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My Uncle
A young photographer goes a-shootin' with his photographer uncle, and learns a few things
By Matt Gholson
My Uncle is an excellent photographer, and I, well, to use an excuse I've grown accustom to, "I'm just beginning." In the past I worked exclusively in photojournalism, taking pictures in black and white for two different school newspapers, but for almost a year I've been doing nothing. Recently the photographer spirit was rekindled and at my request my Uncle and I made a trip out in the field together to shoot one of his favorite subjects, the sacred "Grand Scenic."
Here in Southern Illinois, we are blessed with the Shawnee National Forest, but in all honesty it's just a bunch of rocks and trees. Not that rocks and trees don't make good photographs--it's just that our rocks and trees seem to be very uncooperative. So instead opted to visit a popular local National Forest Site, The Garden of the Gods. It's only about 30 miles Southeast from Harrisburg, my hometown.
From the very moment we left my Uncle's house it was obvious we were from two different camps. He pulled his sort-a-blue early sixties model Jeep into the parking lot, while I rolled my super clean, bright red Chevy Lumina in behind him. He got out and casually rested against his vehicle while I started digging through my backseat for my equipment. Ahhh, "my equipment," what a wonderful sound. In photography I've quickly learned that cheap equals cheap, I may have learned it but the lesson hasn't really sunk in yet, because I'm still using some cheap gear.
I started rummaging through my two small camera bags, each one sufficient to carry one camera, and one accessory. I had to decide, what do I want to take with me, and this placed limits on me before I even got out my camera. I already knew that I didn't need my flash, being that it couldn't really light up the many mile we would be looking over. Then I decided I didn't need both bags and started shoving stuff together in one. While all this well planed "shoving" of expensive photographic equipment was going on, I glanced over to see my uncle casually Clip his Galen Rowell Modular Pack around his waist.
I wandered over and watched as my uncle removed his Leica R-7 from it's compartment and checked it's functions. I dug through my bag and pulled out my Nikon F2AS and checked it's functions, "well the little dot lights up, I guess it's workin," I said. Then he got out his Slik lightweight, yet still very sturdy tripod. I ran back to my car, unlocked it, and returned with my Velbon CX-440, the finest support $29.95 can buy.
We skipped the popular observation trail, and took the backpackers' trail to our bluff. We hiked for twenty minutes and arrived at the bluff. By this time it was raining.
The scene was absolutely fantastic: the fog filled the valley before us like a scene from the Scottish Highlands, but since neither one of our cameras are friendly with water, and we didn't bring protective shooting gear, we missed this shot. We took refuge and discussed what was a totally new concept for me: he told me I needed to set up a base site, where all my equipment could be tucked away in case a nice scene opened up in front of it. Wow, what a good idea, I thought. No more tripping over my gear.
As the clouds broke, the sun cast a bright beam of yellow light down over the valley--another great shot, but unfortunately I was still deciding where to set up my base site. The final location was selected. I choose a big rock with an unblocked view. As I stood on the edge of my rock and looked down, each individual tree had it's own perfect composition of bare white branches. The hills rolled on endlessly into the distance, the clouds cradled the sun to bed beneath the horizon. It was a beautiful sight.
I looked through my finder, but the I couldn't capture the scene.
To compensate for this disappointment I shot off a couple of pictures way out of exposure, just to let God know that I wasn't afraid to be "zany," and waste film.
I tried the best I could, taking several exposures, trying to bracket, trying to be creative, then I realized, nothing I could do was going to make this scene happen on film. I was frustrated. I honestly didn't know what to do. I went into photojournalist mode: I took a walk, snapping several candids that surely caught the trees and rocks by surprise.
Thinking like a photojournalist, I didn't want to wait for a picture to come to me; I was out searching for one. While my uncle was patently waiting for the explosion of color that comes a few seconds after sundown and putting serious consideration into every aspect of the scene before him, I was running around aimlessly. While he took only a few shots, I blasted away two rolls worth of crap.
When I look back now I think how much better I could have been. I've been slowly shifting gears for awhile trying to get away from the rush of photojournalism and start actually thinking about what I'm snapping photos of. Now after looking at all the photos I took of that scene I wish I could go back to that exact spot in space and time and do it all again.
While my eyes saw the full range of contrast from the bright clouds, down to each individual tree, my film couldn't see like this. On the hike back we discussed some of our methods and I learned enough to make the trip worthwhile.
First, the meter doesn't know all. I was just pointing, metering and shooting, the bright sky was perfectly exposed but it was by far the most boring aspect of the picture. If I would have made a compromise favoring the dark hills below me, instead of the bright sky then perhaps I would have made a decent image.
Second, be prepared. If my equipment would have been properly organized beforehand than I wouldn't have had to search and become frustrated, also going hand in hand with preparedness is quality. For example If I had a more stable tripod than I wouldn't have been worried about the wind blowing my camera around, so I could have made longer exposures.
Third and perhaps the most important lesson was learn your media. My uncle has never liked black and white, he says it's to hard and when he did try it everything just looked gray. He's right about one thing, black and white is hard, it's much harder then sending a roll of color film to a commercial lab and having a computer develop and print with all the exacting rigidity of a machine. To shot black and white you have to know what you're doing, from the shutter release to the final print. For example, When I developed my negs I gave them exact development time according to the instructions. Perhaps a few minutes of overdevelopment would have helped bring out the contrast I wanted.
I just recently was talking to my uncle, I told him how horrible my pictures were and how I would like to have changed a few things. I also told him that I thought I may start to work less with black and white, and try more color. I was really frustrated, and feeling in adequate. He advised me against this, and I'm really glad he did. He told me that even if I'm not that good now, I've got lots of time to get better. "More importantly," he said, "there are thousands of people out there shooting color film, just like me. They do it because they like the color, and also they don't appreciate the art of good black and white. That is why you're special. You're doing something most people don't have the time or patience to do, and that is why you should devote yourself to doing it well."
Matt Gholson lives in Southern Illinios and is an art student. You can reach him at gatt@midwest.net.