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Recent publications: my photographs in the Hasselblad 2010 calendar & Photographer magazine article

Latest review: Carl Zeiss Distagon T* 2.8/21 ZF.2 lens

30 August 2010 » Carl Zeiss Distagon T* 3.5/18 ZF lens review

My review of the Carl Zeiss Distagon T* 3.5/18 ZF lens is now online. To be honest, it is getting increasingly difficult to describe optical qualities of lenses in a way that would adequately indicate the degree of differences in their performance. It is easy to slam a dog of a lens or praise a clearly outstanding optic; it is when performance of two, or even more, lenses is fairly close that finding the right words to describe the minor differences becomes very challenging. For example, of and by itself the Carl Zeiss Distagon T* 3.5/18 ZF is a great optic. However, the Carl Zeiss Distagon T* 2.8/21 ZF.2 has slightly less distortion, slightly less vignetting, and is slightly more resistant to flare. So even though both lenses are of highest optical quality, the latter is a wee bit better than the former. How do you signify such differences in two separate reviews that do not compare the lenses directly?

Photographers considering buying one of the Zeiss super wide angle lenses will probably ask the question of whether they should get the 18mm or the 21mm lens. Here, I am afraid, there is no simple answer. As mentioned above, the latter is better optically—not massively yet, if you look very closely, clearly so. The former, however, is wider and quite a bit smaller. So does one go for a slightly better performance at the cost of increased bulk and a narrower angle of view, or does one opt for a smaller package and a wider angle of view at the cost of optics being a touch less than perfect? To answer this question one needs to thoroughly consider his priorities with respect to the overall qualities of individual lenses, as well as how each lens fits into his existing lens system.

Night walk, Shanghai
Nikon D700 camera and AF Nikkor 24mm f/2.8D lens

23 August 2010 » Star trails, again

Regular readers may recall that I am a big fan of star trails photography. Photographing star trails is very easy if the conditions are right. In particular, you should be under a moonless and cloudless sky in a place that, ideally, has no ambient lights; furthermore, finding a suitable foreground subject is of great importance, too. Such conditions are quite difficult to come by for city dwellers but are easier to find in rural areas. And you are bound to have a chance to photograph star trails sooner or later if you travel for photography regularly. The key is to keep looking out for suitable conditions and be ready to photograph—chance favours the prepared mind.

I have photographed star trails in various parts of China and now, for the first time, in Russia. This time around I had it easy—I did not have to spend several hours out in the cold or sleep in a dusty yurt in the middle of nowhere; instead, all I had to do was stick my camera out the window, release the shutter and go to the land of Nod .

Star trails, Moscow suburbs
Hasselblad 503CW camera, CFi 4/50 lens and Fujifilm Provia 100F slide film
Three hour exposure at f/4

19 August 2010 » A couple of (random) thoughts on straight photography

Lately I have been very fond of what is known as "straight" photography. What is straight photography? Well, as the name suggests, it is when you pick up your camera and photograph what happens to be before you at the moment. As Paul Graham put it in his brilliant essay "Photography is Easy, Photography is Difficult", "It's the view of this pen in my hand as I write this, it's an image of your hands holding this book, drift your consciousness up and out of this text and see: it's right there, across the room – there... and there". Despite its seeming easiness, however, straight photography is as difficult as any other genre of photography.

As I have been looking at and thinking about straight photography it came home to me how different the difficulties inherent to straight photography are from those pertaining to other prevalent types of photography. In case of most popular genres of photography the difficulties are primarily related to logistics; in straight photography, they are mostly about aesthetics.

Take, for example, landscape photography. Aesthetically, we have a fairly good idea what constitutes a good landscape photograph. In particular, we expect to see a picture of a striking subject—a grand lake, an impressive glacier, a dramatic mountain, etc.—that we do not see in our daily life. Next, we expect to see it in an unusual or beautiful light that does not last long and is not seen often (which is why the time right after sunrise and prior to sunset is precious for landscape photography). Of course, we expect decent composition, too. And finally, we expect the scene to be captured with immaculate technique, so that such things as unsharp foreground, blown highlights, rough tonalities, etc. do not distract us. From the other side of the equation, as photographers we know what has to be done to produce a decent landscape picture: we have to hone our photographic technique, research and find the right place to photograph, and then travel to that place at the right time; once we are at the right place at the right time and provided luck is with us, too, we need to use all necessary gear and techniques to capture the beautiful moment appropriately. Is landscape photography difficult? Hell yes. All things considered, though, logistics constitute a considerably larger portion of the difficulties than aesthetics, because aesthetics have been largely defined by several generations of landscape photographers before us.

The same holds for a number of other popular types of photography. Wildlife? Place, time, gear and technique. Sports? Place, time, gear and technique. Aesthetics, of course, matter here a lot, too; but if you have not got logistics right, no depth of aesthetic perception will save the day.

With straight photography, on the other hand, logistics are relatively easy—after all, you photograph what there is right there before your eyes at this particular moment. Granted, you still need to understand the relationship between aperture, shutter speed and focus, as well as a number of other nuances. However, straight photography generally does not require as much logistical preparations as, say, landscape photography. Most of the time you do not have to travel to exotic destinations and chase light—your neighborhood in ordinary light will suffice.

Aesthetics of straight photography, however, are much more difficult to pin down. This, in my opinion, is primarily due to the fact that there are no "standard" aesthetic expectations—by the very definition of straight photography anything at any time in any light can be a subject of straight photography. Thus, you have to have a good idea as to what and why you are photographing; furthermore, you cannot expect that everyone will appreciate your photographic vision for the same reason of the loosely defined aesthetic anchor.

Although on the surface you photograph what happens to be before your eyes, it does not mean that straight photography is random—we do make aesthetic choices and they are more difficult because, as mentioned above, there is no standard starting point and no standard criteria of evaluation; you have to define that point. Nonetheless, if you look closely at good straight photography, there is always something undeniably attractive in it, and it is seeing, capturing and appreciating that something that makes straight photography so difficult.

In other words, straight photography is straight only in the sense that there often is no apparent main subject in striking light that immediately draws your attention and makes you exclaim "wow"; otherwise, straight photography is anything by straight. Then again, though, who said that all photography has to be striking, screaming and forcefully grabbing attention? Just as beauty does not require a red tie and green socks to exist and be noticed, photography can be simultaneously low key and deeply expressive, too.

So what is straight photography about? Well, I do not know, really. Some of the photographs that I like fall into the category of visual poetry; others contain things that, at closer examination, tell a much deeper story than what they seem to convey at first glance; yet others attract me by evoking complex psychological associations and connections. And of course, some photographs can have multiple layers filled with all these traits.

I have started trying my hand at straight photography, too. As expected, I find that logistics are fairly simple most of the time; it is seeing something unusual and meaningful within ordinary arrangements of mundane things that is really challenging. Below is one of my feeble attempts at straight photography, and home page photograph has been updated with another one. As one of my friends commented when seeing the image below, "it looks pretty ordinary". That, indeed, might be the case; to my eye, though, there is a bit more to the image than what first meets the eye.

Old Beijing apartments, entrance
Hasselblad 503CW camera, CFE 2.8/80 lens and Fujifilm Provia 100F slide film

5 August 2010 » RSS feed fixed

Several readers have written to let me know that RSS feed of this page does not seem to work properly. I have now completely revamped it and the feed should work flawlessly from now on (for one thing, it has even been validated by W3C). If you have had any problems with receiving updates, please delete the original feed in you RSS reader and subscribe again by clicking on the orange icon on the right of the page's title.

On another communication–related note, from tomorrow on I will be mostly off line for a couple of weeks (but still photographing, thinking and, if the muse cares to tag along, possibly writing). My apologies if I am unable to promptly reply to email during this period.

3 August 2010 » Film vs. digital—the question of "character"

My friend Tom Willekes recently sent me the following question regarding my review of the Hasselblad CFV–39 digital back:

Do you have any subject comment on image "character"? You mention image quality, but not character.

What I'm getting at is the oft heard refrain from film aficionados that "film has character" while "digital is clinical". Implying that digital images have no character of their own; merely recording a scene in a very literal (perhaps flat) way.

In your experience with the CFV–39 (or even the D700) would you state that digital is indeed clinical? Or, is it not something that you've taken notice of?

This, indeed, is a very interesting question that I did not cover in the review. It took several days to put my thoughts together on the issue and, since other photographers might be interested in this subject, too, I decided to reply to Tom's email by way of a post here.

First off, let us get obvious out of the way: film does indeed have character. Quite interestingly, though, we did not hail this notion much before the arrival of digital capture, which perhaps indicates that we now use this collective term that is comprised of various qualities of film to withhold the digital assault—and even launch a counterattack. If we use "character" as our main defence strategy, does it mean that images captured with digital cameras have no character whatsoever? As I will argue below, not exactly.

Many photographers wax poetic about film having character (I do that quite often, too, and will try to avoid it here as much as I can); very few of us, however, go further to explain what exactly that character is. Although some aspects of film's character might indeed have a poetic touch to them, it would serve us well to analyse what that character is comprised of. While doing so, we can examine whether the elements of film's character have counterparts in the world of digital capture, and whether the latter can rightfully claim to have character, too.

(To avoid the risk of turning this post into a full–blown dissertation that never gets finished, I will restrict the discussion to colour films, RAW capture, base ISO settings, and artistic pursuits only.)

In my mind, film's character is mainly comprised of the following three elements: colour rendering, image texture, as well as dynamic range and, related to it, shadow and highlight handling. Let us have a closer look at each of them.

As every photographer who has ever shot film knows, every emulsion offers unique colour rendition. More specifically, each film's colour rendering was fine–tuned by its producer in a non–linear manner to achieve a certain look. And it is much more subtle than just being saturated to a lesser or greater degree—for example, both Fujifilm Velvia 50 and Kodak 100VS are highly saturated transparencies, but they could not look more different. This non–linearity is also the reason why the look of a given film is so difficult, if not impossible, to imitate; you will not get the look of Velvia by simply taking a flat digital capture (more on this below) and cranking saturation all the way up. When we choose a specific film, we already know what look we would like to get; we actually aim for that specific, inimitable look. Thus, the final appearance of an image is mostly predetermined by the chosen type of film.

When talking about digital capture, on the other hand, we generally discuss colour accuracy. Colour balance is set at the point of shooting only symbolically; it is normally adjusted and fine–tuned in post processing, which requires considerable skills and time investment. Moreover, when using digital cameras we usually optimise shooting for data gathering, which is a bit akin to flying an aircraft by instruments. For example, we expose to the right, and that does often result in flat captures where colour rendition is of secondary consideration (this is demonstrated in the example below; for comparison, current home page photograph was shot on Velvia 50 and nearly perfectly matches the original transparency). So can we talk of digital capture having character in terms of colour rendering? No, I would not say so. For the final image to have a unique or specific look in terms of colour, you, the photographer, should have character—and, quite often, some serious post processing skills.


	Out of camera (ahem, back) capture, exposed to the right to optimise data gathering		Final photograph

Does this mean that there are no differences in colour reproduction between various digital cameras? No; there are differences. Here, however, I do not have sufficient technical expertise and can only attribute them to complex wizardry of camera hardware, firmware and computer software. So far my overall impression has been that, although the CFV–39 does not have an immediately obvious character in terms of colour rendering the way film does, I, nonetheless, generally like what I can massage out of the files created by the back. At the same, I could not say the same about the Nikon D700—the colours produced by the camera are competent, but I do not like them.

Then there is image texture. As you know, film has grain by definition; very importantly, grain is random in nature and varies in apparent size and appearance from film to film—it can be genuinely fine and almost imperceptible or coarse and noticeable at first glance. Now, one might like visibility of grain in photographs or not, which is a matter of personal preferences and taste; crucially, though, film grain, even when not immediately noticeable, creates a certain texture in printed photographs thus further shaping the character of images shot on film. Also significantly, I really like how scans from film yield themselves to sharpening (both capture and output).

Digital sensors, of course, have no grain the way film does. Instead, they have pixels and a number of factors that influence appearance of texture in photographs, two of which are digital noise and the effect of anti–aliasing filters. Most current cameras are very good at dealing with the former at base ISO and produce very clean images; the latter, however, is what differentiates digital cameras greatly. To wit: the D700 has an anti–aliasing filter that robs quite a bit of sharpness and produces unnatural smoothness that borders on plasticity and is not easy to deal with. Now, the files produced by the D700 are, again, competent, but I do not like them that much at close examination. Of course, the problem may simply lay with my post processing skills, but that is beyond the point, because I can get what I really like with film and the CFV–39 (which does not have an anti–aliasing filter) much easier and faster.

Finally, let us consider the issue of dynamic range and shadow and highlight rendering. Just as with colour reproduction, dynamic range of different films varies greatly—between roughly five stops (Velvia 50) and well over 10 stops (colour negative film); likewise, every emulsion has a unique toe and shoulder signature and thus reproduces shadow and highlight tones in a unique fashion. This further contributes to the character of images shot on film.

With digital capture, however, things are quite different. I would argue that digital cameras do not have character in this respect because they are linear devices. Again, we optimise data gathering when shooting, and do not aim for a specific look. We only need to ensure that highlights are not blown out and let shadows fall where they will. Thankfully, both the CFV–39 and the D700 boast very, very decent dynamic range. To paraphrase myself, for the final image to have a unique or specific look in terms of appearance of shadow and highlight tones, you, the photographer, should have character—and, quite often, some serious post processing skills.

By now you might have already noticed a trend in my way of thinking about this subject: when shooting film, you choose an emulsion that will give you the look that you intend to obtain. Moreover, every film will come not only with its own character, but also with a psychological baggage—what reputation it has, what kind of work has been shot on it, by whom, etc. Once a film is chosen, the look of the final images is mostly predetermined. With digital, on the other hand, the character should be defined by the photographer to a far greater degree.

Do I mean to say that digital capture has no character whatsoever? Not exactly. After all, colour rendering varies, bit depth varies, pixel quality varies, noise signatures vary, and so on. All these differences do translate into varied appearances of final photographs, which in turn translate into "digital character". Indeed, images produced by the CFV–39 and the D700 have quite different looks. This being said, their character (and digital character in general) is more shallow, feeble and indecisive than that of film.

So, to finally answer Tom's question, images captured with the CFV–39 do have a likable character, although its nature is entirely different from that of film—they do not give you any specific colour rendition, unique look of texture, or distinctive handling of shadows and highlights; instead, their character is embodied in an incredible confidence in what they offer, which especially stands out when you bring a camera such as the Nikon D700 into consideration. The character of the CFV–39 is certainly less intimate and personal than that of film, but it is strong; it is the difference between a caring lover and a highly professional partner. Just do not ask me what I would choose if I could afford the CFV–39 .

20 July 2010 » Photoshop disservice

Last weekend I happened to be in Beijing and was invited to have dinner at an old friend's home. There were several people whom I had never met before and, naturally, we talked about various harmful topics you usually discuss with new acquaintances. When the discussion came to traveling in China, I gave a few advices on possible destinations and, to support them, suggested to have a quick look at some of the images in the gallery of this Web site. None of the guests were photographers and they were quite impressed with some of the photographs. After viewing a dozen images or so, however, a punch was thrown in the shape of a weighty question: were all these images photoshopped?

I had to pause for a few seconds and think about the question. Technically speaking, yes, all images on this Web site were processed in Photoshop to some degree; thus, it would not have been entirely accurate to declare that they were not photoshopped. At the same time, however, it would not have been correct to simply say that they were photoshopped either, because the term more often than not implies excessive image manipulation. At first I thought of explaining that when I scan slides or negatives the main priority is to extract as much information from the originals as possible, which almost always results in flat reproductions that require "normalisation" and further fine–tuning in Photoshop. I, however, realised that this explanation would probably be too technical and simply answered that yes, I do use Photoshop, but the images on the Web site are true to the original transparencies.

This sort of answered the question, but I could clearly sense an inerasable aftertaste hanging in the air—ah, he used Photoshop—and it seemed to have taken away from the photographs' merit. The images did not seem as impressive anymore.

Now, I was not surprised or upset by this minor incident because, on the psychological level, it is perfectly understandable and perhaps should even be anticipated. The following quotation from a book on evolutionary psychology, "The Moral Animal", explains this phenomenon exceedingly well:

"Indeed, in the social psychology laboratory, people not only tend to attribute success to skill and failure to circumstance; they tend to reverse the pattern when evaluating others. Luck is the thing that makes you fail and other people succeed; ability works the other way around."

(As a side note, I highly recommend this book, even though I have to also forewarn you that some of the things you will learn about human nature will be shockingly, even scarily, unflattering.)

What did surprise me, though, is the pervasiveness of the notion, even among non–photographers, that Photoshop is a magic wand that allows one to effortlessly turn a piece of visual crap into an eye candy. If in the past great photographs sometimes were attributed to nice, expensive cameras (this is a great picture—you must have a nice camera!), now they tend to be credited to Photoshop.

Photographers do try to differentiate between image normalisation and manipulation, even though the boundary between the two is often blurred. For non–photographers, however, all that seems to matter is the fact that Photoshop was used, and the only difference might lay in the degree of discounting of the artistic merit. If you try to explain that you use Photoshop in a judicial manner to normalise images, the reaction is likely to be the skeptical, if not cynical, yeah, sure, of course. And if, God forbid, you are able to turn unappealing captures into compelling photographs with the use of Photoshop (which is an admirable skill in my book), then you are excluded from the ranks of artists forever.

Is not it ironic that the tool that revolutionised photography and that we all have come to rely upon so greatly (unless you do wet darkroom printing from negatives, of course) can also be, and is, easily used by our fundamental psychological underpinnings to diminish our efforts, cast a shadow upon our earnestness, and ultimately devalue our photographic work? In this sense, the existence of Photoshop has done us all a disservice.

14 July 2010 » Redefining my living space

I mentioned in one of the previous posts that I recently moved to a new apartment. During the past decade I have relocated so many times that I have become quite efficient at it—I will not be able to rescue everything if the building is on fire, but give me a few hours and there will not be much that I will regret leaving behind. Moreover, I have developed a certain sequence in which the moving process unfolds. For example, most important things are packed (and then unpacked) in the beginning and in the end—the first to be taken care of is my photo equipment, and the last to be unplugged is my hi–fi system; once in the new place, the hi–fi is assembled and powered up prior to doing anything else, while photo gear sees the light of the day last to ensure that it directly goes where it will normally be stored (a dedicated anti–humidity cabinet, which is an absolute must in most of Southern China).

First half of the moving process (i.e. packing and actually moving) went as usual and according to my unwritten standard operating procedures manual. Unpacking and arranging things in the new place, however, was an exercise that I had never had the luxury to experience before: I decided to slow down and savour the process of carefully considering how I wanted to arrange my new living space. And so I took my time reflecting on every detail that would influence how, when and what I do when I am at home.

For a while I almost had no furniture in the new apartment (I was just about to admit that this partly happened due to imperfect planning on my part but, on second thought, I am not quite sure if the sloppiness was not subconsciously intentional to avoid giving up the process halfway). At one point all the furniture that I had in the living room apart from a massive inbuilt bookshelf was one single chair. Sitting on it in front of my hi–fi listening to "Kind of Blue" felt akin to shooting a subtle, nostalgic sunset with a simple mechanical camera and a prime lens. And I spent quite a bit of time on that chair, mulling over various details related to the new home, and not only.

In the previous apartment I had a spare room that I could have dedicated to photographic pursuits. However, other priorities prevailed at the time and the room was used for other purposes; as a result, I located my digital darkroom in the fairly large living room—a decision that to a great extent defined my lifeflow while at home. In particular, I tended to spend a lot more time in front of my Mac Pro than I probably should have. Unless you have a specific task to complete, spending unnecessarily long hours in front of your computer monitor serves the same purpose and is as futile as watching TV.

Priorities, however, change, and after spending a few days on that chair I decided to have a dedicated digital darkroom in the new apartment; a few other things were changed, too, but I am going to skip this part as it is not related to photography. On the one hand, having everything related to photography in one designated room gives me a sense of consolidation and purposefulness, thus enhancing my focus on photography. On the other hand, I know that I should be there only if I need to do something specifically related to photography (or this Web site), such as sorting digital files from a shoot, arranging and scanning slides, working on complex images that require a lot of computing power, printing photographs, you name it; otherwise, I should not be in front of that monitor. This clearcut separation allows me to better use the time that otherwise would most likely be unnoticeably wasted.

As the process of organising my stuff unfolded it dawned on me that composition is everywhere, that it is inseparable and can be learnt from every aspect of your life. It is in how you arrange books on your bookshelf, how you put the clothes in your wardrobe, how you arrange your shoes at the entrance of your home, and how you put your toothbrush in the glass. It is all related. Put differently, composing a photograph is not all that dissimilar to arranging things in one's home, albeit the former seldom allows for the time to sit around and contemplate, and thus has to be done on a more intuitive level.

(The above paragraph reminded me of the part in the Pink Floyd's movie "The Wall" where Pink, after smashing everything in the hotel room there was to trash, partly calms down, returns to his creative calling and, still half shaken, starts laying out an abstract artistic composition on the floor using the broken pieces of various stuff that he has just destroyed. I have always admired and envied that episode.)

So where am I if I am not in the digital darkroom? Most likely in the living room, on my comfy sofa, with a much more balanced choice of things to do. Here, I am also much closer to my music, right in front of my mean speakers. Music plays when I am in the digital darkroom, too, but it reaches me after traveling around a few corners thus losing quite a bit of delicacy. And of course, a glass of wine or single malt feels more fitting in a living room—we (well, most of us) never took booze into darkrooms in the days of film and the taboo has quietly accompanied us into digital darkrooms of today.

The process of redefining my living space has been almost finished by now, although some minor details that have been stubbornly eluding my imagination and decisiveness remain to be taken care of. To my surprise the undertaking was much more exploratory, inventive and thoughtful than I anticipated. I recommend giving it a try if and when such an opportunity arises.

29 June 2010 » Publication in Kyoto Journal

I am very pleased to announce that one of the photographs that I took last year in Gansu Province, China is featured on the cover of the current issue of Kyoto Journal. There are literally gazillions of photographs readily available from the Internet and other sources and having one of your images chosen for a cover is never a mean feat.

22 June 2010 » Carl Zeiss Distagon T* 3.5/18 ZF in Casa Oleg

Lens testing can be a number of things for me. Most often it is a lot of fun associated with anticipation of what each particular lens will show. Sometimes lens testing can also serve as an antidepressant or a way to pass the inevitable periods of dry spell when you do not have the energy to be impressed, cannot finish writing one single sentence or even bother to move a finger. You know, however, that you have been doing too much testing when you start noticing chromatic aberration of your glasses or of the bottom of the glass when you drink water.

Over the long run, when you have reviewed a sufficient number of lenses, you develop a knack whereby you can have a pretty good idea about a lens' optical qualities after taking it for a half hour walk and then reviewing the files on your computer screen for another thirty minutes (this is more complex and takes longer with zoom lenses, though). In other words, you learn what and where to look for to reveal the essence of an optic.

I now have a Carl Zeiss Distagon T* 3.5/18 ZF lens for testing and took it for a walk on last Sunday, even though it was a dreary, grey day with rain drizzling on and off. I will post a complete review of the lens when it is ready but here is the upshot: it is very sharp (not as sharp in the farthest corners wide open as the Carl Zeiss Distagon 2.8/21 but sharper than many lenses); as expected, the lens shows very strong vignetting at f/3.5; chromatic aberration can be seen around very contrasty edges but is not massive; finally, the lens produces insignificant (predominantly pincushion) distortion that has a complex signature. Stay tuned!

Yellow distortion (image cropped at the top)

16 June 2010 » Photographic wisdom measured in kilograms?

I get asked this question quite often, mostly by my non–photographer friends and acquaintances who do not realise how sensitive the subject is: what do you do with all the prints that you produce? Putting sensitivity aside, it is a fair question—after all, there is only so much wall space, and only so many people will be wiling to buy—or take, when you are in the mood of offering them for free—your prints. And the question weighs even more heavily on those who give in to the temptation of printing large (as if printing large makes you a better photographer).

I have done quite a bit of printing over the past several years; I have also gone through the phase of making big prints (thankfully, though, I have long backed away from it). I have sold a few prints and given away a number of photographs, too. Most of the pictures that I have printed, however, have accumulated into a nice, massive pile—a pile that is way too large to fit into a shoe box. I suppose only our predecessors had the luxury of keeping all their photographs in shoe boxes. One could say that, given the latest printing technologies and relatively low cost of printing, we have grown accustomed to indulging in disregarding modesty.

Most of the time the pile sits there unnoticed. Granted, you are sort of aware of its existence but usually not conscious enough of it to ask yourself as to why or for what purpose it exists. Recently I moved to a new apartment, for the umpteenth time, and could not avoid facing my pile of prints again. In an attempt to justify its existence, if not exactly to find a meaningful purpose in its presence, I started sorting through and looking at the photographs. As it turned out, the experience was more interesting than I anticipated—for one thing, it did not simply end in disappointment that painstakingly producing the prints was nothing but an exercise in futility.

I am a proponent of distancing oneself from one's own work, mostly by not seeing or thinking of it for a while, to see the forest for its trees. I had not seen most of the prints long enough so that I almost had a detached viewer's perspective. To my great surprise, many of them carried very different messages than what I remember being on my mind right after printing them.

There were photographs that almost looked as somebody else's work, which now feels as if I was not entirely true to myself at the time I chose and worked on them. There were several pictures printed three or four times, identically the same, at immodestly large sizes; I felt perplexed at first but then remembered the infatuation of the moment—although long faded, I could recollect the connection again. There were several versions of the same print, which indicated an aesthetic indecision at the point of working on the images; now, however, I could easily choose the best version. There were prints from my Panasonic LX–2 digital point–and–shoot, and they looked nowhere nearly as bad as the age of the camera or its sensor size would suggest. There were many test prints, which I obviously felt were worth keeping at the time but now got rid of without giving it a second thought—they have served the purpose of producing and cementing ballpark knowledge and finally could be let go of. I could go on with the list of fascinating discoveries, but I think you get the point.

Having taken my time looking at the prints I realised that I do know a couple of things about photography—what works and what does not, what matters and what can be disregarded—a knowledge that cannot be bought or explained in a couple of hours. Holding the pile of prints in my hands, which weighed in at a few kilograms, I still could not adequately answer the question in the beginning of the post. However, I did not seem to need to look for an answer anymore, because, on a metaphysical level, the pile had transformed into photographic knowledge and, however shallow, wisdom. I cannot imagine arriving at where I am today without all the printing that I have done.

22 May 2010 » Carl Zeiss Distagon T* 2.8/21 ZF.2 lens review

My review of the Carl Zeiss Distagon T* 2.8/21 ZF.2 lens is now online. In short, it is a spectacular optic and easily one of the best performers across various brands at this focal length. Its only real drawback is very strong vignetting at f/2.8, but then again many ultra wide angle lenses have this quality. If you need a lens of this focal length for nature or landscape photography and do not mind the bulk (and the price tag), I recommend the lens without reservations.

17 May 2010 » Less is more

In the end of last year I bought a Hasselblad CFE 4/40 IF lens. It is a super wide angle optic in medium format and costs an arm and a leg. Why did I buy it? Looking back at it now, I think because I wanted it (as opposed to needing it). I had used my Hasselblad V series system for a number of years and there was only one situation when I felt that I needed something wider than the CFi 4/50 lens, which is equivalent to roughly 26mm in 35mm format; that was when I photographed volcanoes of Kamchatka last year. I think what really triggered the buying decision was that the lens is a remarkable performer—it can arguably be considered the pinnacle of Zeiss lens design—and I had to have it. Some things are such that you cannot let go of them until you have lived the dream.

Technically, the lens is absolutely spectacular. Believe it or not, it is brutally sharp, centre to corner, starting right from f/4. I could not detect any immediately obvious chromatic aberration and, although image circle of the lens is very small (when used on the Hasselblad Flexbody, it cannot be shifted even one millimetre), its vignetting signature is far from bad. It shows noticeable distortion, but "noticeable" is meant by fairly high standards; besides, distortion has a simple signature and can be easily dealt with in post processing.

Adding the optic to my usual three lens setup (50mm, 80mm, and 150mm), however, brought nothing but confusion. First, the CFE 4/40 IF is quite large and heavy; adding it to my usual kit made me use a larger camera bag, which became too heavy to lug around. Second, the focal lengths of 50mm and 40mm just do not go together well in my experience—there is some kind of friction between them; I do not know what it is but I felt it very strongly when carrying the two lenses at the same time. I reckon the essence of that friction is in whether you use one lens or the other when you want to shoot wide, and none of the lenses wanted to be left in the backpack. The CFi 4/50 is a much better general purpose wide angle lens whereas the CFE 4/40 IF is more of a specialty optic; the latter, however, is so outstanding that you have to use it. Picking one lens over the other was tough most of the time, and I hate being in the middle.

Recently I had to sell the CFE 4/40 IF for financial reasons. Well, not exactly, perhaps—I actually wonder if using the money elsewhere was an excuse to get rid of the lens. And now that it is gone and I am back to my basic three lens setup, I feel relieved and perfectly focused (pun unintended) again. Less, indeed, sometimes is more.

12 May 2010 » Mirrorless cameras—the battle heats up... or does it?

As anticipated, Sony have dropped the other shoe in the shape of the NEX–3 and NEX–5 mirrorless interchangeable lens cameras. There is a lot to immediately like about them and it is very impressive how many things Sony seem to have gotten right. APS–C sized sensor and apparently exemplary image quality? Check. Small, magnesium alloy camera body (NEX–5)? Check. 3.0 inch, 920,000 dot tilt–flip screen? Check. If, however, you have already sensed that there is a but coming, you are right.

But, what's with the user interface? DPReview have written regarding the PASM modes of the cameras that "most common control settings (ISO, for instance) are scattered throughout the slightly perverse multi–tiered menu". At the same time, Cnet.com have reported that "the Sony NEX–5 seems optimised for the point–and–shoot upgrader; not necessarily because it's easier to use than any other or that it's priced particularly low, but because it's full of constraints that will probably bother enthusiasts a lot more than snapshooters". This seems to mean that, in the long run, serious photographers are likely to find the cameras frustrating to use, which is a deal breaker in my book.

What I completely fail to grasp is why there is so little differentiation between the NEX–3 and the NEX–5. I am not a marketing specialist but, the way I see it, Sony could have targeted the lower end model at point–and–shoot upgraders while designing user interface of the higher end model for serious photographers who need a lot of control and easy access to main settings; this would have allowed them to sell to two different markets. I also do not know much about software development and it is possible that designing two different user interfaces would have been cost prohibitive; still I have to say that the way Sony have positioned the two cameras does not make sense to me. Serious DSLR users who want a small, serious camera with a large sensor apparently were not on Sony engineers' (or, more likely, marketers') mind when they envisioned the cameras.

Another thing that bothers me is that Sony have announced one prime pancake lens, two (massive in relation to the size of the camera bodies) zoom lenses, and no lens road map. Are we going to see more fixed–focal–length pancake lenses? It is difficult to commit to a system without such knowledge.

At any rate, let us wait and see what in–depth reviews will say about the Sony NEX cameras. Do not count on me being an early adopter, though. And, oh, will someone wake Canikon up, please?

11 May 2010 » Fixed–focal–length (prime) vs. zoom lenses

I wrote my prime vs. zoom lenses article a few years back and, very interestingly, this theme has seen a bit of resurgence on the Internet as of late. In particular, Ken Rockwell has written a piece that sounds very similar to my thoughts on the subject, and Nathan Jones of The Photon Fantastic, a Web site that I highly recommend visiting regularly, has shared his thoughts here. In short, all three of us favour prime lenses.

I still had a couple of zoom lenses in my arsenal when I wrote the article, but that was then and this is now and I no longer own zoom lenses (apart from the lens on my digital point–and–shoot camera, where I have no choice). I use prime lenses for everything, even on my Nikon D700 when shooting social events. On the one hand, I never feel restricted by not using zoom lenses even in most dynamic situations; on the other hand, I have encountered numerous circumstances where certain photographs would not have been possible had I used slowish (f/2.8 or slower) zoom lenses. As an example, below is a photograph from a social event that I attended recently. It was taken with a Nikon D700 camera and an AF Nikkor 35mm f/2D lens at ISO3200, f/2 and 1/20 seconds. Using a slower lens would have significantly degraded quality of the image, or even ruined it—I would have had to either use a higher ISO setting and get a much noisier image, or shoot at a slower shutter speed and get an unsharp picture because of camera/subject movement. And of course, blurred background afforded by the fast aperture is a tremendous bonus.

Come in here, dear boy, have a cigar...

The preference for prime lenses partially explains my recent interest in Carl Zeiss ZF.2 lenses, too. Also, when I finally come to buy a mirrorless camera system, my intention is to use fixed–focal–length pancake lenses only. I do not mean to say goodbye to zoom lenses forever as one never knows what the future holds, but, at least for the time being, they are just not my cup of tea.

29 April 2010 » AF Nikkor 85mm f/1.4D vs. Carl Zeiss Planar 1.4/85 ZF

I have just posted a AF Nikkor 85mm f/1.4D vs. Carl Zeiss Planar 1.4/85 ZF comparison. I fully expected both contenders to perform more or less equally well yet to my great surprise discovered that, optically, the Zeiss is a better lens. Thus, the choice for potential buyers boils down to the optical performance vs. autofocus issue—if what you are after is the ultimate image quality, get the Zeiss; if, however, you must have autofocus and optical performance is of secondary consideration, then get the Nikkor.

I now also have a Carl Zeiss Distagon 2.8/21 ZF.2 for testing (this lens is great fun!) and my review will be published some time in May.

24 April 2010 » My ideal mirrorless camera—update

My comments on the ideal mirrorless camera apparently have resonated among quite a few readers, which suggests that at present this is a topic du jour in photography and that the concept of mirrorless cameras has gathered quite a bit of a momentum. It seems that I am far from the only one who is waiting to have more options before pulling the trigger on buying the first mirrorless camera.

My friend Edwin over at CameraHobby.com happened to be thinking of the same subject and would add quiet operation and in–camera image stabilisation to my wish list. I agree with him and these two items are a welcome addition to the ideal mirrorless camera. At the same time, DPReview.com have just published a review of the Olympus EP–2, which is one of the popular choices in the mirrorless camera segment today; to me, this camera demonstrates what I do not want—the combination of a low resolution screen, complicated menu system and various operational quirks certainly constitutes a deal breaker.

A reader has also written to suggest that an alternative to the perfect mirrorless digital camera could be... wait for it... a compact film camera. This is a really neat idea and an example of thinking out of the box. There is a number of compact film cameras available at fairly reasonable prices. For example, Minolta TC–1 seems to be a gem and an all–time classic. Although I do realise that not everyone would be prepared to shoot film, it is a perfectly viable option for those who feel comfortable working with the "old" medium.

22 April 2010 » My ideal mirrorless camera

I went on a short trip over the last weekend and, although it was not a dedicated photographic outing, things somehow fell into place allowing me to see and think photographically. I brought the Nikon D700 with the 35mm lens with me, which is the smallest serious kit in my camera arsenal at the moment, but it turned out to be too much to lug around given the non–photographic nature of the journey. I ended up leaving the camera at the hotel and now regret it—I can still see in my mind's eye the images that I could have taken.

There is often a difference between being photographically acute and carrying photo gear—the former does not necessarily require the latter and the latter does not guarantee the former. Carrying photo gear yet not seeing photographically is understandable and we all have done it—the muse cannot be summoned whenever you want. Failing to have a decent camera when inspiration comes, however, is not excusable and any serious photographer should be ready for such moments. Now, I did have my iPhone with me but, despite all the bravado regarding iPhone–style photography on the Internet and claims that your camera does not matter a jot, I am of the opinion that iPhone simply does not cut it as a camera if you take photography seriously.

This predicament made me think about mirrorless cameras again as they offer image quality comparable to that of serious DSLRs but have much more manageable weight and size. A camera such as the Panasonic GF–1 would have been perfect on this trip. I, however, have been holding back from purchasing one of the mirrorless cameras available now because we are more than likely to have many more options in this segment before the year is out. The Panasonic GF–1 looks great (so does the Olympus EP–2, but the widespread reports of the glacial speed of its autofocus have turned me completely off), but I want to wait and see what the offerings from Sony, Nikon and, hopefully, other camera makers will be. Buying the first mirrorless camera is more important than it seems at first—you do not just buy a camera; you buy into a camera system. This has far reaching implications and should be thought through carefully.

On the train back to Shanghai I thought of the missed photographic opportunities and how a mirrorless camera would have saved the day. I also mulled what my ideal mirrorless camera would be like and, interestingly, came up with the list of key features quite quickly, as if the issue had been stewing at the back of my mind for a long time. Here is what the perfect mirrorless camera would have in my version of the best of all possible worlds (in no particular order):

Size, weight and build quality in the ballpark of the Panasonic GF–1 or Leica X–1;
3.0", 920,000 dot OLED display; anything smaller in size or resolution would be disappointing;
12MP APS–C sensor found in the Nikon D300s;
Speedy autofocus—not as fast as in serious DSLRs but certainly faster than in point–and–shoot cameras of today;
Fast start up and responsive operation;
RAW capture with a RAW + JPG option (JPG quality and size should be user customisable);
A comprehensive Auto ISO feature;
Highlight warning and large, transparent live RGB histogram;
Simple, clean menu system that does not require a cheat sheet or scratching one's head to get to frequently used items;
Dedicated buttons for or, at least, easy access to Exposure Compensation and ISO settings;
Fast (f/2 or faster) fixed–focal–length pancake lenses (16mm, 24mm and 60mm, please);
Dedicated, old–fashioned Shutter Speed and Aperture dial with A, S, P and M mode implemented in a manner similar to the Leica X–1;
Fairly large buffer for continuous shooting that clears quickly.

Unfortunately, we do not happen to live in the best of all possible worlds and, even though I think I am not asking for too much, I realise that the mirrorless camera that I will end up buying will not have at least some of the above; at the same time, it will most likely boast numerous things that I do not need. Nonetheless, I am certain that we will have very competent options and, as they say, it is a great time to be a photographer.

15 April 2010 » Fujifilm Astia 100F vs. Provia 100F

Occasionally I get into the mood of wanting to try new films—maybe to explore what alternative colour reproduction might bring to my images, or, perhaps, to indulge in a bit if visual freshness, or, possibly, to simply reconfirm my previous, long–lasting choices. I have been interested in Fujifilm Astia 100F colour slide film for a long time—it is said to have "subdued colour reproduction" and, at least in theory, might be a possible substitution for the Fujifilm Provia 100F, the emulsion that has been my standard choice for when I need neutral, realistic colours. So one sunny Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago (I might add in passing that Sunday afternoons have been a rarity in Shanghai for quite a while—or so it seems) I mounted the CFE 4/40 IF lens onto my Hasselblad 503CW camera, grabbed a couple of film backs and went out for a walk.

I shot twelve harmless (as in without any aesthetic merit) scenes with both Provia and Astia and, looking at the slides side by side for the first time, was very surprised how pronounced the differences between their colour reproduction were—see the examples below. On a technical note, the four slides were scanned and then judiciously adjusted in Photoshop as one shot; I cropped, resized and sharpened them for Web presentation only after all adjustments were done. Thus, the examples below at the very least preserve relative colour rendition of the two films; on my freshly calibrated Apple Cinema Display they look very close, if not identical, to what I see when looking at the original slides on my light table.


	Fujifilm Provia 100F		Fujifilm Astia 100F


	Fujifilm Provia 100F		Fujifilm Astia 100F

The first thing that I notice is that Astia boasts much warmer colour reproduction; compared with it, Provia has a very noticeable green–and–blue tint. I like how Astia renders yellows and reds—they have a lush look to them; greens, on the other hand, look somewhat muddy. Thinking back of the actual scenes, I would say that what Provia shows is much closer to reality (having said that, photography has never been about reality, so this consideration is mostly irrelevant). As far as dynamic range is concerned, I do not see any meaningful differences and would say that Provia is on a par with Astia (for some reason I expected Astia to have a wider dynamic range). Both films also boast superfine grain: Astia and Provia have RMS of 7 and 8 respectively; I seriously doubt that the difference will be noticeable in real–life photographs of even very large size. So far so good—both films, although quite different, seem to be very competent performers. Before I continue, however, I need to digress a little and talk about the importance of... the sky.

They say there are three things one can stare at endlessly: flowing water, open fire and someone counting money. As to me, I can endlessly stare into the blue sky, preferably with some humble, distant feather clouds. I can do so because, well, it is endless, both literally and allegorically. And the amazement of the allegoric part is that something seemingly so plain and ubiquitous as the blue sky can be a perfect visual match for various types of music, which in turn represent endlessly various states of mind. One day—or moment—it is "Speak to me / Breathe", the next it is "Flamenco Sketches", then it is "Speak Low", and so on—all visually united by the same good old blue sky (with subtle feather clouds, thank you). No matter what disposition I am in, I look at the blue sky and always see a reflection of that disposition, hear an echo embodied in the music of the moment coming back at me.

Probably trying to reverse–engineer this connection and incorporate music into my photographic work, I venture to include a sky—any reasonably meaningful sky—in every photograph, if possible. To me, inclusion of a sky also allows for much more room for interpretation and serves as an objective counterbalance to subjective emphasis. Here, however, I seem to disagree with many photographers with whom I have discussed this topic. Many of them prefer to be more focused and exclude the sky unless it is a crucial component of a composition. To me, however, inclusion of the sky and its quality remain imperative.

With the importance of the sky now properly disclosed, I have to say that I simply dislike what Astia does to it. Just look at the colour of the sky in the photographs above—can you even call that a sky? Sorry, nice try, Astia, but... thanks but no, thanks. Now, I am sure that there are applications where Astia shines—portraiture is said to be one—and that there are situations where its colour rendition is the perfect choice. However, the way it renders the blue sky precludes it from becoming my general–purpose, use–anytime film. If Provia 100F is to be dethroned, it will have to be done by some other film.

10 April 2010

In my review of the Hasselblad H3DII–50 camera system I mentioned several problems that I encountered while using the camera in the field. I have now received a reply from Hasselblad that addresses some of them and added an update at the end of the review.

7 April 2010

Recently I have been distracted by various things and not able to do or think much photographically. Or maybe—cause and effect relationships can be very tricky—it is one of those prolonged dry spell periods when you find it impossible to take your camera off the shelf or finish writing one single meaningful sentence; at such times, "distractions" come in handy as plausible excuses. The question is how you get out from such periods, and the answer never comes easily. It might seem simple after the fact or when it is not you who is stuck, but it is always a pickle when you are in the midst of it. Also, what got you out of the rut once most likely will not help next time. You have to find a way to refuel your passion in a new way each and every time. What I have been thinking about most, however, is what got me into the rut in the first place—presuming it is a rut and not a temporary overdosage of life's trivia. Understanding why something happens is already half of a solution.

Nonetheless, I have finally managed to finish writing my impressions of the Hasselblad H3DII camera system and the article is now online.

17 March 2010

As you might recall, in the end of last year my friend Edwin of CameraHobby.com and I decided to make a small experiment for me to ascertain whether there is any difference between Epson canned profiles and custom profiles created with the use of one of the better colour management packages. The experiment that looked quite simple and straightforward in the beginning, however, turned out to be a bit of a nightmare and lead to uncover that even some of the best software companies still cannot get their act together to conclusively figure out colour management issues.

The workflow of the experiment unfolded as planned. Edwin uses Eye One Photo, which is X–Rite's pro–oriented colour management package, and sent me by email the Eye One colour charts. I printed them with my Epson 4880 printer following Edwin's instructions (basically, that no colour management should be applied in the entire printing pipeline so that the charts show the printer's uncorrected output). I then sent the charts to Edwin by post; once received, he created custom profiles for the two types of Epson paper that I used and emailed them to me. Shortly after that I started doing some printing to see if there are any differences between the canned and Edwin's custom profiles.

I quickly discovered that, indeed, there were differences; moreover, they were massive—the prints produced with the use of the custom profiles simply looked wrong. Edwin and I spent some time trying to figure out what had gone wrong and, when we were almost ready to give up, came across this article that explained the nature of the problem. In short, it is as follows: "If you are using an Epson printer and Apple computer with the latest operating system, the latest version of Photoshop (CS4) and one of the latest Epson drivers, you cannot print a file with no color management."

Luckily, the article also offered a workaround. I was still interested in doing the experiment and proposed to Edwin to try again using the suggested solution. At around that time, however, Ctein over at The Online Photographer published an article suggesting that Apple... broke printing in Snow Leopard. In particular, "Snow Leopard has a bug in it that screws up rendering if you're using a version 4 ICC profile (this bug appeared in MacOS 10.6.2; it didn't exist in 10.6.1). That's going to be any profile that's been generated recently."

There might be a workaround for the second problem, too. I, however, think that this has gone way too far and, as far as the absolute majority of photographers are concerned, colour management is completely screwed up in the latest and greatest OS. It is very surprising that very few people have cried foul about the issue, especially given how popular Apple are with the photographic community. I seriously doubt that there would be such silence if Microsoft had done something similar.

So much for curiosity—it will have to wait until the issue is completely resolved by Apple and, possibly, Adobe and Epson. Meanwhile, I am very happy that the old Epson profiles work without a hitch and that this conundrum has not influenced my photographic work.

11 March 2010

My Pingyao portfolio, which includes a whooping number of 22 images, is now online. The reason I say "whooping" is that having more than a dozen images in a photographic series is a very bold statement, as well as a not entirely modest claim to meaningfulness. After all, in our age of very limited attention span, how many people can you realistically expect to finish looking through such a monstrous number of images? One must have a very strong sense of purpose and completeness to implicitly demand the attention that most would not readily grant.

Being aware of the above, I still purposefully posted 22 images. The rationale for my stubbornness is that there are no accidental photographs in the series—each picture was carefully chosen to serve the dual purpose of depicting the place from a certain angle and supporting the balance of the sequence, which is very important to presentation of a body of work. Considered of and by themselves, many individual images will probably seem trivial; however, it is the entire chain that matters, not individual links, even though some of the links might rise above mediocrity.

I realise that many of you will perceive the series as nothing more than a plain, literal record of the middle of nowhere (keep in mind, though, that this particular nowhere happens to be the cultural rooting of the place that is unmistakably evolving into the centre of the universe for the upcoming couple of centuries). Regardless of this, I visited Pingyao a number of years back, without a camera at the time, and have always wanted to have at least a plain, literal record of it. To that extent, I am already very happy about the series.

To me, however, the series is more than just a plain, literal record of Pingyao. It probably is not immediately obvious but I think I have managed to capture at least some of the poetry of the place. True, perhaps only a tiny fraction of it, but, to my eye, it is undeniably there, which is not too bad for a three day adventure. And most importantly, I still feel the connection with the place and see it in the photographs. Never mind if you do not—photography is a very personal undertaking and, as far as I am concerned, I have accomplished the task—not exactly brilliantly or with flying colours, but, on a personal level, still fairly satisfactorily.

So I suppose I will simply let the series say what it has to say and let the rest fall where it will, even if it ends up being a visual landfill in the eyes of some viewers.

24 February 2010

Pingyao, as I expected, offered great photographic opportunities. It, however, is not a place that takes you by colourfulness or visual freshness. Instead, it is a place where you have to take your time exploring it and feel its slow, subtle rhythm. It does not open up unless you slow down and accept its pace. Once you do, however, you will be surprised how much poetry there is, literally around every corner. And speaking of poetry, my friend Albert with whom I went on the trip, wrote a short poem in Chinese about our adventure:

白酒白菜逢故知

樂醉春夢迷古邑

Fragrant liquor, simple cuisine—seeing old friend

Merrily tipsy amidst spring dreams, we are lost in ancient town

My photographic technique was consistent with the pace of the place. At first I started using the HC 3.5–4.5/50–110 zoom but it felt plain inappropriate. Also, the lens is very heavy and slow, so that shooting hand–held at ISO50 was mostly unrealistic anyway (given my previous experience with the CFV–39 digital back, I did not want to shoot at higher ISO settings). I then figured that if you start using a tripod you might as well as take one step further towards thoughtfulness and meticulousness. In the end, 99% of shooting was done with the HCD 4/28 lens and the HTS 1.5 tilt–and–shift adaptor, lens shifted most of the time (even when photographing people). I was also taking notes on using the system in the field as I photographed and have two pages of comments that I now need to expand into a first impressions report.

I have started working on the images shot in Pingyao—slowly, carefully, sort of from afar—to keep the pace of the place and not accidentally get disconnected with its poetry. Something tells me that the final images will be quite different from the look and the style that I produced in the past. Not necessarily better or worse, just different.

We all know that hard drive failure is not a question of if but rather when; many of us, however, tend to think that it is not going to happen to me. Well, last night the master hard drive that held all original RAW files and high resolution scans crashed. Thankfully, everything was properly backed up with the use of Time Machine and it is restoring the files onto a new 1TB hard disk that I bought today as I am writing this update. I have to say, though, that I felt quite nervous before I restored the most important files as for several hours there was only one copy of the files. Imagine the horror of losing several years' worth of photographic work... Time Machine is great and all, but I am now going to look into multiple drive backup solution.

14 February 2010

Next week I will be photographing in Pingyao, Shanxi Province, China (山西省平遥) and have a Hasselblad H3D camera system on loan from Hasselblad Shanghai for the trip; the system includes the following:

H3D camera body
50MP digital back
Two lenses (HCD 4/28 and HC 3.5–4.5/50–110 zoom)
HTS 1.5 tilt–and–shift adaptor

I have had the system for a couple of days now and, since there is another assignment that has to be completed before the end of the month, I have already had a chance to shoot with it. I immediately noticed that the camera is very user friendly—I figured out how everything works within about ten minutes without reading the manual (which I do not have anyway). If you are not a novice in photography and cannot figure out how a camera works without a manual, it is the fault of the manufacturer, not yours. Generally, the H3D gives the impression of a solid professional tool—it seems to have everything that a serious photographer might need and, thankfully, is not clogged with useless features (with the sole exception of the tiny inbuilt flash, perhaps).

50MP is a helluva lot of resolution, quite likely more than most of us can realistically use. Dig this: using my 17" printer, I cannot print original files without downsizing them even at 360dpi—unbelievable! To put it differently, you will see much more detail in the files than you can see when looking at the subject with your bare eyes. Were I to buy a medium format digital back with my own hard–earned moola, I would most likely opt for a 39MP back.

I have also done quick–and–dirty tests of the lenses and, to cut to the chase, they appear first rate. The 28mm lens has a very large image circle (it can be shifted 18mm) and thus exhibits minimal light fall–off; it is already plentifully sharp centre–to–corner at f/4; although the lens shows complex distortion, its degree is minimal (the assignment that I mentioned above includes some architectural shots and I used the lens with the HTS 1.5 without problems). The zoom, on the other hand, does not perform as admirably wide–open but seems to be a fine lens once stopped down. Its real drawback is that it is huge—when I mounted it on the camera for the first time I instantly thought that were I to own the system I would certainly use prime lenses only (but that is only me, of course). In short, I expect all H series lenses to be very fine.

Battery life, however, does not seem adequate. Half a day of shooting in Shanghai in mild temperatures (just above 0° Celsius) and approximately 70 exposures depleted one fully charged battery. I hope that three batteries are going to last a full day in Pingyao, where temperatures are quite a bit lower than in Shanghai. Just in case, I will be taking the Hasselblad Flexbody camera with one lens and a few rolls of film with me.

I have the H3D system for a short period of time only and thus will not be able to write in–depth reviews of each piece of gear that I have. Nonetheless, I will share my initial impressions of the system later this month.

9 February 2010

Nikon today announced two new lenses—the AF–S Nikkor 24mm f/1.4G ED and the AF–S Nikkor 16–35mm f/4G ED VR. At long last, Nikon have gotten around to producing lenses that truly expand our photographic options and promise to appeal to a large audience of serious amateur and professional photographers.

It is no coincidence that I mentioned the 24mm f/1.4 lens first—it is the lens that will be of most interest to those who often shoot in dark ambient light and yours truly among them. I recently have been photographing quite a few social events in rather dark venues and have to say that fast lenses are still very much needed despite the insane ISO values that we now take for granted. Even though my Nikon D700 can go up to ISO12800, I am quite reluctant to go above ISO3200 because of the image quality issues and thus set it as the maximum ISO value when I use the Auto ISO function. Even at this ISO setting and f/1.8, I often find myself at shutter speeds around 1/20 seconds, and so the extra bit of aperture speed is very much welcome. Also equally important, the combination of the wide angle of view and the fast aperture will produce a very unique look that is impossible to imitate with other lenses.

The 16–35mm f/4 zoom, on the other hand, will most likely appeal to landscape and travel photographers who use Nikon 35mm equipment as their primary system. Most photographers will applaud the inclusion of Vibration Reduction (more is always better, right?) but, to be honest, I am not as enthusiastic about it. VR does not completely replace fast apertures and/or good quality high ISO performance—although f/4 with VR will do the trick for still subjects, it is not going to cut it for anything that moves. Due to this, many photographers might still prefer the old Nikkor 17–35mm f/2.8 as it is one stop faster. Also quite interestingly, the new lens is not that much cheaper or lighter than the old zoom—did Nikon exchange one stop of aperture speed for VR? And of course, it remains to be seen whether the newcomer is better in terms of optical performance. In short, I would not be writing off the Nikkor 17–35mm f/2.8 just yet.

Home page photograph has been updated with another image from the January trip to The Yellow Mountain that I like.

1 February 2010

My comparison of the 28mm lenses from Nikon, Zeiss and Leica is now online. I often read or hear that Zeiss design and produce some of the best lenses and that Leica optics are unsurpassed. This, however, is often stated in general terms and finding out where exactly, and by how much, Leica and Zeiss lenses are better than optics from other brands was absolutely fascinating.

28 January 2010

As you most likely already know, Apple have announced the iPad. My reaction? Sitting at my almost two year old but still fairly state–of–the–art eight–core Mac Pro, with a MacBook Air lying somewhere around the apartment, I realise that all I really need is a piece of paper, a pencil and something worthwhile to say.

Rumours are that Nikon will bring about a storm with new announcements in early February. Whatever it will be, however, all I really need is being smart and lucky enough to be in the right place, at the right time with any decent camera system, digital or film.

21 January 2010

Yesterday in Shanghai there was the first—hopefully not the last—concert of Boris Grebenshchikov, one of the founding fathers of Russian rock music. It was absolutely brilliant and I feel sorry for those who missed it.

Boris Grebenshchikov in Shanghai

As usual, I was shooting with my Nikon D700 and, on a technical note, have to say that the camera's matrix metering performed very poorly in this kind of lighting—it grossly overexposed and I ended up dialing in -1 compensation. Looking at the RAW files now, I should have shot at -1.7 to better preserve highlights. No matter how smart cameras get they still have no way of knowing what you are after.

19 January 2010

My friend Andrew Lee, who is an avid Nikon shooter, uses Leica R series lenses converted to Nikon F mount alongside his extensive collection of Nikkors. He happens to own the Leica Elmarit–R 2.8/28 lens and has lent it to me to add to the other two 28mm lenses that I currently have at my disposal. So I now have three lenses to juxtapose—AF Nikkor 28mm f/2.8D, Carl Zeiss Distagon 2/28 ZF and Leica Elmarit–R 2.8/28—and am in the process of comparing them in terms of all the aspects that I usually consider when testing lenses.

Why am I doing this? Simply out of curiosity and for my own educational purposes. First, there is a massive price difference between the lenses (the Nikkor costs USD260, the Zeiss is priced at USD1030 and the Leica goes for around two grand—if you can find it, that is), and I am interested to see what the monetary differences translate into in relation to their optical performance. Second, I want to see what the design priorities of the three venerable lens makers were when they conceived the lenses.

I will let you know all the details in due course but, to spill the beans, my initial impression has been that, optically, the Leica is a better performer than the other two contenders; at the same time, I am not sure yet that I would spend the extra to get the Zeiss instead of the Nikkor. Stay tuned!

12 January 2010

I have lost count how many times I have traveled to The Yellow Mountain (Anhui Province, China). I do remember, though, that I first photographed there with the Nikon F100, which should give you an idea how long ago that was, then with the Nikon F6 (another time indicator), and later with the Hasselblad V system. The place is notoriously difficult to photograph and after all the trips I only have ten worthy images in The Yellow Mountain Gallery. Plain sunlight is no good, rain does not cut it, and fog is not enough—it has to be a voodoo combination of all these elements to bring out the magic and hear Bitches Brew playing.

I had a few days of holidays around New Year's Day and thought it would be great to get away from the rat race of Shanghai and spend some time in a quiet place thinking about, sorting through and pinning down various stuff in my mind; an opportunity to do some photography at the same time would be very much welcome, too. I had been keeping an eye on the weather in The Yellow Mountain from early December and, as it had been snowing a lot there this winter, I immediately thought of visiting the place again. Knowing how capricious the mountain is, however, I had no photographic expectations—just give me a chance to slow down and think calmly and I am a happy camper; if I also happen to bring back one or two worthy images, it would be icing on the cake. So off to The Yellow Mountain I went.

As I suspected, the weather was appalling for photography—it was changing between flat sunlight, wet snow, drizzling rain and dull fog in a mockery fashion, and the magic seemed to have left the mountain. To make things worse, I made the mistake of bringing too much gear with me, which slowed me down both physically and aesthetically. Generally, I am an advocate of the minimalist approach and do not take anything unless I am positive it is going to be crucial. This time around, however, I wanted to try out a new camera backpack and it turned out to be too big for my own good, as the extra space made me give in to the temptation of bringing a few extra items that I did not really need. The Yellow Mountain is anything but flat—if you are not hiking downhill you are certainly climbing—and carrying too much equipment is the last thing you want to do. So there I was, lugging too much stuff in uninspiring light, almost ready to accept that the photographic part of the trip was going to be a failure.

Good things, however, often happen when you least expect them. Towards the end of the last day I must have been lost in thought, or simply tired of hiking, and did not immediately notice that the weather had shifted—favourably, for once. It did not exactly change, but something in the atmosphere was no longer the same—the light had a different quality to it, the sky had clearly changed its mood, and I heard Pharaoh's Dance starting playing at the back of my mind. All of a sudden my camera bag became light as a feather and I rushed to where I envisioned would be a great spot for photography at that time of the day. As expected, there came the moment when you tell yourself to slow down and not waste film shooting the same scene over and over again yet consistently fail to listen to your own experienced advice. That moment was indeed exhilarating (as was savouring Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin on New Year's Eve on the top of the mountain ) and abundantly made up for the previous days of visual boredom—have a look at the current home page photograph.

As you might recall, I mentioned in the end of last year that I currently have access to Carl Zeiss ZF lenses. The Distagon T* 2/28 is now mounted on my Nikon D700 and I have started putting it through its paces. My point of comparison will be the AF Nikkor 28mm f/2.8D, which I tested recently and was not very happy with its performance on a full–frame DSLR. A 28mm lens would be my first choice if I wanted to use only one general purpose wide–angle lens, so let us see if the Zeiss lens is a solid enough performer for those who favour this focal length. More on this in the near future.

5 January 2010

One sunny day in December I was savouring a late afternoon no–foam caffelatte in one of the cafés that I frequent. The place was nearly empty, and apart from me there was only one visitor—a young, attractive woman sitting five or six tables away. Intermittently switching between reading a book, doing something on her computer and writing notes in a notepad, she was anything by idle. The title of the book was not legible from where I was sitting but one word on the cover was in an immodestly large font and asked to be noticed—"style". Hmm... style? Curious, I peered at the cover and read the full title—"The Elements of Style". Even more intrigued, I googled the book on my iPhone, read what it was about and... ordered it on the same day.

The little red book is now with me more often than any other book or magazine, and I wish I had learned of its existence much earlier. That said, what, when and how we get to know in life is often an unexpected surprise when it occurs yet makes perfect sense when you look back at it. Everything comes in due time, I suppose.

The last part of my Nikon D700 camera review, Miscellaneous notes and conclusion, is finally online. It only took me slightly over a year to finish the review .

I have been very critical of how Epson have been managing the printer driver and firmware issue and here is yet another example of the company's inconsistent approach: a reader recently pointed out that the latest driver version for the Epson 4880 printer is 6.55 (released on 11 June 2009) and the printer's latest firmware is B0288B (released on 10 February 2009); the driver and the firmware can be downloaded from the Epson Europe Web site. The Web site of Epson USA, however, still has driver v6.12 (posted on 18 September 2008) and firmware B01483 (posted on 4 September 2008) as their latest offerings. Again, there is no information on the differences between the older and the newer versions of the drivers and the firmware or explanation as to what the newer versions have addressed and/or added. Will this ever change?

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