Saturday, May 27, 2017

A Rose Under a Tent





I took my 1954 Canon L3 rangefinder camera with me to an arts and crafts fair. For a while, I did not bring the camera to my eye -- all seemed predictable and common.

Then, as it is always the case in street photography, I noticed this woman holding a long-stem white rose entering a tent where jewelry was displayed. It is perhaps the experience one gets over time in anticipating a frame to take shape.
As she stood behind the man with a cowboy hat, I clicked.

... As I looked at the negative under a loupe, I could not resist remembering a few lines about a rose:

             "Love is like a rose: when pressed between two lifetimes, it will last forever"

And so it is.

May 27, 2017
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2017

Friday, May 26, 2017

Thank You, Again!

Two years ago, I posted a “Thank You” to all the readers who visited my literary and photography blog sites. As an artist, I felt immensely delighted that my thoughts and photos had been read more than 10,000 times by visitors from 62 countries.

Two years later, I feel even more energized to keep my blogs active and vibrant. Indeed, almost 45,000 times has my work been read, viewed and commented upon!

It is pure pleasure to realize that I rarely know who reads my pages but that you are there, perhaps intrigued, perhaps eager to see what film photography can still do, or how a polyglot can bring in thoughts from various cultures to state a generic, panhuman idea or feeling.

For all of you who remain unknown to me, a big hug!

May 26, 2017
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2017


Sunday, May 14, 2017

Virtual Depth-of-Field: Bokeh in the Digital World

I saw an ad for a new function on Smartphone cameras – Portrait Mode. It stated that it was pure “magic.”

I like magical things if they promote artistic curiosity. So I read about this new technology.

It seems that the approach is to have both telephoto and wide angle capabilities work simultaneously. The software creates a nine-point depth map, which results in an “artificial depth of field”!

Hmm. In the old days (and many of us are still in those days…) we used to call it blurring the background by manually opening the lens to its widest. It was for this reason that an f1.7 lens was many times more expensive than an f2.8 lens. With slow shutter speed and wide opened lens one could do magical things. Well at least blur all background and have the subject stand out. That is why it is a portrait – it is only the subject in the frame that is in focus.

Artificial depth of field! Nine-point depth map… I could not resist choosing some photos I have taken to show how attractive a REAL depth of field can look.

… But first, let me state that the discussion about the depth of field goes back to the early days of photography. The commonly used word is bokeh which is Japanese for …BLUR!!!! I have written more about it here: https://liveingray.blogspot.com/2016/10/bokeh-or-not-bokeh.html

… So, let’s start with a non-blurred (or no-bokeh) photo. This I took with a 1960s Ukrainian Salyut medium format camera and wide-angle lens pointed at the sun. The clouds are perfectly clear. No blurring anywhere and the sun rays are delightfully shaped.


Here is an avian “portrait” using a 1960s Nikon Nikkor 180mm at f2.8. The subject is quite in focus but the mountain and the morning fog are not. That is the bokeh through the depth of field, which in this case was decreased to blur the background.



But the depth of field does not pertain to outdoor pictures only. Here is my dog, indoors, looking at a Canon Serenar lens from the 1940s opened to f1.9.  The camera is a 1954 Canon rangefinder, demonstrating that a bokeh can be achieved without using a Single-lens Reflex (SLR) camera. No flash of course.



The depth of field blur works also great in street photography when I want to isolate a person from the crowd. Here is one taken with my 1960s Mamiya 645 and the venerable Mamiya Sekor 90mm lens set to f1.9. The creamy bokeh of this lens always delights me.



Finally, there are shades of bokeh, of course. That is, the photographer would decide what f-stop and shutter speed to use to have enough of a blur to be able to identify the background yet isolate the subject in a pleasing way. This is more challenging, because the eye is not capable to appreciate “some” bokeh vs intense blurring. Here is an example:
I took this with a 1960s Olympus OM-1 sporting now relatively rare to find Vivitar 135mm Close Focusing telephoto. I wanted to include the sailboat, the woman atop the mast, and the harbor’s buildings in the frame, with minimal blurring of the buildings.



What woman you ask? Here is the cropped area. Quite amazing that from perhaps 500 meters away, the 35mm ASA 100 film can capture enough details to see the woman clearly when cropped. Perhaps that is why this Vivitar lens is so sought after.



… I know that the bokeh topic will remain a discussion favorite as long as photography exists. In some way, I feel good that smart phones and virtual depth of field magic keeps the topic alive.

But I shall stick to my manual focus lenses and real depth of fields!

May 14, 2017

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2017

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Silver-gelatin Prints From Traditional Film



I have been a traditionalist when it comes to using film – always in B&W, always in the darkroom using a 1950’s HANSA enlarger and decade old solution trays. The only experimentation I have enjoyed to the enlarger is to replace enlarger lenses with 39mm Leica screw-mount camera lenses by changing the mounting plate. This allows me to print medium format negatives with either a wide angle or zoomed/cropped views.

But of course my “primitive” manipulations in the darkroom have no comparison with what digital printers and software can allow photographers to achieve. However, there is one approach that seems to intersect between both the darkroom and digital worlds – that of getting silver-gelatin prints using traditional film.
I was reading a well written article by Chris Woodhouse in Photo Technique Magazine(1). Although published in 2010, it piqued my interest in trying to duplicate some of the process in my darkroom, and see if a silver-gelatin print would enhance the impression of an otherwise “uneventful” picture.

First a bit of background: the silver-gelatin printing process is not new. In fact it was in 1871 when Richard L. Maddox first discovered it by coating a suspension of silver salts in gelatin upon glass. With some improvements that suspension could later be coated on plastic or paper. The main advantage of the silver-gelatin process compared to the collodion wet-plate process was that the silver-gelatin coated surfaces (glass, paper, etc) could be stored much longer than the wet-plates that needed to be developed immediately after exposure. So, a photographer could load his mule with silver-gelatin plates and climb mountains for weeks taking pictures and not having to develop them immediately!

Well, without loading my mule with any plates, I chose a picture from the Inner Harbor of Baltimore to experiment with.
I will not go into describing the process as it is very well detailed in the link I provide below. Suffice it to say that the final product is quite different from the original. Of course this is the modern day approach to silver-gelatin printing but still, it does bring some nostalgia.

The question is: what kind of photographs would lend themselves to a better expression if printed in silver-gelatin?

I leave it to the reader to decide by looking at the original B&W print by comparing it to the silver-gelatin output:




May 10, 2017
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2017


(1) http://phototechmag.com/the-copy-print-process-how-to-get-silver-gelatin-prints-from-inkjet-

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Photographer Reflections About Image Reflections

Sometimes, details of an environment get my attention more than the larger frame of vision. I cherish finding shapes, colours and expressions where others may see the ordinary or notice nothing at all.

“Exhibit A” to make my point:
I recently posted one set of photos to make this point (https://liveingray.blogspot.com/2016/12/neuroplasticity-and-pursuit-of-story-to.html)

.. I came across a photo I took possibly 20 years ago in Singapore. It is one of a taxi driver taking a nap given the heat and possibly lack of customers. What has always “bugged” me about this photo is the reflection in the glass of the driver’s feet. Yes, most people will not notice it when looking at this photo or care as much as I do about the following:
The reflection of the left foot seems as one would expect, but the right foot seems “unreflected”! It is in the same posture as the actual right foot of the driver. In short, the image of the two feet seems to go in opposite direction.


And the cropped section showing the feet and their reflection in the glass at left. Also notice that in the glass, you can see the mouth of the driver showing how deep he was asleep! Interestingly, the reflection of his face is also in an unpredictable direction. Hmm, is this a double reflection from the glass panels on his right? But then how come his left foot is reflected differently from his face and right foot? 



“Exhibit B” to further stress my point:

.. I was having my morning coffee when the first rays of sunrise fell upon the fireplace in the living room. The shades were such that I immediately saw a lion’s head/face on the top log. A minute later the light changed and it was just a plain log again!


And the cropped section in case "my lion" goes unnoticed...



Ok, I know the interest in noticing such shapes is a bit like looking at clouds and seeing things. As I kid I often enjoyed that exercise. Maybe it is the dreamer in me; maybe it is something much more serious to worry about! But my blog is now read 34,000 times by visitors from more than 50 countries, so I am hoping that someone would let me know why the driver’s feet are unusually reflected!

… Of course I am worried that someone would also analyse my inclination to see shapes in every aspect of daily moments and open the flood gates for much more worrisome things!!

May 4, 2017

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2017