On Photography and Mr. Smeoff
A lot of people ask me “How do you take photos that are so great?” Seriously, a lot. Since the beginning of this year (so, in about 4 months) a total of 3 people asked me that particular question. A fourth person, a woman in her forties with a startled look on her face, started with “How did you…?” and I am sure she would have continued with ” .. take such beautiful photos”, or something of the sorts, if she hadn’t been interrupted by number 3, who asked … you guessed, about the photos.
Well, the answer is “I am an amateur photographer. That’s how.” I know very little about setting up lights in a studio or what shadows need filling in, or why one brand of lens is better than the other. I own two SLRs, of two different brands (like I said, I can’t’ tell which one is better) just because I, like many others before and after me, thought that point-and-shooting with an SLR would automatically and magically transform me into a professional photographer. It hasn’t, so far. So I do what every amateur does: point, press the shutter, and hope for the best. And it happens. About one in a thousand photos looks good, looks “professional”, or at least not amateurish. The rest are horrible. Which is why I point again, press the shutter again, and again hope to break the streak of bad luck. I look at it on the small screen on the camera, decide that today is not my day, then repeat the procedure. Somehow, for reasons that elude me, something changes – maybe the light, maybe the angle, maybe the planets align in a configuration that is beneficial to taking photos, who knows? – and I get one good photo. It doesn’t happen all the time. To be honest it rarely happens, but that’s why I keep doing it.
I have no idea why it works sometimes and other times it doesn’t, but all these attempts have taught me that it’s not about the shutter speed or the f-stop, or even the camera. Well… it is and it isn’t. But what I truly believe all this is about is the little underpaid, morose clerk living deep inside every camera ever made. This guy – let’s call him Mr. U. P. Smeoff – is not usually helpful. Actually he is almost never helpful. You go to him with the simple request of a decent photo and suddenly he goes all bureaucratic on you. He wants you to fill in these forms, twice – carbon copies not allowed – in capitals, with a purple pen, and he doesn’t give a s**t that you don’t have a purple pen, or that purple pens account for 0.02% of all pen population. He needs written approvals from all family members, including the dog. What? You don’t have a dog? Not my problem, buddy. You want the photo, you get a dog. He also requests that your documents be in perfect order, and if you misspelled something in your forms, or your handwriting is not neat and legible, or even if he doesn’t like your tie, he’ll send you back to your desk to get your affairs in order. Only then, when he’s decided that what you’ve prepared is … barely passable but OK (judging by the disgust on his face) will he do you the favor of accepting your papers and giving you what you came for. He also does it with a scoff, as if he had just saved your life, you undeserving, insignificant little person, so you better be prepared to shower him with infinite, yet humble gratitude.
That’s how I think it works.
I don’t get along very well with Mr. U. P. Smeoff. Never did. Maybe I am trying too hard, or too little. That’s why I am an amateur. I can only assume that photography schools are not about shutter speeds and f-stops, but the courses are on how to become friends with the nasty little man in your camera. “Ten things to say to Mr. U. P. Smeoff to get his approval” and “Do’s and Dont’s when requesting something from Mr. U. P. Smeoff” I imagine are sought after courses. Even then, there’s no guarantee you’ll ever please the guy.
National Geographic photographers – which must have attended some courses – take hundreds of photos before they get the one that’s right. Personally, I have neither the money nor the time to go to photography school so I do what professionals seem to do – use persistence to get what they need. You want a purple pen? Fine, I’ll get one. Need me to fill this form again? Sure, no problem. I even have a dog now. Eventually, Mr. Smeoff is bound to give up. And although his MTBF* seems to be rather infinite, he does, sometimes, fail at what he thinks is his God-given duty, and I end up with a half-decent photo.
What’s your verdict?
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*Mean Time Between Failures