One year ago this week, I was sitting in a garden chair in my bedroom, battling two problems. First up was achieving a position of comfort, as my elbows rested uneasily on the arms of the chair, impeding my use of the computer’s trackpad. Secondly, I faced the issue of how best to salvage the photographs I’d taken at the 2008 Norwich Cathedral Christmas Fayre, littered as they were with problems of sharpness, blurring and some ghastly composition, not to mention poorly lit and showing next to no evidence of any interaction between myself and my worthy subjects.
Three hundred and sixty-three (or so) days on, things are a little different. I write to you now from a proper armchair in my bedroom (albeit one which would like to gobble me up), on which my arms rest comfortably, and I have a whole year’s experience in making photographs, which has helped immeasurably to iron out each of the aforementioned problems. I am not claiming perfection – oh-ho, lawks, by no means – but, just as a toddler eventually more-or-less stops wetting himself, after a year’s practice, I can be more-or-less confident in my ability to deliver photographs which are (comparatively) well-composed, sharp and devoid of blurring. Equally importantly, though, is the confidence I have developed in setting up shots with people.
A year ago, I would shoot furtively and hurriedly away, and mutter an incoherent ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’ to anyone caught in my viewfinder. If I was feeling particularly brash, I would ask someone to pose for the camera, take one photograph, at a push two, and feel houndingly guilty for taking those eight or nine seconds of someone’s time. The resulting shots would show that sense of hurry and lack of composure. Of this attitude, I can only say that it was a necessary stage to pass through on my photographic learning curve, that I have passed through it, and that I am piddling glad that Norwich Cathedral weren’t paying me to photograph for them.
These days, the composure is there with the composition. I cannot claim perfection – whenever I take my camera to work with people, nerves creep over me – but I will say that I have learned to convert that nervousness into concentration, which I think has improved my images tenfold.
As we look into 2010, I resolve to improve my images tenfold again – keep watching this space…
Monday 14 December 2009
Tuesday 8 December 2009
A confession...
Ladies and gentlemen. A confession, if you please.
It grieves me, it galls me, it irks and appalls me, to admit to you that throughout 2009, I have been rather less than responsible with my debit card. Consider that for six months, I have made a consistent saving of £90 a month on my rent, compared with my previous house, and I have spent a good deal less time in the Alexandra Tavern in that period too (which also grieves, galls, irks and appalls me): logic would appear to dictate that I should have saved a not inconsiderable sum of wonga.
Yet there is a gap in this logic, a gap which (coincidentally) corresponds with the gap in my funds. A gaping gap, a gap which leaves me agape, aghast and tearing my hair out. A gap created by such acts of liveliness (and foolishness) as trips to London, St. Andrews, Nairn, Chelmsford, Southwold, Great Yarmouth, Sheringham, Worcester and London again (twice). In addition to learning to drive (a necessity), which wasn’t without expense, I also invested in Photoshop (a necessity) and a new iPod, to replace the one that was stolen in farcical circumstances in July. One or two gabbling sharks I know rage on about the necessity of this last purchase, but this is my argument: you try walking through Anglia Square twice daily or more, without the distraction of a cricket audiobook or Tom Waits...
In short, Lord only knows how much I have plundered into the economy this year, but what is starkly clear is that it must be curbed. My New Year’s resolution for 2010 is to be worth at least £5 by the beginning of the summer. This will necessitate severe cuts in visits to other cities for purposes of beverage consumption, a commitment not to fork out £650 on computer software, further promises to take care of my iPod this time, and to spend my time being productive with regards to my chosen career path. Your support at this difficult time is immeasurably appreciated…
It grieves me, it galls me, it irks and appalls me, to admit to you that throughout 2009, I have been rather less than responsible with my debit card. Consider that for six months, I have made a consistent saving of £90 a month on my rent, compared with my previous house, and I have spent a good deal less time in the Alexandra Tavern in that period too (which also grieves, galls, irks and appalls me): logic would appear to dictate that I should have saved a not inconsiderable sum of wonga.
Yet there is a gap in this logic, a gap which (coincidentally) corresponds with the gap in my funds. A gaping gap, a gap which leaves me agape, aghast and tearing my hair out. A gap created by such acts of liveliness (and foolishness) as trips to London, St. Andrews, Nairn, Chelmsford, Southwold, Great Yarmouth, Sheringham, Worcester and London again (twice). In addition to learning to drive (a necessity), which wasn’t without expense, I also invested in Photoshop (a necessity) and a new iPod, to replace the one that was stolen in farcical circumstances in July. One or two gabbling sharks I know rage on about the necessity of this last purchase, but this is my argument: you try walking through Anglia Square twice daily or more, without the distraction of a cricket audiobook or Tom Waits...
In short, Lord only knows how much I have plundered into the economy this year, but what is starkly clear is that it must be curbed. My New Year’s resolution for 2010 is to be worth at least £5 by the beginning of the summer. This will necessitate severe cuts in visits to other cities for purposes of beverage consumption, a commitment not to fork out £650 on computer software, further promises to take care of my iPod this time, and to spend my time being productive with regards to my chosen career path. Your support at this difficult time is immeasurably appreciated…
Monday 23 November 2009
Rest in Peace, Mim
Quite impossible to blog this week without paying tribute to our friend Mim Cross, who last week moved onwards and upwards at the age of 23. Though my knowledge of Mim may have been somewhat fleeting, I can certainly attest to how enjoyable her company was, as she added a whole different dimension of amusement to a recent birthday party of mine. Unforgettable in particular was the present she so thoughtfully thrust into my arms that evening, in her desperation to find me a gift at a moment’s notice – a dumped Christmas tree, missing almost all of its leaves. Either through student indolence, or in keeping with Mim’s spirit of goodwill (who else would have the brilliance of mind to rescue a forsaken Christmas tree?), the tree remained in our house until it had lost each and every one of those remaining leaves. At this point we placed it just beside our front door, as it seemed against the spirit of the gift to get rid of it. For eight months, our house had a symbol of Mim’s character as I and my housemates so briefly knew her – caring, generous and endlessly funny.
In my mind, Mim has gone to decorate that tree again for this year. Without doubt, those friends of mine who were closer to Mim will be able to draw upon reams and reams of other fabulous memories, memories which characterise all of her other qualities – sincerity, chirpiness and soulfulness. Memories which will bring comfort and smiles, memories which will never lose their leaves.
In my mind, Mim has gone to decorate that tree again for this year. Without doubt, those friends of mine who were closer to Mim will be able to draw upon reams and reams of other fabulous memories, memories which characterise all of her other qualities – sincerity, chirpiness and soulfulness. Memories which will bring comfort and smiles, memories which will never lose their leaves.
Monday 19 October 2009
Today's Meeting
Met with the wonderfully friendly Ian McKinnon-Evans, creative director of Norwich-based advertising agency The Point, this afternoon. Entering the room with higher hopes than expectations, we chatted about the type of work that I’d like to specialise in, in the future, as well as the characteristics that my photographs are going to have to develop (ahem) if I am to make a success of myself, in a county crammed with talented photographers. I am the first to confess that half of the photographs in my portfolio look lovely, but are in fact almost wholly unremarkable; a steep learning curve lies ahead. I have, thankfully, already demonstrated a little of the flair required to get ahead in commercial photography, although ideas must begin to flow freely in the future, and in rather more of a torrent than the sparse puddles I have hitherto created. Effort, effort, effort is what is required. I must devote every spare moment to photography, from creating more dynamic, thoughtful and original photographs, to shadowing more established professional photographers, to ruthlessly removing photographs from my portfolio, adding in the improved works of the next few months. After this, I must set about making further copies of that improved portfolio, to approach advertising agencies and design consultancies. I must be prepared to have those portfolios tossed aside carelessly by people who know better than me, and I must put together a glitzy and professional-looking website. One of these days, a few months down the line, a commercial commission may come my way, and I must be ready for it with the ideas and the consistency to put together perhaps a hundred-and-fifty different images. Above all, I must have the equipment to deal with it too.
If I arrived at the meeting with only a bumbling, vague idea of what I can expect from a career like this, with skewed and unrealistic ideas of how to achieve the progression I’d like, and when it will happen, I am under no illusions now. Even if each networking event that I photograph brings with it new connections, and the possibility of further work, it is only one step at a time on a long, long path. I can content myself only with the thought that these steps do eventually add up. My challenge is to be prepared against the black ice and the dogs when, in however many years’ time, I eventually get to the gate…
If I arrived at the meeting with only a bumbling, vague idea of what I can expect from a career like this, with skewed and unrealistic ideas of how to achieve the progression I’d like, and when it will happen, I am under no illusions now. Even if each networking event that I photograph brings with it new connections, and the possibility of further work, it is only one step at a time on a long, long path. I can content myself only with the thought that these steps do eventually add up. My challenge is to be prepared against the black ice and the dogs when, in however many years’ time, I eventually get to the gate…
Wednesday 14 October 2009
My First Camera
I picked up my first camera today, a wee Kodak compact. I knew it was mine, because it was well-worn, like me, slightly battered from trips into the countryside, like me, and the battery cover had been replaced by a mountain of Blu-Tac. It’s all right, I know that you’re curious. You see, the fact is that a friend of mine dropped it from a great height one evening in a bar in Norwich. The camera survived, but a chip came off the battery cover, making it difficult to keep it closed. I attempted to remedy the situation by gluing the chipped bit back on; my idiocy was to carry out this repair job while the battery cover was closed.
Well, everything was fine, until the batteries ran out. Could I open the cover? Imagine it for yourself: the young budding photographer, struggling against his own camera as he struggles against his own mind, telling him how much of a BLITHERING SPAMHEAD he is. Who glues a battery compartment shut?
We can be thankful that I have learned how to take care of my equipment since those halcyon days of idiocy. I would hope that those I hold close to my heart have learned too – that friend of mine, who dropped the camera from a great height one evening in a bar in Norwich, is none other than my girlfriend. My current camera, much like its owner, can get as battered as it likes on future trips into the countryside…
Well, everything was fine, until the batteries ran out. Could I open the cover? Imagine it for yourself: the young budding photographer, struggling against his own camera as he struggles against his own mind, telling him how much of a BLITHERING SPAMHEAD he is. Who glues a battery compartment shut?
We can be thankful that I have learned how to take care of my equipment since those halcyon days of idiocy. I would hope that those I hold close to my heart have learned too – that friend of mine, who dropped the camera from a great height one evening in a bar in Norwich, is none other than my girlfriend. My current camera, much like its owner, can get as battered as it likes on future trips into the countryside…
Tuesday 29 September 2009
Professionalism defined...
First of all, if you aren't already a member of the group, here is the link to my Facebook photography page. Joining that will give you notifications of blog updates without requiring me to soil my personal page (and yours) with unnecessary business speak. Done? Aah...
If I didn’t feel like a professional photographer before this last week or so, I certainly do now. Or, at least, this angle of thinking allows me to feel justified in making the ludicrously expensive purchase I indulged myself in over the weekend. I doubt it has escaped your attention that a new Apple store opened in Norwich on Saturday morning. Excited beyond any level which could possibly be deemed acceptable at such a prospect, I blazed into the bright lights and the beaming smiles (it just doesn’t happen in other shops), and… well, the atmosphere put me all in a tizzy. Charging through the hordes of ecstatic children and equally gleeful parents (that certainly doesn’t happen in other shops), I raced to the software section, hoping to find something fresh to liven up my Mac, something to put it through its gears.
Somewhere in my mind, I think I was actually hoping for some form of computer game to whisk me back to youthfulness, a Championship Manager 32, or a Red Alert 56, or whichever version we’ve got up to at the end of the new millennium’s first decade. It wasn’t to be, though. None of those games stirred the excitement I’m now used to, the excitement of football, or of cricket, darts (yes, I hear you, and I advise you to stay silent) and real ale. I wondered to myself, stroking the almost-stubbly bumfluff on my chin, have I finally begun to Grow Up?
Then it happened. The eyes spotted a familiar blue, and before you could say ‘tickle my fancy’ I’d given my bank account a bit of a stretch. Photoshop isn’t cheap, you know.
So, here I am, fiddling around with my new toy. At £615, I consider myself to have invested meaningfully in my future career, and to mark the occasion I have set up a dedicated photography desktop on my computer, devoid of iTunes, Facebook and Championship Manager. Odd how one can have every success with a series of commissions, work tirelessly to create a network of contacts and run out of midnight oil reading photography books, but it is only a childish impulse purchase at an unforgivably large price that makes one actually feel like a professional. Now, how do you work this thing…
If I didn’t feel like a professional photographer before this last week or so, I certainly do now. Or, at least, this angle of thinking allows me to feel justified in making the ludicrously expensive purchase I indulged myself in over the weekend. I doubt it has escaped your attention that a new Apple store opened in Norwich on Saturday morning. Excited beyond any level which could possibly be deemed acceptable at such a prospect, I blazed into the bright lights and the beaming smiles (it just doesn’t happen in other shops), and… well, the atmosphere put me all in a tizzy. Charging through the hordes of ecstatic children and equally gleeful parents (that certainly doesn’t happen in other shops), I raced to the software section, hoping to find something fresh to liven up my Mac, something to put it through its gears.
Somewhere in my mind, I think I was actually hoping for some form of computer game to whisk me back to youthfulness, a Championship Manager 32, or a Red Alert 56, or whichever version we’ve got up to at the end of the new millennium’s first decade. It wasn’t to be, though. None of those games stirred the excitement I’m now used to, the excitement of football, or of cricket, darts (yes, I hear you, and I advise you to stay silent) and real ale. I wondered to myself, stroking the almost-stubbly bumfluff on my chin, have I finally begun to Grow Up?
Then it happened. The eyes spotted a familiar blue, and before you could say ‘tickle my fancy’ I’d given my bank account a bit of a stretch. Photoshop isn’t cheap, you know.
So, here I am, fiddling around with my new toy. At £615, I consider myself to have invested meaningfully in my future career, and to mark the occasion I have set up a dedicated photography desktop on my computer, devoid of iTunes, Facebook and Championship Manager. Odd how one can have every success with a series of commissions, work tirelessly to create a network of contacts and run out of midnight oil reading photography books, but it is only a childish impulse purchase at an unforgivably large price that makes one actually feel like a professional. Now, how do you work this thing…
Tuesday 15 September 2009
www.ryanwatts.741.com
Well, well, well. Look who’s come crawling back. Four months after my last blog, after moving into a new house and taking on a second job (at the Fat Cat pub), I finally put aside the time to do a little bit of writing. Let’s put it into perspective. For one hundred and five consecutive days, I have deemed everything else in my life more important than maintaining this blog, including - and let’s be frank here – playing cricket and football, attending barbecues, Pro Evolution Soccer, playing board games, doing crosswords, snoozing, watching cricket and football, the pubs of Norwich and buying new socks. Whether this is unacceptably bone idle of me, or whether I have discovered a formula for contentment, is down to your own discernment, dear reader, but I can at least justify my inactions: I have also been busier than ever on the photography front.
Since the last blog, way back in May following my week in the Spiegeltent, I have commenced a stint of regular work for the Norfolk Network, photographing their organised events, worked with bands such as the tremendous, up-and-coming Brownies, produced portraits for families, photographed my first wedding, and a civil ceremony, covered an election count, taken shots from the tower of Norwich’s City Hall and travelled through Scotland with my camera. Profusely enjoying every moment of it, I am finally on the path, thanks in no small part to all those months of voluntary work, to becoming a professional photographer. Quite a learning curve it’s been, too…
In the space of four months, I have developed from a quiet rookie, meekly following the lead of more experienced, better photographers and leaving them to organise people for shots, to becoming that leader. Time will tell whether I will ever genuinely become accustomed to shouting at people, but I did at least have a successful time at the wedding of Oli and Naomi Isaac, organising some one, two, three… twenty-eight people into smiling for my camera, simultaneously. Other photographers there were following my lead, which felt rather odd, though not unpleasant… It was also a day of gentle mockery, ordering the couple to ‘at least TRY and look like they love each other’; I will forever remember poking fun at Naomi for looking everywhere except into the lens, with the resulting photograph without doubt my favourite of the day. It seems that this is becoming something of a fixture in my style of portraiture...
My ongoing work with the Norfolk Network is also a pleasure. My thanks go to Lucy Marks, the director, for affording me my first paid work, and I am informed that I am amply repaying her with some stylish images. I do hope to eventually become a permanent member of that circus, as a member as well as a photographer. It’s been a promising start – let’s see where it leads.
Monday 25 May 2009
Norfolk and Norwich Festival
Before this entry gets into full flow, a heartfelt and rapturous ‘thank you’ is due to the organisers of the Norfolk and Norwich Festival this year, whose inventiveness and exhaustive effort gave the fine city an enormously enjoyable fortnight! From Fanfare le S.N.O.B. at the beginning, to the Vagaband at the end, a tremendous time was had, by all who attended. The Spiegeltent made a splash in particular, as a wondrous venue for the various events it hosted, from bluegrass to ska to burlesque.
What a venue it was, fabulous enough to warrant hopefuls queuing outside in their hundreds, hoping to make it in before the evening’s entertainment ended. I queued for over an hour on one evening, and regret nothing: on the final evening I was lucky enough to be whisked to the front of the queue on account of being the Vagaband’s photographer. Jammy, jammy Ryan, cried my friends. I genuinely hope that all who missed out on the Spiegeltent will get their chance in the future.
Here is my confession, though: no-one felt luckier, or cheered louder, than myself when the doors were closed to new entrants on the Saturday evening. Being so fortunate, I felt compelled to enjoy myself, and I like to think that I managed it…
Photographing Les Folies earlier in the week was a relaxed and simple affair: I picked my angles, and those around me were sober enough to accommodate my crouching presence. Saturday’s Vagaband audience, on the other hand, were of an entirely different, more challenging and hilarious order - raucous, energetic, loud and steamingly drunk.
The impact it had upon my photography was manifold: whereas my work for Les Folies was a matter of waiting for the right moments to come, during the Vagaband’s set there were far, far fewer opportunities to take time composing the images. From photo requests from irreparably smashed party people, to angles being blocked by blissfully sozzled dancers, to being inadvertently poked and elbowed in every part of my body (yes), to security staff ordering me to move, I had to think perennially on my toes. To get certain angles without irritating security, I had to wait for the lighting on the stage to be as I wanted, and the band to be posed agreeably, before stealing into forbidden positions for just a few seconds. I earned more concerned glares for this than I did for my dancing on the Wednesday evening – but thankfully didn’t cross the line too often…
Some parts of the audience hounded and hounded me for photo requests, which pleased me, but many haven’t made it online because of my woeful flash lighting, which lends an air of shame to all of my flash photographs at present. Apologies for that – it will be rectified shortly!
Keeping still enough to take good photographs was tough because of all the aforementioned unwitting elbows; another difficulty was the floor, which physically bounced with the audience’s frenetic dancing and stomping.
If any of this sounds like a complaint, I should clarify that I loved every minute of it – and the challenge has done me a world of good too! A fit and healthy set of photos was born, even if they were a touch more lightweight than usual. Here’s to the Spiegeltent’s triumphant return in 2010…?
What a venue it was, fabulous enough to warrant hopefuls queuing outside in their hundreds, hoping to make it in before the evening’s entertainment ended. I queued for over an hour on one evening, and regret nothing: on the final evening I was lucky enough to be whisked to the front of the queue on account of being the Vagaband’s photographer. Jammy, jammy Ryan, cried my friends. I genuinely hope that all who missed out on the Spiegeltent will get their chance in the future.
Here is my confession, though: no-one felt luckier, or cheered louder, than myself when the doors were closed to new entrants on the Saturday evening. Being so fortunate, I felt compelled to enjoy myself, and I like to think that I managed it…
Photographing Les Folies earlier in the week was a relaxed and simple affair: I picked my angles, and those around me were sober enough to accommodate my crouching presence. Saturday’s Vagaband audience, on the other hand, were of an entirely different, more challenging and hilarious order - raucous, energetic, loud and steamingly drunk.
The impact it had upon my photography was manifold: whereas my work for Les Folies was a matter of waiting for the right moments to come, during the Vagaband’s set there were far, far fewer opportunities to take time composing the images. From photo requests from irreparably smashed party people, to angles being blocked by blissfully sozzled dancers, to being inadvertently poked and elbowed in every part of my body (yes), to security staff ordering me to move, I had to think perennially on my toes. To get certain angles without irritating security, I had to wait for the lighting on the stage to be as I wanted, and the band to be posed agreeably, before stealing into forbidden positions for just a few seconds. I earned more concerned glares for this than I did for my dancing on the Wednesday evening – but thankfully didn’t cross the line too often…
Some parts of the audience hounded and hounded me for photo requests, which pleased me, but many haven’t made it online because of my woeful flash lighting, which lends an air of shame to all of my flash photographs at present. Apologies for that – it will be rectified shortly!
Keeping still enough to take good photographs was tough because of all the aforementioned unwitting elbows; another difficulty was the floor, which physically bounced with the audience’s frenetic dancing and stomping.
If any of this sounds like a complaint, I should clarify that I loved every minute of it – and the challenge has done me a world of good too! A fit and healthy set of photos was born, even if they were a touch more lightweight than usual. Here’s to the Spiegeltent’s triumphant return in 2010…?
Sunday 10 May 2009
It’s a good job my last post concluded the way it did; this week I will be photographing no less than four gigs! I am profusely excited about working in the fabulous Spiegeltent with two bands, performing as part of the Norfolk & Norwich Festival: the effortlessly sassy, stylish Les Folies on Wednesday, followed by the Vagaband on Saturday, whom I have yet to see live, but rather predict will bounce and leap around with an unnecessary amount of energy, rounding off the festival with a smashed panache. Muchly looking forward to it.
Festival festivities aside, Thursday afternoon will be spent producing some shots for Spidermilk , about whose quirky folk sound I have gushed previously – so aside from everything else, I should really look into finding some good locations to photograph them in…
Next Sunday evening promises to bring a treat: the welcome return to Norfolk of Brooke Sharkey. If, like yours truly, your ideal Saturday afternoon involves aimless bummeling through the sunny streets of Norwich city centre, then she may well have treated you to her relaxing blend of folk foppery and gentle French zest, whilst having her portrait painted by an equally talented old gent. Brilliant. Her Cider Shed performance should be a fine gig!
In the midst of it all, my newsagent hours this week have been more than doubled, I have babysitting commitments, am also househunting, and have front-row seats at the wonderful Philip Glass’ Theatre Royal performance on Friday.
My dears, it’s a hard knock life…
Festival festivities aside, Thursday afternoon will be spent producing some shots for Spidermilk , about whose quirky folk sound I have gushed previously – so aside from everything else, I should really look into finding some good locations to photograph them in…
Next Sunday evening promises to bring a treat: the welcome return to Norfolk of Brooke Sharkey. If, like yours truly, your ideal Saturday afternoon involves aimless bummeling through the sunny streets of Norwich city centre, then she may well have treated you to her relaxing blend of folk foppery and gentle French zest, whilst having her portrait painted by an equally talented old gent. Brilliant. Her Cider Shed performance should be a fine gig!
In the midst of it all, my newsagent hours this week have been more than doubled, I have babysitting commitments, am also househunting, and have front-row seats at the wonderful Philip Glass’ Theatre Royal performance on Friday.
My dears, it’s a hard knock life…
Sunday 26 April 2009
It’s been a kind few days since beginning this blog last Thursday – I went straight from posting it to a quirky afternoon as the right-hand man of Peter, an eccentric surveyor I first met a few months ago. You might say this was my first experience as a paid photographer, providing a few images for him to use as evidence, but really I think I just provided him with a spot of company. It still felt good to be paid £25 an hour for my company, though – considering the number of friends I have who whinny and whinge about my presence…
My other main task for the week was photographing an up-and-coming folk band called Spidermilk, featuring some tremendously talented musicians. Hoping to do some location work with them in the coming weeks – barring a host of artistic cock-ups on my behalf (and you must never count it out), it might benefit all concerned. Will keep you posted on how it goes.
Last week also saw a glittering return to Norwich for the fabulous Duke Special. I photographed his performance, and have earned some kind praise from musicians around the city for the images, but I freely confess to feeling nothing short of a berk when photographing gigs. At the best of times, nobody appreciates a tall person at the front of the crowd, but when you are that tall person, and you are also holding a bulky camera, and you have to keep moving around to find the right angle, you naturally try to avoid being in the same person’s way for too long, which irks everybody, and all it takes then is one embittered, grumpy old fart (often the bald guy in the leather jacket) to make a comment, and the rest of your evening is shrouded in embarrassment. Thankfully, I was spared this experience – though it is something I would do well to get used to, as a photographer. Every moment captured by a photographer working in public, comes at the expense of somebody else’s. I could illustrate the point using countless examples from my own experience, but none would compare to that of Malcolm Browne:
Malcolm Browne & the 1963 Buddhist Protests
If Malcolm Browne can take a photograph of a monk burning himself to death without stepping in, then I think I can take the difficulty of being right at the front of the crowd for one of my favourite musicians, doing a job I love, hmm?
My other main task for the week was photographing an up-and-coming folk band called Spidermilk, featuring some tremendously talented musicians. Hoping to do some location work with them in the coming weeks – barring a host of artistic cock-ups on my behalf (and you must never count it out), it might benefit all concerned. Will keep you posted on how it goes.
Last week also saw a glittering return to Norwich for the fabulous Duke Special. I photographed his performance, and have earned some kind praise from musicians around the city for the images, but I freely confess to feeling nothing short of a berk when photographing gigs. At the best of times, nobody appreciates a tall person at the front of the crowd, but when you are that tall person, and you are also holding a bulky camera, and you have to keep moving around to find the right angle, you naturally try to avoid being in the same person’s way for too long, which irks everybody, and all it takes then is one embittered, grumpy old fart (often the bald guy in the leather jacket) to make a comment, and the rest of your evening is shrouded in embarrassment. Thankfully, I was spared this experience – though it is something I would do well to get used to, as a photographer. Every moment captured by a photographer working in public, comes at the expense of somebody else’s. I could illustrate the point using countless examples from my own experience, but none would compare to that of Malcolm Browne:
Malcolm Browne & the 1963 Buddhist Protests
If Malcolm Browne can take a photograph of a monk burning himself to death without stepping in, then I think I can take the difficulty of being right at the front of the crowd for one of my favourite musicians, doing a job I love, hmm?
Thursday 23 April 2009
Well, hello!
Well, well, well. Who’d have predicted this, hmm? Not I. I am following a fashion trend, folks… how I scoffed five years ago when the newspapers reported on their own impending dooms, as a ridiculous new word burst into popularity.
‘Everyone will have their own blog in five years’ time’, they wrote, ‘and online reporting will change everything. In five years’ time, Tuesday morning’s newspaper will be so out of date, it might as well have been printed the previous week.’ Well, hmm, I thought. Here’s a deal: you can drool, swoon and make excited chimpanzee noises over your WAP-enabled phone all you like, reading blogs written by some dull old numpty living in Norwich, and I shall pay my fifty-five pence each day, and read quality articles, however dated, and once I’ve read my dated articles (which you weren’t complaining about two days ago), if I really can’t wait until the next morning, perhaps I’ll switch over to News 24.
Five years’ time is now here. Internet phones are the new Pogs, blogs are now causing the reports on News 24, and I am now paying ninety pence for my quality articles, which I can actually read the evening before, free of charge, on the newspaper’s website. Journalists fill their articles with quotes taken from Twitter, and I... I am that dull old numpty living in Norwich, nothing achieved, but blogging about it anyway.
At least the dull old numpties of five years ago could call themselves pioneers…
This, then, is an apology for my attitude. I sit in my garden now overhearing a plethora of interesting little nuggets of conversation from people walking past; a good blog should provide similar interesting little nuggets, going into just a little more detail to satisfy the curiosity we so often feel. (Yes, dear lady, if you don’t think your daughter deserves to be given a car, you certainly may give one to me…)
I will write up this blog, then, with my future in photography in mind, though aiming also not to alienate those of you who seek to avoid nerdy information on cameras you’ll never own…
…hopefully.
‘Everyone will have their own blog in five years’ time’, they wrote, ‘and online reporting will change everything. In five years’ time, Tuesday morning’s newspaper will be so out of date, it might as well have been printed the previous week.’ Well, hmm, I thought. Here’s a deal: you can drool, swoon and make excited chimpanzee noises over your WAP-enabled phone all you like, reading blogs written by some dull old numpty living in Norwich, and I shall pay my fifty-five pence each day, and read quality articles, however dated, and once I’ve read my dated articles (which you weren’t complaining about two days ago), if I really can’t wait until the next morning, perhaps I’ll switch over to News 24.
Five years’ time is now here. Internet phones are the new Pogs, blogs are now causing the reports on News 24, and I am now paying ninety pence for my quality articles, which I can actually read the evening before, free of charge, on the newspaper’s website. Journalists fill their articles with quotes taken from Twitter, and I... I am that dull old numpty living in Norwich, nothing achieved, but blogging about it anyway.
At least the dull old numpties of five years ago could call themselves pioneers…
This, then, is an apology for my attitude. I sit in my garden now overhearing a plethora of interesting little nuggets of conversation from people walking past; a good blog should provide similar interesting little nuggets, going into just a little more detail to satisfy the curiosity we so often feel. (Yes, dear lady, if you don’t think your daughter deserves to be given a car, you certainly may give one to me…)
I will write up this blog, then, with my future in photography in mind, though aiming also not to alienate those of you who seek to avoid nerdy information on cameras you’ll never own…
…hopefully.
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