Once again I found myself contemplating the super long 100-400mm Panasonic Leica lens for my m/43 camera. As a part of the research, I decided to investigate a cropped image from the Panasonic Leica 50-200mm I already own. Then the next step was to see what the results would look like if I used either pixel shift technology versus Super Resolution Enhancement in Lightroom. Fascinating results.

The light we use to view a print or book is so critical in determining how that photograph appears. Unfortunately, we have no control over the light people use to view our work. A story from Paul Strand's biographer demonstrates how frustrating this issue can be for us photographers.

I've come to believe that the most fundamental and important decision we make when producing our image-based artwork is whether we want our work seen via reflected or transmitted light. Every subsequent processing decision is based on this first choice.

I love photography books, but I must admit that I struggle with big, thick books. I once wanted to read Tolstoy's War and Peace, but struggled for years to make the necessary commitment to its 1200 pages. I feel the same way about 3-400 page photography books. Like big books, big museums also present a challenge. The only way I know how to negotiate my time in a big museum is to concentrate my attention on a manageable number of pieces of artwork. Similarly, viewer fatigue is a real...

Each of the art media have characteristics that are its greatest strength, that set it apart from other media. A novel gives the writer unlimited control over time; music has the ability to tap directly into our nonverbal emotions; painting provides a medium in which the artist can include or exclude elements based solely on their imagination. What sets photography apart? Seems to me that one of its primary strengths is its ability to show detail even finer than human vision and to carry that...

Gestalt psychology tries to explain why we are drawn to certain themes of attention. For example, movement attracts our eye much more than a static scene. Put in photography, all we have are static scenes, even if they capture blurry movement. This defines one of photography's greatest challenges.

Each morning as I slowly awaken from my night's sleep, I think about the coming day and what I need to do. Every once in a while, I find my calendar is clean, I can spend the whole day doing photography without any guilt about obligations I might be ignoring. What a wonderful day! But then follows the troublesome question: What will I do?

An old maxim tells us the theory of communication broken down into three steps of advice. Tell them what you are going to tell them; tell them; tell them what you just told them. That pattern seems to work pretty well in project-oriented photography, too.

There is that old bumper sticker wisdom that advises us to be careful what we wish for: we might just get it! For most of my photographic life I wanted faster, smoother, sharper, better. Now that I have all of that in today's amazing photographic tools, I suppose there are no excuses left for why our artwork fails other than to acknowledge our personal and internal limitations. Damn it was sure handy blaming inadequate tools!

Do you have a photographic fantasy of something you would love to do? I suspect we all have such thoughts. Then reality sets in and we realize that those fondest desires may simply not be practical. Do we give up based on the fact that we can't achieve our fantasies? Or, do we adapt ourselves to what we can do? What other option is there? Don't let "If only..." become an excuse.

The other day, I heard once again, for the billionth time, a photographer say that however a viewer wanted to interpret their work was okay with them. Why are photographers so reluctant to make a declarative statement that is unambiguous? If you leave it up to the viewer to interpret your photograph however they want, why bother to compose or process an image? If you have no intent, why make choices?

With some regularity, we are advised by the wise leaders in photography to avoid using the smallest apertures because of the introduction of that focus softening known as diffraction. My advice is to ignore their advice. Not that diffraction doesn't exist; it does. It's just not as serious an issue as the pundits insist that it is.

Congratulations on your new 42 megapixel (or 60 megapixel) camera. You can now make giant prints. Good for you. But what happens to those megapixels if you don't make giant prints? What happens if you make a 13x19", or even a 17x22" print? All those captured and processed pixels get tossed out as superfluous data that is simply not needed.

Experts who seem to know a lot more than I do recommend one of three resolutions for high detail printing. Most commonly I've seen 360 PPI recommended, but also 300 PPI, and 240 PPI. Not knowing which to use, I decided to evaluate using the good old-fashioned method of doing it myself and analyzing with my eyes. Here's what I found.

These days, I'm using a tripod less and less. One area that has plagued me is long exposure photography, for example, lacy waterfalls. I've accidentally discovered an interesting workaround that produced surprisingly good results.

When a black and white image is toned, the mood shifts but the believability does not. There is a reason that a color image that deviates from reality is referred to as false color. But we never hear a toned black and white image referred to as a false black and white

The premise with which we make our photographs is that there is a view that is best. We sweat bullets over the perfect tones, color balance, contrast ratios, etc. We do so under the assumption that when we get it right everybody will see what we see. But this is folly, because the truth is everyone sees differently.

It seems that every photographer I know has at least one massive project, maybe more, that resists completion. Maybe it's the fact that it is so massive, so overwhelming, so unmanageable that makes it so difficult. Is there a strategy that helps manage these massive projects?

There is a reason why an overwhelming majority of pictures are made from 5 to 6 ft off the ground. Strangely enough, it doesn't have anything to do with that being the best way to view the world. It has to do with camera design which encourages us to lift the camera to our eye level.

The other day, I heard once again, for the billionth time, a photographer say that however a viewer wanted to interpret their work was okay with them. Why are photographers so reluctant to make a declarative statement that is unambiguous? If you leave it up to the viewer to interpret your photograph however they want, why bother to compose or process an image? If you have no intent, why make choices?

In human communication, the role of the translator is a fascinating one. Do they merely convert words from one language to another? Or, do they accept the higher responsibility of conveying the meaning and subtleties in their translation. This is exactly the same question we photographers face with every picture. Do we translate the appearance, or the depth of feeling?

Probably most of you are aware of the Inverse Square Law relative to lighting and maybe relative to audio recording. I like to apply it to the optical quality of my images, too. Move twice as far away and the objects shrink to 1/4th the size. Conversely, zoom in to double the focal length and the objects become 4 times larger and exhibit 4 times more detail.

A lot of what I learned in my view camera days is still relevant and useful. Some of those early lessons I find are now habits and ways of thinking that are now obstacles based on training that is downright illogical. ISO is a good example.

If you hang around photography long enough, you'll begin to discern the patterns that sweep over the photographic world like waves in a tsunami. I automatically resist such fads and eventually come to detest them. Please, photographic world, stop oversaturating your colors with the vibrance control.

With each new album they released, The Beatles defined their evolving career. Painters are said to have "periods" that define their evolving vision. I'm not sure if this is a model we photographers should follow, or if it's just something that happens as our creative vision matures. I do know that completion is a key element of the artistic life.