In the late 1980s I took on the challenge of shooting the equestrian culture of the American West. I was passionately interested in photographing the men and women who still follow the traditions of Western horsemanship. They all share an almost mystical love of their equine counterparts and the art of riding. Over a 14-year period I seasonally photographed the Western riders and titled the work the Equestrian West.
Caving,” “spelunking,” “potholing.” Whatever you call it, this subterranean activity is not for everyone. There’s even a phobia that keeps some out of caves—speluncaphobia. Then, of course, there’s fear of darkness (achluophobia) and the rather more common claustrophobia—fear of no escape from small or enclosed spaces.
Actor Richard Gere is best known for his roles in over 40 films, but few may be aware he is also an avid photographer and collector. Taking pictures on his many trips to India was always more of a personal project, until photography book and exhibition designer Elizabeth Avedon happened to notice a 3-foot stack of beautiful 8x10 photos in his loft. “A lot of these photographs I didn’t show anyone because it was such a private experience for me,” Gere recalls. “I had no interest in sharing them.” Fortunately, Avedon was able to convince him they needed to be seen, and these and other photos have been exhibited around the world and published in his book, Pilgrim.
Several years ago I decided to take on a challenge of focusing on macro photography right in my own backyard. No, I do not reside in the Sierra mountains or adjacent to a national wildlife refuge or conservation area. I live in a typical South Florida suburban subdivision surrounded by homes and asphalt. South Florida doesn’t even offer much in the way of seasons. Yet, I am amazed at how many unique images I have captured over the past several years.
Two years ago New York photographer Jim Lynch wanted to experiment with a 10-minute time slot on his weekly radio program at WUSB, Stony Brook, New York. He e-mailed David Gray, a California writer, a picture he had made and said, “Have at it—tell a story.” Jim alerted the audience to view the image at his website. David banged out a tale inspired by the image and read it on the air. We’ll let the creators of the project tell it from there.—Editor
This article is aimed mostly at professional photographers but if you don't count yourself among them, please continue reading anyway because I think you'll find some very useful information. Having said that, let's consider one of the most common yet...
He stands in about 3 feet of roiling surf, wetsuit jersey glistening from repeated dunkings. The sky above Oahu’s North Shore is deep blue. Undertow currents grasp his legs—eroding sand beneath his swim fins—as water rushes seaward to build the next huge wave. He holds his bulky waterproof camera housing tightly, faces west toward the setting sun and checks the long tether attached to his wrist. He turns his head to watch the wave rise ever higher—a towering blue-green monster that’s starting to curl, white spume blowing off its top. He braces himself as best he can against the forces raging around him, points the camera toward the golden Hawaiian sunset, and waits as tons of water begins to curl over him, forming a tube. At what he hopes is the right instant, he fires off several shots and prepares to be pounded and rag-dolled by the massive wave.
The camera Michael carries might be his Leica M6, loaded with either Ilford XP-2 or Kodak BW400CN chromogenic film and fitted with either a 35mm f/2 or 50mm f/2 Summicron lens; or his Fuji X10 point-and-shoot with its zoom lens set for the equivalent of 50mm; or his Nikon D200 or D700 with the manual 50mm f/1.4 Nikkor lens he got with his F3 back when he was in college.
Twenty-year-old Josh Friedman spends a lot of time underwater “playing” with sharks. It’s his belief that sharks are badly in need of better public relations to improve their image and active advocacy for their conservation.
Gerald Hill has been involved in photography for over 37 years and often explored creative work while employed in the aerospace industry in Wichita, Kansas. In 2003 he began to exhibit in several galleries that sold his landscape images, many shot in western states. Hill recognized that a grounding in art is essential to making effective photographs, and he made time to take classes with artist Charles H. Sanderson, who encouraged him to consider photography as his means of self-expression, and to learn the basics of visualization so he could capture his subjects with greater impact. As Hill went deeper into his studies he saw results: his compositions became both more dynamic and more personal.
By day Jules Aarons worked as an astrophysicist, unraveling the mysteries of celestial communications; weekends he roamed the West End of Boston photographing its vibrant street life; nights found him in the darkroom, transforming his images into works of art.
When he died in 2008, at 87, Aarons had made his mark as both a pioneer of the Space Age and a documentary photographer who had taken thousands of stunning street pictures over a span of three decades. Though he had the mind of a scientist, his eyes were those of an artist.
Orest Macina says he is “a self-taught photographer interested in painting with light to capture the beauty all around us in vivid colors.” He holds a Ph.D. in Theoretical Computational Chemistry, and has worked in the pharmaceutical field. He first became interested in photography in high school, though his interest lagged through college, graduate school, career, and marriage.
Vincent van Gogh once said, “Stars are the souls of dead poets, but to become a star you have to die.” Vivian Maier (1926 - 2009) was an amateur photographer who had no desire to share her work with anyone during her life, and kept a treasure trove of over 100,000 prints, negatives, and films in five storage lockers in Chicago. By several twists of fate, they ended up in the hands of a few collectors who recognized their unique quality, and are now shown in books, documentaries, museums, and galleries throughout the world.
It is probably true that a photographer, through almost single-minded devotion to a place, can help make it known, understood, and appreciated. But the converse is also true. A place can make a photographer. Its beauty, its landscape, its human dimensions, its impact on the creative spirit can mold or shape a photographer—both as artist and person. That’s been the experience of fine art photographer William Davis in his 45-year symbiotic relationship with Northern New Mexico and the small town of Taos.
The idea for Phil Pantano’s photographic series, “The American Worker,” walked into his office at a local steel mill in Lackawanna, New York, where Pantano holds a day job as a computer analyst. The man who came through the door was Jay “Elvis” Borzillieri, a fourth-generation steelworker whose father died in the mill. It doesn’t matter to the story what Elvis stopped in for that day, but when Pantano looked into his face a flash went off in his mind.