The Decisive Moment

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Smashing!

I was driving to a friend’s house the other day when I entered the motorway and everything ground to a halt. We crawled along for a few miles and before long the source of the trouble became apparent.

A sporty looking saloon – it was impossible to tell what it was before the crash – had spun out, swiped a lorry and ended up half way through the barrier. The police, fire and ambulance service were all in attendance and there was a blur of fluorescent jackets swarming around the vehicles.

Without warning the car’s fuel tank exploded. I don’t mean that it caught fire and popped a bit; it actually exploded – fire ball and all. I had no idea that this could actually happen in real life. I thought exploding fuel tanks only happened in Hollywood. In my excitement I reached into the back seat, grabbed my camera, switched it on, raised it to my face and zoomed in. Then something odd happened. I started to squeeze the shutter release and as I did so, a flood of guilt washed through me and I froze. As if someone else was controlling me, I put the camera down on the passenger seat, leant back in my chair and let out a long sigh. I felt appalled with myself. Some poor fellow might have just been really badly hurt and my first thought was to get a good snap of the fray. Moments later the traffic moved on and we left the horrible mess behind us.

I’ve thought about the crash a lot since then. It was one of those situations and one of those opportunities that (at least I hope) will never present its self again. I’m certain that I missed out on taking an amazing photograph. I probably could have sold it, at least to the local papers, and I would have received lashings of praise from my photographer friends. Regardless though, I’m sure I made the right decision. Sure, it could have been a great photo, but at what cost? All I could think while putting the camera down was what if it was me? How would I feel if someone else profited from my misfortune? I could never be proud of the photo; I would always feel a little ashamed.

It’s not quite the same thing, but I have a friend who is a freelance celebrity photographer. He’s one of those guys you see hanging over the railing at glitzy, red carpet events. In his view, the absolute best part of his job is when something goes wrong and he gets a good snap of the big name when it happens. It’s these photos that he’s most proud of and it’s these photos that earn him the most money. In life away from work he’s one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. He’s kind, generous and a great guy to be around, which is why I can’t understand why he gets such a buzz from doing what he does. After all, isn’t it profiting from someone else’s misfortune in its purest form?

There are times when it is prudent and even important for us to photograph “bad things”. For instance, without the photographs and news reels of the two world wars, how would we know of the atrocities that occurred? It’s also important that we keep seeing them. Not every day, but at least every now and then. It’s imperative that we are reminded of these ‘horrors of war’. Can you imagine what would happen if we forgot? Without the photos of starving children in third world countries we would be unaware of the constant struggle of hundreds of millions of fellow human beings. They would have no voice and there would be no way for us to know that they need our help. It’s these photographs that remind us of how fortunate we really are and in doing so give us perspective on our own lives.

I don’t think the lessons we learn from seeing photos of car accidents are really on the same par. Sure, we are reminded of what happens if we don’t drive carefully, but then how many traffic accidents do you see in a year from simply driving about? That seems enough of a reminder to me. As for what we learn from seeing A-list celebrities tripping over at a movie premier – well I’m stumped.

Perhaps I’m making too big of a deal about all this? Maybe I’m just going soft, but this type of thing really doesn’t sit well with me.

What do you think about this? If you had been in that traffic jam what would you have done? Would you have taken the photo or would it not have even crossed your mind? Perhaps you would react as I did, fully intending to take the shot but then finding that you couldn’t follow through? Is there a line that should be drawn or is everything fair game?

Back to the subject of Wedding Photography, again (I suspect we’ll be covering this one a lot!).

I was talking to my friend Mark, who I have mentioned before is right now going through the transition from keen amateur to professional. Mark was telling me about the half a dozen or so weddings he has covered for free, or dirt cheap, in order to have the opportunity to get a few weddings under his belt and into his portfolio. Oh, and for the experience of course, which never comes cheap in this game!

The trouble is, he is now in danger of being labelled as a “cheap wedding photographer” for the foreseeable future. Although having covered friends’ and relatives’ weddings at a special rate has lead to a number of referrals, the referred clients have an expectation of an inexpensive photographer covering the event from dusk till dawn.

It strikes me that when trying to make the jump to pro status, the photographer needs to have a plan, almost a prepared statement to read to the lucky couple getting the special deal. My suggestion (much too late for Mark, obviously!) would be to quote friends and relatives the full price you intend to charge once you have made the jump. Then, give them a whopping discount, clearly showing that this is a one-off because you are my cousin/nephew/sister/best buddy or whatever. This way, the photographer has shown his normal price and the friend/relative can clearly see the saving they get from being in the right place in the gene pool at the right time.

Will it actually work? I don’t know. I need someone to try it out and let me know! Any takers?

I can’t deny it, I’m a bit of a “baby-bore” when it comes to my kids. I’m verging on obsessed, if I’m honest, and I tend to assume that everyone else in the family (and I do mean everyone - all the way down to step-second-cousins-twice-removed-in-law) feels exactly the same; both about my kids and their own (where appropriate) for that matter.

So, when it comes to gift-giving time I naturally assume that there could be little the lucky relative could want more than another beautiful picture of their grandsons/nephews/cousins etc. Which is also pretty handy as I have so many pictures they haven’t even seen yet! Fortunately I have my wife on hand to point out what an arse I am (that’s not the actual phrase she uses - I thought I better water it down in the interest of good taste!).

Now I’m absolutely sure that the grandparents, aunts and uncle Andy all want pictures of the boys and I like to flatter myself that they even appreciate the high quality and technical competency displayed in the images I send them. What I’m not sure of is when is the right time and when is the wrong time to give a picture of the kids to a relative as a present. Is there a right time? Should pictures of the kids simply be an ongoing part of the process of parenthood?

In my role of part-time photographer, I mostly shoot portraits of kids. Invariably about half of all the prints I supply are intended as gifts for relatives. The busiest time of all for me is pre-Christmas and many of my clients (that’s pompous talk for “parents of our kids’ friends”) tell me they are getting the pictures taken specifically for Christmas presents. Is it okay to give a picture of the kids as a present if you have a “professional portrait” shot precisely for that purpose? The photos I give our relatives are shot by the same “professional” (sorry, I can’t use the p-word about myself without putting it in quotes!) in the same set-up I use for paying clients, so where is the difference?

Being serious for a moment, I don’t really send pictures of my kids to my wife’s cousins for their birthday (what, you thought I was really crass enough to do that?). However, I do feel (no matter how much my wife protests!) that my mother (or mother-in-law) would appreciate a picture of her grandsons, expertly taken and presented by her son (or son-in-law), as a gift on Mother’s Day. Have I got this wrong?

I went to a wedding this weekend. The photographer was an old friend (that’s a friend for a long time as opposed to an old bloke I’m friends with… actually, now I think about it…) of mine. He’s just in the process of turning professional, concentrating mainly on wedding photography. We have had quite a few conversations recently about our photographic “issues”. One recurring topic is that of quality and in particular the “problems” we see in our pictures which don’t seem to matter to other people.

Now, it’s hard for me to say I am a perfectionist because, to me, that implies that I believe my work is perfect, or at least that I am capable of perfection. However, in spite of being obsessed with photography for over thirty years now, I can’t point at a single photo I have taken and say that it is perfect. I have plenty of photos I am proud to have taken, but perfection is something I strive for but don’t ever achieve.

My wife gets really irritated by me (for oh-so-many reasons, to be honest!) because I am constantly whining that the depth of field is too narrow (or deep), focus is slightly off, I should have moved left/right/up/down/forward/backward, there’s something in the frame I don’t want to be there, colour/contrast/exposure could be better and so on. She is always telling me that the people I show the pictures to don’t really see these things - they just see the picture as it is.

Anyway, Mark (the wedding photographer) said he was having terrible problems with the shadows cast by his flash-guns. He had been to a few wedding photographer’s websites, checking out the competition, and had noticed that this was a fairly common problem. In fact, when he really studied the pictures he realized that he was doing a better job of minimizing the shadows than the majority. If it didn’t bother these other photographers, why should it be eating him up? I wish I could answer that question - it would give this article more of a point!

What I am trying to figure out is whether my struggle for perfection is improving the quality of my work or holding it back. I feel sure I should be aiming for perfection - what would be the point in not doing so? But I also feel that if I am exceeding the client/sitter’s expectations then (from a commercial position at least) I am achieving a kind of perceived perfection. Photography is not how I make my living, so the commercial position is not critical for me, but for Mark it could be the difference between success and failure.

Perhaps we might describe a  perfect photograph as one which is perceived to be perfect by the person viewing it? Now I just need to find the right viewers…