More fun with the ImageTech 3D camera. Here’s Melanie with her new M5

A few trusted friends have pointed out that some recent work of mine has been plagued with a lot of crud on my digital sensor. I’ve huffed and puffed and rocket-blown the heck out of it. Alas, the gloop persists. I have all the materials to clean the sensor on my Canon 5D on my own. However, since I have been having spotty luck with cameras lately, and knowing I’m down to my bottom dollar, I just didn’t want to risk it. The possibility of damaging it during the tricky business with no means to replace it was something I’m not ready to risk at the moment. So, I wheeled it into the Canon Service Center down in Irvine, CA. They said I should also get the mirror adjusted — free — so it’s gonna be a week. They’re also gonna replace my worn-down serial number plate. Unexpected bonus!

Fingers crossed. Can’t wait to get it back.

From: michael <emayoh@xxxxx.com>
Date: Tuesday, July 7, 2009 11:50:36 AM
To: Eric F <erock_f@xxxxx.com>
——————

Greetings my friend,

What a time trial this morning, eh? Astana were viciously professional. Contador told me you texted him last night with some advice, but he wouldn’t tell me what you said. I’m dying to know.

I still remember you in ’77 with the maillot jaune. I thought I’d catch you in the very same fourth stage, but you had that magic. To this day, I wonder if you did it just to impress the Contessa. You both disappeared for the rest of the summer.

Well, to memories. Sip some armagnac for me this evening.

Yours,

M

Music permeates North Hollywood Arts District on the first Thursday of every month with Hear NoHo, a nascent showcase of local musicians performing in community venues spanning the community. I’d written about the series debut a few months ago. I even took photos then. My work makes up the bottom banner at HearNoHo.com. But, I hadn’t been back until July’s summery set. This time out, organizers decided to focus on women in local music. I decided to focus on them with some black and white film. I wanted to try the Rollei in a musical setting. It has a slow f/3.5 lens, but I had a roll of medium-format Ilford Delta 3200 in the fridge. If there was ever a time to use ASA 3200, this was it. I also brought along the M2 with some Arista Premium 400 that I’d push to 1600.

Taking pictures with film is a much different than taking pictures with a digital camera. But, taking pictures of people in action with film, especially older non-motorized manual focus cameras, is yet another level of difficulty entirely.

In concert photography the keys are light, eyes, mikes, movement, and backgrounds. The photographer must keep all of these in mind, and in sight. But, when you shoot one frame at a time with no instant review, you need to have a strong reservoir of faith. And, practice helps so I was going for it.

Results? I struggled with the roll in the Rollei. Even at 3200, with the 3.5 lens there was not enough light to get what I wanted. I struggled to see the images that were there for me.
But, with the Leica, it was a happier story. I found a couple images I am really proud of, and the 50mm Serenar f/1.8 lens helped me get them.

The first Hear NoHo was free. But, the organizers were upfront about the inability to keep it that way. This time around it was a ten-dollar wristband. Access to ten artists at five venues, a couple NoHo Commons lofts, the Cella art gallery, the NoHo Arts Center theater, and even the loading dock for How’s Grocery Store.

I went in expecting a mixed bag of music, but everyone I saw put on a good show. Happily, my favorite artist of the night also gave me my best photo of the night. Adjoa Skinner (above) played to about twelve people in a loft. She kicked off her sandals and walked around while playing her guitar and singing, she was such a comfortable player.

I saw the names “Frank and Derol” on the schedule of a female-only lineup and thought: “Oh God, probably a lesbian folk act!” But, when I got to the theater it was a trio of perky young girls with a backing band playing brisk, sunny indie pop. They, too, impressed me. Billy Ray Cyrus’ daughter – no, not Miley. A different one – is in this unsigned band. I saw Beck’s sister, too: Alyssa Suede is her name and she captivated the crowd at Cella Gallery. Paris Carney packed the Arts Center: It was standing room only for that show! So, no good photos for that set. So much for needing to keep it free. I underestimated the support of the local community.

In developing the 3200, the book calls for fourteen and a half minutes when using HC-110. It’s a warm summer, so I probably should have backed off a few minutes. The fact that the film actually expired six years ago, though, caused me to go the full time. I figured it would just even out. The resulting grain was huge. Probably a mix of high ASA mixed with overdeveloping with an industrial developer. Nothing really came out impressive, but it was fun. I should try it with a smoother developer.

 

Pushing the brand new Arista Premium to 1600 was much more effective. The book on that is sixteen minutes with HC-110, but since I was developing at roughly twenty-five degrees, I backed it down to thirteen. I was very, very pleased with how Frank and Derol came out.

I resolve to go to more Hear NoHo events. It’s a fertile ground for my photographic adventures. And, the music isn’t bad either.

Bonus: Here’s an Adjoa Skinner video clip:

The serious Scottish doctor is working hard to create a smarter IBM-powered world.

But, I wonder if he runs around the laboratory smacking fellow docs with a dipstick?

I ordered a kit to build a sound trigger with variable delay from HiViz.com. It comes as a bag filled with loose electronic capacitors, resistors, and wires. Fun! But, I fired up the detailed instructions and got after it.

The instructions are very clear. But, the kit assumes you have an extra PC sync cord to cut up in order to connect it to your flash. I didn’t feel like snipping a ten dollar connector. Luckily, the LumoPro flash I have has a 1/8-inch miniphone jack. So I cut up one of the two hundred pairs of cheapo earbuds I have, just to get the plug. I wired it up and it didn’t work. So, I did some reading and discovered that stereo plugs never work well.

I’d always wanted an excuse to go to Electronic City and browse the aisles of geek heaven. A mono miniplug was a buck sixty. I also picked up a black plastic project box.

An hour later I was covered in black plastic shavings as I used a Dremel to cut a perfect hole in the black case that holds the piezoelectric listening device. But, the whole thing fits pretty well.

And, as you can almost see from the video, it works.

I will need to continue to tweak it. It triggers the flash on every sharp noise, so if I use it on a dropped item, the flash will fire on the drop, and every bounce. That probably won’t work — but there are ways in the electronics to mitigate that. But, the basic device is operational.

Stay tuned for more.

I’m very curious about the basics of photographic studio lighting. Strobist is God, as we all know. But, when he dropped the post a few weeks ago “A Walk Around the Monobloc, Pt. 1” I felt like he was holding back some of the fruit of knowledge. He told us about a monobloc, but I wanted to take a step back. What’s a monobloc? Are there different types of that sort of strobe? What about the “heads” I see on Craigslist all the time? How do they fit? I had a ton of questions I tried to get across in a comment on his blog, but I suffered a communication failure. I struggled to ask a good question.

Since then, I’ve wanted to research studio lights more, but I am really lazy didn’t know where to start. Happily, I just came across a post on Photo.net that hit the spot. It filled in all the starter gaps that I was missing from Strobie’s post.

Photo.net: An intro to studio lighting equipment

There’s a lot of great info here, but this is the bit I needed to know:

There are 2 basic types of studio flash -
Generator (England) also known as Pack & Head (USA) flash basically consists of a box that sits on the floor (or, with professional units too heavy to lift, sits on wheels) and
Monoblock (England) or Monolight (USA). Generator/Pack and head lights contain all their ‘works’ in the box, and a high-voltage cable connects the box to the actual flash head.

Got that? It’s easy, when you know the answer.

And, now please enjoy Metallica – “Hit the Lights”

Your humble photographer got some love from LAist.com writer Jeremy Oberstein when in his review of Wilco he referred to me as “the inimitable Michael Orlosky.” Clearly this was just an example if the publication’s ebullient tone run amok, but it’s nice to see.

Jeremy’s review of the show at the Wiltern even tied in the imagery with some colorful copy:

Visually, the show was gorgeous. Deep red lights bathed the aggressive Bull Black Nova, from the new album and during the beautiful Reservations, from Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, elegant blues showered Tweedy and Co. with great effect.

I like that.

Here’s a shot that didn’t make LAist, because I was late in processing it.

Even though I live in Los Angeles, I’m not very Hollywood. But, even I knew that down on Hollywood Boulevard, there’d be happenings and spectacle around Michael Jackson’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. After some prodding, I grabbed some cameras and jumped on the bus towards the heart of Hollywood, towards The Star.

This was a special occasion, so I brought the mysterious Polaroid Holga with one of my last expired irreplaceable packs of peel-apart film. I brought a digital SLR with a flash and a fisheye lens. Part of me felt guilty, bringing the digital. I don’t know why.

An hour later, I exited the Metro in the midst of a throng of humanity on Hollywood Boulevard, besieged, set-upon, mobbed by street-sellers hawking bootleg Michael Jackson tee-shirts. There was not five or six, there was not a dozen. I’m not exaggerating when I say there were over a hundred people selling shirts, or ribbons, or buttons. Gotta get them dollars. There were people everywhere, all absorbed in private zombie-drama.

I felt agitated, panicky. I felt like a vulture myself. I knew I wouldn’t be able to work the Polaroid in the middle of the crowd, so I broke out the digital. I was good, I brought an spare camera battery. I brought extra flash batteries, too.

Then, Beck walked past me. Yeah, Beck. Looking childlike, making his way anonymously and unrecognized with the throng. I started walking with him. I wanted to get in front of him. I wanted to get the photo of him paying his respects when he made it down the line to Michael’s star. Strange world.

I flicked on the camera.

“No CF Card.”

I froze. Goodbye, Beck. Goodbye, everyone. I pulled off down a side alley. I started pacing like a tiger. I was furious with myself. I didn’t know what to do. I walked in circles. I muttered obscenities.

I gave up.

I walked against the grain back to the Metro stop, against more desperate people trying to get to The Star. “Just get me the fuck out of here,” I thought.

But, I pulled myself together. I found my inner calm. I just needed to walk for a while. I decide to head off towards the other Michael Jackson star. Yeah, there’s two stars for Michael Jackson. I had no idea what was there, but I headed down the Boulevard anyway.

I started to fiddle with the Polaroid. It’s a very temperamental piece. I saw Vin Scully’s star and thought I’d take a pic to get a sense of what the Holga’s flash would do bounced off the sidewalk.

Click.

I carefully pulled the tab, but the film wouldn’t go through the rollers. This was bad. I tried again to get it going. No, I was just pulling slimy shreds of emulsion. I tried my very best to get it going, but the whole pack was ruined.

I blinked.

But, I was in Hollywood. Surely, I could find a compact flash card for sale here in tourist hell. And, there was a camera shop, right across the street! Eureka. But, it looked awfully busy. “Why is there a raucous crowd outside?” I wondered. I crossed the street, and discovered that the tourist camera trap was playing some Michael Jackson concert on a nineteen-inch television in the window, and it had attracted a throng of fans. Clever, except I couldn’t even make it to the entrance of the store. Well, I hadn’t come this far to stop, so I pushed on through and made it inside, brightly lit and devoid of people.

The shopkeep had been watching the concert, but now followed me inside. “I just need a compact flash card,” I tell him.

Him. I recognize the face. I had taken a photograph of this exact man on the street months earlier. Strange fucking world.

He only has one card in the whole place, a sad one gigabyte. I pay him the tourist rate of twenty-five dollars, and thank him for his time, but he was back watching Michael on the small screen.

But, I was back in business with a photographic weapon.

The other Michael Jackson star was down near Hollywood and Vine. Much less crowded, but a lot clubbier. I passed through racks of minidresses and gallons of cologne.

I turned down Vine and saw a scene much smaller in stature. Some candles around the star, hand-written declarations of love and a small Hispanic family keeping vigil. No crowds.

As I took a photograph, passersby taunted that this was the wrong star. A dapper Englishman paused to tell me that this Michael Jackson was a local radio personality. (In fact, the “other” Michael Jackson is English — was that him walking by?) Another man stopped with the randomness of inebriation to discuss of Michael Jackson’s legacy. We spent ten minutes on the subject actually, going back and forth. This man’s name was Frenchie and he said he was a fashion designer. He didn’t want me to take his picture, but I got a card. He told me to call him, and we’d “do some business.”

Strange world, yeah.

So I left the Hispanic family to keep vigil over the wrong Michael Jackson and walked back towards Hollywood and Highland.

As I walked back through the sporadic clubgoers, some LAPD officers on foot stopped a kid who was right next to me. They told him to put his hands behind his back so they could search him. I turned back to look as I passed, and saw one of the officers staring right at me, with my camera. Chilling effects. I left my fellow man to be harassed, as I turned face front and walked away. Damnit.

In minutes, I rejoined the fray. I was back in the throng of cattle. There were security forces deployed to keep the line moving. Slowly, inexorably, we moved like a tar spill. Slowly towards what I didn’t even know. I saw piles of flowers and cards piled like garbage against crowd control barriers. I saw a tribute poster. People were snapping away with their cellphones.

And, then I was right over it: Michael Jackson’s star, in the midst of tribute trash, somehow kept visible. The steel barrier went right over it. This is what thousands of people were happy to endure pushing and shoving to get a one-point-three megapixel image of.

“Take your picture and keep moving,” a security professional shouted at me. I wonder who hired these guys.

I made my way to the end and noticed a couple photographer-photographers on the other side of the barrier, so I went back around with them. I was quickly checked by two uniformed on-duty LAPD officers. “Where’s your pass?” they demanded, before shooing me away. I wondered who I was supposed to get a pass from for something like this? What corporation’s profit were they protecting? I didn’t really care. Photographs were a waste. If there was anything compelling here, I didn’t sense it. I’m not a photographer.

I was done, I took the metro back to North Hollywood. The not-glamorous other Hollywood. I just missed the bus down Chandler. The next one wasn’t for half an hour, so I walked. And, I walked. My feet got sore. It took forever, with every step I recapped the night in my head. Was that really Beck?

It felt like one more thing should happen. I should find something on the walk home that I wouldn’t have seen from the bus. Surely there would be one talisman I’d find that would make the whole night worthwhile. Something to make this story seem like a parable for seizing life. To show me the larger view.

But, there was nothing at all. And, I reached my apartment. Dark and alone. I unlocked the door, fell inside and stumbled straight to the shower. I stood there in the warm water and wept.

In a blog tabbed as “Getting Smart About Personal Technology” the writer Sonia Zjawinski offers:

I sift through Flickr on a regular basis for images to use as visuals for my blog posts. As with most things related to the Web, it’s easy to get sidetracked with not-so-work-related search terms like, “kittens” and “vintage bicycles”. Through these bouts of procrastination I’ve often found stunning photographs, so much so I’ve gotten in the habit of printing faves out and framing them. If a user offers the original resolution for download don’t let that go to waste. Download, print, frame!

Oh, and if you’re wondering about copyright issues (after all, these aren’t my photos), the photos are being used by me for my own, private, non-commercial use. I’m not selling these things and not charging admission to my apartment, so I think I’m in the clear. (Any lawyers out there who want to weigh in on this?)

Luckily, most of the commenters point out that this is absurd, especially from the New York Freakin’ Times. She got paid for that clueless blog. My own sarcastic take went like this:

I sift through the NYT for articles to repost in my blog. As with a lot of things on the Web it’s easy to get lost in all the searches for “Krugmans” and “Dowds” I’ve found that it’s awesome to just print out these articles for visitors to my house to read. Of course, I don’t include any credits along with the articles. And people who come to my house never have to visit NYT.com or buy a newspaper. And if you’re worried about copyright, don’t worry! I’m not charging admission to my house or anything, so it’s totally cool. Just ask Sonia Zjawinski.

Some people would be cool with you making posters for your house. Some wouldn’t. The thing is, Flickr makes it so easy to engage with photographers whose work you enjoy. Maybe they’d be thrilled to let you use a photo. The truly interesting part about the internet, social media, and “getting smart about personal technology” is that it’s easy to start that conversation with the content creators. That’s the revolution, and a point that this paid blogger for the New York Times completely fails to understand about technology.

(Hat tip to Chaparral[Kendra] for pointing out that blog to me)