If at first you don't succeed ...

So, I've been wanting to try some "feet" photos to showcase the new babe at our house, and, well, here's a recent failed effort. Of course, I mean "failed" only in an artistic sense. The photo--of all four of our children--makes me and my wife laugh: particularly the little diapered bum and chicken legs on the far right, and it'll make great scrapbook material. Even so, it doesn't work artistically because I used the wrong focal length, wrong angle, wrong composition, and a distracting bed spread (did I miss anything?).

Ah well. The point is this: I had fun trying, and--as with most things in life--the failures often prove more instructive than the successes. So, consider this an invitation to screw up: go ahead, play around, make mistakes, do dumb stuff, and above all, try new things. That's the beauty of digital photography. At best, you get a wall hanger; at worst, you just push the "delete" button and try, try again.

Here's a better effort, at least to my mind:

Happy shooting!

F-Stop 'N Go

At long last, the promised post on “f-stops,” but first: a quick multiple-choice quiz to see whether another technical post like this one is really necessary.

f-stop means:

(a) a term used to describe a situation when one is tempted to say a very bad word but doesn’t;

(b) a traffic maneuver typical of Utah drivers in which the driver does not bring the vehicle to a complete stop at a stop sign, but rather slows down a little and then rolls right on through (as in “that f-dude executed a perfect f-stop.”);

(c) the ratio of the focal length of a lens or lens system to the effective diameter of its aperture;

(d) a measure of the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow.

The answer, of course, is “d,” and, if you selected any other answer, you’d better read on lest you disgrace yourself as a photographer … ;0)

Let’s make this easy: it really doesn’t matter what f-stop means from a technical standpoint. Really. Ratios be danged. We do need to understand, however, what f-stop values mean for a particular photograph.

And what do those values mean as a practical matter?

- The lower the f-stop value, the wider the aperture.
- The higher the f-stop value, the more narrow the aperture.
- A wide aperture = a narrow depth-of-field.
- A narrow aperture = a wide depth-of-field.
- A wide aperture allows faster shutter speeds.
- A narrow aperture requires slower (longer) shutter speeds.
- The lower the maximum f-stop value, the better the lens.

Let’s unpack each of those in turn. Recall from the “’M’ is for Manual’” post that f-stop measures the size of the aperture (or hole) through which light passes to expose a photograph. For some mathematical ratio yukitty-yuk reason we needn’t concern ourselves with, the smaller the f-stop value, the wider the aperture. So, for example, f2.8 means shooting “wide open” (that’s a big aperture, relatively speaking) while f32 is really “stopped down,” in other words, a really, really small hole.

Why do we care? For two reasons: first, the size of the aperture determines the depth of field. Narrow aperture = wide depth of field, and vice versa. Second, the size of the aperture also affects the shutter speeds we can get away with.

With that in mind, consider two photography “challenges” and how to address them using what we now know about f-stops and shutter speeds.

Situation #1: Late evening—the sun’s just gone down—and the kids are playing in the yard. You want to photograph them without using a nasty flash.

We know the light is low here, so we have to do everything possible (short of using that nasty flash) to get as much light as possible. So, first, look for a place in the yard with more light: where, for example, the glow from the sun still reflects from the sky into the yard and onto your subject. Second, set the film speed high (say, 800) or on automatic. Lastly, set the f-stop low to get a wide aperture and more light into the camera. What does that mean for depth-of-field? Well, it’s going to be shallow, but this is portrait photography so that’s a good thing: generally we only care if the subject remains in focus. What does it mean for shutter speed? Well, the wider we can get that aperture, the faster shutter speeds we can use to freeze motion.

Here’s where we start to see why lenses with a lower maximum f-stop value perform better (and, not coincidentally, often cost more). A cheap zoom lens, for example, may, depending on focal length, have a maximum aperture of 5.6, which isn’t all that wide. In low light, that means that the photographer has to use a slower shutter speed to compensate for the smaller aperture, and slower shutter speeds mean movement—blur—because the camera shutter is open longer and that records everything from the moving kid to your shaky hands. Result? Bad, blurry photo (or, you have to use flash, which is almost as bad).

Compare that photographer to my sister-in-law, Jenny, who took my advice and spent $80 to buy a 50mm fixed lens with a maximum aperture of f1.8--the lens used to take the low light, hand-held shot of my niece at the top of this post. That lens will take infinitely better pictures in that late evening or other low-light situations than a lens with a maximum aperture of f5.6 because it can capture a lot more light through that wider aperture and, as a result, allows her to get away with much faster shutter speeds.

Situation #2 – Early morning, Zion’s National Park, and you want to photograph the blooming cactus and the Great White Throne at the same time.

Here again: a low light situation, and one where we need a wide depth-of-field, as wide as we can get it so that both the cactus and the Great White Throne remain in focus. So, you stop down the camera by setting the lens at or close to its smallest possible aperture: say, f32. That creates an incredible depth of field, so everything’s cool, right? Not quite. With that itty bitty hole, how long do you think we have to leave open the shutter to get enough light to expose a photograph properly. A loooong time. And if we do so, what happens with movement: yep, records it. And what does that mean? Blur. So, now you know why any self respecting landscape photographer will have that camera mounted on a big, heavy tripod: to hold it still.

Check out this landscape by Scottish photographer Simon Butterworth: http://photo.net/photodb/photo?photo_id=8371957. Lovely, isn’t it? Under the “details” tab, you’ll see the following shorthand: Canon 1DS MKIII 16-35mm 16s f16, which, translated, means the photograph was taken with a Canon 1-DS Mark III camera, a 16-35mm lens (wide angle—remember?), with a shutter speed of 16 seconds, and an aperture setting of 16 (the “f” in “f16” is shorthand for f-stop).

Beyond knowing the settings the photographer used, it’s useful to think about why he chose those settings. He has a photo with water, a stone, a mountain, and the moon—all in one frame—so he needs a wide depth of field to keep everything in focus front to back: hence, he chose an f-stop of 16 (pretty small). What did that mean for his exposure time given the little amount of available light? A very looooong exposure time of, count ‘em, 16 seconds. (To put that in perspective, 99.9% of photographs are taken in exposures measured in hundredths of a second.) Could he have set his f-stop to 32 instead for an even greater depth of field? Sure, but that would’ve meant an even slower shutter speed, with greater risk of movement (even wind creates problems at long exposures) and more “noise” generated by his camera’s built in sensor. (He could get away with 16—as opposed to 32—here because he doesn’t have anything immediately in front of him that needs to remain in focus.)

See how a photographer has to make conscious decisions about f-stop settings and how the available light and desired final image affect those decisions?

That, my friends, is why we need to understand f-stops. Leave it up to the camera, and the camera will make compromises to get a proper exposure—compromises you may not like.

Photo Pricing

Alright gals--and I say "gals" deliberately, as I'm relatively certain women make 99% of the decisions when it comes to purchasing children's photography--let's talk about pricing.

Photo disks are all the rage these days. So, for example, you pay $200-300 to a photographer and you get an hour long photo session (maybe more depending on the number of subjects) and then you get a batch of proofs and a disk with all the proofs that you can use however you see fit: send them to Costco, email them to friends and family, blow them up to poster size. Whatever you like. Good stuff, right?

I have my doubts, honestly, and here's why: think about the incentives there. You pay the photographer regardless of the quality of the final images. Don't like them? Tough. And what about that quality? The photographer's incentive is to do the bare minimum to keep you happy. In other words, because the photographer gets paid no matter what, he/she has every incentive to minimize (1) the amount of time devoted the session, and (2) the amount of time spent post-processing in Photoshop or some other program. In some sense, the more time a photographer spends getting you your images, the less money that photographer makes in relative terms. The photographer needs to be good--good enough to generate positive word of mouth and repeat business--but not too good.

In my personal and professional life, situations with skewed incentives like that (a benefit by one party comes at the expense of the other) rarely lead to an outcome in which both parties are satisfied. Rather, the best solutions occur when interests are aligned: if I win, you win.

What does that mean in terms of photography and photo pricing? Well, maybe the interests should be aligned there too.

If you're just paying for a photographer's time, where's the artistry? You're just paying them to record stuff--compensating them for time and equipment rather than the artistry and expertise they bring to the session.

If, on the other hand, you view photography as art (as I think we should), then you should only purchase what you want to purchase--the perfect moment, the classic expression, the work of art. That's the idea behind my pricing scheme: keep the sitting fee to an absolute minimum, and the consumer pays only for the images they love and want to keep for ever. In that scenario, my goal is clear: if I want to sell photos, I better produce the best possible images, no matter how much time it takes me to get them. The better the images, the more photos I'll sell. Bad images? Bad business.

But I repeat: photo disks appear to be all the rage, and if that's what consumer's want, well, that's what they'll get, even if it means so-so images.

Any thoughts?

A Bit More on Focal Length: Understanding "Crop Factor"

I know, I know, "crop factor" sounds like the title of a really bad horror or sci fi flick (maybe a sequel to "Children of the Corn"), but it affects focal length with digital SLR cameras so I'd be remiss if I didn't throw in a note of explanation.

Here's the deal: most lenses out there (for Canon, Nikon, or other systems) are designed to work with 35 mm film. In other words, they project an image onto the film that is equal to the size of that particular film. The trouble is that most digital sensors--except those used in high-end digital SLRs with what are called "full frame" sensors--are smaller than 35 mm, meaning that the sensor cannot record the entire 35 mm-sized image and effectively "crops" (or cuts off) the outside edges.

This has two implications for the photographer: first, it creates some disconnect between what you see through the viewfinder (a full 35 mm frame) and the final image; and, second, it has the same effect as using a lens with greater focal length. Recall that, during our discussion of focal length, we talked about how higher focal lengths (200 mm, 300mm, 400mm, etc.) had the effect of magnifying the image and, in the process, narrowing the field of view. While crop factor doesn't magnify the image (remember: the lens still projects the same image; only the sensor has changed), it does narrow the field of view. To understand what this means in terms of the field of view, photographers use a "crop factor" or, alternatively, "focal length multiplier."

Arrrggh ... I can hear the groans already, but bear with me. An illustration should help clarify things a bit. The standard crop factor (or focal length multiplier) for the Canon system is 1.6, which means that my effective focal length is 1.6 times whatever is written on the barrel of the lens. So, for example, when I take a 20-35mm wide angle film lens and put it on my digital SLR, I have to multiply those focal lengths by 1.6 to understand what it does to my field of view. So, 20 x 1.6 = 32 and 35 x 1.6 = 56, and, just like that, I have an effective 32-56mm lens, which means that the lens is no longer really a "wide angle" lens when used on a digital camera. Still a perfectly good lens, mind you; it just doesn't offer a true wide angle perspective.

To address this problem, Canon has designed a series of EF-S lenses that work only with their digital SLR cameras and do offer a true wide angle perspective. Please note, however, that you still have to apply a crop factor to these lenses to get the 35 mm equivalent. So, for example, the 10-22mm EF-S lens is roughly the equivalent of a 16-32 mm film lens, meaning that the wide angle (anything greater than 35 mm) is restored. Another advantage of EF-S lenses is that they can use less glass than their film equivalents, so they are in general smaller and lighter. Still, Canon's EF lenses remain their standard series, and probably always will, so I personally don't plan to invest any money in EF-S lenses.

In any event, having a crop factor isn't always a bad thing. While it constrains the wide angle end of thing, it actually helps on the telephoto side, particularly with fixed focal length (prime) lenses, so my 100mm lens acts more like a 160 mm lens.

Pefectly clear? I thought so. If it isn't, take comfort in this: if you put your camera on "live view," what you see is what you get. In other words, while it's helpful to understand focal length and conversion factors and what it means for your final image, you can learn composition and take great photographs even without understanding this stuff. Trial and error will get you there as well, just a little more sloooooowly.

What’s Focal Length and Why Should I Care?

Long, long ago (it seems) I promised one or more posts addressing two critical features of any lens: focal length and maximum aperture. Let’s tackle focal length first. You can find a definition of “focal length” on any number of websites, but far too many of those sites succumb to the usual temptation and the explanation drowns in a bunch of complicated illustrations and technical gobbledygook.

Let’s see if I can do any better here. “Focal length” pretty much means what you see when you look through a camera’s viewfinder using a particular lens. See, that’s not so bad, is it? Different lenses give the photographer a different view and that difference is explained by the lens’ focal length. Most lenses these days are “zoom” lenses, meaning that you can adjust the focal length. The other kind of lens has a fixed focal length (i.e., one that can’t be adjusted) and those lenses are sometimes called “prime” lenses.

The view you see can generally be classed as (1) “normal”—in other words, it gives a perspective similar to what the human eye would see—(2) “wide angle,” or wider than the human eye would see; or (3) “telephoto,” a magnified perspective that means the lens captures a narrower field of view than the human eye would capture at that distance. I’m afraid those terms get a little loosey goosey, though, and you’ll often find disagreement as to whether a particular field of view is normal, wide angle, or telephoto. Generally speaking, however, I think anything wider than 35 mm is “wide angle,” anything between 35-70mm is “normal,” and anything narrower than 70mm is “telephoto.”

So, how do you know what category your lens falls into? Well, if you take out any camera—even a point and shoot camera—you’ll see a bunch of numbers written on the lens. For present purposes, all we need to worry about is the numbers that end with “mm,” for millimeters. Don’t ask me why they measure focal length in millimeters. I really don’t care, and neither should you. What’s important for you, the photographer, are the numbers that precede the “mm.”

So, for example, I’m looking at a squat, fat lens attached to my camera and it says, “CANON ZOOM LENS EF 20-35mm.” What interests me is the “20-35mm” part. That tells me this is a wide angle lens.

But here’s the kicker: you really don’t need to look at the numbers to know it’s wide angle. All you have to do is attach the lens and look through the view finder. I do, and what do I see? Lots of stuff. That’s what wide angle lenses do: they show lots of stuff. And that’s why landscape photographers love them, because a wide angle lens captures a field of view wide enough to capture the sky, the clouds, the mountain peak, and the little cluster of wildflowers at your feet. Voila!

At the other extreme are the telephoto lenses. These lenses, usually measured in big “mm’s” like 200, 300, 400, or even 500—magnify stuff like mini telescopes. They also narrow the field of view, isolating subjects against, frequently, a blurred background. (The background blurs because the lens captures such a narrow slice of the background relative to the subject in the foreground.) That’s why telephoto lenses are the tool of choice for wildlife, sports, and fashion photographers. They need to capture images at a distance, and they want to eliminate elements that distract from their subject, be it a wood duck, a wide receiver, or a hot babe in a string bikini.

So, what does all this mean for the portrait photographer? Principally, two things: first, the choice of focal length determines the kind of portraits you’ll capture. Many portraits are taken with telephoto lenses of one kind or another. Why? Because telephoto lenses crop out a lot of stuff: narrowing the field of view and focusing the composition on a single subject. With a telephoto lens, the subject—a face, a foot, a family—typically fills the frame, as in the following:
But that doesn’t mean you can’t take a perfectly good portrait with a wide angle lens, only that a wide angle lens will necessarily include a lot of the subject’s surroundings. So, I want a portrait of a kid with a skateboard in front of a graffiti-covered wall. What do I use? Well, probably a wide angle lens because I want to capture the kid and his surroundings. Here's a recent example, not involving skateboards:

The second important point about focal length for the portrait photographer is this: it’s hard to engineer a good lens at the wide angle or telephoto extremes, so, as a general rule, the wider the angle or the greater the telephoto, the more expensive the lens. It’s also harder to engineer a quality zoom lens—since the elements have to change shape to accommodate the different focal lengths—so higher quality zoom lenses cost a lot of cold, hard cash.

To illustrate, consider a few lenses from the Canon line. B&H Photo sells the 100mm macro (a superb lens, by the way), for $490. An optically inferior 400mm, on the other hand, will set you back $1190; and the 500mm, $6000. The huge, white, zoom lenses you see at professional sporting events? Try upwards of $10,000.

In case all this only serves to muddy the waters, here are a few summary take home messages:

(1) Nearly every DSLR (non-point-and-shoot) camera sold these days comes with a zoom lens attached. Zoom lenses are convenient because they allow the photographer to change focal length (and thereby perspective) without moving closer or farther from the subject. But remember the point about technology: it’s hard to do right, and doing it right costs a lot of money. So, that 70-300mm zoom that came with your camera likely is … for lack of a better word … crap. Don’t get me wrong: a crappy lens may be perfect for taking family snapshots for the scrapbook, but if you’re serious about making quality images, it ain’t happenin’ with that kit lens.

(2) Use a wide angle lens to add context or scale to an image; use a telephoto lens to isolate the subject and compress the perspective.

(3) Use a telephoto lens if you want or need to stand far away from a subject, like a grizzly bear or toddler deprived of her usual nap and afternoon snack.

Lens, Baby!

Building on the “M is for Manual” post from a week or so ago, we can now talk sensibly about lenses.

If you own a digital SLR camera (like a Canon Rebel or a Nikon D80), chances are it came from the manufacturer as part of a kit, with a “free” neck strap, a few other doodads, and some kind of zoom lens attached to the front. And here’s the bad news: chances are that that kit lens is an el-cheapo of dubious quality. Let’s put it this way, if the enormous lens you see a professional sports photographer lugging around is a Ferrari, the kit lens on your new SLR is almost certainly a Yugo or a Ford Pinto.

Camera manufacturers know a couple of things: (1) first, even a savvy consumer will likely ignore the quality of the lens and focus his or her attention on the camera itself, in the process becoming enamored with fairly meaningless metrics like the number of megapixels (“Geez, Lorna, with a bazillion megapixels, we could outshoot Ansel Adams!”); (2) second, they can sell a kit at a premium because the camera is “ready to go,” and make a nice profit by including the cheapest possible lens.

Experienced photographers, on the other hand, know a dark secret: the camera is only one part, and often a modest part, of the total investment necessary to take good pictures. The real money—the real investment—is often in the lenses.

This was particularly true in the days of film cameras, where the quality of the lens and the quality of the film determined the quality of the final image, and the camera had little or nothing to do with it.

In the digital age, the image sensors built into cameras play a much more important role. Nevertheless, the lens—not the camera—remains the single most important factor in determining the quality of the final image. Put a crappy lens on a great camera, and you’re going to get a crappy image. Put a great lens on a crappy camera, and you may be surprised at just how good the resulting image looks.

So, what do you need to know about lenses? Not much really, but you do need to understand the two most important features of any lens: FOCAL LENGTH and MAXIMUM APERTURE. Future posts will address each of these in turn and hopefully point you towards (a) what lens will give you the “look” you want, and (b) what lenses offer the best quality and value.

(“Lensbaby” is actually a company that manufactures selective focus lenses that make for some sweet effects. See http://lensbaby.com/. I don’t own one, but they look like fun.)

Tell a Story

I've said it before, but it bears repeating:  good photos do more than just show, they tell.  To my mind, an interesting photo, just like an interesting painting or poem, should have layers of interest and meaning.  A good photo needs depth.  It should pull the viewer in and hold his or her interest.    

To illustrate what I mean, I've attached a few photos from a recent trip to my in-laws cabin near Scofield, Utah.  One might debate the quality of the images, but I hope each one contains at least a snippet of a story.  Take the one of my youngest niece, for example, sitting on the four wheeler with her father.  Any doubt that there's a story there? 

If you enjoy this documentary style of photography (often referred to loosely as "photo journalism"), then you should invest in a relatively long telephoto lens.  The lens used in these photographs is a Canon 70-200 mm zoom, which, when used on a digital camera like mine, captures a view more on the order of 100-300 mm (we'll talk the mechanics of focal length later).  A long lens like that allows me to stand far away from my subjects while photographing them.  What that means in practice is that they often forget that I'm there, allowing me to capture people acting and interacting naturally.