Six months ago a group of my fellow editorial portrait photographers were emailing each other about what wanted in their dream compact interchangeable lens camera:“Digital Contax G2 / Minolta CLE” “I’d like interchangeable lenses” “Uses my old Leica M glass” “Full Frame” “Built-in EVF with live view when shooting video” “RX1 gets close”Sony’s newly announced A7R and A7 are the lightest interchangeable lens cameras ever made. They should really hit a sweet spot photographers have been craving...
When I first came to Australia fifteen years ago, it was partly because of what a friend at school in Canada had said to me: “I don’t know how to describe it, but the colours are brighter there.” It’s true, certainly - the sun here does seem to cut more, to shine harder; but also the birds, plants and flowers that have grown here are more colourful than those in my home land of pine trees, pink granite and lakes. And it seemed to me that the people had taken that on - had made their cities, cars and houses more colourful. Themselves, too. Moving back here from New Zealand, after fifteen years in a country whose national colour is black, I’m reminded again why I felt that way. The light itself is similar to New Zealand’s; but the brightness is somehow, to me, Australian. This is part one of what will be an ongoing project for me, as I test my friend’s statement. Some chapters may push back against the theory, others will propel it further - but I’ll be interested to see which side wins!
François Truffaut once wrote that there are no good or bad movies, only good or bad directors. That was the upshot of his “politique des auteurs”, his politics or policy of authorship, which was based on the idea that the force of a personal vision could subdue the money-making machinery of the film industry to its own ends—and that anyone whose vision had the force to prevail against that apparatus once could probably not help manifesting it always. Like Hollywood directors, fashion photographers are artisans in the service of a big machine.
“They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn At the going down of the sun and in the morning We shall remember them, lest we forget”
On the 11th day of the 11th month each year, they gather on the red square surrounded by sandstone buildings more than a century old. Some wear their medals proudly over the heart, while others display medals of the absent. With only the tweet of birds, they stand in silence to remember the fallen.
“Still the dark stain spreads between their shoulder blades A mute reminder of the poppy fields and graves When the fight was over, they spent what they had made, but… In the bottom of our hearts we felt the final cut” - Roger Waters
At a time when workers face physical and psychological suffering, fear of the hierarchy and feelings of injustice, when the multinational companies, forced to make short-term gains, prove their inability to maintain sustainable economic...