have talked to a number of Jerks with Cameras. The thing is, I’ve learned to get off the line fast or just walk away. Because there are so many supportive photographers, I know that I don’t need to waste my energy with these types. Because I pay less heed to such photographers, I suppose I feel like their are less of these photographers than their might be.

So maybe I’m wrong that the best pros are the biggest givers to fellow photographers, but I think that each one of use can make this a truth in our own creative lives.

Isolation and Misconceptions

I write this knowing that many photographers struggle in isolation, feeling very distant from the “world of great, successful photographers.”

If you are such a photographer, and if you are down-to-earth and eager to help other photographers of any level, than I want to suggest that you are much more a part of the world of great photographers than you might think.

Jerks with Cameras aside, the industry is full of dedicated photographers who struggle to improve their work and who doubt themselves often, but who remain focused to making their creative and professional dreams come true, while not stepping on the toes of others.

Surround Yourself with the Best (for You)

All of this relates directly “advice to live by” that I have heard repeated often by all sorts of successful photographers: Stay away from people who make you feel bad about yourself. Surround yourself with creative people who support your creativity.

Maybe There Is Magic

After Cohen told me that “People become what they want to become” he went on to suggest that hard work and a clear vision trump the importance of luck in how a person’s life plays out. He did not downplay the importance of luck and good fortune, but he made it clear that he had encountered may successful underdogs, as well as many unsuccessful people who seemed to have been dealt a perfect hand of cards.

“There’s no magic,” Cohen repeated later in the conversation. “There are so many roads that people take.” He told me that what he had seen throughout his work with “Identity” is that the people who succeed in the ways they want are those that are active and engaged in the road they take. The specific road is not that important.

Maybe there is no magic in becoming the successful photographer you want to become. But Cohen’s interactions with the scores of successful people he photographed for “Identity” point to a critical idea behind the success of any driven person: There is a liberating power in knowing truly that “people are people are people,” and accepting that — for better or worse — we are ultimately in the same position as anyone else in our opportunities to succeed.

The fact that “Photographing Nature” is (obviously) about photographing nature makes my enthusiastic response all the more meaningful. Birds, bears and brilliant landscapes simply are not my photographic cup of tea — at least in terms of what I chose to photograph. However, although Clevenger has focused on illuminating the fundamentals of nature photography, he does so with such success that “Photographing Nature” offers tremendous value to an extremely wide range of photographers dedicated to improving their craft — from newbies seeking Photography 101 resources unrelated to nature photography to pros needing a boost of inspiration.

The subtitle of “Photographing Nature” is “A photo workshop from Brooks Institute’s top nature photography instructor.” While “workshop” might be a good word to use for marketing it does not suggest the full scope of Clevenger’s book. Clevenger definitely has a way of inviting photographers to take action, learning through a handful of specific assignments he suggests. But ultimately this is a stellar book covering conceptual underpinnings and technical specifics related to any photographic specialities. Clevenger’s unwavering focus on nature adds value to “Photographing Nature,” but considering the universal appeal of this book it might have been more appropriate to title it “The Nature of How To Photograph.”

My primary motivation for even considering lifting the lid on this compact, 306-page beautifully-illustrated book is the fact that I interviewed Clevenger last November for the introduction I was writing for “Expressions 2010″ a yearly photographic showcase published by the North American Nature Photographers Association (NANPA).

Clevenger rated a “10″ as an interviewee. During our 45-minute conversation, I probed Clevenger (who served as one of the “Expressions” judges) regarding a question that is basically impossible to answer: what exactly makes a great nature image great? Clevenger, who has taught at Brooks fro more than two decades, was extremely thoughtful, thinking out loud, provided me with great perspectives in a manner that was down-to-earth, fully engaged and modest. Frankly, I really liked the guy. So when “Photographing Nature” (New Riders, 2010) popped up on a list from his publisher’s PR team, I request it.

To be clear, although I’m in no way a nature photographer I have deep respect for the specialty — especially since I tried, with very little success, to capture nature’s splendors during a two-month car camping trip to America’s National Parks in 2001. (Yes, that tiny smudge in the image is a bird.) Since I started writing regularly for NANPA my respect has deepened greatly. Still, when I split open “Photographing Nature” this morning at breakfast I admit that, more than anything, I saw it as a work obligation.

There’s no doubt that a wonderful experience is much more wonderful when it comes as a complete surprise. (Just thing about that jaw-dropping performance by Susan Boyle). However my appreciation for Clevenger’s book — which increased with every page  — is about the book itself, not the surprise. Just as Boyle made me smile at her signing — incredibly bold and technically amazing yet somehow soft and approachable — so I smile as I continue to be amazed by Clevenger’s ability to discuss photography.

I probably making a big mistake by bringing Boyle since I’m basically tone deaf and a sucker for soft rock. However, while I might be musically illiterate, I know a few things about photography and, more important, I have read scores of photography books published since the advent of digital imaging. Very few have struck me as so eloquently crafted as “Photographing Nature.”

Of the new generation of photography books that I have appreciated the most, none have given me such a pure infusion of joy that Clevenger’s has. Not only do I admire his writing, but reading his words has inspired me to get out there and push myself photographically, readdressing some digital fundamentals that I have allowed to remain sloppy. Heck, Clevenger has me wanting to find a herpetarium where I can photograph. (”A zoo for reptiles and amphibians,” he explains.)

Yes, I realize I am gushing. This is because it is no small accomplishment that Clevenger, in “Photographing Nature,” has crafted a book that will appeal to a much wider audience than the name suggests. These include photography students, casual hobbyists and aspiring professionals of any speciality. Many pros will likely enjoy the book as well, whether to invigorate their own creative process or identify a great resource for helping others.

“Another thing,” Clevenger writes in the casual but highly precise style that makes his book so digestible. “I’ve read a lot of books and articles on photography written by lost of different photographers, and they all seem to say pretty much the same thing that I’ve been saying to myself, and my students, for decades: Making good photographs takes a basic menu; the ingredients are the same, but the presentations are unique. We are all saying the same thing. This is good.”

Clevenger says that it’s good that all photography learning resources are fundamentally “consistent with all the others” because they are all needed to help us learn through the critical process of repetition. He says that “hearing the same thing from different sources reinforces the idea that maybe we should actually try that technique and spend more time researching.”

Clevenger’s observation that, at their core, all photography learning resources are fundamentally seems both novel and obvious. I’ve never heard this stated, but I have to agree — up to a certain point. While repetition is needed for learning, and while there are many amazing photography educators, Clevenger is among the elite.

Still, I like Clevenger’s point he (like I) continues to digest gobs of resources, finding value in hearing the same thing in new ways. Why else would I continue to reread so many times such very basic lessons like the “rule of thirds” –  since my high school photography teacher introduced it to me?

Actually, I’m getting too specific here. Certainly by the end of my first semester in college I no longer needed to hear the rule of thirds repeated. That one I got. The only reason I continue, 25 years later, to continue to read about the rule of thirds is because, as a journalist covering topics of photography, I’m essentially required to — not to understand the concept,  but rather to assess how well a particular photographer does in explaining it to someone who is being exposed to it for the first time, or perhaps only the fifth time.

Today Clevenger rewarded me for all of my dedicated reading to things I thought I already knew. In “Photographing Nature” he threw me an elegant, satisfying curve ball in the form of what he calls a “3D rule of thirds.”

The concept of the “3D rule of thirds” is simple, but it is a delicious photographic learning ingredient nonetheless. To illustrate the standard versus the three-dimensional version of the rule, Clevenger presents two images. On top of one image Clevenger has overlaid the standard rule of third grid lines.  (Seen that, been there, always helpful for beginners, not needed for me.) To illustrate the 3D version, on top of the  next image Clevenger has warped the lines so that the vertical lines of the grid converge in the distance — kind of like railroad track from perspective drawing 101. (Never seen this, really cool, super helpful for beginners, really fun way for me to reconsider old concepts.)

The 3D rule of thirds may or might not be Clevenger’s conceptual invention, but he earns major kudos for sharing it. “This grid gives you a compositional tool that works with foregrounds, middle-grounds, and backgrounds,” Clevenger explains. “You need to be aware of all three of these in your scene, especially when shooting with wide lenses, to create that sense of depth we desperately need in our photographs.

This is almost the entirety of Clevenger’s insights on the “3D rule of thirds.” Great pertinent content, presented crispy, no fuss. William Strunk, Jr. and E.B. White would be proud.

Because Clevenger writes so economically he is able to cover an incredible wealth of topics in “Photographing Nature.” With my level of experience was able to digest the book in a couple hours, but I’ve marked places to review more carefully. A beginner or intermediate photographer would need much more time to digest the book, and would certainly want to revisit it over time as they begin to put Clevenger’s lessons to practice. And this revisiting would be a pleasure. (Maybe this where the “workshop” in the subtitle comes into play.)

If tips about working with animals is not your thing, then maybe you’ll benefit from a pep talk on the value of using your flash more creatively. Clevenger covers fundamental strategies for doing so, and as with all his material, he illustrates his ideas excellently with his fantastic images, fully captioned in a manner that complements the main text.

All set on flash use? Don’t need help with exposure or focus modes? That’s fine. Moving at a brisk but comfortable pace Clevenger can help you with color theory, selecting the best lens, strategies for traveling on assignment and all manner of practical matters. For more advanced photographers, Clevenger’s greatest gift is that he helps us to challenge our own seeing — something we are well accustomed to but, as Clevenger points out, is a constant work in progress.

“Looking at things isn’t hard; we’re born looking,” Clevenger writes. “The problem is that looking doesn’t make good pictures. We have to get beyond looking and start seeing, and that’s something you have to learn. Like creativity, seeing is not innate. You have to practice seeing all the time, even when you don’t have a camera.”

Clevenger says, “I’m not a teacher. I’m a photographer who teaches. For me, this is an important distinction.” I agree that the distinction is important. The fact that Clevenger has been such a dedicated and successful professional nature photographer is exactly why “Photographing Nature” is so deeply informed. However, Clevenger is one hell of an educator. Like any good teacher, he keeps his lessons brief and rich, respecting his students enough to know that we must go out and learn on our own.

At key moments Clevenger does present “Assignments to try.” These invite the reader to try  a few specific learning challenges, without demanding they do so, nor interrupting the flow of the book. Non-nature photographers will see how easily most of these assignments can easily be adapted for other specialities.

Knowing that his readers will not have the same base knowledge as his Brooks students, throughout “Photographing Nature” Clevenger refers us to his excellent appendix, which points us to very specific learning resources.

Clevenger sets the tone of “Photographing Nature” in first chapter: “Play nice.” He discusses the ethics of photographing nature responsibly, which is is refreshing manner for a photography book to begin. He then goes on to share a story that, by way of analogy, offers the clearest insight of why nature photography as a undertaking (and why his book as a resource) has so much to offer photographers (like me) who often think nature photography lies strictly outside our realm. Clevenger explains that few of his students have any intention of pursing nature photography professionally, but that they are eager to try something new. This stretching ones bounds, Clevenger suggest, is critical to success.

The biggest challenge that many of Clevenger’s students face is their lack of familiarity with the outdoors, as well as their phobias of various animals. Clevenger’s strategy is to start his class with his “critter demo,” in which a one of his friend arrives with what sounds like the world’s most exotic petting zoo. “We spend a full day photographing pythons, frogs, tarantulas, and strange insects,” he shares. ” The animals become real for the students through holding them, feeling their skin or scales, watching them move, and being responsible for their safety.”

This is when I really started smiling. It was only on page 10, but I suddenly saw how the excuse of photography was making young photographers open their minds to completely foreign experiences. This is what photography is really about.

Next to this text we see one of Clevenger’s photographs of a female student holding out a tarantula spider in her cupped hands. She wears a lovely expression of bemused, soft contentment and pride. The caption notes: “This student started the day deathly afraid of spiders.”

I’ve managed to write the longest book review of my career and I have failed to even give a clear list of the topics Clevenger covers in “Photographing Nature.” Perhaps this is because simply listing contents  (which you can search here) would distract from sharing the my wonder at the beautiful experience that Clevenger has created. Although I was hooked by the time I encountered the “critter demo,” Clevenger never once lost my interest as I continued to poor through his book. The “3D rule of thirds” was pretty damn cool, but so was Clevenger’s teasing information about how the number Phi relates to “the golden mean” and how this relates to image making.

Quickly introducing us to the Fibonacci series, Clevenger asks, “Have you ever wondered about all these elements of composition — the rule of thirds, fore instance — why do they work? Why do things look better in certain places in a photograph? It’s actually nature.” Next to the text is the image of a nautilus shell, on top of which is a graph that illustrates how the many spirals fit neatly into the ratios of the golden mean. I’m really not sure what this means, but Clevenger doesn’t get bogged down in the mathematics, simply explaining, “Nature doesn’t actually use the numbers of calculate the ratio; they just appear as a result of nature trying to do things in the most efficient manner. If nothing else, nature is very efficient.”

In a manner as efficient and elegant as the nature to which he is drawn, Ralph A. Clevenger, in “Photographing Nature,” opens our eyes to the wonderful possibilities of photographing nature. By doing so he has written a book that invites us to continue to evolve the nature of our own photography.

—

The Disclaimer: If, as I hope, you have the opportunity to read “Photographing Nature,” you might notice that my name appears on page 10, right after the “critter demo” paragraph. Clevenger quotes a line from my introduction to “Expressions 2009″ (”Everyone who makes truly stunning nature images will tell you they do a lot of research.”), which I wrote a year before I called Clevenger.

I was startled (and sure, pleased) to see my name. Clevenger had not mentioned the inclusion of this quote to me when we talked in November (for the first time, after his book went to press).

It would be natural if you assume that my gushing appreciation for “Photographing Nature” was influenced by the 15 words of fame bestowed on me by Clevenger. However, this is simple not the case. As stated, I was already hooked before seeing my name. (Also, for the record, I have been quoted in hundreds of books, and it has been my steadfast policy to utterly pan those books — without even reading them.)

Fore those of you who are convinced that I am receiving kickbacks from Clevenger, I assure you that I am not. However, that doesn’t mean I’m against the idea. What do you say, Ralph? Ten percent of the cover price on all future sales?

I share this simple snapshot of my ratty backpack and the contents I have carefully selected to stuff in it because there’s something about that I just love, and I wouldn’t have even snapped it if I hadn’t simply been checking to see if my dusty camera was working. And it makes me think that I find such images from other photographers totally engaging, although I haven’t seen hardly as many as I would like.

I mean, isn’t it great to see those somehow sexy, revealing images of studios in action, taken from behind the camera, all the lights, power packs, tangles of cords, gobos and gobo-knows what exploding everywhere, ordered chaos.

Maybe sexy is not the right word. But for all we read, read, read about photographic processes and for all we hear, hear, hear about photographic processes, how often — outside our immediate, limited spheres — so we really get to see what it’s really like behind the scenes of other photographers’ worlds? Raw images from the field lift, if just a little bit, the curtain that shrouds the process that other photographers go through to make images, and that can be a help, a comfort or simply really cool.

I just love the crackers. I felt ridiculous packing them, but hey, I realized I might be out for 12 hours (I was), and that I might not find food. (I was wrong. Total strangers served me tons of steak and plenty of beer!)

I mean, I for one, simply have no clue how another photographer would saddle up for a night in an unknown slum, or even something less unknown. How does Jane Photographer pack up to head out to the rodeo? How does Joe Photographer pack up to head out to an environmental portrait session?

Speaking of Joe and environmental portraiture, in his new book, The Hot Shoe Diaries, Joe McNally includes a fantastic shot of the gobs of small flashes and accessories that he uses to build his on location lighting kits. I love it. In fact, McNally bases the whole premise of book of on the essential value of sharing as much as he can about his behind-the-scenes process in a raw, unfiltered manner, using loads of staged and unstaged photographs as well as sketches. Totally cool.

All this reminds me of the power of a simple snapshot that Rick Steves included in the edition of his Europe Through The Back Door that a fellow backpacker shared with me during my first trip to Europe in 1994. I had been working hard to travel lighter, and I liked all of Steves’ writing about taking less, less, less, but it was the photo that did it. It showed a tiny, tiny, tiny lump of stuff and the caption explained that these were all of Steves’ traveling possessions for months on the road, minus his camera. (He snapped the image in a hostel while naked).

Do you have photographic visions of your own photographic preparations, or those of another photographer? How about something that shows your gear or you in action? The more raw the better! Steves did it, I did it and McNally has done one hell of a job of doing it. Join ranks, spread the knowledge, let’s have fun! Send me what you got at: ethan@ethansalwen.com.

Hey, if I get enough maybe we can make a gallery, have a contest and see if McNally will offer up his book as a first prize. : )

No, this is not Richard Anderson. But it is one of his images.

Photographer, digital standards expert and photography community activist Richard Anderson is incredibly mild mannered — definitely easy to miss in the massive crowds of PhotoPlus Expo, but definitely worth tracking down to see face-to-face. That’s what I did last Thursday, borrowing a cell phone from Judy Herrmann (Thanks, Judy. My cheap, three-year-old Argentine cell phone is no iPhone), and meeting up with Anderson to shoot the breeze in person, which we hadn’t done in two years.

I talk to Anderson fairly often, as he is always incredibly generous with his time and knowledge, and he provides me information to improve my reporting, and also acts as a sounding board on the issues most important to cover.

As the driving force behind dpBestflow.org, the co-author of Digital Photography Best Practices and Workflow Handbook and the princial author of UPDIG, Anderson knows a heck of lot about all things related to the broad, critical topic of digital best practices — from in-camera exposure to final file hand-off.

The thing is, such a statement makes Anderson sound like an über geek. OK, I guess in some sense Anderson is an über geek. But, he is a lot more interested in making images than in discussing technical fine points, and only does the latter to help him do the former. And the former he does with creative passion, having achieved great success as a working photographer.

For the October/November 2009 issue of AfterCapture I wrote “Richard Anderson: Bringing Passion to Best Practices.” I wanted to share the human and creative sides behind the nerdier sides of Anderson. I also wanted to share the passion behind the man who you wouldn’t notice at PhotoPlus if you didn’t know him, but who is doing so very much for the photography community as a whole. In my article I highlight that while Anderson has always been obsessed with adding efficiency to his obsession with image making, he’s not interested in the nerdy stuff for the sake of nerdy stuff.

I think photographers will find Anderson’s personal and professional journey to success of great interest. I also think it is important to get to know some of the people having such a deep impact on the evolving landscape of photographic practices. Anderson doesn’t promote his own “brand” very aggressively, but what his is doing is helping many of us every day, directly with what he wrote for UPDIG, indirectly with the positive ripple effects that come from that document.

In May, Anderson was awarded the 2009 International Photographic Council (IPC) Photographer Leadership Award for his volunteer work on UPIG as well as for securing funds from the Library of Congress for the dpBestflow.org project. This is great and appropriate, and relates to why I referred to Anderson as a “photography community activist.” That’s a strange label, but by it I mean: Anderson is driven to help us all, trying to create greater understanding and clearer exchanges of knowledge. This is what he did with that UPDIG, and this is what he is taking to a new level with dbBestflow.org.

Dpbestfow.org is schedule to go live in about a week and when it does (I’ll let you know), I think you’ll appreciate what Anderson is doing for us all, even as he remains primarily committed to his family, his own photography and, of course, his cycling. (The man is a serious rider, and I didn’t mention that in the article.

To learn more about the man behind the digital guidance, check out “Richard Anderson: Bringing Passion to Best Practices.”

In moviemaking, something called a “logline” is used to describe a scene in a way that allows the moviemaker to focus on how to best tell the story of that scene in relation to the overall movie (which, it turns out, can also be defined by a logline).

As photographers, we can apply these concepts to still images, using a logline to clearly define the goal of set of images. We can then use that logline (as well as other concepts of film editing) to help us best select and order images to most effectively tell our stories. (This is my idea, although probably not new.) Let me move on. . .

I’m not yet 20 pages into “The Lean Forward Moment,” which is an amazingly engaging book by Norman Hollyn, a seasoned editing pro and a fantastic teacher, and these are some of the ideas that are racing through my head. The subtitle of his book, which Jay Kinghorn highly recomended to me, reads: “Create compelling stories for film, TV and the Web.” However, as I suggest above, the food for thought of this books seems totally applicable to still-only photographers.

(If you read this blog regularly, you probably know that I don’t even really believe in “still-only” photography anymore. Thanks to the Digital Revolution, visual media have gotten wonderfully mixed up, and stand alone still images are hard to come by in professional photography. Think: Flash presentations of still images = “motion” = not “still-only photography.”)

I’ll review “The Lean Forward Moment” in full for you once I’ve read it in full, but in the meantime let me share one reason the book has got me so excited: As photographers, we ALWAYS have the hardest dang time editing their own images. Then grouping them just right becomes a major bummer. Selecting and presenting images is fundamental to photography, yet who has got a true and comfortable hold on this process?

How to present one’s complete style (say, a general portfolio) in a mere 20 images from an archive of thousands? How to select and order 15 images in a way that best tells the story of a given assignment, a wedding, a portrait session, a nature shoot or. . . ANYTHING?

I don’t have a clear answer yet, but I know that my own thinking is being greatly helped by the first few pages of “The Lean Forward Moment.” This is not a how-to book in the button-clicking, program-using sense. It is a how-to book in the conceptual sense. For example, Hollyn explores how very different experiences can be created for the viewer using the same three shots in different orders. This creates a different dramatic reaction, which creates a different story.

Do you show the close up of Adam’s shocked expression first or rather a close up of the dead body he encounters? Different order, different effect on the audience. And as Hollyn points out, movie making (like all storytelling) is all about creating a desired reaction in the audience – the one that has been defined by that logline.

I’ll repeat that I don’t have any solid advice at this point, but I write this post because I think I’m onto something incredibly important for most, if not all, photographers. I’ve never thought about my image making and image presentation in this way, but I wish I had. Like many, I suspect, I’ve focused on trying to select the “best” images, or at least the “best images that show the full range of my story coverage.” But that’s fairly abstract, I now realize, and probably why I’ve found the task so frustrating.

When it comes to putting 15 or 20 shots in order, I usually fall back on the typical advice of showing the “strongest” image first (what’s that?), then trying to create some kind of rhythm (huh?), then ending with a winner. But have I ever really focused clearly on the mind of my audience and what I want them to feel or learn? Sure, of course I have, but only to a certain extent, and not in the manner that Hollyn is proposing. I realize now that I’ve been lacking the vocabulary and approach that Hollyn is bringing to light. . . and in less than 20 pages!

Hollyn opens his introduction by saying that the best filmmakers are those with the best editing skills. The best editors know how to craft the best stories, and therefore those who are able to best contribute to filmmaking are those who understand the deepest levels of editing, whether they are writer, directors or even actors. I get that point. And I think the point that as a photographer, my craft is going to get a major boost if I understand these editing principles as well.

As I say, I’ll be back with a “The Lean Forward Moment” review, and I’ll try to channel any image editing tips I pick up during the read. But at this point I’m writing this post to get a dialog started. So definitely drop a line to share:

• Your best editing suggestions creating a powerful group of images.

• Any editing problems that that plague you.

• Any great image editing resources.

I’m not the only one struggling with still image editing. Let’s help each get beyond merely ranking images and figure out how to best tell our stories with groups of still images!