Same Same - But Different

Vietnam. For many in the West, Vietnam is not so much a place as it as event. A tragic event which in many ways dominated the history of the twentieth century. An event which divided nations, generations and even families. An event where the ‘cold war’ became all too hot, and bloody. And an event defined today, more by Hollywood movies than reality. Vietnam. Vietnam is, however, so much more than this one horrific time when world ideologies and superpowers clashed in the green rice paddies and jungles of South East Asia. Vietnam is above all else a people, a culture, an ancient nation which has for thousands of years lived in this beautiful place on the shores of the South China sea.

Over the years countless millions of words, in dozens of languages, have been written about Vietnam, and yet Vietnam still remains a mystery. There is something about this place which goes far beyond mere statistics, histories, descriptions or the travelogues of awe struck visitors. Something more sublime, maybe even more spiritual. There is something about this place which defies the written word and which rebels against your understanding. Something which can only be experienced within your spirit, and known within the deeper parts of your consciousness. Even as I type these words I am confronted by a sense of futility: how can I share that with you which I fail to truly understand within myself?

I am, I must confess, not simply an objective observer when it comes to Vietnam. I have lived here for close on fifteen years now, traveled to every part of the country and made thousands of friends. Long, long ago, I lost my heart to this infinitely seductive land and it’s warm and kind people. Vietnam has crept into my soul and made me her own. I could no more leave this place now than I could tear out my own heart. So what I write is more like a record of my love, an expression of the joy which each day here brings me, my words are as much a sharing of my own soul as they are a story of Vietnam.

Of course, I’m not the first person land on these shores and to fall in love with this country, and nor will I be the last. But maybe that’s the place to begin… no one who comes to Vietnam ever fails to be changed the experience. For many the first impression is one of just how ‘exotic’ and different from everywhere else they’ve ever been Vietnam is. For truly, Vietnam is a unique place. In spite of all it’s history and often painful interactions with foreign invaders and various cultures, Vietnam remains genuinely and distinctly Vietnamese. This is part of the attraction, and part of the problem for visitors. While at first glance things might seem to be familiar, just below the surface they are different from all that you know and thought you knew.. As the Vietnamese themselves say: ‘same same – but different’

Vietnam is like nowhere else. Dramatic landscapes can be found throughout the world and it’s possible to make friends of people on every continent, but Vietnam goes beyond this. Well beyond this. Most countries are places where adjectives suffice, Vietnam is the only place I know where superlatives fail. Vietnam. Land of the rising phoenix, land of breathtaking vistas, land of smiles and laughter, land of mystery and surprise. Vietnam, a land which confronts you with wonder and a deep inexpressible feeling which slowly creeps into your deepest being and captivates your dreams until you are no longer your own. Vietnam, the heart of Asia.

And so, I’m going to try to share with you something about Vietnam. In these short blogs over the next weeks and months I’ll try, as best I can, to take you to the places that have come to mean so much to me, and introduce you to some of the people who have made my life so rewarding. So come, join with me and let us together travel through Vietnam…

A (Photographic) Crystal Ball

It is no secret that at the dawn of the 21st century the world of photography is changing and being transformed beyond all recognition. There was a time, which I’m sure many still remember, when everything was far simpler: there were professional photographers and amateur photographers. The distinction between these two groups was generally easily identified. Indeed, professionals were often well known, if not quite household names. They were the ones with the training, the hard earned experience, the big and expensive cameras and they were the ones who the newspapers, magazines, advertising agencies and others turned to when they needed quality photographs. Those days are gone, long gone. The situation today is far more complex.

The internet and the World Wide Web has changed the world. The transfer of knowledge, news, images and ideas now takes place at a hitherto undreamt of speed. It has been responsible for a great democratization of communication: no longer is the distribution of information the sole preserve governments, newspaper editors and television producers. With the internet anyone who has access to a computer and a modem can share their experience and opinions with the world. This is indeed, a good thing. The internet is surely one of the truly remarkable and positive technological advances of the post industrial age: a digital revolution! And while the rapid advances of the internet over last ten years or so still leave the majority of people amazed, there is little doubt that the development we will witness in the next ten or fifteen years will go beyond our wildest dreams.

The consequences of this digital revolution have been profound in many areas of society and industry, not least for the photographic industry. A number of issues come to the fore here. Firstly and most obviously has been the creation of digital still and video cameras. There is also the explosion of online photo sharing websites and digital photo stock libraries. In addition is the very noticeable blurring of the division between so-called amateur and professional photographers. And most importantly there have been major changes in the way that photographic images are being marketed: essentially the evolution of Royalty Free image licensing. These factors, along with many others, have arisen out of genuine market place demand, a desire to capitalize on the changing situation and make a profit, and quite often simply to fill a void created by the vast potential of the brave new world of digital technology.

Many find it hard to remember a world without digital cameras, but it did exist, once. It was a stable world, where change came in little steps, not great leaps: children could be seen with little Kodak instamatic box cameras, dads had 35mm SLR’s and the odd rangefinder was occasional seen. Some enthusiasts used Medium Format cameras, as did many professionals. Every few years Hasselblad, Pentax, Canon or Nikon would release a new camera with a few minor cosmetic changes and a number of small improvements. Film was king! Many shot with color negatives, the more serious used transparencies. With the exception of those few who had a dark room at home, there was always the frustrating wait of a few days to get your photos back from the developing lab. “How did they come out” people were always wondering, anxious to get a first look at their latest photographs.

The digital revolution has changed all that beyond recognition: famous camera manufacturers have disappeared with little more than a whimper, and in their place is a flood of new names, cameras and even formats. Almost weekly some company announces the release of it’s latest model: small, cheap, easy to use point-and-shoot digital compacts have flooded the market. The worlds largest ‘camera’ producer is now Nokia as they add cameras and video into almost every mobile phone they sell. The DSLR market has exploded. It is now possible to buy a camera for every need, at a price which suits every pocket: from the cheap entry level fully automatic bodies to the advanced and expensive so-called ‘professional’ bodies. If you want it someone will be making it! More than this, however, is the change which all this new technology has created in the attitude of people towards photography.

Modern digital cameras have very advanced programming, so much so that it is quite difficult to take a poor quality digital image. (The quality of the subject matter is a different issue) Before the digital era, the creation of high quality, fine ‘art’ photographs was almost the exclusive preserve of professional photographers, and those photography enthusiasts, who had studied and worked for years to perfect their craft. Quality photography really required not only a natural ‘eye’ but a detailed knowledge of the camera, of film, of light and usually years of practice and experience. No more. With today’s automated and fully programmed digital cameras almost anyone can point their lens at a beautiful sunset, press the shutter release and capture a technically perfect image. In their eyes, this makes them a ‘photographer’ no matter how little they really know about the craft of photography, or how totally dependant they are on the software build into their camera.

There was a time when people were expected to browse a friends photo album and make the appropriate “ooh” and “aah” sounds… far more dreaded were those evenings when the slide projector would be set up after dinner and family and guests would be subjected to long and boring commentaries on each and every picture. No more! Now enthusiastic photographers can dump their images in cyberspace and inflict them upon untold millions around the world. Photo-sharing sites litter the internet. For either free, or a very small payment, people can download all their holiday snaps, photos of auntie Dolly’s 80th birthday party, out of focus portraits of their neighbors dog and ‘beautiful’ nature shots showing a tiny purple flower in the bottom right corner of an otherwise dull green background. Even better, family, friends and total strangers can add often pointless comments to each image, usually providing little more than a display of their own ignorance of things like composition or lighting. Thousands more, bursting with enthusiasm for their new found brilliance with a digital camera have gone the extra mile… and set up their own websites to display their images!

At this point, please let me add that, in spite of my tongue in cheek comments, I am genuinely excited by all the new opportunities offered by the digital revolution. I’m sincerely overjoyed that so many around the world have found such enjoyment in photography as a hobby, and are able to share this with others. More importantly, I believe most strongly that this ‘democratization’ of the visual arts is a positive and socially-political necessity. The incredible development and variety of digital imaging equipment and associated software available to day is a modern marvel. No one in their right mind could want to turn back the clock and return to the pre-digital era. I must also add, however, that all this new technology has created a social, professional and legal situation which in some ways threatens the future of professional photography and it’s role in society, in ways which very few understand.

The first issue which comes to mind is the sudden explosion of so-called professional photographers. Hundreds, if not thousands, have bought themselves a digital camera, a computer along with the associated software, and finally: their own little corner of cyberspace. It doesn’t take much, just a little advertising and they have their first clients. The problem here is simple… the majority of these ‘new’ professionals are totally dependant upon the automated software in their shiny new digital cameras, and almost always lack the training, experience and skills of the ‘old’ professionals. Some of them may even get away with a few satisfied customers for the first few shoots, but sooner or later their lack of real skill almost always comes to the fore, and always at the expense of the poor customer who finds they’ve paid good money for images they can’t and would never want to use.

Professional photography is defined in most dictionaries as the earning of a living income by taking photographs. By this definition these ‘new’ photographers are truly professionals. It can be debated, however, that the majority are not truly photographers. In spite of what dictionaries say, professional photography is about more than just earning money. It’s about more than just meeting the clients requirements. It’s about art, quality, beauty… about professionalism! Knowing how to compose a subject, knowing how to light it for maximum effect, knowing how to balance the relationship between the cameras position of view, depth of field, aperture and exposure. It’s about knowing how to calibrate white balance, using studio or flash lighting and a dozen other things. All things which a real professional has learnt through years of education and experience, and all things which many of the ‘new’ professionals all too often fail to understand and sometimes even consider.

And so today’s market place is awash with photographers, some of whom are and many of whom are not… really professional. Given the technology now available, it can sometimes be difficult at first glance, to tell the difference. There have been stories in the media of late of couples having had their weddings ruined by overbearing, unskilled and hopeless ‘professional’ photographers. Long is the list of businesses who have tried a ‘new’ professional offering cheaper rates, only to find that after the images have been delivered they need to return to a previously trusted ‘old’ professional to get the job done correctly. A friend of mine who is a true professional always tells his clients: “If you think a professional is expensive – just try an amateur!” Never has this been truer.

The digital revolution has also seen industry shattering changes in the way images are marketed. Leaving aside, for the moment commissioned work and those who sell images through galleries, the primary point of sale for most professional photographers is the image agency or stock library. Traditionally agencies bought or marketed images from well known, tried and tested professional photographers. With the advent of the internet thousands of new stock sites have sprung up, many of which accept just about anything offered. The big attraction for the ‘new’ professionals is that through these sites they can often market their images for no cost, other than a commission paid upon any sales they make. The problem here, from the photo buyers perspective, is that their work now involves trawling through countless pages of mediocre to downright pathetic images in search of the quality photographs they require. On the other hand, more choice is not necessarily a bad thing. In an attempt to stay ahead of the stampeding masses, some of the older and established libraries have bought up many of the smaller quality sites.

One result of this massive expansion the number of digital images being marketed has been the evolution of a new method of marketing which emphasizes quantity, often at the expense of quality. This is known as Royalty Free. This new method stands in sharp contrast to one of the traditional methods of selling photographs which is generally known as Rights Managed. In the Rights Managed business model the photographer sells his or her photo with a license, allowing the purchaser to use the image in a specific way and for a specific period of time. The price of the photograph was calculated on this basis… a quarter page photograph to be printed on the inside of a local village magazine with a monthly distribution of less than five thousand copies, for example, would sell for much less than one used on the front cover of a bestselling international magazine. This was both fair to the buyer and photographer. Once the license had expired the photographer was free to again market the image additional possible customers.

The Royalty Free model is very different. When a photographer sells a photograph Royalty Free he or she is essentially selling their ‘ownership’ of the image. The purchaser can use the image in just about any way and for any purpose they desire, the only real restriction being that they can’t sell the photograph on to a third party. Moreover, Royalty Free photographs are marketed at far lower rates than Rights Managed photographs… usually a dollar or two an image, irrespective of how they may be used. Little wonder that this model seems so popular amongst photo buyers. On closer inspection, however, the Royalty Free model is full of pitfalls for both the photographer and photo buyer.

For the weekend photographer who just wants to get a kick out of selling the odd photograph, and who isn’t interested in earning a living, Royalty Free would seem like the perfect way to go. But they should remember that if their photograph is later used in, lets say, a national advertising campaign costing millions of dollars, they can’t suddenly hold out their hand and expect additional payment. For the would be ‘new’ professional photographer Royalty Free might seem to be a good way to ‘get started and be seen’. This may very well be true, but again there are problems. Firstly, with the prices paid for Royalty Free photographs it will take the aspiring ‘new’ professional half a lifetime to earn a living wage and to be able to support themselves with their camera. Secondly, and again, once a photograph is out there in Royalty Free cyberspace it’s very, very difficult to get it back… it’s gone. For those who believe in their work and value their photography, Royalty Free is akin to throwing a good photograph away. In addition, any ‘new’ professional who aspires to be taken seriously by the big name publishers, or the better photographic associations will find it difficult if their best work is on sale for a pathetic dollar an image.

For the professional photographer who has spent years developing his craft and producing quality work to be marketed through stock libraries, Royalty Free has become a bit of a nightmare. Many have gone out of business. It’s hard to compete with tens of thousands amateurs, who with good equipment and a little luck just happen to be at the right place at the right time. Those who continue and thrive are those who have either built up and maintained excellent relationships with their clients over the years, or more likely, are those who shoot specific niche markets beyond the interest or maybe the ability of the weekend amateur or the unimaginative mass of ‘new’ professionals. It would seem then, that the Royalty Free model, is only of benefit to those who buy photographs, but even this is not true. Legion are the stories of advertising companies who have used cheap Royalty Free images to develop large and expensive campaigns for their clients, only to find a competing brand using the exact same photograph in their advertising campaign! Unhappy clients abound!

So them… where is professional photography headed? What does the future hold? The short answer is that I don’t know… no one does. If, however, I was to rub my crystal ball and make an educated guess, I would cautiously predict a number of trends.

Firstly. Video is going to become more popular and important. I’m not simply talking about websites like You Tube, almost every self-respecting website these days has video now. In addition camera manufactures are racing to include High Definition video in their professional bodies. So maybe I dimmly see a time in the distant future when journalists, amateurs and even professionals shoot more video than stills. Maybe the quality of video will improve to the place where a single frame can be reproduced as a quality still image. More likely, however, is the probability that video with replace stills as the predominant medium: video frames to replace photographs or paintings on our walls, pocket videos will be used much as albums are today. The technology already exists to include video in magazines and newspapers. The real question is not if it will happen, but rather how long it will take. Sadly, I think the days of still photography are numbered, but hopefully not for a few generations yet.

Secondly, and far closer in time, I think that there will be natural, almost Darwinian, evolution in the world of professional photography. This seems inevitable to me. While Royalty Free and some of the ‘new’ professionals are here to stay, new distinctions will emerge within the photographic world. The demand for quality photographic work is still there, and many are not meeting it! I foresee some kind of corporate and public backlash against those who claim to provide the earth for so little, and even then fail to do so. I believe that true professional photographers will emerge as a smaller, but more readily identifiable group. I am also convinced that as individuals professional photographers of the future will be forced to focus more on specific markets and become known for particular subject material, than simply the generalists that many are today. I don’t think this is a bad thing at all.

Finally, and I have no other support for this than my own gut feeling, I think that for a time, still photography might very well enjoy a “golden sunset”. Digital photography and the internet has reached every corner of the globe. Digital cameras and image sharing is available to countless millions in every country and city on the planet. I truly believe, that as millions more pick up their cameras and share their perspectives of this beautiful planet which we all share, there will be a global explosion in photography as a hobby and as a means of communication. As we all share in each others visions, and are inspired by each others efforts I have no doubt that not only will our understanding of each others lives, cultures, hopes and dreams grow, so will (to some degree) the quality of the images which express our shared love for this little blue globe in the vast darkness of space. The best is still before us!

Mrs. Smith... and you!

For busy people, who don’t have time to read long blog entries, here is a very short story…

Mrs. Smith was everyone’s idea of the perfect grandmother. She was short, a little plump, had a warm and always smiling round face with shortish carefully waved grey hair, and from behind her rimless glasses her blue eyes smiled out on the world and everyone she met. Her life was filled with kind comments and laughter, and there wasn’t a person in her village who couldn’t name some generous act that she had performed. Indeed for most folk, just to see her on her daily stroll around the villages shops and on to the cafe next to the river was a reminder that everything was right and good in the world.

One day however, Mrs. Smiths peace and contentment was disturbed. Next to the little cafe where she enjoyed her daily pot of Earl Grey tea was the cottage of a man who made rocking chairs. Three of these chairs were on display in front of his little workshop. Now these were no ordinary rocking chairs: they were hand-crafted from fine English oak, engraved with beautiful scenes of the Dorset Downs, and the cushions had hand embroided images of spring flowers and local song birds. These rocking chairs were works of art. Oh, she thought, how nice it would be to have such a rocking chair, to sit in and gently rock away the summer afternoons gazing upon the beauty of her lovely garden. Alas, however, the price was well beyond her means.

It was late one summer when Mrs. Smith visited the little shopping center to the North of the village: puffy white clouds were being slowly blown through the blue sky, the air was fragrant with the scent of flowers and cut grass and although the sun was hot a cool breeze blew in the cool air from the ancient New Forest. She loved days like this. All thought of the beauty of nature, however, were driven from her mind as she saw what stood in the covered forecourt of the little mall. Five of the most beautiful rocking chairs she had ever seen! They were part of a display of local crafts, but of all the wonderful things on display only these five chairs caught her eye.

She approached the first chair, smiled at the young woman attendant, and eased her body into the chair. Oh it was perfect! It was almost as if it had been made for her, just the right height, her arms rested comfortably on the rests at each side, and as she rocked slowly back and forth she imagined herself sitting in front of the log fire in her living room on a cold winters evening, a book on her lap and a small glass of sherry in her hand. Oh, the picture in her mind was so perfect she didn’t want to open her eyes. It was with an unfamiliar sense of sadness and regret that she reluctantly lifted her body from the chair and set off to do her shopping.

It was the very next day that the sad news spread throughout the village. Mr. Thomas the carpenter who lived in the black and white timber frame house next to the river cafe had passed away in his sleep, a weak heart people said. All Mrs. Smiths inborn kindness and compassion came to the fore, she baked one of her famous fruit loaves and took it to the home of the shocked and grieving widow. That very evening at evensong in the villages grey stone Norman church Mrs. Smith bowed her head and prayed for the widow. A few days later, dressed in black, she and most of the village stood outside the church as the late Mr. Thomas was laid to rest. As she remembered the loss of her own husband so many years ago, and saw the still numb widow accept the condolences of her neighbours, Mrs. Smith couldn’t help but shed a tear.

Two weeks later Mrs. Smith returned to the shopping center to purchase a few bits and bobs she needed, and there, all alone, looking forgotten and neglected, stood the very rocking chair she had fallen in love with. Everything else from the craft display had been sold or removed, but not this one chair. She went up to it and sat in it again. As she rocked slowly she thought how sad it was that a man who could create such beauty should have died so young: he was only in his mid-fifties. Oh well, she assumed, this one remaining chair had probably been forgotten in all the sadness and activity of arranging the funeral, and off she went with her little wicker basket to do her shopping.

Now the summer leaves were turning copper and yellow and gold and the breeze from the nearby English Channel had a cold bite to it. Wearing a thick cardigan and a light scarf which smelt of lavender Mrs. Smith was again at the shopping center. She stood stock still, staring with unmoving eyes, at the solitary, lonely rocking chair. Someone, probably cleaning staff, had pushed it back until it was almost hidden by a large concrete column. It had been here for over six weeks now, forgotten, neglected and unappreciated. How sad. A thought was beginning to germinate and grow in Mrs. Smiths mind. How much better it would be, she reasoned, if someone who truly valued it’s beauty was to have it, care for it and enjoy it. Far better than knowing it was sitting here, out of sight and unloved.

That night, Mrs. Smith reversed her late husbands old Volvo estate out of the garage, and drove slowly and carefully to the shopping center. It was dark, not a light was on and not a soul in sight. With some difficulty she loaded the beautiful rocking chair into the car and made her way home. The next morning it was raining, the rolling hills were hidden from sight by the heavy downpour, waves of water thundered against the French door of her living room. Mrs. Smith, however, sat in one of her old fully upholstered armchairs looking at the beautiful rocking chair which she had positioned in pride of place before the crackling log fire. She sipped her tea and gazed with delight at her newest possession. At least now, she though, someone will really appreciate Mr. Thomas’s skill and hard work.

What Mrs. Smith did was wrong. You know that. In fact, it was theft, pure and simple! You would never do something like that, would you? Mrs. Smith might not feel like a criminal, indeed she might feel that she is honoring the labours of the late Mr. Thomas. That, however, is irrelevant. The rocking chair might have been forgotten, might not have been appreciated as it should have been, may well have been thrown into the shopping center garbage bin in the months to come, but that changes nothing. This lovely, kind, caring old grandmother stole it. In case you’re wondering… she was never caught and loved that chair for many years. That makes no difference, however, she is a thief! A thief… like many of you who read this blog now.

A thief! You cry. Not me, you protest. I’ve never stolen a rocking chair! No, maybe not. But every time you download a digital image with copyright from the internet without the photographers permission you are stealing it! Like dear Mrs. Smith you might well be able to justify it in your own mind: I’m not hurting anyone, I’m not profiting from it, I only want to enjoy, admire and appreciate it. You might even fall back on the old chestnut: well everyone else I know is doing it. It makes no difference. You are a thief! You are taking something which someone else has used their time, experience and skill to create without permission, and giving nothing in return. Sure, you will probably never get caught. You are, however, still a criminal!

I can’t stop you. I’m sure that reading this little story won’t stop you. I do ask, though, that you are at least honest with yourself… next time you download a digital image with copyright from the internet, say to yourself…
“I am stealing another persons work, I am a thief!”

A Mid-Life (Photographic) Crisis?

Some of my friends are worried about me. They think I’m depressed, possibly going a little nuts. At very least, suffering a mid-life crisis! I should tell you, that although I’m not the most sociable person on the planet, I do have some very good friends. Their concern is genuine. I know that they’ve been talking about me behind my back. I sense a collective effort to keep an eye on me, to support me, to encourage me. Starting a few months ago I started to get these phone calls: How’s everything going? Anything I can do to help? If you ever want to talk, just call! When we do meet, they have begun to show me undue consideration. Sometimes I catch them looking at each other with ‘that’ look in their eyes. Yeah, they’re worried.

The truth is, however, that they have nothing to worry about. I’m fine. Really! Oh, I know that outwardly I’ve done some things that might appear somewhat strange. I must admit to saying things recently which have left folk with their jaws hanging millimeters above their toes. Sure, if you have no idea about the thinking behind many of my recent actions, you also might be wondering if I shouldn’t be checked into some home for the mentally bewildered. But please don’t worry. I’m doing well. In fact, it’s been some years since I’ve felt this good. For the first time in a long long time I have direction and purpose. I have a clear vision of what I want to do, of where I’m going and how I’m going to get there.

This is not to say that over the last six months or so, I have not had to struggle with some mammoth decisions. Indeed, I’ve been forced to look at myself and my work through critical eyes, and I have been more than disappointed with what I’ve seen. In many ways it has been a ‘dark night of the soul’ and a very real and painful journey of discovery. I guess that artists are by nature oversensitive to that which lies within and drives our creativity, but what I have been going through has far more to do with the cold harsh world of professional photography than Jungian analysis. Indeed, as I’ve shared my journey with some friends, I’ve been surprised how so many of them, on totally different paths from my own, have expressed similar questions and doubts about the craft of photography at the dawn of the 21st century. Maybe I should start at the beginning…

For as long as I can remember I have loved photography. I must have been about twelve years old when I first started developing negatives and printing photographs in a darkroom. My father, totally oblivious to the obsession he was creating, bought me my first camera when I was thirteen. By the time I reached high school I was making my own photographic paper and experimenting with anything which crossed my enthusiastic and undisciplined mind: I even tried printing a photograph of an elephant onto coarse sacking which I had treated. Not that I had dreams, then, of becoming a professional photographer, mind you. I wanted to have a life of adventure in the African wilderness where I lived. It was a life which for many years I was to enjoy, and photography was always a part of it.

I should point out that this was back in the 1970’s, long before personal computers or digital cameras were even a dream. My first decent SLR was a Nikon F3. One of the best camera’s ever made (IMHO), and I never went anywhere without one. I went through a number of Nikon bodies, losing one for example, when a hippopotamus overturned my canoe on the lower Zambezi River. Over the three days it took me to walk back to the Kafue pontoon I had dreams about shooting that damn hippo. Fortunately for the hippo, my rifle also went to the bottom of the river! By the early 1990’s I was attached to an observer team monitoring political violence, and later the first post-apartheid elections, in South Africa. In this capacity I was fortunate enough to be given some really first class formal studies in forensic photography, and was then issued with a beautiful Hasselblad. It was my first experience of anything other than a 35mm SLR and I was smitten. Needless to say, that Hasselblad saw far more use when I was off the job than when I was working. It was a sad day in my life when I had to return that camera!

To cut a long story short, the situation at home in Zimbabwe went pear-shaped and I was forced to leave. With less than a thousand dollars in my pocket, and no where to go, my future looked bleak. Within a few years, however, to my own surprise, I found myself living in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) in Vietnam… and earning a living as a professional photographer! It was not something that I had planned to happen, but I was happier than I ever thought I could be. In those days the bulk of my work was simple product photography for the many new businesses which were then opening factories throughout the country. I learnt a lot by trial and error, but could never have imagined a better way to earn my daily bread, or noodles as it was in this case! Over time I was able to buy a few more F4 bodies and build up a decent collection of lenses. Working in makeshift studio conditions in factories and showrooms was far from ideal, but I worked hard and within time had contracts with a number of regional agencies.

I’m not sure where it comes from, but I was born with an incurable wanderlust: almost nothing in life excites me more than travel. I have always wanted to see what’s over the next hill, on the other side of the river or hidden deep within a forest. In addition, while I enjoy seeing new cities, strolling down new streets and sitting in street side coffee shops and watching the world pass by, nothing is as satisfying as heading off the beaten track. The wilder, more difficult, remote, inhospitable and dangerous a place is, the more I enjoy it! As I began to earn enough from my photography, I set about exploring Vietnam. What I discovered took my breath away. I’ve visited some 57 countries, and always made a point of going to those places of great natural beauty, but nothing in all my travels ever prepared me for the beauty which is Vietnam.

It is impossible in this blog, in ten thousand blogs, to describe the places I’ve been to and the things I’ve seen in this wonderful strip of land bordering the South China Sea. Vast plains of emerald green rice paddies, endless beaches of white sand lined with coconut trees, deep dark tropical jungles with butterflies larger than my hands, remote mountain tribes dressed in woven cloth every color of the rainbow, ancient incense-smoke filled pagodas buried deep in mountain caves, three thousand mystical islands rising from the jade waters of a still and silent sea. And best of all, it is almost totally unspoiled. The idea grew in me that what I really wanted to do was to travel Vietnam and record with my camera the vistas which left me so speechless. Back in those days there was almost no travel photography done in Vietnam, and clearly no market for any photographs that I did take. That didn’t stop me, though, and it wasn’t long before I was once again lusting after a Hasselblad: I wanted something bigger and better to capture the most beautiful places I’d ever seen.

But then came the digital revolution. It seemed like almost overnight that this onslaught of technology reached Saigon. Suddenly all my friends were shooting with digital bodies. Even kids I knew were walking around with little digital point and shoot cameras and photographing everything in sight. I began to get invitations to visit this or that new photographic website or online gallery. Like almost everyone else I was fascinated by the possibilities and potential of this brave new digital world. My first thought wasn’t about how I could profit from all this, but simply that I could now share my vision of Vietnam with countless thousands of faceless people around the world. Unfortunately, the 35mm positives or transparencies which I scanned with my little flatbed scanner looked like a dogs breakfast… oh well… time to invest in a digital camera.

My first digital body was a Nikon D70. Wow! Was I blown away, for the first few months, anyway. This was fantastic. I could shoot hundreds of images – for ‘free’ – and just delete the ones I didn’t want. I could adjust the ISO whenever I wanted, no more changing rolls of film. Even more wonderful: I could play with the white balance and get it just right, no matter where I was or under whatever lighting conditions I was working. And the change to my workflow was mind blowing. No more waiting days to get my negatives or positives back from the shop. Now all I had to do was to quickly glance at the histogram on the LCD on the back of the camera! Once home, it was a matter of minutes to load images onto my computer. And with all the new software on the market the possibilities were almost endless: crop, resize, enhance, clone and so on. My vocabulary began to frequently include new words unknown to me only weeks before. Digital imaging had arrived, and I embraced it wholeheartedly.

It wasn’t long, however, before I noticed that many of my friends had bigger and better cameras than I had. Suddenly, Megapixels became important. My friends made the odd disparaging remark about the size of the buffer on the D70. As time went by, I was able to compare my new images with those of other photographers, and my initial enthusiasm began to wane. The blues on the Nikon were too gray, the reds too blown and it the lacked dynamic range I wanted to provide detail in shadow areas. No problem! A few months after buying the D70 I sold it, and upgraded to a D100. My first digital darkroom had been Corel Paintshop. I liked it, and it easily did everything I wanted to do by way of image optimization. But, all my friends now had Photoshop. Not wanting to be left out, I too went and bought Photoshop. It was then that I realized my computer was not as fast as those which other professionals used, and I didn’t have the memory I needed. So again, I went shopping. I bought a new computer, with a larger hard drive. And I bought an external hardrive. And I bought a 22” monitor. And I bought a monitor calibrator. And I bought a A3 printer. And I bought a better scanner. And I bought… well, you get the idea.

It was only a few months later that I felt the need to upgrade my camera, again! The Nikon was prone to horrible banding and the blues still looked too gray to my eye. My search for a new body was a struggle. Not only did I have to see through all the hype of the manufacturers advertising, I had to learn so many new things. Suddenly it was important that I knew exactly how a sensor worked. I began buying book after book on digital technology, trying to figure out which camera had the best buffering system and could shoot faster. But was that really important to me? I then decided that I needed to understand the relationship between sensors and dynamic range – a subject which was important to me! Day and night, for weeks and months, I found myself reading books I only half understood, struggling to come to terms with this new face of photography.

I eventually bought a new camera. It was the Fuji Finepix S2Pro. A bit of a brick, and positively arthritic when judged against the speed of the newest Canons and Nikons. But speed wasn’t a priority for me. I wanted good dynamic range. I needed some detail in the shadows which the hot tropical sun forced into every picture I took. I wanted a camera which wouldn’t burn out every highlight each time I pressed the shutter release. The Fuji delivered this, and if it was a little slow… well that’s the price I’d have to pay. The only problem was that almost as soon as I’d bought the S2, Fuji announced the release of the S3! Well, I had to have that. Days later I traded the S2 and walked out of the shop with the first S3 sold in Vietnam. Then Photoshop released CS2 and I just had to have that! I bought it… and then had to order a fat book from overseas to try to understand how to use it! This soon became the story of my life. A continual search for the newest equipment, the latest upgrade, the best software. In this I was exactly like every other photographer around the world. The development of digital cameras and related software was happening at such a mind boggling pace it was a full time job just to keep up to date.

I was spending so much time and money buying new equipment and upgrading kit that I already had, I was left with almost no time or money to actually travel and go take photographs! It reached a point where I drew a line. I told myself that for the next twelve months I was not going to buy or upgrade a single thing. My priority was to shoot photographs of Vietnam and to try to develop a market for travel images. In this I was greatly aided by the situation in Vietnam itself. The government had woken up to the benefits of tourism as a source of employment and income generation: conferences were held, protocols were streamlined, visa procedures were simplified and millions were spent on advertising. Tour companies sprang up throughout the country like mushrooms after a rainstorm. Within years, Vietnam had become the worlds third fastest growing tourist destination! With the little stock I had, I went door to door, offering the earth, making deals and selling photos. It was hard work. The value of good images was not yet (and still isn’t) fully appreciated. I did, however, sell enough to afford a few more trips around the country to shoot more stock. In addition, I slowly began to get commissioned work: some of the larger tour companies, hotels and resorts had me fly to various locations and shoot material for their exclusive use. This was more like it.

It was quite a thrill at first, to see my images splashed all over the place. But it didn’t last. About half way through that first year I found myself sitting with some two dozen travel brochures in which my images appeared, and I wasn’t happy. Most of these brochures were A4 in size, folded twice along the long side, and printed in bright colors. My images were small, details were lost and more often than not my images looked like dark holes on an otherwise bright page. I thought about this. I played around with some ideas. And finally I hit the jackpot. From now on I’d shoot tightly cropped images, with very little detail and highly saturated colors: exactly the sort of thing that would jump out of the page and smack you in the eye, even if it was only a few centimeters in size. Within months I was getting new requests for images daily. I was working full time just delivering images to companies around Saigon. The demand was now there, and I had a hard time keeping up. Occasionally when I’d meet other photographers who had no idea who I was, I’d hear them complain that their client wanted images with the “VinaPix” look. The “VinaPix” look had arrived!

Over the next two years I worked like a man possessed. By now I had sufficient stock from around the country, and most of my time was spent simply running the business. I made a few short trips here and there, often with a friend – more for fun than anything else. I took a few commercial jobs, and eventually upgraded my camera to the Fuji FinePix S5Pro, upgraded my computer another two or three times, bought Photoshop CS3 and started my first website. The website was another sharp learning curve. When I began I knew nothing about Search Engine Optimization, and did everything wrong. Oh well, back to the books. To be honest, I began the website just because everyone else I knew had one. It was sort of, expected. Like so many things, however, once it was up and running it took on a life of it’s own. Before long I found myself answering hundreds of emails every month, having to learn the ins and outs of working with Dollars, Euros and Yen. From the outside I seemed to be doing well. Business was booming. Clients were happy, and I was making money. On the inside, however, it was a different story. I wasn’t happy. In fact, I wasn’t even sure that I was really a photographer any more.

Thinking about it now, I think the catalyst was when Fuji announced that they were not going to release an S6 upgrade to the S5. My first thought was “What now… do I go for the big Canon or the (then) new Nikon D3”? As I reflected upon it at length, however, I became aware of a previously unnoticed change that had taken place in my approach to photography. For me (and I think, many others) photography had become an unending and almost impossible struggle to always stay ahead of the technology curve, to always make sure I always had the latest and best equipment, the newest software and the greatest dynamic range possible from my sensor. I stood back and saw myself crawling up a mountain which will never have a final summit; endlessly upgrading in search of a peak which will never be there. My life, my work and my photography was now the plaything of a digital revolution without end. I suddenly felt very small and powerless.

Anyway, as I stood back and looked at my photography, indeed my life, I realized that I was working every hour I could fit into the day, rushing around fulfilling shoots, sitting in front of my computer into the small hours of every morning and turning out images like a photographic sausage machine. I was working hard. I was successful. I was unhappy. Somewhere over the last few years the love and passion I had had for photography seemed to have been squeezed out of me by the demands and pressures of commercial work. I had allowed the ability to use improved technology to replace my own eye and judgment: Why use a hand held light meter when the camera has matrix, center or spot metering? Why mess with exposure when the camera has an excellent automatic exposure programme? Why think about composition when you can crop later in Photoshop? In fact, why think at all? I never approached a shoot in quite such a manner, but many times I wasn’t far off. I was under pressure, I’d tell myself. The camera does it better than I can, I’d mutter under my breath. Shoot RAW and sort it out later was the thought ringing in my mind as I glanced at my watch and thought about the next job on the list.

In short, I had become a ‘digital technician’ or something… god knows what. I was working all the hours I could, but I felt I was wasting my time. I was using wonderful equipment that did most of the work for me, but I wasn’t making photographs. I was shooting pictures which sold, but put no “art” in them. I was a professional, but in my own eyes I was not a photographer. My passion for taking photographs had died. I had lost my integrity. Maybe it’s just that my approach to all this new technology was wrong, or maybe I lost focus. More likely, I think the truth is, that I spent too much time pleasing clients and not enough time pleasing myself. Whatever, the reasons, I knew I either had to make some changes, or get out of the photography business.

And so I took some time out. I farmed out my assignments. I put away my cameras. I switched off my computers. And I thought long and hard. I made lists: pros and cons. I wrestled with priorities, values and dreams. I don’t want to sound melodramatic, but it was for me a truly gut wrenching experience as I sifted through the elements which made up my life and my photography. I admit, I am ashamed to say, that a large part of the problem I faced, was one of my own creation. I was tired, physically and mentally. I was depressed to be spending the majority of my time running a business and not ‘out there’ making photographs. I didn’t even like the photographs I was taking. I’d boxed myself into a niche market where the “VinaPix” style was limiting, even destroying, my creativity and art.

Please understand… I’m not knocking those who have embraced digital technology and use it to perfect their craft. I’m not saying that the brave new world of electronic media is wrong. I’m simply saying, that for me, it isn’t right. In all fairness, let me add that I know there are many, many photographers out there, who move with the times, who have learnt to use all elements of digital imaging, and some of whom produce fantastic photographic art. I do not mean to imply in any way, that to shoot with digital imaging equipment implies a loss of artistic integrity – of course it doesn’t. The digital age is here, and here to stay. The advances made with digital technology are amazing, and I have no doubt that the developments which we will see in the next five or ten years or so will go far beyond anything we can even imagine today. I’m not throwing out the baby with the bathwater, but I have decided to make some changes.

So, what does the future hold? Well, firstly I want to take photographs again. I mean… photographs, not digital images. I’m returning to film. Lovely big Medium Format film! I’m returning to my roots, my professional training and to my original ambition: to photograph beautiful landscapes of Vietnam. I have no doubt that this will take some time, and will cost far more than I can afford to spend right now. That doesn’t bother me, though. If it takes me two years or four years, or longer, so be it. I’m no longer working to a clients schedule, I’m working to my own. Gone are the days when I fly in, spend five days rushing around trying to capture every image possible and then leave, crossing that spot off my list for another year. If I find something worth photographing, I’ll sit there for two days, or two weeks if need be, until I get the photograph that I want: until I’m sure there is no way I could improve on the photographs I’ve created.

Yes, I’m going to shoot film. That means new equipment. Strange as it may seem, I’m not going for Hasselblad. I’ve decided to build up a collection of Pentax 645N bodies and lenses. There are a number of reasons for this, primarily doing with availability of equipment in Vietnam. Having said that, while not at the top of the popularity stakes, the Pentax is a wonderful system, and the lenses are really bright and sharp. Added to this is the fact that Fuji have come out on my side and started to produce Velvia ISO50 again, in 120 and 220 rolls. What more could I ask for? In addition, and most importantly, I’ve also gone for a 617 panoramic camera. Now this is the dream machine for landscapes… nothing in the digital world can even come close. Sure, I’ve had the odd comment, like “is that your grandfathers camera”, but I must also admit to getting a kick from the look of awe on the faces of other photographers when I take this monster out of it’s case.

Shooting film will also, for me, shift the focus back to the act of creating photographs. From here on I will have to do the work, draw on my own training and experience and not depend on the camera. I know that I could do the same thing with a digital body set to ‘manual’, but it’s not quite the same. For me there is a joy in taking out my light meter, adjusting real knobs on a camera rather than scrolling down menus on an LCD. I’ll no longer have the option of optimizing a photograph in Photoshop, so I’ll have to make sure I get it right in the camera. I have no doubt that there will be times when I don’t, and I curse at an opportunity lost. Hey, that’s the way it goes. I’ll just have to work harder and make sure that it doesn’t happen too often. I must also confess, that for me at least, there is a beauty about film which I never experienced working digitally. To look at a massive, colorful 617 panoramic positive which I’ve created gives me a thrill which I never found sitting in front of a computer monitor.

A transition like this, not only from digital to film, but also from a very select niche market into the very competitive and difficult world of ‘art’ photography is not going to be easy. Even more so, as the market for large landscapes in Vietnam is almost non-existent. But I’ve created a market for my work before, I’ll just have to do it again. I guess it’s also going to be a hard time for me financially, and that’s not simply buying all the new equipment that I need. Landscape photography is expensive. The travel, the accommodation, the waiting and the shooting all costs something. In addition, it’s almost impossible to start marketing large landscape photographs until you have a reasonable portfolio. It might be a few years until I have enough material to create a new gallery on my website, hold an exhibition or begin to market my work. Again, I don’t care! I’m doing this for myself, and if it was easy it probably wouldn’t be something I’d want to do anyway.

A mid-life crisis? I don’t think so. But then, what do I know? What I do know is simple. I am returning to my first love. I’m fulfilling an as yet unfulfilled dream. I’m doing something that I want to do more than anything else in my life, and hopefully in the process, I’ll rediscover my passion for photography and create some beautiful art at the same time.

Hitting the Streets

Sadly my life as a professional photographer seems to have less to do with taking photos, than it does with running a business. It wasn’t like this when I worked for an agency – they did all the advertising, establishing contacts, bookings, accounts, travel arrangements, equipment sourcing, models, studios, post production work etc… all I had to do was to pitch up and take the photos! Alas, no longer. Now it’s all my job. And I don’t enjoy it.

Last week, however, I woke to a beautiful clear sky with not a cloud in sight. The dawn was breaking over to the east, the air was fresh and cool and I decided then and there that I wasn’t going to spend the next ten hours in front of my computer. The day before I’d gotten hold of a Medium Format 645 body with a beautiful 35mm f/3.5 lens (about 21mm in 35mm format) and I was just itching to use it… A quick shower and a strong coffee and I was out my front door with one of my trusty Fuji S5’s over my shoulder and this wonderful Medium Format brick in my eager paws. I was going to have fun!

I guess that in many parts of the world finding something interesting to photograph might involve some travel; a few stops on the tube, a boring bus trip or even a fair distance in your car. Not in Saigon. My front door opens onto a lane which leads down to the Saigon river: old French built houses with shuttered windows, peeling layers of yellow paint and sagging red roof tiles. Each and every doorway is festooned with something for sale, tins of soda and snack food, dried fish, bottles of home made chili sauce, plastic bags filled with peppers and fragrant spices, motorbike inner tubes and sparkplugs, reconditioned second-hand sandals and shoes or bolts of colorful silk.

At various intervals one finds soot blackened woks full of golden bubbling oil ready to cook the mornings spring rolls. Scattered around are tiny plastic stools where folk squat, balancing their bowls of noodles between their knees as they slurp up a quick breakfast. And everywhere there is noise and activity as hungry crowds order their first meal of the day, friends greet each other with smiles and laughter and white shirted schoolchildren weave in and out of the seething crowds as they make their way to class. Into this mass of humanity I set off, stopping now and then to greet a neighbor, pausing to enquire about the health of an aging parent and fighting off countless demands that I sit and have another coffee or wolf down a bowl of rice soup with fish, chicken, eel or snake.

Minutes later, already dripping with sweat, I emerged from my dark little lane into the harsh sunlight of Co Giang street. This street is the main market in my neighborhood, and its possible to buy, within a five hundred meter walk, anything and everything you might need. It’s a chaotic mass of slowly moving people, hooting Honda scooters screaming salespeople and a massive riot of color. The first stalls I encounter are the fruit stalls; piles of apples, oranges, mangoes, guavas, pears, peaches, plums, pomegranates, grapes, lychees, rambutan, dragon fruit, pomeloes, grapefruit, jackfruit, pineapples, watermelons, and the ever present thorny and pungent durian. Four different kinds of bananas, seven varieties of coconuts, Strawberries from Da Lat, Strawberries from Ha Noi and strawberries from France! There’s really nothing you can’t get here.

It’s still a little early and the right side of the street is deep in shadow, all dark and no color. For my work color is essential. In truth I still have a love affair with black and white film, but sadly I can’t sell it. Indeed, when shooting for sale I push the saturation settings on my Fuji S5 Pro one stop. The majority of the photographs I sell are reproduced as tiny images, a few centimeters long, in travel brochures; something that small needs extra color to catch the eye. Not today, however. I have this wonderful 645 in my hands…

A little way up the street is a high school, a large ugly building painted white, which burns out horribly as a background to the ladies selling grapefruit on the street in front of it. As I walk I have to jump to the right and left to avoid being hit by the scooters weaving in and out of the milling crowds. I’m wondering if I should try a panning shot of a scooter: the multi-colored stalls make great blurred backgrounds. No, maybe not. Film is not like a digital flash card. With this camera I have to pay for my mistakes! My eye roams the street, I’m looking for something well lit, colorful and with a clear focal point. This kind of street work is much harder to do well than most people think. Often a shot presents itself, only to disappear seconds later as people walk in and out of the frame.

By now I’ve reached an intersection; people, bikes, scooters all race towards each other from four different directions with everyone expecting the other person to be the one to give way. It’s a blur of movement, people shouting, bike bells ringing, scooters hooting and the screams of the woman selling flowers on the corner as she argues the quality and price of some pink roses with a customer. I’m almost deaf, and yet my ears ring with this onslaught of sound. How the people who work here every day survive it, I have no idea. By jumping in front of a scooter, vaulting a schoolgirl on a bike and darting under a fast moving delivery van I manage to cross the street. Still no photo in sight.

Well, how about a simple photograph of the intersection? It’s full of color, people activity… I take out my light meter and begin to extend my arm, only to almost lose it and my light meter to a speeding Honda scooter! Need to be more careful. The amputation of a limb is not high on my ‘to do’ list. The sun is quite bright now so there is nice contrast, but I need a higher shutter speed to freeze all the movement. Lifting the 645 to my eye I compose a shot. Oops! Stop. That’s no good. The sun is behind me and I can see a long shadow of myself stretching into the bottom of the picture. Need a new position. I snap off a quick shot with the Fuji with a 16mm fisheye lens, though. I have a collection of images which display many of the mistakes which photographers often make, and this one is a great example. In the back of my mind is the idea that such a collection might one day may a great blog entry or two… added to the fact that as I am quite an expert in making all the mistakes that photographers should not make, it might somehow be a helpful learning tool for those who are just starting out in photography.

I continue to wander up the street, past the fish sellers. This is a section of the street lined with large plastic dustbin-like buckets, all filled with live fish of various colors and descriptions, as well as crabs, lobsters, clams, cuttlefish and squid etc. In Vietnam most produce is purchased fresh: you choose the fish you want and it is either killed, gutted, cleaned and wrapped for you on the spot, or it’s stuck live in a plastic bag of water and you take it home and prepare it there. The street itself is a mess of water, glittering fish scales, fish tails and the odd fish head complete with lifeless staring eyes. I’ve grown used to such sights, but it doesn’t make for an attractive photograph – especially for those Western housewives who are convinced that fish are actually manufactured in frozen boxes on supermarket shelves.

A little further up the street I get to my favorite section of the market, the herbs. Fresh herbs are an essential part of every meal in Vietnam. Indeed, the compulsory use of herbs is one of the major factors which distinguishes Vietnamese food from those cuisines of China and Thailand, and others throughout the world. Herbs are always served in great variety on plates piled high like green mountains on every table. The selection of fresh herbs on sale here is mind boggling, and I love to walk down this part of the street and just inhale the fragrances of all this green goodness. As I stand here, a thought crosses my mind that at some time I should shoot some images, maybe close-up or macro shots, of each kind of herb available… you know, like a kind of photographic reference. I step off the street and make a note in a little book I always carry with me. Later I’ll add it to my ‘to shoot’ list on my computer. (It’s always a good habit for a photographer to carry a notebook like this)

Now I’ve almost reached the end of the street. Things look a little different here. The pavements are crowded with produce displayed at ankle height on tatty woven bamboo leaf mats. The offerings on display might be a few onions, a dozen rather sorry looking tomatoes or an old artichoke or two. This part of the market is where those who cannot afford licensed stalls come and try to sell their wares and earn a few cents. The faces here do not smile so much: downcast eyes, skin wrinkled and prematurely aged by a hard life of labor, tatty clothing and frayed conical hats are the norm. Strictly speaking they should not be here at all. It’s against the law. The local police, however, turn a blind eye. After all, everyone has to earn a living, and as some of the officers have told me; how can you punish someone for trying to do an honest days work?

I’ve now reached Nguyen Thai Hoc Street. This is a major road which leads from downtown out to District Four, a crowded suburb the other side of a large canal. The traffic here is relentless: a never ending stream of trucks, vans, minibuses, cars, coaches, thousands of scooters, bikes, cyclos and seemingly infinite lines of people pushing small carts laden with produce for the market. The noise is almost physical and the air is gray and has a metallic bite to it. Nevertheless, this might be just the place to put the 645 to use. The bridge which crosses the canal into District 4 is raised well above the surrounding streets: a perfect place to get a better view of this part of the city, and maybe a good shot or two of the traffic. I set off on the short walk which will take me to the highest point on the bridge.

I get to the spot I have in mind, and look back down the length of the street, all the way into the heart of downtown. Yeah, it’s a great spot. But no good for shooting today: already the view is hazy, colors are muted and all detail in the distance is lost in a gray fog. Oh well. I snap off a reference shot with the Fuji and make a note in my book to return here, either earlier in the morning or maybe after a rainstorm when the air is clear. What now? I’ve been out for almost an hour now and still not seen anything worth exposing film for. I gaze out over the construction work along the banks of the canal as I think. I want a subject I can control, interesting focal point, good color and lots of fine detail. Yes! I have it! Just the other side of the bridge is an old Chinese Community Hall. That’s just the place. Getting there, however, is quite a task. A new highway is being built alongside the canal and roads are closed off. Little lanes which were once wonderful shortcuts are now fenced, and at one place I’m confronted by a two meter deep hole in the road. In the end, after a series of false starts, detours and entering the front door of a hairdressing salon and exiting by the rear service entrance, I make it to the red gates of the temple.

There are many pagodas and temples in Ho Chi Minh City. Some are really ancient, others are new. Many are beautiful and perfect for photography, others are sterile and quite unattractive. There are a few pagodas which are almost always empty and many which are almost always crowded and busy. Some are well known and suffer visits from busloads of loud, pushy insensitive tourists, while others are well of the beaten tour track and remain much as they have for hundreds of years: beautiful, quiet places of prayer and reflection. I should add, however, that visiting a pagoda or temple in Vietnam is not a private affair. The idea is to be seen. Worshippers often prefer to visit when a place is busy; it’s important that the community knows that you have fulfilled your obligation to your ancestors.

For me to walk in, stand unobtrusively to one side and take photos is never a problem. Often, in fact, people take a break in their spiritual activities and come over to chat with me. It can be very interesting, and on the odd occasion when I’ve been so forward to ask, they have always been happy for me to take their photograph. In fact, in the last ten years or so, I’ve never had a single person object, or refuse to sign a model release form. Very different from a visit to your local cathedral. Of course, I try to be sensitive. I’d hate you to think that I just walk up to a person kneeling in prayer and thrust a camera lens in their face. Folk here in Vietnam, though, are generally very open and receptive to photographers. There are occasions when I’m somewhere with a camera, and someone will wave their hand and shout “no, no!” No problem. I just smile, offer a slight bow and wander off.

Anyway, here I am. Standing in front of this Chinese Community Hall. This place looks like something out of the story of the Three Kingdoms: the front of the building is light blue in color, with gates and detailed edges in bright red. Along the walls are colorful ceramic figures which tell stories from Chinese history. The upper walls are beautifully decorated with relief pictures and through the entrance sunlight falls on a statue of the Goddess of Mercy, clothed in a bright orange silk cloak. Unfortunately, the front courtyard is small. Even with my back up against the wall it’s hard to fit everything into the frame. I move the tripod a little, I want to try to create a symmetrical image with the Goddess of Mercy as a focal point. Fortunately, although I’m using a wide angle lens, the distortion in Medium Format lenses is far less than it would be in 35mm, so the horizontal lines are pretty straight. The shadows caused by the overhanging roof are a bit of a problem. I take two readings: one of the bright wall and one of the shadow area and split the difference. I make the adjustments I want to the aperture and shutter speed. Only one thing left to do… I press the shutter release and wait. (I don’t have a cable release for this camera, so I set the timer for five seconds). Click! I take two more shots, one stopped up a third and one stopped down a third. With a film camera I can’t just glance at the LCD histogram to see if I got it right.

This Community Hall has two main worship areas, an outer courtyard open to the sky and an inner sanctuary which is fully enclosed and where the high altar is found. Immediately inside the entrance, before you enter the outer courtyard is the statue of the Goddess of Mercy. I definitely want a photograph of her. Once again, this is not easy. To begin, I have to set up my tripod in the temple doorway; if anyone wants to enter or leave I’ll have to move. The lighting is also quite difficult. The statue is in direct sunlight and the white ceramic is very reflective: burnt out highlights for sure. On the other had, much of the interesting background detail is in shadow. Normally this is where I’d reach for my ND filters… but I don’t have any for this camera! Oh well, this is where experience counts. I make the setting I think will be best, set the timer and press the shutter release. Stop up and down. Move on.

The altar in the outer courtyard is beautiful. A large bright red bench with three massive Chinese ideograms in gold. On the altar rest three brass urns filled with burning incense sticks, and above the altar hang rows of coil incense reaching down in spirals of white smoke. I try for a shot, but nothing works. It’s the wrong time of day: the shadows of the coil incense fall across the altar and are too distracting to create a balanced photo with a strong focal point. Time to look elsewhere. The inner sanctuary is large. Four rows of long tables fill most of the space. Often these are laden with urns, smoking incense sticks and offerings of fruit, food and other necessities of the afterlife. Today however, only the very last table has anything of interest. Three more brass urns, an oil prayer lamp and a few candles. The altar is set back against the wall. Large wooden and beautifully painted Chinese gods frown down at me. They are surrounded by lances and swords, hand carved wooden boats, beautiful boards of calligraphy, and the essential offerings of fruit and green tea to appease the gods volatile nature and seek blessings in this life. I try for one long exposure, but my heart’s not really in it: it’s just too dark. Click! And that’s it! Fourteen exposures and the film is finished. It’s not like shooting with a 4Gb flash card, that’s for sure.

I spend another hour or so shooting macro shots of incense and smoke with the Fuji. This kind of photograph doesn’t really sell well, but I’m doing this for myself. Too many hours in front of a computer stifles my creativity and leaves me feeling frustrated. I’m a photographer, and while I understand and accept the need to maintain web sites, correspond with clients and suffer the never ending struggle to get better internet search engine results, it doesn’t turn me on. Nothing is better than being out in the street, camera in hand and hunting for that one definitive shot which captures the chaotic vitality which is Saigon. That’s photography… and it’s fun!

Dreaming

I ‘quit’ drinking beer some time ago now, but occasionally after a long day out under the oppressive hot white burning tropical sun, I sneak a cold bottle or two when my conscience isn’t looking. My favorite watering hole is a local dive called Cafe Khang. It’s a typical hole-in-the-wall kind of Vietnamese place: small, crowded, multiple plasma TV screens showing endless repeats of mind numbing Hollywood action movies, and of course loud music. It’s main attraction, to me, is that it’s so far off the tourist routes it’s never invaded by the crowds of professionally unwashed backpacking scum who have ruined so many places in Saigon. (To be featured in Lonely Planet is the death knell of any self respecting establishment here in Vietnam)

Anyway, there I was sitting in a dark corner, a second bottle of ice cold tiger beer before me, my foot tapping out a beat in time with Joe Cocker and my thoughts wandering aimlessly around the vast emptiness of my consciousness. As often happens at such times, I think about cameras: cameras I’ve had and cameras I’d like to have. Usually I never get much further than this before the beer works it’s evil magic, and I begin to pay more attention to the beautiful female customers than my photographic musings. On this night, however, I scratched around in my camera bag and found a small notebook and pen. Yeah, sad but true. I’m a compulsive scribbler.

My dream camera. It’s a subject which has often come up in conversation, by way of default normally as a list of complaints about the shortcomings of whatever camera I or my friends are using. As I’m sure you know, it’s pretty easy to find fault with any camera if you want to. I mean, I can even find fault with the Hasselblad H3D 50 without trying too hard! (and I don’t mean the price) Anyway, I started to make a few notes… why? I’m not sure. Guess it’s just the sort of thing that guys like me do when sitting alone with two empty beer bottles for company… the third bottle had just arrived, you’ll be relieved to know. Where to begin? Yeah, yeah, I know! You want to add your two cents, but this is my blog and my dream camera…

The first question must be, do I want film or digital? This is not as simple as it might seem. OK, I know the world has gone digital, that film cameras are selling at rock bottom prices if they’re selling at all. I know that digital workflow is faster, cheaper and that every client you can name wants their images delivered on a DVD. I know you think I’m nuts for even considering film. The truth is however, that I love film. I love the beautiful tonal range of film, the dynamic range, the brilliant eye catching colours. (You name the digital camera which can equal Fuji Velvia!) I love the whole slow process of working with film, the thrill of removing my negatives from the developing canister and seeing what I’ve got, I miss those hours of joy spent shut away in a dark room really creating images. I mean, there’s nothing sensual about staring at a computer monitor is there?

Anyway, sitting there, finishing my third beer, I decided that digital would be the way to go. Not because I like it, mind you, but because it is cheaper and easier and faster and all the other reasons that you can think of. Next question: what format? Oh dear, another impossible decision, worth at least another bottle of beer. I like medium format – always have and always will. But even a little 645 and half a dozen lenses is one heck of a weight to lug around, especially when you consider the environments in which I prefer to work: steaming tropical swamps, dripping rain forests, sandy windswept beaches, remote and damp mountain ranges or the close confines of poverty stricken rural huts, surrounded by hoards of children and the family pig. No, 35mm it is. Good enough for Steve McCurry – good enough for me.

Next… the sensor. Now this is where you and I part company. I insist on a Fuji CCDII or even better their wonderful new EXR sensor! I won’t even consider those sensors stuck inside the newest Nikons or Canons… it’s a Fuji for me: a beautiful full frame Fuji 24Mp Super CCDII EXR! Hang on! Don’t shout! I know Fuji doesn’t make full frame sensors, but this is my dream camera, so let me dream. Seriously, though, no company has invested the time and creativity into sensor development that Fuji has. Their first experiments with S and R photosites of different sizes produced a dynamic range close to that of film, and in this respect their S5Pro still knocks spots off the big guns from both Canon and Nikon. Their amazing new EXR sensor arranges hexagonal photosites diagonally across the sensor… maybe the end of moire and AA filters on 35mm’s is in sight.

So I want a Fuji 24Mp sensor. With so many pixels on such a ‘small’ sensor I won’t get much by way of high ISO levels, but that doesn’t bother me. I almost always shoot at 100ISO and occasionally might go up to 400ISO. Thinking about it, however, as I sip on my tiger, I want to be able to shoot at 50ISO also, and why not also have a 64ISO setting to bring back memories of Ektachrome (Remember that?) In fact… I demand that my camera has an Ektachrome film simulation mode! Hey, I’m liking the sound of this, guess I should order another beer to keep me going. With 24Mp I can do some serious landscape work, and have room to crop a little. Sure it would create massive files, but shooting Medium Format film and scanning, as I am now, creates big files anyway. Besides 1Tb external drives are pretty cheap.

Now I need a body to stick my wonderful new sensor in. This is easy. I want a body almost identical to the Nikon F4S. Not only is it the most comfortable, ergonomic and user friendly camera body ever produced… it still has knobs! This is my pet hate with digital cameras – almost everything is hidden in scroll down menus which have to be read on the LCD. Now I don’t mind LCD’s, not at all… I want my camera to have a beautiful 920.000 dot, three inch LCD exactly like the one Nikon first brought out with the D300. And sure it can have scroll menus and things, just not for the important things! I want to have real dials and knobs which I can see and feel and turn. You know, just like in the good old days when we still had real cameras. I want total touch control. Know what I mean?

Of course my camera will have all the benefits of modern technology too. Titanium body, full environmental sealing, and nice little touches like twin CF ports. I can’t be bothered with some of this new stuff though, no HD video and sound recording for me. I’m a photographer, not a cameraman. If I want a video I’ll buy a video camera for crying out loud! Now for the next big question, do I go for a Canon or a Nikon lens mount? It’s getting quite difficult to think about issues of such serious import after my fifth bottle of beer, but I must battle on. I know whatever I write here will alienate half the camera world, depending upon whether you like Canon or Nikon lenses, but I need to stick to my guns.

I will admit that I think Canon generally make the best lenses, but I will go for Nikon. I’ve used Nikon lenses for so many years now I’ve grown comfortable with them. Added to which the new 14-24 f/2.8 is an absolutely beautiful piece of work (even if the clowns at Nikon made it so I can’t use it with filters). Added to this I’ll take the 24-70 f/2.8 and the 70-200 f/2.8 VR. I don’t like the 70-200 that much. It’s a bit soft around the edges, but as I rarely use it, and even then I almost only use it for portraits, that softness will get lost in the bokeh. Guess I’ll also keep the 105 f/2.8 Macro lens which is wonderfully sharp, and of course the 24 f/3.5 PC lens, a piece of glass I couldn’t live without. I might be tempted to add a fish eye to my collection, but not sure if I’d ever use it. Have enough to carry around as it is. Oh. Almost forgot. A few SB800 speedlites. OK… the 900 is a little better, but I’m familiar with the 800, and I detest flashes anyway and really wouldn’t want to spend any more money on them.

My dream camera… not what everyone would want, but it would be perfect for me. Not much I can think of to improve on this. Just as well I’ve finished, because the waitress and just brought me my seventh beer and for some reason I can’t understand why my handwriting no longer follows the lines on the page. Time to sit back, celebrate my productivity with a last beer and think about where in the world I’d like to use my perfect camera.

Nha Trang

Maybe I plan too much? Maybe it's not a good thing to do if you're a photographer... I mean isn't photography all about waiting for that exact moment when whole universe comes together to provide that 'perfect' image. Don't the gods of photography smile on those who randomly wander the surface of the globe with camera in hand and hunger in their eyes... waiting with their trembling finger on the shutter release for that one defining vision of the world to smack them in the face?

I mean, take for example, my last trip to the beautiful coastal resort city of Nha Trang. Here in Vietnam one of the most important factors for a photographer to consider is the weather: when it's sunny in the South it's raining in the North, when the sky is blue in the mountains we have cyclones on the coast. My year is planned out even before most people a thinking about scratching around in the attic to find last years christmas tree lights.

For those of you who might be considering a trip to Vietnam a rule of thumb is to visit the South (Ho Chi Minh City and the Mekong Delta) between November and March, to visit the North (Hanoi, Ha Long and Sapa) around June or July and to visit Nha Trang at almost any time of the year. The warm waters and golden beaches of Nha Trang enjoy over two hundred and fifty days of sunshine a year. It's almost impossible to go to Nha Trang at the wrong time of year

I had booked my air ticket to this tropical paradise and then sat down to plan out my 'script'. This involves creating a day by day schedule of where I want to be at what time, what I want to shoot and from what positions or angles, an idea of how many shots I think I'll need in landscape or portrait format, wide angle or detail... whatever might be relevant to ensuring that at the end of the day I have a complete collection of beautiful, interesting, informative and descriptive images.

Something else I always do, naughty little boy that I am, is that I make time (usually late at night with a small glass of whisky) to spend hours trawling through popular online stock libraries (Getty, Photoshelter, Lonely Planet etc.) looking at what other happy snappers have shot of Nha Trang. This gives me an idea of what those evil individuals collectively known as the 'competition' have been up to, and almost always provides me with a few new ideas about how to approach, compose or light a well known subject. Seriously, this is always time well spent.

Anyway the morning of departure arrived and I woke in a great mood, brushed my teeth, packed my bags... clothing and toiletries 3.5kg, tripods 7.5kg, camera and equipment bag 12kg... and set off for Tan Son Nhat airport and a wonderful week in Nha Trang. The flight took less than an hour and as the airbus flew over the coast of Cam Ranh bay I could see nothing but blue water, kilometers of white beaches backed by green mountains. Here and there white walled houses showed through dense coconut trees, fishing boats ploughed through the ocean leaving long white wakes and close to shore I could see the darker lines of coral reefs and sandy bottomed lagoons through the crystal clear waters of the South China Sea.

Cam Ranh airport is about thirty minutes from downtown Nha Trang and after five minutes I had cleared baggage collection and was tearing down the new coastal highway. On my left rugged mountains cloaked in dense jungle rose to meet the deep blue sky and on my right lay untouched coves and rocky little peninsulas which jutted out into the endless blue of the sea. Although classified as a city, Nha Trang is in reality a small town with only one main road which runs along the beach. I stayed at the same hotel where I always stay; two stars for $14 a night can’t be beaten, and it’s only a two minute walk from the beachfront. By the time I’d booked in, unpacked and had a shower it was mid afternoon… time for a walk.

I took my beloved little Fuji S5 with a nice f/2.8 wide angle lens, slung my small tripod over my shoulder and eagerly set off. The main public beach runs for kilometers on either side of the city; a 50m belt of clean white sand bordered by landscaped gardens and coconut trees. Here and there are clusters of thatched umbrellas to provide shade for overweight lobster colored tourists. Every few hundred meters or so, set well back into the trees, are rustic cafes, bars and restaurants. As a matter of tradition I wandered down to my favorite; the Nha Trang Sailing Club. This place is a Nha Trang institution.

The Sailing Club consists of two large thatched areas open to the beach, the one is a bar and lounge with comfortable sofas which make you want to sit there all day, the other is a more formal restaurant complete with an amazing wine list and romantic lighting in the evening. The service here is as good as anywhere I’ve ever been. It wasn’t long before I had a delicious ‘sinh to’ or Vietnamese fruit smoothie in front of me; a tall glass of fresh apple and blueberry mixed with crushed ice and cream. Having missed lunch I also gave into temptation and ordered a light smoked turkey breast salad with crisp bits of crunchy bacon and blue cheese… it’s a hard life sometimes.

By about 16h30 the sun was low over the mountains and the light was nice, clear and warm. I took a stroll along the beachfront. A short walk provided a few standard stock images of white sand, deck chairs and blue water. A few minutes later my week and life almost came to a rather unplanned and abrupt end. A rather large American tourist had been parasailing over the bay, and the crew were struggling to land him on the beach. The speed boat had tried twice already and was now slowing for the third attempt. The service crew were out in force to catch the now nervous and cursing tourist, and bring him back to earth without too much of a thump. I’ve watched these same guys do this hundreds of times, and it was obvious that even they were getting worried… I mean who wants one hundred and twenty odd kilos of panicking Westerner to land on you?

Well, with the white sand, turquoise ocean, deep blue afternoon sky and the vibrant reds and whites of the parasail I just had to get a shot. I rushed in and tried to compose a portrait format picture with the parasail filling the top two thirds of the image. Blast! Wide angle lens… not the best thing for this kind of work. I moved in closer… click… click… One of the service crew I knew flashed me a rather sick smile which didn’t reach his eyes. The speedboat cut it’s engine and the parasail lost lift, he was coming down… click… click… hands reaching up to grab his legs… click… click… Suddenly the day grew dark. I was in shadow. He was coming down right on top of me! I scrambled backwards and almost tripped over myself in haste. The guy was down and on his feet, A perfect landing. It wouldn’t have been had I still been there… he landed on the exact spot where I had been standing!

Now everyone was smiles. The American was patting the crew on their backs and laughing. I casually turned and walked slowly away. I’d just made one of the oldest mistakes in the book. When viewing the world through a camera lens perspective changes. A wise photographer always keeps his other eye free to get a better view of reality. Well, no harm done. I thanked my lucky stars, however, that he hadn’t landed on me… I mean I would never have lived it down. To have survived combat, firefights, riots and all manner of extremely angry wildlife, only to be taken out by an obese American falling from the sky. My friends would die laughing if that’s the way my obituary read.

Further down the beach I found a nice spot. Set up my tripod, composed a picture; dark palm trees, sand and sea with Hon Tre island in the distance and a large sky just waiting to turn every pink, red and gold in the rainbow. This is the reality of most of what I do. Find the spot, get ready and wait for the light. Light is everything. If you are prepared to wait, to sit around for an hour or two doing nothing, to let nature do it’s thing in it’s own time you always get the shot you want. Only one problem this time. It never happened. The sky went from a beautiful pale blue to dull gray. Storm clouds had moved in over the mountains behind the city and the sun was gone for the day.

Oh well. That’s the way it goes. Nothing to worry about. I had another week to get my sunset shots. I packed up and contentedly wandered back up the beach. My favorite sofa at the Sailing Club was free, so I sat back, a smile on my face and ordered an ice cold tiger beer. Ahh… a soft chair, a balmy sea breeze, the sounds of quiet jazz and the distant crash of waves… and a good larger. Almost an hour later a summoned up the energy to move, only to walk a few minutes into town to a restaurant I’m rather fond of. So the day ended with another salad and a delicious sweet and succulent lobster. Seafood is so fresh and cheap in Nha Trang (along the whole coast, to be honest) this is not the extravagance it might seem to be. And I do love lobster. After that it was off to bed… I had plans to be up early the next morning and head out to the Hon Chong peninsular for some shots of sunrise over the sea.

I’m a morning person. Around 05h00 everyday my eyes pop open, I’m wide awake and can’t wait to get out of bed. Today was no exception. I rose and made my way through to the bathroom… halfway, I stopped… what was that noise? No! It can’t be…. yes it was… rain! I stood on my balcony beneath low gray clouds and stared at the colorless vision before me. After muttering a few choice words which would have done my Australian friend Peter proud, I headed back to the bathroom. I’m nothing if not persistent. Twenty minutes later I was crouched under a dripping beach umbrella waiting to see what the day turned up. Morning cloud is not uncommon along the coast, and by eight or so it’s normally been burnt off by the hot tropical sun. But no sunrise shots today. No problem, I have a whole week…

…My eyes blinked open, and almost closed again. Today was Monday, in five hours I’d be back on a plane and heading towards Ho Chi Minh City and home. In the last week there had not been one clear, cloudless sunrise or a single decent sunset. Sure, there had been a few hours of sun here and there that I’d been able to use, but the score was clearly: Nha Trang 10 - VinaPix 0. I had spent more time reading cheap paperback novels and drinking coffee than anything else.I had even been reduced to watching terrible cooking shows in Spanish on the hotels cable TV. I was fed up.

Lethargically I made my way to the balcony and parted the curtains to behold a dark, but cloudless dawn. Not today! My last day! What have I ever done to be tormented like this? No shower…forget the teeth… grab the camera… oh… don’t forget the tripod… where’s the bloody light meter? Go… go… go… By the time I reached Hon Chong the sun was already above the horizon, but it was a beautiful morning. The air was cool and clear, the sea a gorgeous translucent turquoise and the sky an infinite canopy of rich blues. Find my spot, Set up my tripod, bracket my shots… click…. click…click. Nice, now where’s my polarizer? Where’s my polarizer!!! (On the table in my hotel room where I’d left it after cleaning my gear last night). Took the shots, then I was racing a few kilometers up the coast as fast as my rented scooter would take me.

I captured most of the shots I wanted. Not as nice as I had hoped, and not as many as I needed, but usable. A weeks worth of work crammed into just under five hours. Not the first time I’ve had to do it, and probably not the last, but it was done and the images were safe on my compact flash. I made the airport just before final call, and as I sat on the plane and gazed out the window at the beautiful clear waters and endless, unspoilt white beaches of the Vietnamese coastline, I wished that I’d brushed my teeth.