photography and writing

I recently wrote about Barry Lopez’s 1998 book of essays, About This Life. In addition to what you would expect to see from Lopez, writing about nature and the outdoors, he devotes a long essay to the merits of the Boeing 747 jetliner and another to his experience with photography.

Lopez writes that he delved into photography for a while, and in fact he sold several photos. But, he realized, when recalling an encounter with a polar bear:

Remembering what happened in an encounter was crucial to my work as a writer, and attending to my cameras during our time with the bear had altered and shrunk my memory of it. While the polar bear was doing something, I was checking f-stops and attempting to frame and focus from a moving boat…. As a writer, I had begun to feel I was missing critical details in situations such as this one because I was distracted.

I had a similar realization one year when we were at Lake Shasta. I realized I was so focused on getting pictures that I was failing to enjoy the moment I was in. I had a lovely Nikon D70 digital SLR camera with multiple lenses which I then sold off in pieces on eBay. I replaced it with a compact digital camera which served me fine on our Alaska trip in 2011. I wanted to keep something of a hand in photography without being obsessed by it, but that camera simply didn’t feel right in my hands. Right after the Alaska trip I bought a Nikon P500, which has the look and feel of an SLR, but with a fixed lens. It’s the camera I still use today when I want something more than my iPhone can offer.

After my dad’s death in 2020 my brother urged me to take his Sony A230 digital SLR, which I did. I used it some, but the two of us just never hit it off. I’m sticking with my P500 for my “beyond the iPhone” camera needs.

These many years later I feel much the same as I did at Lake Shasta. I am sticking with my writing and I’ll take photos here and there when I feel so moved.

the typewriter

I don’t miss my typewriter. I’m a terrible typist. I always have been. And it’s infinitely easier to correct errors on a computer than it is on a typewriter.

Still, the typewriter was an essential part of my life for many years. My first typewriter was a gift from my parents and grandparents before I was even in high school. It was, of course, indispensable when I was in college. And I used a typewriter for many years after college. The first computer I had where I could actually compose and print things out was my Apple IIe in 1986 or 1987. That pretty much spelled the end of my using a typewriter.

Still, it’s fun to look back. This photo essay of writers at their typewriters was actually published in The Guardian in 2011, but I only recently came across it. It’s a lot of fun to scroll through. What is interesting is how modest most of the typewriters are. Only Hunter S. Thompson is shown with a powerful IBM Selectric. (And by the way, the spell checker in my blog tool didn’t recognize that once well-known brand name.)

I managed with a typewriter for years, but I much prefer the technology I have today.

on (not) capturing reality

On my birthday weekend, Terry and I visited the San Jose Museum of Art to see the Annie Leibovitz exhibit. One of the other exhibits, however, caught my attention. It was photographs of the American West by Doug Hall. It was dominated by a big-screen video of the Golden Gate Bridge and the ship traffic going beneath it, and he had some amazing portraits, but what really caught my attention were two images: one of crowds of people at Glacier Point in Yosemite and the other of crowds of people at Mt. Rushmore. I have never been to Mt. Rushmore, but Terry and I have been to Yosemite several times, and on our most recent visit we took the tour to Glacier Point. My photos there removed the crowds to the degree possible. Cropping in Photoshop helped complete the task. I spend a lot less time and energy on photography now than I once did, but that has always been my approach: capture the beauty, remove the crowds.

It struck me, looking at Hall’s photos, that in my photography I have violated the very principles of capturing reality I have criticized nonfiction writers for violating. Yet had I captured the scene as I actually experienced it, the photo would be less pleasing and less aesthetically enjoyable.

But if that is acceptable in photography does it become acceptable in nonfiction writing?

This is making my head hurt.

camera obscura (or breaking up is hard to do)

I shipped off the last piece of my Nikon camera set on Friday.

I have written here about how my interest in photography has lessened as my interest in writing this blog has increased. I wrote about how I recognized that I was so intent on getting the great shot that I failed to savor the moment at the ocean, or the waterfall, or wherever I was.

I decided that simplifying, and not carrying around a camera bag with multiple lenses was the right thing to do. I wrote about how I bought a Canon pocket camera for our Alaska trip, and while that got me some great pictures, it wasn’t quite what I wanted. I ended up with a compact digital, a Nikon P500, which provides me with a familiar feel and familiar functions, but in a much simplified manner, without the bag and multiple lenses. Even at that, we’ve gone on trips where I haven’t taken it out of its case.

I realized that I needed to get rid of my D70 and its multiple lenses. But realizing and doing are two different things. I  hung on it for a long time, not being able to let go, even though I knew I wouldn’t go back to using it. I even had all of lenses packed up in their original boxes and put into shipping boxes, ready to list them on eBay. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do that.

Finally I took a Sunday afternoon and listed everything. It all sold. And really, it was the right thing to do. I have my P500 for the shots I want to take, and I ended up with a nice balance in my PayPal account that I can use for fun indulgences like Amazon and iTunes gift cards. But mostly I know I can stand by the ocean and enjoy the moment and not feel like I’m missing some picture I really need to capture.

That’s a good thing.