Learning photography

Not too long ago, I was content with owning a little point-and-shoot Panasonic Lumix camera that took fantastic pictures on the go. It did video. It boasted a 2.8 Leica lens. (Leica is a famous optics company that manufactures glass for medical equipment.) Cameras like this are perfect for the masses. They teach you nothing about photography, but they don’t claim to, either – they exist to take fun, snappy shots. Good enough.

The real joy of image-making was lost on me until the day I received a beginner DSLR, a Canon Rebel XS, as a going-away present to take pictures of that “beautiful place” everyone claimed New Zealand was.

My fingers on the controls went from clumsy to nimble in a matter of a day. Then I arrived in kiwi land and understood what everyone was talking about. I was so smitten by the landscapes and perfect vineyards and basically everything I saw on my way around the country, I wanted to create as many memories as possible. I read the instruction manual cover to cover and back again. I learned how to use every hidden feature in that camera. I experimented with program mode, with semi-automatic modes like shutter speed and aperture priority, and then “dared” to make the foray into manual mode—where I then remained most of the time. It was the best self-teaching practice ever. Because if those landscapes didn’t inspire you, nothing would.

The little Lumix still had its place; it fit in the back pocket of my overalls. It’s responsible for my snatching those amazing sunset moments from the winery’s catwalks.

As for the rest?

Over two thousand images later, I got the bug. And when I’m curious, nothing will stand in the way of my acquiring knowledge. In New Zealand, I sometimes wished I had a teacher, someone who could critique my work and tell me about elements of better composition – but maybe then it wouldn’t make me practice so much. I just really wanted to keep more images of New Zealand – so I clicked, looked, switched, adjusted, clicked again, and repeated that many-many times.

There are some keepers.

Back in Boston and with some free time in between jobs, I did what most of us do when we want to learn. Read books and get on Google. Bless you, Amazon, for your recommendation of one of the most useful and fun photography books so far: Bryan Peterson’s Understanding Photography: Field Guide.

Indifferent to the sunny weather, I’ve sequestered myself at home (or café) reading, fascinated, completely engrossed in the subject on the art of image-making, because it’s presented in a clear, colorful and compelling way. With lots of pictures with tips on how they were taken.

Beware, reader, when you start to learn about photography. You will covet. And the things you’ll covet—gear—actually do matter, so it’s not just wishful thinking. Apparently, all photographers are gear-obsessed. It’s an industry thing.

So far, I’ve bought the inexpensive things, the ones I now consider necessary—a tripod and a polarizing filter. But what you really start wanting are better lenses. I’ve exhausted the possibilities of my 18-55 kit lens. But lenses are expensive, damn it—as they should be. Those pieces of glass are precise optical instruments that take expense and care to manufacture. And it’s the lenses that do most of the work, not the camera. And there are so many, I could spend days on research. So instead, until I have more disposable income, I’m going to keep exhausting the possibilities of a kit lens (and borrowing friends’ ones, whoever lets me) and using the tripod as a new toy to feed the photographic curiosity.