My most recent post to the Outdoor Photographer Magazine blog, Learn to Love Shadows, discusses the use of shadows and shading to imply depth in two-dimensional art, including photographs. I illustrate the post with the image below, taken a few years back in the desert of Arizona. My fellow Dreamscapes blogger George Stocking took me to this place, a favorite of his (for obvious reasons). In March, the Sonoran Desert of the American Southwest comes to life, blooming with the full intensity of spring. This particular patch of desert is about as chaotic a place as you can imagine, chocked full of brittlebush, saguaro, ocotillo, scorpionweed, and other desert plants, making it very difficult to create a coherent composition. The strong backlighting of sunrise created shadows, which separated elements that would otherwise appear to merge together in flat light. My goal was to create a photograph with depth and life, capturing something of the dynamic feel of the moment when the light first starts to rake across the plains. Canon 5DII, 90mm, ISO 100, f/16, 1/8 second.

This image is also one of the photos in my most recent eBook, Play Fool to Catch Wise, a collection of some of my blog posts and articles over the past two years. For those who are new to my writings, this eBook is a perfect introduction to my humorous—and at times accidentally informative—style. Even long-time readers of my blog will find this eBook to be a useful consolidation of my most important essays, and a handy portable reference. New and old readers alike should find enjoyment in this eBook, presented with a gorgeous “aged scrapbook” layout. Play Fool to Catch Wise is a 102-page downloadable PDF eBook filled with informative text, stunning full-color images, and plenty of insights and inspiration. This book is newly designed to optimize viewing across multiple platforms including computer screens and iPads. At only $8, it costs about the same as dinner at a fast food restaurant, so it’s a bargain to boot. If you wish to purchase the book, you can use the shopping cart link below. Thanks!

One of the most enjoyable aspects of my career in photography is getting to teach what I love, whether in an intensive workshop format or more formal academic setting.  I’ve been teaching digital photography courses (I & II) at a local college for a little over 5 years.  My spring semester digital photo II class kicked off a couple of weeks ago and has really got me thinking about how best to help my students leave the plateau of mere proficiency with a camera and begin climbing toward the next level – “Galactic President Superstar McAwesomeville,” aka artist or perhaps merely someone able to express their own creativity at will.  If you’re scratching your head right now wondering what the hell I’m talking about click over to read Ian’s awesome post about art – Dropping the A-Bomb, it should all become clear.

Early in our journey as photographers we spend a fair amount of time working out the technical aspects of photography, figuring out aperture, shutter speeds, metering, depth of field, basic composition, etc. but I think a lot of us struggle to get off this plateau and progress to a point where we feel we’re creating something other than a record of the scene or a snapshot if you will.  Most of us soon realize that our images could be much more, but how?

As I’ve reflected back on my own path in photography, spoken with folks whose work I admire and read the work of great photographers I think there is one over arching concept that has helped me push beyond the snapshot toward creating work that excites me and truly expresses my personal vision and creativity – photographing with intent.  This one concept should be front and center, guiding all the decisions we make as photographers.  After all, if we don’t know what it is we’re trying to convey in a photograph than how can we expect anyone else to figure it out?

The concept of photographing with intent might seem a bit vague and artsy fartsy, as is the case with many of the discussions on artistic process but there are a number of concrete applications in our daily shooting where being more intentional will reap big time rewards.  The first is learning to be a more “picky” photographer.  I don’t mean complaining to your waitress about the soggy home fries you got after getting up at o’dark thirty for a lackluster sunrise.  I mean choosing only to trip the shutter when the shot really gets you excited, when the scene matches your intended creative expression.

When we’re first learning photography we’re super excited and eager to be out shooting, and as a result we shoot a lot.  This is good, how else will we ever learn how to use that crazy contraption with all the buttons and menus?  But at some point we’ve got to slow down and shoot less.  Yes that’s right I said shoot less.  By slowing down and being more intentional about the images we make we’ll start making stronger images.  On a trip to Acadia National Park this past fall I was driving the park loop road scouting some possible spots.  It was mid-day, overcast and there were hoards of photographers out on every precipice shooting away.  If their intent was to create images of the rugged coast line with lots of people under yo-yum light then they were well on the path to success.  But if their intention was anything else, as I’m sure it was they no doubt were sorely disappointed when they returned home.  Part of being more intentional is learning to identify when not to shoot; when the light or subject or our own state of mind is not in line with the images we aspire to create.  Those times are best spent doing something else, scouting locations, reading, going for a hike, or taking a nap; anything other than trying to force a shot when it’s not there.

Those of us that cut our teeth shooting film learned to be more intentional out of necessity, unless of course we had unlimited budgets for film and processing.  I remember the days of sorting through several boxes of slides (mind you this would have only been 108 frames) and most hitting the inside of the circular file.  With digital capture I think there is a tendency to over shoot.  Hey it’s free right?  I can always delete the bad ones.  I cringe whenever I read a post online about a photographer that returned from a weeklong trip and boasts about having shot over 3 thousand frames – whoa that’s 83 rolls of film!  The problem is you can delete the bad ones, but do you?  It’s a lot of time and work to edit and manage files.  By photographing with more intent you’ll not only come home with stronger images but they’ll be easier to find on the hard drive because they won’t be hidden amongst a bunch of crap.

In my next two posts I’ll discuss some additional ways in which photographing with intent can keep you on track to becoming the next “Galactic President Superstar McAwesomeville.”  So stay tuned.

There’s a certain word in the English language, one that so incites and arouses passions and emotions, that it is often simply best avoided in polite conversation. I never cease to be amazed how this little three-letter word can stir anger in the hearts and minds of certain people. To some, the “A-Bomb,” as I like to call it, is the ultimate fighting word, triggering an immediate bellicose response (worse even than that triggered by the more widely known F-Bomb). Drop the A-Bomb in certain company and you’re guaranteed a brawl.

No, the word is not ass, which I have no problem using, and which unfortunately describes how many people behave when the A-Bomb is dropped. Rather, the word is art. Actually, there are two A-Bombs—art and its close cousin, the word artist. For some reason, certain people literally bristle at these words, especially when they are applied to nature photography.

Granted, there is reason why passions are stirred when someone drops the A-Bomb. The word “art” is loaded, not unlike a modified MAC-10 ready to spray bullets at the mere twitch of a finger. It is no fault of the word itself, but rather people who have through the ages encumbered it with their own personal emotional baggage. Verbal wars have been waged over the definition of art, whether something is art or not, and about those who use the term art/artist and their motives for doing so. Many people have really strong opinions about art, and get jumpy in response to profligate use of the word.

Maybe we should pause for a moment and ask: What is art? Obviously, art is not something easy to define, and even more obvious, the definition of art is one of those things that gets people all riled up. But let’s give it a shot anyway.

Wikipedia defines art as follows:

Art is the product or process of deliberately arranging items (often with symbolic significance) in a way that influences and affects one or more of the senses, emotions, and intellect. It encompasses a diverse range of human activities, creations, and modes of expression, including music, literature, film, photography, sculpture, and paintings.

Dictionary.com takes a slightly different tack:

The quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.

Let’s parse through some of the elements in these definitions.

Deliberate arrangement of elements: This seems critical to me, and I endorse this element of the definition. Art, as I see it, cannot arise solely from random processes. For example, as much as I love cats (I have three), cats cannot make art. I bring this up because I once spent an hour in a veterinarian’s office reading a book on cat art. Yep, people put paint on their cat’s paws, put the cat in front of a blank canvas, and stand back and let nature take its course. The book had the whiff of the apocryphal, making some rather dubious claims such as that certain cats are impressionists, whereas others are drawn to cubism. Sorry folks, as much as I’d like to believe that my cats are budding Picassos, cats, dogs, turtles, and other pets can make a mess, but they cannot make art. There is no deliberate and conscious arrangement of elements, but rather just an animal getting its groove on. On the other hand, the book said that many cat paintings fetch as much as $20,000, so maybe I should change my tune on this one.

Influences and affects one or more of the senses, emotions, and intellect. This is a definition that many seem to embrace—something is art if it creates an emotional response. As for myself, I am less convinced. Of course, as artists, we always strive to affect the senses or emotion, but so do a lot of other things that I wouldn’t consider art. For example, walking up to someone on the street and calling them a “stupid smelly jerk face” would seem to qualify as art under these first two principles: it is a deliberate arrangement of elements (words) that influences or affects one or more of the senses, emotions, and intellect (inciting anger in the recipient). The words may be deliberate and intended to arouse emotions, but I’d hardly call them poetry. Furthermore, this starts leading us into the murky realm of the subjective: if 5,999,999,999 people don’t respond emotionally to a painting, but one person does, is it then art? I’m not a big fan of definitions that in essence rely on focus groups, polls, and popularity contests. Of course, I am being glib, but you get my point—if something is one thing to one person, but another to someone else, then we haven’t really succeeded in coming up with a meaningful standard.

So that gets us to the third element, one which I believe is a critical component: production or expression pursuant to aesthetic principles. This definition is fraught with some peril, so let me be clear that I don’t believe that aesthetic principles are somehow universal or objective, or for that matter, tied strictly to those things that are beautiful. Rather, what I think is important here is that the artist is trying to create something that exists for reasons beyond mere functionality—the mere act of creative and representational expression is the key point.

For example, the words I have written above are not poetry, as they exist for purely functional reasons. If I were instead to write these words in haiku form, then I’ve likely crossed over into artistic territory. To wit:

Conscious arrangement
Aesthetic purpose achieved
Now my words are art

Okay, it may be a bad haiku, but hopefully you understand what I am getting at here.

Another way of putting it is illuminated by a quote from Jef I. Richards, an advertising expert: “Creative without strategy is called ‘art’. Creative with strategy is called ‘advertising’.” Of course, I believe that even advertising can be artistic, and commercial motives certainly do not diminish the value of art (and in fact can enhance the value of art, at least in terms of monetary value). I think nonetheless that we’re teasing out something important here: art, to some extent, is creative expression for the sake of creative expression.

So, to briefly sum up, the first and third elements cited above are important, but I am less convinced about the second as it seems too subjective. Accordingly, in my opinion, anyone who engages in deliberate, creative expression can lay claim to the words art and artist. You may note at this point—quite correctly—that this is a very broad definition. For many reasons, which I will discuss below, I believe that a broad, inclusive definition is the only way to go.

It seems to me that debate about the definition of art, more often than not, is really a debate about whether something is good art or bad art. When someone says “that’s not art,” what they usually really mean is “I don’t like it.” Personally, I don’t like Andy Warhol paintings, but I would never say they are not art.

Okay, I recognize that under my definition, velvet paintings of Elvis (oft-lampooned as kitsch by the fine art community, and just about everyone else for that matter) are in fact art. One might legitimately argue that they are bad art. But who are we to exclude the creative expression of Velvet Elvis painters? Is there really that much of a difference between Velvet Elvis and the Mona Lisa—they’re both just painted portraits, right? Okay, I’ve probably stepped into a mine field with this statement (which, by the way, is mostly but not entirely tongue-in-cheek), but I hope you get my drift—since we probably can all agree that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, one’s subjective feelings about the quality of someone else’s creative expression is hardly an objective standard for defining what is and what isn’t art. One man’s trash is another’s beloved Velvet Elvis treasure, and not everyone finds the Mona Lisa’s crooked smile to be all that mysterious.

Too often, “art” and “artist” are used in an elitist manner. Art is superior to inferior forms of expression (especially those of a commercial nature, or anything combining Elvis and velvet); and artists are sensitive, complicated, deep, passionate, prone to sporting soul patches and black berets and uttering abstruse yet somehow insightful platitudes—and somehow soaring creatively above those who are not. Call yourself a painter or a photographer and this implies to some that you are a mere craftsman—call yourself an artist, on the other hand, and everything you say and do is pregnant with soulful meaning. You can probably guess my feelings about this sort of thing.

Color nature photography has had its own struggles to gain acceptance from the art community, in the views of some occupying a position in the art caste somewhere below Velvet Elvis and pornography. The reasons for this are varied. Some argue that nature photographers don’t create, but rather only capture what nature has created (getting back to my first point about deliberate arrangement). This may be true, but the photographer imposes his or her artistic vision on a nature subject through choice of composition, light and moment. And of course, the same critique can be aimed at paintings and sculptures based on real life scenes. Some feel that the “documentary” aspect of nature photography makes such work less deserving of the status of art. Personally, I feel that documentary work can in fact be artistic—just take a look at the Pulitzer Prize winning photographs over the years—and of course, not all nature photography is documentary. Others express the view that nature photography isn’t art because it is “something you would put on a post card.” I don’t really understand why this disqualifies creative expression from being art, and furthermore, I’ve seen plenty of post cards featuring the work of Monet, Raphael, Rembrandt, and other great artists.

It seems to me that there is even a recent fad among some nature photographers to publicly eschew the term “photographer” in favor of the word “artist.” I’m not sure what exactly is motivating this open renunciation of the word photographer. In some cases, it may be the result of an honest public embrace of a mixed-media photography/computer art approach. Or maybe it is an attempt to stave off perceived or real anti-photography prejudice from art snobs. In other cases, it may be motivated by a desire to impress others with the above-mentioned haughty gravitas of the term “artist.” Although I am sure there are many legitimate reasons for choosing the title artist instead of photographer, I must confess that whenever I see a photographer reject the latter and proclaim to be an artist instead, I can’t help but feel a trifle amused; to paraphrase the Bard, “the artist doth protest too much, methinks.”

Of course, I think photographers should call themselves artists. I just don’t see the point in making a distinction between the words “artist” and “photographer,” embracing one while rejecting the other. In my opinion, the first word most certainly includes the second. As for me, I’m a nature photographer and damn proud of it. By definition that makes me an artist too, but I don’t feel compelled to make too fine a point about it. To quote Popeye, “I yam what I yam” and that’s the long and short of it. Popeye wasn’t afraid to be himself, no matter how squint-eyed and verbally assaulting that might be. So crack open a can of spinach, fortify your courage, and boldly proclaim what you are.

I don’t have any emotional attachment one way or the other to the A-Bombs. To me they are purely functional words, and they don’t imply anything other than exactly what they mean. I personally reject the baggage that others bring to the words, especially when division, anger, or vitriol is the result. It’s high time we demystified these terms, and stopped loading them with layers of elitist and exclusionary meaning. As I hope I have demonstrated above, the dividing line between “art” and “not art” is somewhat indistinct. There’s no reason to get all lofty and pretentious about it; rather, let’s err on the side of inclusion rather than exclusion, because we never know when the exclusionary finger will be pointed our way.

There are plenty of pundits in the blogosphere who are quick to tell you what it means to be a “true artist.” Do X, and you will make true art, but do Y and you are doomed to failure. I’d take these statements with a generous grain of salt. There’s no one way to do it right. Anyone who tells you otherwise is likely trying to elevate their way above the ways of others. Choose your own artistic path, and never worry about whether it conforms to the path chosen by someone else. I think the Russian painter Wassily Kandinsky summed it up best: “There is no must in art because art is free.”

Let’s go back to another definition of art, one that may be my favorite, from the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy:

The definition of art is controversial in contemporary philosophy. Whether art can be defined has also been a matter of controversy. The philosophical usefulness of a definition of art has also been debated.

To me, this about says it all. Arguing over “what is art” and “what isn’t art” seems rather pointless. Personally, I’d prefer that we all just agree on a broad, inclusive definition, and dispense with all of the elitism, posturing, and sophistry that too often comes with the debate. The art tent is a big one, and there’s plenty of room beneath it for the Velvet Elvis painters, latte foam artists, colored pencil sculptors, x-ray artists, toilet paper roll sculptors (I’m not making this stuff up), and even us nature photographers.

In the end, let us not forget that none of this really matters. Define art anyway you want—it is your right to do so, and no one can take that away from you. You can call yourself an artist or not—hell, you can call yourself Galactic President Superstar McAwesomeville for all I care. In the end, these are merely words. It is your creative expression that matters, and what it matters to you is most important.

So let me rephrase my earlier statement: anyone who engages in deliberate, creative expression can lay claim to the words art and artist unencumbered by the emotional baggage of others. It’s time to reclaim what in fact has always been ours—the right to honestly define ourselves and our creative expression as we see fit, and to use the words art and artist if we so choose. What’s more, we can embrace the words without feeling the need to act like a cliché, or to pretend to be meaningful, moody, soulful, and sensitive. And, most important, we don’t need to grow soul patches or wear black berets (unless we so choose). Thank goodness for that.

By the way, I can’t believe I managed to relevantly quote Shakespeare, Popeye, and How I Met Your Mother all in the same post. It’s almost as if I was trying to win a bet.

The views expressed in this article are probably that of the author’s unpaid intern and may not reflect what the author, the unpaid intern, or any sober or rational person actually believes.

I pleased to announce the release of my latest eBook, Play Fool to Catch Wise. The title is inspired by a blog post of mine last year, which in turn was inspired by a colorful Jamaican proverb. Play Fool to Catch Wise is a selection of essays and articles from my writings on my personal photoblog, the Outdoor Photographer Magazine blog, and Nature Photographers Online Magazine. In making this selection, I avoided the more technical and process-oriented essays, focusing instead on those that discuss “right brain” intangibles and artistic philosophies. For those who are new to my writings, this eBook is a perfect introduction to my humorous—and at times accidentally informative—style. Even long-time readers of my blog will find this eBook to be a useful consolidation of my most important essays, and a handy portable reference. New and old readers alike should find enjoyment in this eBook, presented with a gorgeous “aged scrapbook” layout. Play Fool to Catch Wise is a 102-page downloadable PDF eBook filled with informative text, stunning full-color images, and plenty of insights and inspiration. This book is newly designed to optimize viewing across multiple platforms including computer screens and iPads. At only $8, it costs about the same as dinner at a fast food restaurant, so it’s a bargain to boot.

Before you rush out to purchase the book, you should know first that subscribers to my monthly email newsletter will receive an exclusive discount offer, good this month only, to purchase the book. In fact, monthly newsletter subscribers get a lot of perks, including exclusive offers and discounts, free monthly photo tips, as well as all the latest news about my recent adventures. My next monthly newsletter is scheduled for delivery on Friday, February 3 (that’s two days from now). So if you are already a subscriber, just wait two days for your exclusive discount. If you are not already a subscriber, sign up now and enjoy the benefits!

I recently went to my local wildlife park to do some final testing of the Tamron AF18-270MM F/3.5-6.3 Di II VC PZD lens. I previously published an optical resolution review of the lens, as well as my first impressions. As I have alredy mentioned, I am being compensated by Tamron to test, review, and write about this lens. For my final review, I was hoping to do a lot of wildlife shooting to test the lens’ auto focus and image stabilization. Unfortunately, the local fauna didn’t get the memo, and mostly failed to show up for the event. So I wasn’t able to do as comprehensive a review as I had intended, but I did manage to snap a few shots and come to a few conclusions.

I decided to use the lens as it was intended—as an all-in-one walk around lens. So, unburdened with a tripod and other gear, I wandered around the park’s boardwalk looking for interesting subjects to photograph. It was quite a liberating experience, but unfortunately there wasn’t much to shoot (it’s winter here in Virginia, although with the 60°+ degree weather we’ve been having, you might think it was spring, except without any flowers—everything is fairly brown and uninteresting at the moment). Although the wildlife was scarce, I managed to find some ducks and an egret to photograph. The 18-270mm gave me a fair amount of reach, allowing me to zoom in and capture wildlife that was twenty or thirty feet away.

I’m used to using specialized, expensive, high quality telephoto prime and zoom lenses for my wildlife work, so I wasn’t expecting the Tamron 18-270mm to perform on the same level. That said, it seemed to do the job more than adequately. The lens’ auto focus worked reasonably well in full light conditions, and it was relatively quiet (I didn’t get a chance to test the lens in low light conditions, but the lens did handle tricky backlighting about as well as most of my other lenses). Below is a 100% crop of the above shot. The lens shows very good resolution, even when zoomed out to 270mm, although I did stop down to f/11 for this shot. As I demonstrated in my previous review, this lens benefits from a little bit of stopping down in the higher part of its zoom range.

The auto focus performed admirably when trying to capture an egret in flight, as shown in the sharp capture below. The lens does not have a focus limiter, which is a useful feature common with high-end telephoto lenses, so if the Tamron couldn’t find focus it would hunt through its range, often getting stuck in the macro end. This is not uncommon with lenses of this type, and by no means a black mark, but it is something to consider if you plan on doing a lot of wildlife work.

The image stabilization also seemed to work well. I even managed corner to corner sharp images in low light at 1/15th of a second handheld (when the lens was at 18mm). I didn’t do much comprehensive testing of the image stabilization, however, but I didn’t notice any glaring problems.

Overall, I find this lens to be a surprisingly strong performer. This lens does exactly what it is supposed to do: it covers a wide range of focal lengths, with very good overall optical performance, all in a compact package and with a relatively inexpensive price. For the general enthusiast with a crop-sensor camera looking for a single walk-around lens for travel, nature, and the occasional wildlife photography, the Tamron 18-270mm is a good buy.

A few months ago I posted a “first impressions” review of Tamron’s 18-270mm lens. It’s taken me awhile, but here is my promised test of lens resolution. I assessed the lens against a few of the full frame lenses I have in my kit, including the incomparable Nikon 14-24mm, the Canon 24-105mm L, and the Canon 100-400mm L. These are three pro-class lenses, worthy benchmarks for any lens review.

How did the Tamron perform against these three? Surprisingly well, especially in the lower half of its zoom range (optical performance, however, isn’t quite as strong at its longest focal lengths). Which, I guess, isn’t surprising: these new cropped sensor lenses are much easier to design than their full frame counterparts, and tend to have excellent optical characteristics. What is surprising is that Tamron managed to cram some really good optical performance into an all-in-one zoom lens. Chromatic aberration (CA), although fairly well controlled, was apparent (more so than might be expected from a modern coated lens)—but then again, CA is easily fixed in the raw conversion or photo editing process. But I won’t just share my opinions: below I have posted a number of 100% crops so that you may draw your own conclusions.

A quick note on methodology: I used a Canon 5D Mark II full frame camera for all tests. Of course, the Tamron 18-270mm is a cropped sensor lens, so to simulate using a cropped sensor camera, I applied a 1.5x crop to all of the test images. I focused manually using Live View, and for each head-to-head test I focused at the same point. I shot all images using a tripod, with lens image stabilization turned off. Unless otherwise noted, aperture and shutter speed were consistent for all tests. I used f/11 for all tests, except for tests shot at telephoto range, which were set at f/6.3. I did this for several reasons: (1) it made my tests, and this review, a lot more concise, and (2) for most of my nature work with wide t0 normal angle scenes, I almost never go below f/11; when working with wildlife using telephoto focal lengths, on the other hand, I tend to shoot wide open. I did not apply any sharpening to the images—what you see is what you get straight out of the file. I’m sure my methodology is not entirely perfect, but it is certainly sufficient for us to draw meaningful conclusions about the lens and its optical characteristics. Overall, I don’t intend for these tests to be as comprehensive as tests run by professional testers (see, for example, ephotozine.com’s review of the Tamron 18-270mm). Rather, I intend these samples to give context to the subjective evaluations I have made about this lens, and to give readers a good idea of how the lens performs.

Also, as I disclosed in my previous review, Tamron is compensating me for my time spent reviewing, testing, and writing about their lens. That is why I have chosen to present objective lens results in this review, so that you don’t need to take my word on it. Just in case anyone is wondering, I haven’t done any cherry-picking to show only favorable data. Rather, I sought to show results that were representative of my overall tests and conclusions.

Let’s start at the wide end of the range. Here, I matched the Tamron against my Nikon 14-24mm, which is my all-time favorite wide angle lens (I like it so much, I have adapted it to my Canon camera). I have to set aperture manually with my Nikon, without the assistance of a functional aperture scale, so while I estimated f/11 it seems I got something closer to f/8 instead. So, the depth-of-field of the Nikon is a little off (mostly apparent in the background trees), but the crops I present below are within the zone of apparent sharpness for this aperture, and in any event the Nikon is arguably sharpest at f/8 anyway (so it is not a perfect comparison but good enough for the time being). I tested both lenses at 18mm, which is at the widest end of the Tamron’s range. Overall, the Tamron exhibited excellent corner-to-corner sharpness in this test.

Here’s the full scene with the Tamron:

Here’s the first set of crops. First the Tamron 18-270mm @18mm:

Then, the Nikon 14-24mm @18mm:

In my opinion, the Nikon has a very slight advantage, almost imperceptible to the point that I would say these lenses are virtually running neck-and-neck. Here’s a few more crops.

Tamron 18-270mm @18mm:

Nikon 14-24mm @18mm:

Tamron 18-270mm @18mm:

Nikon 14-24mm @18mm:

You may notice that the Tamron lens shows some color fringing and chromatic aberration. Here’s another set of crops that shows the CA better. Remember, my depth-of-field for the Nikon is a little off, so these background trees don’t look as sharp as they could.

Tamron 18-270mm @18mm:

Nikon 14-24mm @18mm:

You can definitely see some color fringing in the trees with the Tamron, although it is not too bad. It’s just that the Nikon is better! But then again, the 14-24mm is one of the best lenses ever made, so I’m really impressed that the Tamron holds its own against this world-class lens. Overall, I have to say the Tamron 18-270mm performed very well, even here at the widest extreme of its range.

Next I move to 35mm, and this time I match the Tamron against the Canon 24-105mm L. I find the Tamron’s performance to be a little less even across the frame than at 18mm, but still excellent overall. For some parts of the image, the Canon holds a slight edge over the Tamron, for others parts the Tamron bests the Canon. Here’s the scene as photographed by the Tamron, and then a few 100% crop examples to give you the idea.

Tamron 18-270mm @35mm:

Canon 24-105mm @35mm:

Here, at the edge, the Canon and the Tamron seem really close. Below is a crop from an area of the image frame where the Canon outperforms the Tamron.

Tamron 18-270mm @35mm:

Canon 24-105mm @35mm:

But let’s see how they stack up closer to the middle of the image frame. It appears that as we get closer to the center, the Tamron does a better job than the Canon.

Tamron 18-270mm @35mm:

Canon 24-105mm @35mm:

Overall, both lenses do an excellent job, and their performance is fairly close. I wouldn’t hesitate to use the Tamron at this focal range.

At the longest end of the range, 270mm, I did some test shots using the 18-270mm’s widest aperture at this focal length, f/6.3. Here, I tested the Tamron against Canon’s 100-400mm L lens. By the very nature of this test, the Tamron is put at a slight disadvantage, as at 270mm the Tamron is wide-open at f/6.3, whereas the Canon lens, which has a wide aperture of f/5.0 at this length, ends up being stopped down by two-thirds when set to f/6.3. Just a little bit of stopping down can help sharpen a lens, so in a way the test isn’t absolutely fair, but I wanted to test the Tamron’s telephoto performance in a way that I would use the lens with a wildlife subject—wide open. As we can see, at this focal length the Canon L glass is doing a better job. Also, I noticed something curious: either the Tamron or the Canon focal length scale is off. To achieve an equivalent field of view from the Canon lens, I had to zoom out to about 190mm. I don’t have another lens in this range to test against, so I’m not sure which lens is off (and I didn’t notice any significant differences at the other focal lengths I tested). Either way, I decided to match the field of view rather than the numbers.

Tamron 18-270mm @270mm:

Canon 100-400mm @190mm:

As other testers have reported, it appears the 18-270mm isn’t at its strongest at this end of its focal range. Stopping down restores some overall sharpness, which makes this lens perhaps more useful for isolated landscape scenes rather than wildlife. I’ll be testing the lens on some wildlife subjects this weekend, so it will be interesting to see some field results. My overall impression of the Tamron at the 270mm is that its sharpness is adequate (when wide open) to good (when stopped down), but not as good as the excellent sharpness found at other focal lengths.

I’m not the kind of reviewer who will fault a lens for what it’s not supposed to be. The Tamron 18-270mm is not intended to compete with specialized professional zoom lenses such as the Nikon 14-24mm, and Canon’s 24-105mm and 100-400mm L lenses. That said, in terms of optical quality, the Tamron has held its own against these heavyweights, albeit more so at the wider half of its zoom range. What the Tamron 18-270mm lens is intended to be is a lightweight, compact all-in-one zoom for travel, hobbyists, and serious photo enthusiasts alike. From what I’ve seen so far, it handles these jobs with aplomb.

I’ll be doing some final testing of the lens in the field this weekend shooting wildlife subjects. We’ll see how well its auto focus and image stabilization work when dealing with fast moving subjects. Stay tuned!

Winter is arguably one of the prettiest times to be an outdoor photographer; winter white can transform an otherwise lifeless brown landscape into a magical wonderland. However, winter is also one of the most challenging times to be outdoors shooting.  Frankly the biggest limiting factor in winter photography is personal comfort (for me anyway, I’m a wus).  If you’re not comfortable you won’t be free to think and see creatively and certainly won’t want to stay out for the sweet light.  Here is some practical advice, much of it learned at the school of hard knocks that can help improve your winter photography.

• Shoot right after a fresh snowfall.  By timing your photo outings with the end of a fresh snowfall event (especially important in the northeast and lower elevations) the landscape will look its best.  The fresh snow hides all the dirty old snow and coats the limbs of trees in white producing some beautiful patterns and contrast.  It also helps to tame issues with extreme dynamic range.  When the landscape is completely coated in white the dynamic range is more compressed than when only part of the landscape is coated in white.  You might not even need to use those fancy grad nd filters.

• Bring at least two fully charged batteries.  Keep one in the camera and the other in an interior pocket close to your body.  When the camera’s battery starts to wane (due to cold) simply swap the cold for the warm battery.  Place the cold battery in an interior pocket close to your body and allow it to warm back up.  You’ll be surprised how well a battery will perform again once it warms back up.  You can keep this rotation going for quite a while, perhaps all day.

• Using a tripod in the snow is a real pain in the arse.  If you can pack the snow down before you set up the tripod I recommend doing that.  If the snow is really deep try pushing the legs down into the snow before fully extending them to the sides.  This way as you push the tripod down into the snow, the snow will push the legs out the remainder of the way and ultimately you’ll get the tripod deeper into the snow.  Otherwise, the outward force of the snow could damage the legs and you won’t be able to get as sturdy a placement.

• Before bringing your camera back indoors or into a warm car place it in a sealed plastic bag.  If you bring a cold camera inside a warm environment you’ll cause condensation to form on or worse inside the body and lenses.  By placing it in a sealed bag first, the condensation will form on the outside of the cold bag and not your camera.  Allow the camera and/or lenses to warm to room temperature before taking them out.  If you leave your camera in a dedicated camera bag or pack, don’t open it indoors until the interior of the bag has acclimated, you’ll be surprised how long this can take (sometimes hours).  All that foam padding that protects the camera also serves as insulation, not only keeping out the cold but keeping it in as well.

• Hands can get cold super fast and wearing heavy gloves or mittens limits the dexterity needed to operate a camera. I like to keep a set of chemical hand warmers (aka Hot Hands) in my jacket pockets.  I’ll then wear only a thin pair of liner gloves for full dexterity when handling my camera.  When my hands start to get cold, into the pockets they go to warm up.  If you don’t let them get too cold you can warm them up quickly and avoid the discomfort of numb fingers.  When I’m done with the shot and ready to move on I put a warmer glove or mitten back on.

• There’s only one thing worse than cold hands, cold feet.  Feet sweat a lot, even in winter and when they do your socks and boot liners will get damp.  When this happens there is almost no way to keep your feet warm, even in sub-zero rated boots.  A lot of mountaineers and winter backcountry enthusiasts will use a vapor barrier sock to keep moisture from permeating their insulation layers.  I’ve always found vapor barrier socks to be super uncomfortable.  Here’s a tip I learned back in my ice climbing days.  Before you put your socks on in the morning coat your feet with an antiperspirant spray (not deodorant!).  This will prevent your feet from sweating and thus keep your feet dry and warm.  Plus they won’t be stinky either!

Path to the Summit, Green Mountains, Vermont

Technical Details: Canon 5D, 24mm, ISO 100, f16 @ 1/20 sec. polarizer

Shout-out (n.) Slang.

1. To acknowledge with respect.

2. A kind mention of a homey.

3. Like when rappers thank people when they make a CD.

Source: Urban Dictionary

Today, the Shout Out travels to lovely Romania, nestled deep within the heart of Europe. In recent centuries, Romania has been mostly famous for its creatures of the night—everyone knows the place is infested with more vampires than even Forks, Washington. In recent years, however, one brave young Romanian has boldly stepped forth to reclaim Romania’s place in sun. His name is Dorin Bofan, and today he gets a Shout Out for his courageous battle against the bloodsucking undead. Oh, yeah, and for his photography.

As it turns out, Romania is a beautiful place, and Dorin has a wonderful eye for capturing that beauty and sharing it with the world. Through his efforts, people are beginning to see Romania in a new light. Tourists now pack differently when visiting Romania, bringing cameras and lenses instead of garlic and crucifixes.

Of course, all this has angered Dracula, who we all know is a bit of a prima donna and simply can’t stand sharing the limelight (I mean that figuratively, of course, as Dracula isn’t exactly a big fan of light generally). He has decided to settle the issue once and for all by challenging Dorin to a mano a mano all-out grudge match to the death. Dorin has accepted, but there has been some dispute as to timing: Dracula wants the fight to begin at midnight, whereas Dorin has sagely insisted that the fight start cowboy style at high noon. So, for the moment, the two parties are at an impasse, and tensions remain high.

The image below is a recent photo by Dorin that I absolutely love. It is, to me, the essence of the photographic experience—capturing a fleeting moment when conditions are just right, turning something that is otherwise mundane into something unique and special. It is a wonderful study in texture, shape, and color. Please visit Dorin’s website to see more of his amazing work.

Keep up the good work Dorin! Just don’t go outside to do any night photography . . .

Dorin Bofan Photography

Eastman Kodak Co., which for 130 years has been a pioneer in camera and film technology, which brought the world the handheld camera and inspired a hit song by Paul Simon, has recently filed for bankruptcy protection. Kodak’s current struggles are indelibly linked to the ascendancy of digital cameras and the virtual disappearance of film in the past few years. The popular refrain “mama don’t take my Kodachrome away” is now answered with “what the heck is Kodachrome?” The demise of film has been but a prelude to something we are now witnessing in its final throes: the death of photography.

Okay, I am being a bit melodramatic here. What I really mean is the death of photography as most of us have known it. For the past century, photography has been dominated by film generally, and for most professional and many amateur users since the introduction of Kodachrome in 1935, color slide film specifically. In recent decades, nature photography in particular has been virtually the exclusive domain of color slide film users until the past six or seven years. During this time, black and white and even color print film had their place among nature photographers, but there is little doubt that chrome reigned supreme.

Now, of course, all this has changed. Digital dethroned chrome, and sent film the way of the dinosaurs. Indeed, there are few photographers who still cling to the analog age, and I suspect that even the die-hards would admit that it is getting increasingly difficult to procure film and processing services. After all, it is not just Kodak that has struggled to survive in this turbulent digital revolution—many camera stores and film processing labs have also been swept aside by the digital tide. Film may continue to survive for a long time as a niche product, but it is clear that its day in the sun has passed.

My feelings about digital photography are somewhat mixed. On the one hand, I whole-heartedly embrace the quality, ease of use, and flexibility of digital cameras. And I enjoy the creative control that digital processing techniques give us. On the other hand, I cannot help but miss, for lack of a better way of putting it, the artistic “purity” of the slide film days. Then, there was no “post processing” or “digital manipulation”—granted, slide film added a fair amount of contrast and color saturation that was not exactly as the eye saw things—but what you did before you triggered the shutter determined how the final image looked, and the slide itself was most often the final product marketed to editorial and publishing clients. It was a golden age when photography was photography, men were men, and the sheep were scared.

Today, in the digital age, it seems that photography is increasingly becoming a mixed media art—some part photography, some part “digital art”—in some cases, the equation is heavily skewed towards the latter. Call it what you like—“computer art,” “digital art,” “digital painting,” or something else entirely—the point I am trying to get across is that these days, it seems that many of the artistic decisions about a photograph are being made on the computer after the fact, rather than before the shutter button is pressed. This often goes way beyond merely increasing color saturation and manipulating contrast; some photographers are using the computer to swap skies, warp compositional elements, change colors, and add and subtract significant elements of the photo.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not altogether opposed to this evolving approach (although I must admit I’m not completely thrilled by it either). I believe that artists should have the freedom to express themselves in any way they wish. I am a bit uncomfortable, however, with the fact that many who have privately embraced a limitless mixed media approach publicly deny doing so, claiming photographic purity instead. A notable recent example involves the scandal surrounding the Swedish Wildlife Photographer of the Year award. I say “notable,” rather than “extreme,” because I suspect this sort of thing has become much more commonplace than most of us would care to admit.

Why all the obfuscation? I argue in a post on the Outdoor Photographer blog (The Power of Photography) that for better or for worse, most people seem to associate photography with reality. I suspect this is why some photographers intentionally obscure their sometimes heavy-handed computer manipulation: they know that for many people, discovering that a photograph is not “real” causes them to lose interest. The average viewer seems to prefer that a photo’s magic be captured as part of the photographic process—selecting a composition, waiting for the right moment and light, and triggering the shutter—rather than something cooked up in Photoshop.

I have also noticed a lot of effort in recent years to dismiss the notion that there is anything un-photographic about digital manipulation. The arguments typically get fairly convoluted, and involve several themes including (1) a denial that there is any objective reality; (2) the notion that somehow portraying reality cannot be art; (3) that art is inherently a manipulation of reality so therefore any attempt to portray reality is in and of itself a lie; and (4) darkroom manipulation has had a long tradition in nature photography, so therefore digital manipulation is an acceptable part of the photographic process. This last argument seems to gloss over the fact that most professional nature photographers over the past forty years were color slide film shooters, many of whom never saw the inside of a darkroom.

I’ve always found these “pro-manipulation” arguments unconvincing, not because I am opposed to digital manipulation, but chiefly because these arguments strike me as a “have your cake and eat it too” approach, justifying doing anything you want to a photograph on the computer but nonetheless claiming it is still a photograph. It is far more elegant, and likely more honest, to simply admit one’s mixed media approach and avoid drafting several pages of excuses for it. Frankly, I don’t understand the desire to obscure or rationalize one’s artistic process—one should proudly shout it to the heavens.

I’m not saying that digital manipulation—or for that matter, even lying about it—is necessarily bad, unethical, or immoral. I just think we need to be sober in our assessment of how the medium of photography is changing these days. Digital processing techniques are a good thing—in fact, they are necessary, especially when working with raw files, as one needs to add contrast and saturation to make digital files look good. And I embrace exposure blending techniques, which allow us to show the world more as the eye would actually see it, and other creative tools such as white balance selection. But as soon as we open a digital photograph in an image editing program and begin to make changes, we have entered into the vast sea of digital art—even if we only stick our big toe in the water rather than plunging right in. Each and every one of us must decide how far we wish to traverse the continuum between photography and digital art. Personally, I prefer to keep my craft rooted in the photographic process as much as possible, but on occasion I cross over, and I try to keep an open mind about things and to adjust with the changing attitudes of the times. What you do, of course, is up to you.

So, photography as we have known it is now dead, and in its ashes a new photography has been reborn. With it will come a whole new way of thinking about photography, and I have no doubt that in a few years the “mixed-media” framework I proffer here will be regarded as quaint and obsolete. Although I embrace the new, I can’t help but lament the passing of the old. We have exciting and challenging times ahead of us, but there’s no harm in looking back and waxing nostalgic about the past. Good luck Kodak—you’re going to need it.

"Leaf in Ice" - Shenandoah National Park (shot using Kodak VS color slide film)

OK, I know what you’re thinking after reading that title. Roller Derby. But what I am actually referencing here is one of my very favorite locations, the Cabeza Prieta National Wildlife Preserve/ Bombing Range. That’s right, you did not misread this. Twenty years ago you could have called one of the nation’s great remaining wildernesses a dual usage area. When you got your permit to go out there you had to sign a paper waiving liability and indicating that you understood that you could encounter unexploded ordnance on the bombing range/wildlife preserve. Today it still qualifies as “dual usage”, however, the “wildlife preserve” part has been effectively replaced by “border patrol”. Most of the Cabeza is now officially closed to all traffic except for smugglers, coyotes (both types) and border patrol. I’m pretty sure that now it’s like a freeway out there.

Step back a few years. The “Camino del Diablo”, or “Highway of the Devil” had regained popularity for the 1849 gold rush in California. The Camino offered a short cut of sorts; seducing low budget travelers with the promise of avoiding the long and costly sail around the Baja Peninsula. But the route had its perils as evidenced by its reputation, and the little white crosses that mark the route to this day.

The hardest part of the Camino for the settlers to cross was the 130 mile stretch from Sonoyta to Yuma, with the trail following  the springs and collective waterholes. This was the route that I drove at least 6 times during the 80′s and 90′s before border pressure overwhelmed the entire area. 115 miles of pure wilderness. Not a single person or car or building – going on and on. Of course, there were the ever-present F-16′s. I would hear them before I’d see them. An incredible roar would split the sky and a couple of F16′s would scream directly overhead about 200 feet above. I knew it would be a couple of pilots checking me out, and had they malicious intent, I certainly would have been toast. I always smile a little when I think of the F16 pilots lighting up the little protected bunnies with their fire control radar systems. Of course, it may also be the reason I only have one kid…

The Camino was also the first and only time I have witnessed complete and absolute silence. It was my first solo trip, and it was late spring, so it was hot—105° F hot. There had been a bit of a drought, and I had been noticing that the saguaros had that crispified “please-put-me-out-of-my-misery” look as I stopped for the evening. Later on, when the truck engine stopped ticking, I realized that there was not a single sound; not a bird, a cricket or the wind. Nothing. When I lit my camp stove for dinner the hiss seemed obscenely sacrilegious, so I turned it off. All I could hear was my own heartbeat. It still remains one of my finest wilderness experiences.

Even back then, I’d trip motion detectors and always had a border patrol welcome as I emerged from the Camino. The officers would relate how they  had followed my progress all the way; and proving this by indicating my arrival and departure times from specific areas.

Bronica GS-1, 200mm, Velvia, 1 second @ f22: 2 stop ND Grad

Today’s image is “Teardrop Virga”. I’ve always considered this one of my signature pieces. I was out with my good friend and fine photographer, Colin McKay in the “Charlie Bell Pass” area of the Cabeza. As we watched the clouds covering the western horizon we thought we’d been shut out…then the sky opened and permitted just a few rays to pass through.

After we shot this iscene, we made a little fire with a fireplace log (I’m much too lazy to gather wood) and opened a bottle of Cuervo 1800. About an hour or so after dark, the Air Force decided to begin some night time Warthog exercises a few miles away. We sat and watched 15 or 20 Warthogs line up and make strafing runs until after midnight. Plane after plane would dive, blast away and pull up, the tracers leaving echoes on our retinas. A night to remember, and oh yeah, that bottle was a dead soldier by the time we finished.

One other thing. A little sickly kit fox kept trying to walk into our fire. We’d shoo him off, but he kept coming back. I was pretty sure he was rabid (one of the first clues is a wild animal acting tame), and we decided if he returned again we should probably put him down. Luckily for him and us, he gave it up….

the same scene the next morning

The entire border area of Arizona is feeling the pressure with closures and constant patrols. More than once I’ve had border patrol in body armor with M16′s come to check me out. Leave a vehicle by the side of the road and disappear into the desert and this kind of thing tends to happen, depending on the location. Let me tell you, you glance up and see some guy with an automatic weapon sliding behind a nearby cactus, its hands-in-the-air with loud verbal proclamations such as “I’m right here. I’m by myself”. Then another 4 guys materialize from the desert; and while they have never failed to be great guys doing a difficult job, it does kinda tend to diminish the overall wilderness experience.

And it’s not just the US border that has been overwhelmed. Pinacate National Park in Mexico, directly south of Organ Pipe is a major smuggling route and is patrolled by the Mexican Military. Another one of the most beautiful places in the world being turned into crap. Bottom line, I’m trying to find an optimistic spin to put on all this, but just can’t seem to find one. So I guess I’ll just wax nostalgic for the good-old-days when the wilderness was wild and rangers were unarmed. Not so nostalgic about the film. Oh yeah, and if you go? Be sure to carry ID at all times.