February 2007 Archives

Step right up

How do we do it? How do we do it? Volume! Volume! Turn up the volume... don't hesitate. ...It's new and improved. It's old-fashioned... -Tom Waits

John Loomis Photography HQ is nearing the feverish end of a wave of promotion for the new year (whew). Early this week the new portfolios will finally be finished and sent off to the printers. Once that happens I'll put the last touches and send out the February installment of my photography newsletter, which will include an announcement of my newly redesigned web site (its 70% as of the writing of this post, but already online... take a look). A new portfolio, new business cards, a new website, a newsletter... damn mofos! Maybe I'll even toss in a round of new promo cards! Take that editors! Uh huh, uh huh, yeah.

In anticipation of all of this excitement, I'd like to invite any of you interested souls who haven't yet signed up to subscribe to the newsletter, to do so. It's quick and easy, and can be done right here. At the very least its a good place to steal a few ideas from.

Lastly, a service announcement: over the next couple of weeks there may be some rough patches and down time for the website and blog as I'll be switching web hosts (screw you, Acenet Inc!). Do please pardon the dust.

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The trouble with (living) heroes

Eugene Richards is one of my photography heroes. His work and words have meant a great deal to my evolution and education as a photographer, and I'll always feel very thankful; except for today. Richards is still living, breathing, and working (very well), and that has become a problem because it allows him to "steal" assignments from other, perhaps less experienced, photographers... um, like me. Damn you Richards! You and me: knife fight. Shit, no, bad idea. You'll probably cut me to ribbons. Well anyway, we'll duel in some non-violent fashion soon, you just wait! Watch your back at Nick Nichol's new festival. And you too Kathy Ryan... don't think I'm not in on your game.

To explain: early last year I shot a story for the New York Times about a wrongly-convicted inmate named Orlando Boquete (the prison system wrongly spelled his last name Bosquete, but now that he's free he's dropped the offending "s") who was being released based on DNA evidence brought out by Innocence Project. Orlando is an amazing guy with an incredible story, and it was one of handful of assignments that I shot last year that I really felt strongly about and pushed as hard as I could to do a good job on. The two days that I was down in the Florida Keys awaiting his release (he was subsequently held by INS, delaying his final release by 90 days), were pretty thin on good opportunities for photography, but after I learned that the writer was going to do a longer piece for the Sunday magazine, I really wanted to try to continue the work.

Alas, Gene Richards was tapped instead of I. Sniff, sniff. OK, I'm over it. I haven't seen the hard copy of the magazine yet, so I can't speak to what they actually ran (and God knows what incredible stuff he may have shot in addition), but I think I could have kicked ass too.

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Princess in waiting

After a busy beginning to 2007, February has been a little slower to develop. It makes me wonder if clients have been reading this miserable blog about my portfolio headaches and wanted to make sure I had enough time to finish the book. Really, everyone... I don't need any extra time. You should feel free to pick up the phone and call.

I'm sitting at gate C26 in the DFW airport in that very groggy state of mind between a huge lack of sleep and an early morning large coffee purchased in a desperate attempt to make it on a plane back home. After leaving the hotel in downtown this morning, I rushed in my rental car through the empty streets towards (hopefully) the interstate entry ramp, clutching my GPS in one hand (the sticky thing to the window has decided to quit working, so please steer clear) while waiting for it to connect to satellites and tell me how to leave Texas. But it would not connect. So I stopped along the street and waited. And waited. Then I got bored of waiting in the rental car's stale, dry heat and decided some very brisk air would do the trick. Standing alone on an empty street in downtown Dallas on a Saturday morning in winter is beautiful. You should try it sometime.

The Dallas shoot, on assignment for Architectural Digest, was almost exactly the same program as the week of Art Basel shooting I did in December also for AD. The client just simply wanted me to document what was going on (not much), and get a variety of interesting pictures of each presenter at a Women in Design symposium held at the Women's Museum (which is housed in a really beautiful restored building in the city's Fair Park district). The job was very easy and not without its pleasures, though last night I did have to wait an incredible amount of time to shoot a single picture at an upper class cocktail party that I really felt uncomfortable at, waiting for a Princess to show up. My life: loitering around fancy places dressed inappropriately, waiting for royalty, while hoping to make it fast and get back to my hotel to catch the end of a Star Wars marathon. For those of you keeping score at home... one must stand around and wait 2 hours for a princess to show up late to a cocktail party held in her honor. In the extended box score: 4 glasses of water, 20 stuffed olives, 1 gin & tonic, 2 slices prime rib, 3 slices lamb, 6 ounces caprese salad, 1 bathroom trip.

Somewhat unusually for me, one of my pieces of equipment pretty much saved my life in Dallas this week, which I also happen to have very reluctantly purchased recently. Sometime in the middle of last year I finally realized that though I loved the feeling of having had sold off all of my zoom lenses and superfluous bits of equipment I still owned from college/newspaper days, I actually was going to need more. On several assignments I began to find myself totally under-lensed, especially during times when I was roped off to an area with other members of the press (how dare they!?), and completely out of range with my longest glass (100/f2). I like shooting different, but not that different (who are those dots in the picture supposed to be?!).

And so as the end of the fiscal year loomed I knew that it would be a good idea (I used the word responsible in my head) to invest in a shiny new piece of off-white Canon goodness. And because of some deal Canon had going, I ended up buying a 5d as well (I saved a total of $700) as a new 300/f4 lens. This particular lens has an image stabilization system (I only vague know what that means), and though it sounds novel I never thought it would be that important to me. But the Women’s Museum is dark. Dark, dark. Like 1/15 at f2.0 @ 1600 dark. Holy shit was I a genius to buy (and travel with on this job) the 300mm IS. It works incredibly well.

In other dorky gear news, the Dallas shoot was also my first assignment following the retirement of my favorite lens, the Canon 28/f1.8. Oh how I love you, 28. You have served so very well for many years, and only recently decided to really, and finally break. And even though your filter mount has long since been completely destroyed, your paint chipped, your elements sort of floating loosely in the body, and even your auto-focus motor totally fried – you were still my favorite. And so I’ve sent my good friend to lens heaven (on top of my bookshelf next to some awards), and replaced it with a brand spanking new 28/f1.8 lens. It feels good to find such a perfect piece of equipment that I’ve been able to buy it twice without any regrets at all.

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A question of why

The last chunk of Kavalier & Clay didn't manage to clear my mind; and since I stayed up until 3 a.m. reading it last night, I'm feeling even more foggy today. But after turning the last page of that epic and incredibly beautiful novel I was reminded a little about why I became a photographer: I love telling stories. Simple realizations like that don't fix the confusion of creating a new portfolio, but they can make certain decisions easier to make.

There is a scene from my memory of the days just before I really took up photography seriously: I'm driving home from school in my grandfather's hand-me-down Olds 88 just as the golden hour before the sunset is painting every leaf of the giant pines and oaks in my neighborhood with brilliance. Across from our house there was a big open field that I would sometimes wander around in, and hopping the fence I found a spot under one of my favorite trees and sat down to watch the end of the day turn into night, and the colors and mood and passion change in front of my eyes, filling me with a deep sense of honor and wonder that I was connected to something so beautiful.

That's a story about aesthetics, but all of that awe soon turned to the way that photographs could explore ideas and issues, and in their sharing affect people's lives. Believing in that power is why I continue to work as a photographer, and why I continue to want more and push myself harder to try and find some of the potential I feel that is within me. I wish that portfolios were used more as a reflection of potential and passion, but its not really the case.

And so I try to connect the motley bunch of dots of my magazine career in the making to reveal a cohesive vision, which is as hard as trying to sum up the publishing industry or "the media" in any meaningful way. (I always cringe when someone says "The Media" - what in the fuck does that even mean these days?!) In a certain way I feel that the work in my portfolio can be viewed as a reflection of the needs and goals of my clients, and thus the industry at large. Everything is more complicated than that though. We all live in grey, and spend the majority of our time trying to wrap bundles and boxes up in black or white ribbons - thank god things keep falling out the sides. The need for and celebration of a complicated and varied portfolio is actually one of the few things that I do really miss from the newspaper world. A gritty documentary image next to a beautiful lit portrait, and both of them one in the same. That makes sense to me.

I have just about zero control over the kinds of pictures that the publishing industry decides to admire and use to sell its wares. As long as beauty and a post-produced, hyper-real version of the world continue to be what dominates the imagery of nearly ever cover in my market, my passion and portfolio will continue to demonstrate a varied set of styles and skills. I wish I was rich enough to live outside of someone else's definitions, and maybe someday I'll win the lottery and will change my devotions. Until then I can't give up on my personal projects or documentary attitudes, even if in doing so I may be able to advance my career. And though I dislike the term "photojournalist" these days, that's what I'll always aspire to be. That idealism and hope and passion I hope will always be my why.

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At both ends

Nearly all of the feedback is in on my first draft of the new portfolio and I'm worse off than when I'm started. I'm starting to feel in desperate need of getting it all behind me as soon as possible. It's a predictable cycle, and the comments today were completely expected, but its effect has still made me stop cold in emotional computation. I'm not even stopped, I suppose; more like reverse. It's again all back to the fundamental question of "why am I a photographer?" My brain tells my heart that its a fair and important question that should be asked from time to time, and then my gut punches my brain hard and tells it to shut the fuck up.

The portfolio is reaching too far; trying to be too many things to too many potential people. It needs to be stripped back, and then refilled with a different spirit. The adjectives are all wrong, and it almost demands a damn audio guided tour to keep straight - not a great sign, though it could be a fun gimmick. There are pieces that I like, and images that I'm proud of... but I can see that they aren't helping. Last week a professor from Mizzou called me up and asked me if they could use my portfolio as a teaching tool in their photojournalism class - and now the idea of all those eyes makes me a little sick. I've been sidetracked to the point that last night I spent 4 hours drastically reworking my website from the ground up to make me feel better about the whole of my work being presented. I finally quit and turned off my computer because I knew it was a completely wasted effort.

There is some good news... everyone likes the middle of the book. It's just the beginning and end that are in shambles. When Marcel and I talked today it felt like we were transported back to the conversation we had more than 2 years ago in his office at Redux when he asked me to join, and his repeated emphasis on portraiture. I said "yeah" a lot then and today. He's right, and I'm right, but the portfolio can't really marry both of those extremes, even if we both have to live with it. I'm just not ready to become that photographer exclusively yet.

Right after we got off the phone I began to think about Jeff and the way that I've thought about each of our different styles in the past year. Now I see that we are doing exactly the same thing, just years a part. He's through fighting this battle and is happily on the other side and working in a focused way on a cohesive vision for his photography. I'm using turkey shot and blasting holes in every direction... a travel assignment here, 4 portraits there (1 lit), 2 documentary jobs here, several personal projects there, the rare advertising gig way over there in the corner. I'm still not to a place yet, either within myself or from my clients perspective, where I can or want to approach each job in the same way, with the same style -- so of course the resulting images are going to be difficult to fit into a box together. I've always liked that about this job, but its really a liability when it comes to editorial promotion. That's such a bullshit sentiment.

Some of the changes are going to really help the book, I can see that already. But I need to figure out this X factor I'm currently missing before I'll be able to move into the final stages of the process. The first order of business in the morning is to kill my darlings; all of them. Then I can fix the pairings, add more BIG pictures, tighten the layouts, even out the drama, package the reportage together in a more friendly way, and then design the title and ender. Hopefully the last 100 pages of my third re-reading of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay and some sleep will clear my mind. Tomorrow is a new day.

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Internships, again

My previous internship post -- poorly thought out, written, and just plain stupid -- brought out a lot of strong opinions from many of you. And even while the very positive "right on, man!" comments outweighed the "you are a jackass" ones by a huge margin, I feel that it is important to return to my formerly angry position to make a few things clear.

Most importantly (to me, and to those of you out there looking for a fall guy), my friend Travis had absolutely nothing to do with, and zero knowledge of, the writing of my last post. Even if he was angry about losing the internship, and he wasn't, he would have never expressed himself as I have chosen to, so please keep that in mind. Sorry buddy.

Secondly: I deeply regret any personal offense that any of you might have taken to my previous post. I expressed my anger without class, and I'll try to be more constructive in the future. More specifically, to Rita Reed, my former professor who probably has not even seen this, I'm sorry that I used such poor language anywhere near your name... I'm very fond of my time at Mizzou, and I respect your contribution to the industry and role as the head of CPOY. To the photo editor in question (who I've already contacted), and the winning candidate, I am also sorry and wish you the best this summer.

Thirdly: Bad language obviously clouds logic... which is a lesson that I already knew, but chose to ignore. Its true, I love to say "fucking" and a lot of other curse words... in the future I'll try to keep the important bits that I may wander into writing about more suited for Sunday morning, rather than Saturday night.

Fourthly: My post was meant to discuss internships as a part of the educational process in photojournalism... and though I was righteous and annoying about it, I had no intention of trying to right some perceived wrong doing. I was simply using a couple of specific examples to try and look at the larger picture.

Fifthly: This is what I meant to say last time... without the cussing.

Internships are a great part of photojournalism education, as long as they are used to give the inexperienced real world experience in a productive environment which treats the intern with the respect and pay that they deserve.

Internships without pay, or in place of full staff photographers due to cost-cutting, creates an unsustainable environment for the progress of the photography industry.

Graduates students who have significant experience gained in the workforce within photography should not be in competition with their inexperienced colleagues, in either internships or competitions, such as CPOY. Despite the rule about experience in the CPOY contest, there has been a history of experienced graduate students entering.

And that's about that... incredibly boring, isn't it?

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1st down and 11

The Miami River shines its way into downtown and the towering business district at sunrise.

My natural reaction to the beginning of each new year is a mixture of hope, resolve, and regret. And just like a 12-step recovery program, I spent most of January going through the stages of trying to right my tiny boat and keep a weather eye on a distant, passionate horizon. The process repeats itself regardless of the previous year's outcome because I'll probably always be someone a hell of a lot more interested in where I'm heading, than where I've been.

In Miami, however, the future and past keep knocking heads with each other and the history of my life and family. Last weekend I shot an assignment for People en Español along Ocean Drive, photographing a very nice girl named Lulu among the palm trees of Lummus Park. These days the park is ground zero of the modern South Beach "experience," but it was once just a pretty stretch of grass in front of the ocean that my great, great grandfather (J. N. Lummus) gave to the newly formed city of Miami Beach as its first mayor.

Yesterday while heading back from Calle Ocho in Little Havana I slowed down as I neared the interstate on-ramp to take a look at Wilbur Auto, a garage on SW 8th St. that my mother's father worked out for 4 decades, servicing the Cadillac’s of celebrities like Jackie Gleason and Art Carney during the post-war boom era of the city. Inside the old shop I saw a quick glimpse of an old man who is surely my great uncle, and the last of Grampie's living siblings. I was on deadline for The New York Times, so I headed on home, but I'll be stopping back by once the Uber Bowl insanity has left town.

I moved back to South Florida in part to rediscover a place that my family had helped shape and grow into the confusing, amazing, and overwhelming land it is now. And over the last year as I've become acquainted, both again and for the first time, I've begun to formulate a new project idea that I'm going to turn into my first book. I'll write about my process along the way once I've completed a chunk of the work, but in the mean time here is another recent image I made in Lummus park.

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