To paraphrase a co-worker of mine, I think everyone should get to shoot a Hasselblad in their photographic lifetime. It is not because I think it is the perfect camera or that I am a being a camera snob about it, but it is always good to have a reminder of what a finely crafted mechanical machine, with superb glass and a well exposed piece of film can do, then to be further reminded that this particular camera has already been in existence for the past 50 years and it can be bought for about the same price as most mid-range digital SLRs brand new. I am not trying to pick on digital, but rather most new cameras these days in general, film and digital. It is often disheartening to see the current trend we are in to embrace lighter (more plastic), cheaper, more automatic (less required knowledge on our part) cameras. And so many of the cameras these days, again film and digital both, but mostly digital, are basically expensive disposable cameras. They will hopefully give you five years of good use and then break and it will not be economical to repair them, rather you throw them out and plunk down another 300 to 500 (or more) on the latest generation because they are constantly getting "better". Remember how excited we all got about those 2 million pixel cameras? And to be fair, there are a number of digital cameras these days that I really like, the Canon 5D for example, and use on a number of occasions when I can borrow one. Same with film, the Nikon F6 is a glorious camera, but their other still-in-production film body, the FM10 is certainly not.

It is not so much the progression of technology that bothers me so, it is the forgetting we do concerning the technology and equipment we already have, have had in fact for decades. In fact some could point out in terms of 4x5 and 8x10, we have been able to make super high quality photographs for about a hundred years moderately easily. It seems such a shame that a camera like the Hasselblad could one day become extinct because people just do not realize how nice a well shot piece of film can look when put through a camera that lacks auto-everything, in fact does not even need a battery. When in truth, this camera has a lot of merit, it makes exceptionally nice images, but because it does not have a 14 point autofocus ultrasonic motor, or plugs into a computer, it ends up being remembered by a small minority of people.

Some people still talk about film becoming extinct, though less so than they did a couple of years ago. I highly doubt that it will anytime in the next ten or twenty years at least and probably not for much longer than that. But at the same time, it is troubling to see just how rapidly we move away from the aesthetic of film grain and good optical printing on actual photo paper. How easily we let ourselves become accustomed to cheap digital printing, or cameras that have shorter lifespans and higher price tags. And yes to also see digital's effect on film. I have said often that a camera is a camera, and digital has its merits separate from film, but film has them too. That is why I posted this picture. I do not actually own a Hasselblad. I doubt I would even buy one unless I won the lottery as I already have my Pentax 67. But this camera has its strengths, its own characteristics, and that is why I took it out this weekend. I felt like shooting square, super-sharp, medium format black and white film and the Hasselblad fit that bill perfectly. Sometimes I feel like shooting pinhole, sometimes I feel like experimenting with digital infrared, sometimes 35mm film, and at others I will take out a digital SLR. The point is different cameras have different uses, and just because something is 50 years old and entirely mechanical by no means, means that is has become obsolete. And we would do well to remember that as we rush headlong towards the next big technological breakthrough in the camera world, that maybe we should spend just a bit more time looking back. Not necessarily most or even a lot, but just a bit more. We have made some exceptionally nice cameras over the years, just seems a shame sometimes to see them forgotten.

This was taken this weekend up at Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood by the way. I love the windswept trees up there. In fact I seem to be developing a bit of a tree thing. While down at Crater Lake I was really fascinated by the gnarled white bark pines down there. Next on my list are the bristlecones of the Sierra Nevada. I have a small series of these trees, there is something about the stark nature of the shot and their obvious age and seeming permanence that really strikes me. Amazing to think of the conditions these trees have weathered over the years. Hardy things they are.

Taken with a Hasselblad 500C and Fuji Neopan 400.

If you are interested in pricing for my images, or just plain curious, more info can be found at my website: www.zebandrews.com

Tags:   Oregon trees snow mountains Mt Hood Pacific Northwest square black and white hasselblad 500C Fuji Neopan 400 film Timberline Lodge landscape TacomaArtMuseum NWlandscapes winter view views Zeb Andrews Zeb Andrews photography Blue Moon Camera

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"... I dream to be an artist. I pray that someday, if I work with enough care, if I am very very lucky, I will make ... a work of art. Call me an artist then, and I will answer." --The Princess Bride


I consider myself a photographer...stop. Not a fine art photographer, nor a master, or a photographic genius. Not a savant or a guru. I guess if you pressed me I might label myself as a landscape photographer, but only hesitantly as I am reluctant to confine the definition of my photography so. Simply put, I make pictures, therefore I am a photographer.

The words art and artist are tricky titles to apply, there is a lot of gray area. I try not to think too long about what is art and what is not, it really is not usually that relevant to what I do. I shall say though that I believe art is not something one does haphazardly or on occasion. Just because you smear paint on a canvas, does not necessarily make you an artist, nor does one's ability to press a shutter button.

The mild rant aside, recognition as an artist, is not what drives me. I do not actually dream of being an artist. What I do dream of is being a teacher, or at least someone who facilitates the spread of ideas and knowledge, specifically relating to photography. There is little that is more rewarding than sharing an image like this and seeing it excite (rather than impress) others. Knowing they will go out and incorporate those ideas into their own personal vision of the world, which will have just become that much wider because of the new inclusion of perspectives. Then knowing they in turn will share those visions and ideas back again with the rest of us. That to me is a much richer reward than any list of accolades.

To speak a bit of the technique used to create this image, I first saw this idea demonstrated by the photographer Ted Orland. I was visiting Yosemite and happened to stop in at the Ansel Adams Gallery where Ted had an amazing photo of Mono Lake done in this style. His photo was a lightning bolt to my imagination and not too long after seeing his image, I found myself standing along this stretch of the Oregon coast hoping for a nice sunset. It was an amazing afternoon, and I spent it up on the cliffs reading The Princess Bride and taking photos, but I was certain the sunset was going to fizzle because of the layers of clouds on the horizon. Sure enough the sun sank behind the thick band of clouds and the sky started to gray out so I hiked down off of the cliffs and figured I would linger on the beach...just in case. The sun reached the horizon and the burst through the thin layer of clouds there, lighting up everything for about 10 minutes. I double-timed it far enough down the beach so the sun was not behind the cliffs and close enough to Haystack Rock to photograph. Before I left I shot this panoramic with almost an entire roll of film through my Holga. The final photo ended up being the product of eleven separate shots scanned and layered together in Photoshop. It is an interesting technique, and an excellent way to burn film. But it is fun, and it has allowed me to find yet another way to see and capture some of the amazing things I see in life.

Tags:   Holga panoramic Oregon Pacific Ocean Pacific Northwest Cape Kiwanda Pacific City coast beach sunset Haystack Rock toy cameras plastic cameras multiple exposures seascape Zeb Andrews Zeb Andrews photography Blue Moon Camera

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Tonight I am going to be brief. Instead of my usual lengthy dialogue I figured I would pose a simple challenge. Take the time you would normally spend reading the oft lengthy descriptions I write and instead spend an entire minute just looking at this photo. Don't time yourself, because then the clock will just become a distraction. Just a minute. Nature's greatest beauty I think is often revealed in her simplest moments. So stop, stare, discover, and enjoy. More in this series to come, and I will write a bit more when I post those. In the meantime, try it... just one minute of patient and uninterrupted viewing.

Tags:   Pentax 6x7 Cape Meares Oregon Pacific Northwest Pacific Ocean ocean sea clouds horizon minimalist simple zen relaxing storm dusk portra 160vc film landscape medium format 120 Vision Group Vision 100 Zeb Andrews Zeb Andrews photography Blue Moon Camera

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I recently got reacquainted with a fellow photographer who I consider a good friend and have a lot of respect for. He has been absent from Flickr for the better part of a year and a half now. It was a pleasant surprise to see him again, and it was good talking to him. He has long been a fellow whose perceptions I respect and admire. He wrote this e-mail for a friend of his, and forwarded it to me because he knew I would appreciate reading it as well. I did and do. And I think it important. I hope he doesn't mind me sharing it, though I will keep him anonymous unless he chooses to reveal himself. It is lengthy, but it is insightful and I suggest taking a moment to read the whole piece. Thanks E for sending this along to me.

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But, somewhere along the way, something changed for me. I've had many friends ask me why I quit, and I usually start the story at the end. I usually start by saying, I still shoot (usually with a holga), but I don't put film in my camera anymore. This usually leads to some very puzzled expressions and I have to back up and tell the story from the beginning. Really, I often carry a camera and wander the streets of Portland like I have for the past few years. But, I don't want to see the results of my shots. What I want, is to see the world. My camera changes the way I do that.

When I was 16, I went to Greece for a three week school trip. I brought my camera and, after shooting some pics at the Parthenon, and on Santorini, I started to realize that I was missing the experience of seeing the places I was visiting because I was so focused on trying to save an image to look at later. I put my camera down and didn't take a single shot of the last two weeks of the trip. Or, the next ten years of my life. I just soaked in the scenes and tried my best to live in the moment.

That changed the way I thought about photography and, for the next 14 years, I never owned a camera. I spent almost a decade immersed in wilderness and outdoor activity, climbing and backpacking in Mexico and throughout the western United States, and I have only a few snapshots, given to me by friends, to record any of the experiences. My move to Portland was a dramatic lifestyle adjustment as well. I decided to see how green the grass really is on the more urban side. I rarely backpack anymore (as my photo stream attests) and I gave up rock climbing completely.

But I've always loved photography. I love it for the art. I love the moods, the way Steven Shore can capture a series of lines and patterns in what superficially appears to be a mundane scene and launches the viewer into a different mental space... Ed Weston, transforming a bell pepper or a thigh into a tonal voyage.... and the incredible work of the people I admire so much on Flickr, each image, an experiment, and each photo stream, a progressive map and tale of discovery. I'm sounding melodramatic again. But, these pictures really have changed the way I view the world. And so I wanted in. I started sharing too.

And I started wandering the streets of Portland, looking with fresh eyes at cracks in the sidewalk, streaks on a wall, buildings and, best of all, people. I saw light, lines, and structures in a way that I hadn't previously seen them. Unlike my days in Greece, trying to capture a snapshot for posterity and thus pulling myself away from a moment, this new way of using the camera had the opposite effect. Now, I was being pulled in. And I started to examine the constantly evolving scenes of my daily walk to work with new appreciation. It's hard not to keep sounding melodramatic. But it's true.

We've never met. At least not face-to-face. And I have no idea if we'd even be friends if we lived a few blocks apart (but I suspect we would). But in your photostream, I found such tremendous inspiration because you constantly capture the things I'm talking about. And, as I aimed my lens at the sidewalk and buildings of Portland, it not only changed the way I would see my own town, through Flickr, it changed the way I would see the world. I had a blurred pigeon, flying past a column, as my desktop background for a year. Because that pigeon was such an awesome example of something I would encounter every day, but would never have thought to capture the art of it like you did. So, on Flickr I found inspiration and a wealth of new art.

Until it became too much. And something changed. At first I liked the attention. No, not just at first, I still like it. When an image hits the explore page, or when I get mail from someone who requests to use an image in a publication, or someone leaves a sincerely flattering comment, or a zillion of them, I like it. And I like to reciprocate. I like being able to tell someone how truly inspirational they are. But the attention doesn't have anything to do with the cracks in the sidewalk. Once again, my reasons for taking pictures started to shift. I wasn't taking snapshots to put in a photo album like I was in Greece when I quit shooting. I was still trying to capture something artistic, and I was still experiencing the moment of the shoot. But the attention of a Flickr page vied for my energy as much as, and sometimes more than, the shoot itself. I started to feel an obligation to produce something. This has an upside, it kept me shooting. But it has a downside as well. If my images didnt get attention I'd get bummed out. And I started to think about "my audience" more. I started to cater my shots to the Flickr folks who were looking at my stream. Steadily my number of contacts grew. I couldn't keep up (which I'm sure you are familiar with) and then, the final straw, was when I realized that I wasn't shooting cracks in the sidewalk anymore. As I was shooting, I was thinking about what might attract attention. My post process became less about my own ideas and visions, and more about trying to speak to an audience that I was rapidly realizing I didn't know. I feel like, on some level, I know you. I know Dan. I know Angie, and Noicework (Allison), and Zeb, and Sati. But I don't know most of the 200-something people on my contact list. But I want to. And so it all spiraled until one day, I took the film out of my holga. I can't say that I don't care about the attention a photographer on Flickr receives. But I can say that it isn't why I started taking pictures again.

So, it wasn't a conscious decision to stop posting images. It was a gradual realization that I actually felt more inspired when I didn't have film in my camera. I don't need the snapshot. I want to see a moment. My camera helps transform the way I do that so I will keep playing with my camera. And, I might start posting images again. I really do love the comments, the feedback, the sharing. But I don't want that to be my reason for shooting pictures.

Anyway, this got long. I've felt like explaining myself for a while now. I still love to quietly surf the pages of Flickr. I love spending hours in the photography section of Powell's Books. And I still love to stop to think about the lighting on the buildings as I walk to work. I'll keep shooting. And on occasion, I'll keep posting. And I hope that people will keep looking. I know I will.

Tags:   Leica M3 clowns Portland PDX b&w ortho Adox Ortho 25 kiddie rides Got a quarter pal 35mm rangefinder film Oregon bizarre Clowns are creepy Blain is a pain And that is the truth Zeb Andrews Zeb Andrews photography Blue Moon Camera

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“Light makes photography. Embrace light. Admire it. Love it. But above all, know light. Know it for all you are worth, and you will know the key to photography.” -- George Eastman

It is not often I post things to my stream that were not taken by me, but this is one occasion. Simply, this is a glass negative found across the street at the Salvation Army. If I had to guess I would say it is probably a bit over 100 years old, considering that was the era when glass plates were being shot.

Say the 1890's. Amazing huh?

So at about 3 pm today I found myself holding a piece of glass with an image of three gentlemen on it over 100 years old.

I love my job.

But more importantly, I love photography. This really just sort of blows my mind. I start thinking about the fact that I am holding a once-sensitized piece of glass, that contains the imprint of light that bounced off of these three men over 100 years ago. In a sense it is almost a "light shadow" cast by them and captured on this glass.

And here I am using a state of the art scanner to digitize that image and bring it on to the web. Once again, amazing.

I don't want to make it seem like I am taking a dig at digital photography (digital imaging is why this image exists on the web right now) but this is a very big reason why I shoot film. The tangible nature. Being able to hold a piece of film that was struck by the very light that came off of the subject. Thinking that, that very same piece of film may one day be pulled from a box in someone's attic 80 years down the road, and that someone can hold it up to the light and see what I saw. They will even be able to still print it or scan it.

But it is not the ability to still print it or scan it that so amazes me. It is the physical evidence that light has left behind on this particular piece of film, or paper, or glass. Digital doesn't have that. The sensor carries no trace of that light, rather it is converted into electronic bits and bytes. A digital copy. A replica of what that light cast. There is nothing tangible, nothing physical to hold unless a print is made, which so often it never is.

And in some way this makes me deeply uneasy. I don't like thinking of the work of my life as being so intangible. It scares me in a sense and I never feel quite easy with digital images, despite the many amazing shots I have taken on digital cameras. And also despite how careful and redundant I am in backing those same images up. But it is not just my work. I think of all the pictures snapped every day. All those snap shots of sons and daughters. Mothers and grandmas. Beautiful sunsets and sunrises. And I think of what awful percentage of those images will have ceased to exist within ten years. Or twenty. Let alone a hundred years from now.

I know that even film is not permanent, nothing is really. Not our negatives. Nor us. Or our planet, or even our universe. But nonetheless, I am pretty certain that I will not be able to pull any of my CDs of digital files out of a box in 100 years and still have them be usable. Nor any CF cards. My external drives won't last more than 10 years I bet. My digital files won't ever be anything more than bits and bytes. Sure I can print them, but those are just copies of copies. Better than nothing, but still far lacking.

And so I shoot film, because I like to think each of those negatives carries the physical effect of light off of a beautiful waterfall striking it. Or the light bouncing off of my son Owen playing when he was 6 months old. And then again when he was 12 months old. Or even the very light that reflected off of an old friend no longer living. It is not so hard to hold a negative, or a plate like this, in your hand and feel like you are holding just a tiny shred of some past time itself. The last physical remainder of a moment long extinct, and that when I hold a negative in my hand, I am touching that light again. And that is one of the things that drives me to shoot film. That deep sense of not just recording light and time, but preserving it.

“What makes photography a strange invention is that its primary raw materials are light and time.” -- John Berger

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If you have not browsed through it, the photo stream run by the Library of Congress is amazing. Really sit down and take your time taking it in. Don't just browse, really give yourself the time to look.

Tags:   glass plate portrait old 4x5 Black and white unknown origins Zeb Andrews Zeb Andrews photography Blue Moon Camera

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