Matthew Piers Robertson

Solving Dilemmas

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Sat, 12 May 2012 02:57:00 +0000

When faced with choosing between two possible options, each with their own advantages, there's a lot to be said for doing both.

I've recently been trying to decide between wrapping up my Lakefill project, knowing that I could now do it better, versus continuing on and further delaying its completion.

So I'm doing both. I have a few little changes that I want to make to a couple of the prints, and the Artist's Statement needs some work, but I've selected a series of eighteen images that make a strong set of 8x10 prints. I'll have the gallery updated with the finished images once the full folio is complete.

And while doing that, I'm also gathering raw material for the next set. Literally. While all of the photos in "Lakefill 2011" were taken on-site, this time I'm bringing the bricks indoors. The first set was intended to be a book / folio from the very beginning; the 2012 project will be more refined, more consistent, and intended for gallery-quality 16x20" prints. I'm not ready to start photographing yet, but I'm excited.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Measuring Matthewness

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Fri, 04 May 2012 01:24:00 +0000

This is something that I came up with in an idle moment: the "matthewness" scale.

There are five categories that I've broken it down into, and assign anywhere from 0 to 2 point in each, creating a nice X-out-of-10 rating. The higher the score, the more "me" the photo is. (As with all of these arbitrary and subjective ratings, intermediate scores and half-points are encouraged.) Here's how it works:

Picture Space: The flatter the better. A photo with a foreground and background with deep focus, like the receding streets of 44th and 5th, would score a "0". A photo where the entire frame consists of a brick wall – not an uncommon thing for me, even outside of my lens reviews – would score "2".

Geometry: For maximum points, we need straight lines, right angles, and square corners. Diagonals are rare, and there are no curves. A score of zero would be something like a field of wildflowers – not that I've ever taken one of those. An intermediate score of "1" would go to something like "Blue", where a composition of curves is still anchored by a line that's parallel to the bottom of the frame.

Framing: A 'passive' frame, which is simply where the photo ends and has no relation to the space or the subject, is a zero. A composition in which the frame creates negative space that's important to the success of the photo, such as my Lakefill series, would be a "1". For full points, the photo needs to have a subject or composition that's entirely created by the camera frame.

Words: Sometimes text and its treatment is the entire subject of a photo, which is worth "2", and if it's important in some way then I'll score that as a "1.5". If there's any legible text, then that still earns a "1".

Suitability: Somewhat recursively, this is an evaluation of the "matthewness" of the subject. Camera-clubby images of lonely trees, lonely docks, dilapidated barns, diaphanous flowers, and long-exposure streams are an emphatic zero, if not an outright deduction. On the other hand, people occasionally remember me for my abstracted photos of signs, so that would be a "2". Humour counts for something here, too.

I previously called "Swimming Pool Vicinity" the most 'me' of all of my photos. It scores a 8.5 out of 10 on this scale, being marked down only a half-point each for 'words', 'picture space', and 'framing'. Conversely, "Coney Island, 18 June 2011" shows few of my usual traits, would only acquire one point each for 'picture space' and 'suitability', with maybe a half-point for 'framing'.

It's not that this scale has any actual utility, or that I use it in evaluating or ranking photos in any way, but it's an amusing exercise for me to pass the time and a different framework to think about my favourites.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

An Analogy

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 17:42:00 +0000

I like to wander through the second-hand bookstore – I'll often find something that I didn't know to look for. It's a process of serendipity and discovery, a time for trying out ideas and themes, and it's okay that I put most of them back. I've spent almost two years choosing books by the author's last names, working my way through the alphabet twice, and found some gems that I never would have experienced otherwise.

Occasionally I'll finish a book and go right back to the beginning. When I read it all over again I can pay attention to the details and structure in a way that wasn't possible when I didn't know the story, and can make a good work even better. The tradeoff is that I only have so much time, and lose some of the potential for stories that I don't know yet.

This is a lot like photography.

My "Lakefill" series is nearly complete. I can wrap it up and move on to the process of discovering my next idea, which is intimidating because there's no way of knowing if it will be any good. Or I could take what I've learned from the process of doing the work, add in some improved equipment, and re-do the whole thing for a better result. I give up completing anything now, and miss the potential opportunity to apply those same improvements and experiences to the next big thing.

I haven't yet decided what I'm going to do. I may even be delaying taking the critical look at my existing photos, and doing the work to evaluate the series, specifically to avoid having to make that call.

But when I finish reading a book, I usually just go back to my own bookshelves. That's my reserve of favourites to revisit and some stories that had caught my eye when I didn't have the time to pursue them. It's familiar, comfortable, and unsurprising – a nice refuge to have, but not something that I want for my photography.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Retraction

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Thu, 05 Apr 2012 02:08:00 +0000

I have to admit that I've done something that I had said I wouldn't do. I've bought a Nikon D800.

Improvement is a funny thing.

The tools that I use are inseparable from the results that I attain: the process of creation starts when I select the implement, and that's true whether I'm picking a camera and lens or choosing between a brush and a palette knife. Each camera provides different abilities and opportunities, and the D800's potential to make high-quality prints larger and more easily proved too tempting to resist.

Yet while a better camera may take better photos, it doesn't follow that it will create better art.

There's a huge difference between the ambitions of being a better photographer versus being a better artist. The process might look the same, but the goals are different; I occasionally need to remind myself that I want to solve expressive problems, not just technical ones. It's far too easy to get caught up in the numbers and marketing and forget that my goals may not be the same as those of the people around me, and they certainly aren't the same as the camera companies.

But 36 megapixels means a high-resolution 16x20" print without needing to combine multiple images. That's exactly what I want. My Lakefill series may not be done after all.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

"Coney Island, 18 June 2011"

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Sun, 25 Mar 2012 00:46:00 +0000

I would say that things usually work out well for me. After a successful trip to Coney Island in March, and ten days in Manhattan the previous October, I had planned a return trip for the end of June. There are a lot of different things that come into play when I pick a time to travel, and this particular day just happened to be the Saturday of the annual parade in Coney Island to mark the start of summer.

It was a good day, with lots of interesting things to see. I spent the morning in Manhattan, using black and white film in my rangefinder, and then switched to colour and a telephoto lens for most of the afternoon. Despite being a smaller format than what I had used for my March trip to Coney Island, the film is the same and I like the way they work together.

I'm still not done with Coney Island yet, and may have another trip or two there this year. Eventually I'll be able to put together a series that covers different seasons across a few years. Until then, this photo will stand on its own.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

"Fifth and Forty-Fourth"

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Mon, 19 Mar 2012 01:16:00 +0000

One thing that I've noticed is that my photographic interests have narrowed over the years. I used to go out and just explore, never knowing what I would find, but these days I tend to visualize a specific image and then work to make it happen. At least, that's what I do when I'm at home – when I travel I'm much more likely to be spontaneous.

Midtown Manhattan is only a ten-hour bus ride from downtown Toronto, making it a relatively easy overnight trip. That's also why I'm more likely to be on Fifth Avenue at six-thirty on the morning than to see Toronto's own Yonge Street: I need a very good reason to be awake that early. All I could think about here was making sure that I had my Zeiss 35/2 lens set to infinity and f/5.6 as I brought the camera up for this shot – that and making sure there were no oncoming taxis as I crossed the street a block south from this gentleman.

This photo was taken on my third trip to New York, and it was the second time I brought my Zeiss Ikon rangefinder. This is my perfect camera for cities and streets, especially with the Zeiss 35mm f/2 Biogon, which is possibly the best wide-angle lens ever made. This is the setup I most associate with New York, and it's one of the cameras I'll be carrying when I return this fall.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

"Coney Island Furniture"

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Mon, 12 Mar 2012 00:27:00 +0000

New York City is a very big place. While it doesn't suffer from a lack of photographers, the idea of creating any single body of work that can capture the breadth of it would be a daunting task even if I lived there, which I don't. Instead I need to focus on just a few themes and restrict myself to very specific parts of the city.

"Coney Island Furniture" is, naturally, from an ongoing series of photos from Coney Island. This is an iconic area of amusement parks with a boardwalk on the Atlantic ocean that always faces the sun, and it's the terminus for four different subway lines that run through midtown Manhattan.

My first trip to it was in March of 2011, before the rides opened for the season, making it a quiet and rather cold and windy place. I carried a tripod and my hasselblad, which made for an interesting day.

This store is on Surf Avenue, not far from the beach and attractions, but seems to have enjoyed better times. I like to linger on the storefront with its signs and unusual lettering, and typically for my cityscape photos, it's built out of rectangles with no people to be seen anywhere.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

"Swimming Pool Vicinity"

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 03:45:00 +0000

There are four traits that I recognize in many, if not most, of my favourite photos. Flat picture space. Strong geometry, typically square angles and no curves. An active frame: the photograph is created by its boundaries, rather than existing independently within them. And words.

"Swimming Pool Vicinity" combines all of these elements in one image, making it the most 'typically me' photo of any of my recent work. When I look at it I see the larger sign first, followed by the second sign; then I examine the detail in the wall. The sweeping clouds are what I look at last, and their implied movement brings me back to the wall and the idea that there's something beyond it.

I suppose there is a fifth element that is typically me: detachment. I may exult in geometric expression, but the photo is an act of precision, not passion. The viewer is invited to examine the scene in detail: to count the bolts, to notice the shifts in the concrete wall, to appreciate the humour of the warnings inherent in the deep end of a shallow pool. But we're a very long way from dancing about architecture.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Considering Favourites

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 00:42:00 +0000

I was recently asked to put together a portfolio of seven photographs for review. Setting aside the specificity of that number, and my musing about how they chose it, the part of the request that struck me is that the prints need to show a range of interests and approaches.

I've spent the past year working on cohesive series, which is sort of the opposite of that.

The ones that I've provisionally chosen – i still have a week to finalize my choices – span almost two years. Three of them were taken in New York, across two separate one-day visits, but I haven't pulled any images from my trips to Montreal, Chicago, or Ottawa.

Over the next couple of weeks I'll take a look at some of the photos that I pick. Many are already included in my personal favourites, but I've reworked several of them and am looking forward to seeing them as prints.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Little Jumps Forward

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Wed, 15 Feb 2012 03:28:00 +0000

It's been a busy week.

A couple of things have happened. One is a small breakthrough on my Time and Motion project: I've finally found an aspect ratio that I like and can use for all of the prints. Since I've been working in three different formats – and counting – each with a different aspect ratio, this is a way to unify all of the photographs. It will require custom matting, but commercially produced frames should remain an option. I'm very excited about this.

I always enjoy being able to do a first pass with my photographs, to solidify my ideas on how I want them to look, and then let them sit for a while. In every case it provides better results, and sometimes those results aren't what I expect. I idly flipped one of the photos from colour to monochrome on my computer screen, and really liked the results. Encouraged by that, I then tried it on one that came out too rough for me to like in colour. Black and white suits it, and while I'm not sure if it will be part of the "finished" series, it's fun to have in the collection.

The other new thing this week is some camera-industry news. Nikon astonished me by proving the rumour websites correct, and announced the replacement for my D700 with three times the resolution. I pay minimal attention to rumour sites, partly because I have enough trouble keeping track of the cameras that actually exist, but the idea that Nikon would definitively restart the megapixel race was just too outlandish to believe. Never let it be said that I have a perfect track record.

I'm not one of those people who expects art-viewers to maintain a respectful distance from large prints and not notice blur and pixellation: if a print is big I want to be rewarded by additional detail. Clearly, my Time and Motion project depends on mood instead of minutia, but I did go to considerable effort to increase the starting resolution for my Lakefill series. A high resolution digital camera certainly isn't something that I would say no to.

But I'm not ready to say yes to the Nikon D800, either. It's not quite right for my needs, and my D700 and I still have a few years left together, but I'm certainly interested to see what else Nikon can come up with.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Software Upgrades

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 03:40:00 +0000

I refuse to consider that I might now qualify as an 'old dog'.

I'm not adverse to learning new things. I quite enjoy coming up with new solutions and techniques to improve my results. I just prefer change when it's my idea.

I use Adobe software as the core of my image editing routine. Lightroom handles 95% of it, while special tasks are farmed out to an older version of Photoshop. I use a specialist program to drive the two scanners for the film that I use, and a nifty little program for focus stacking and super-resolution processing with some digital images.

But nothing lasts forever. The next version of Photoshop will be my last chance to upgrade at a reduced price, and after that they're getting rid of their policy that lets people skip generations without penalty. There's nothing in the new versions that I need, but the raw files from two of the three digital cameras that I routinely use aren't supported in the version that I have. This affects my ability to easily merge multiple photos into layers or panoramas, and is generally a nuisance.

Lightroom is also changing. I've been using it longer than most people, and stayed with it through three generations. Now LR4 is in its public trials, and it looks great – but I've developed a few decent tricks in soon-to-be-old versons. My favourite was to work with the exposure and brightness controls in opposition to each other: exposure is global, and can cause highlight clipping, but brightness will try very hard not to clip, and only influences the brighter parts of the image. The contrast control works to change the range that the brightness influences. Between those adjustments an amazing range of control could be had, and it was quick and easy to create the results that I wanted.

Lightroom 4: no more brightness control.

Nobody says that I have to upgrade. I can stay with what I'm doing, keep the results I already have, and not need to do anything differently. But what fun is that?

So it's inevitable that I'm going to need to learn new tricks sooner or later. Lightroom Four is almost certainly in my future. But this also seems like a good time to re-evaluate what I want my software to do, and consider some new options that weren't out there when I first signed up with Adobe. I'm hearing interesting things about Apple's Aperture, and DxO Optics has a reputation as the best choice for photographers who want to squeeze the best from their cameras and lenses. That sounds fascinating – and they all offer free trials.

I may need a new computer soon.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Camera Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 00:33:00 +0000

There are a lot of recurring themes in photographic discussion, but the classic may be "the camera doesn't matter." The essential argument is that talent/skill/ability is what's important, and once that requirement is met 'all you need is a disposable, toy camera or a camera phone to create great work.'

Poppycock.

Of course technical proficiency doesn't mean that there's anything of value being created. But the assertion that great artwork can be done with inferior tools skirts the reality that artists typically use the best tools that they can. Yes, of course it can be done, but the point is to use the correct tool.

I've been learning a lot about the importance of cameras from my 'time and motion' project. The images themselves have very little detail and a limited tonal range, and certainly don't stress the equipment at all. So far I've taken these images with three different cameras, ranging from small format film and digital to medium format film, and I suppose a disposable toy camera would work as well.

But these simple photos are created from long exposures with impromptu setup, and it's the camera that's moving, not the subject. It's an unusual situation with unexpected requirements, and choosing the right camera has become an integral part of the creative process. The exposure controls, format, and even the weight of the camera change the results in subtle ways that can't always be predicted, and they certainly can't be synthesized.

But neither can meaning.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Creative Accidents

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 03:45:00 +0000

Perfection isn't something I actually expect to achieve. I'm not that good, and I'm also aware that the drive for perfection is the antithesis of completion. But I'm someone who will take the largest SLR ever produced, which has tremendous technical controls and creates a negative larger than the screen on my phone, for a miles-long bike ride so that I can photograph bricks.

I really like perfection, but I also really like this photo.

Everything in this photo worked the way it should. It's not destined for greatness, but the process went just fine. There's plenty of detail to see in the spider webs, and while the composition isn't revolutionary, it's not bad either.

But months later – I don't use a lot of black and white film in the summer – when I was unloading the camera, there was a slight mishap. Rolls of 120 film are vulnerable to light leaks, and that's what happened to this one. It's actually the first time I've had that happen with any of my film.

In this case, I'm glad it did.
But I don't plan on doing it again.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Subtle White

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 02:28:00 +0000

There's a photograph that I keep trying to take.

It's not even complicated. There's a large tank that holds some sort of chemical – I've never bothered to find out what – on the university campus that's near my home. It's a long horizontal cylinder, painted white, that's almost always in shadow from the neighbouring buildings. There's an elevated walkway next to it, so that it's easy to see across the top of the tank and along its length.

The tank is usually wearing rain-streaked dirt, giving it interesting detail and texture. The curve means that there are always highlights and shadows. Shade, reflections, and lights give it subtle colour variations. I'm fascinated by it, and try to take a photo most of the times I walk past it. I test out new cameras, lenses, and film with it. I've done this for years.

Completely without success.

I admit that I haven't gone all-out and made a project out of it. I could be unsporting and use the camera, lens, and colour controls that I routinely work with for my commercial photography. That would certainly give better results, yet I haven't done it. Ultimately, I know that what I like wouldn't really translate into a static photograph, and both film and digital are weak at capturing subtle variations of tone and colour.

I'm a big believer in having the right camera for the job, but there are jobs that cameras can't do.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Two Lenses

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 03:35:00 +0000

I have a lot of cameras; at last count I have about a dozen, and seven have interchangeable lenes with six different lens mounts. But I only have two lenses – maybe three at the very most.

In four of the six systems that I use, a short telephoto in the 85-105mm range is my primary lens, although most of the time I also have one in the standard-wide 35-40mm range as well. In the other two formats I favour a lens in the 35-40mm range, but I have short telephotos for them as well. Technically, yes, it actually works out to being about eighteen different lenses, but fifteen of them are primes that fall into those two narrow bands.

Today I was reading about the latest American Mars rover that's recently been launched to explore our neighbour. It carries two cameras, both equipped with prime lenses. One is a 34mm wide angle, and the other is a 100mm short telephoto. Smart people, NASA.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Taking Control

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 21:43:00 +0000

I've been thinking a lot about control recently. If there's one thing that I've never been accused of, it's being too whimsical – I usually hear words like "precise" or "clinical", and they're not always meant as a compliment. This is, perhaps, why I'm more inclined to photograph products than portraits: fine detail and small adjustments in pursuit of my vision comes more naturally than spontaneity and improvisation.

Digital cameras suit me perfectly. The "Lakefill" images that I photographed over the summer, and are nearing completion as a folio and prints now, were taken with some moderately high-end digital gear and is almost certainly the best of my personal work. It's clean, crisp, and detailed.

But over the past couple of years I've been building up a collection of film cameras. My relationship with film is very different from digital; while I'm one of those photographers who doesn't look to fundamentally change an image in post-prcessing, with film I'm willing to accept "character" and imperfections that I would never tolerate from a digital camera. Not that I don't seek perfection in the equipment that I use to begin with – my winter and spring trips to Coney Island were done with a Hasselblad and a Zeiss rangefinder and lenses – but seeing the negative as a physical thing gives a certain authority to their initial state that all-digital capture lacks.

The series that I've been working with most recently is taking that even farther. Instead of trying to exercise control over every part of the image, my approach has been to set up certain conditions and then guide the process. Taken with a film camera, these are long exposures that are zone focused and taken without being able to look through the viewfinder. Instead of overlaying a texture in Photoshop, I scratch the negatives themselves before scanning. It's only after that final physical step that I can see what the results look like.

Once these negatives have been scanned it becomes a cycle of curating and editing. To date I've gone through almost ninety different derivations from thirty original images, and have sifted out three photos that please me. The series is still young, so I may find more in the photos that I already have, and I'll certainly be creating more raw material over the coming months. But the key component of creating the situation, guiding the process, and then letting success happen – or not – of its own accord will remain unchanged.

I can't say that I'm willing to completely remove control. My version of spontaneous photography is still well-planned and far from impulsive. The basis for my abstract photography remains consistent and repeatable even as the images themselves are the product of serendipity. What can I say? I'm a product photographer at heart.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

A Note on Prints

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 04:17:00 +0000

Limited edition photographs are a fiction.

I don't mean that in the sense that all photographs are an imposition of the photographer's will on reality, I mean that there is nothing inherently scarce about something that is mechanically reproduced, and any limits on supply – at least durning the artists lifetime – are contrived.

I do not, and will not, produce "Limited Edition" prints.

I create numbered artist-signed photographs in small print runs. The quantity of each run will be stated at the beginning, and the price for those prints is fixed. When that run of prints has sold out, I may then offer an additional run, but the price will be fifty percent higher with each edition. This way my photographs remain accessible, popular prints go up in value for those who collect them, and I'm able to incorporate improvements in the process in a way that's fair to both current and future owners.

I do also offer photographs through print-on-demand services. These prints are not produced under my control, and I neither inspect nor sign them, so they are offered on an ongoing basis at a lower price. Finally, from time to time there may even be "special editions" that I print and sell under different conditions, but as exceptions these will always be distinct from my print edition photographs in some way.

Comments, questions, thoughts? You can find me on Twitter or via e-mail.

Rule of Third

noreply@blogger.com (Matthew Robertson) — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 00:50:00 +0000

It's November, so it must be time to redo my website.

Welcome to the third redesign of matthewpiers.com. I've done away with the gallery-style website that most photographers use, but then I've never been overly concerned with doing what other photographers like to do. It's time to branch out and bring a little more personality to the process.

So the Matthew Piers Photography website – I'd like to thank my mother for giving me an unusual middle name – is relaunching as a blog and expanding its scope. Photography is going to always be central to its content, as it's central to my life, but this will no longer be just a wordless repository for photos.

For convenience I plan on using a few categories to sort the different themes. "Articles" are the more technical or introspective essays that don't relate directly to an image. The "Commercial" tag is reserved for photos that I take for someone else, and the thoughts that go along with them. "Personal" is for my own work, whether it's a few random thoughts, a photo, or notes on a project; posts that include photos will also be tagged accordingly. Finally, "Prints" will tag any artwork that I have for sale. Very few images will make it through the filters to reach this stage, so I tend to be fond of it.

More to come.