A couple years ago I bought a used Canon EOS D30 for an article I was doing for Shutterbug. To be sure it’s an EOS D30, not a more modern EOS 30D, and it’s “only” 3.1-megapixel—it produces images that are a modest 2160 x 1440 to be exact. I paid around $300 for it secondhand. It cost $3000 when it was new back in 2000.

I could point out a hundred flaws in this old clunker—if I compared it to a more current model like the EOS 40D. But instead I’ll say these good things. First, it still works as advertised and it accepts all of my Canon lenses. Second, it produces sharp, small RAW files. Last but not least, it has found new life thanks to Lensbaby.

In a nutshell, Lensbaby is a lens that colors outside the lines (literally) and uses optical aberration as a creative element. Images have slurred colors, blurred outlines and surrealistic unsharpness.

Think of it as Timothy Leary meets George Eastman. Or Mathew Brady with color film and no tripod.

There are three models. My favorite piece—The Composer—is basically a short flexible tube that stays in whatever position you bend it. It has a rotating focusing ring and, depending on which f/stop “washer” you have installed, it can produce images that range from pleasantly soft to pretty sharp.

You don’t need to use a 10-megapixel camera with Lensbaby. My EOS D30 is nearly a decade old and I still have fun with it—thanks to Lensbaby.

Truth is, he played the ugliest set of sticks I’ve ever seen. The no-name club heads were all blackened and the paint had been scorched off. He used the kitchen range to heat the club heads to break the epoxy bond—until his wife caught him and chased him out onto the patio. He finished the job by starting a fire in the BBQ grill and poking the golf clubs through the cooking grate until the heads got hot enough that he could remove the old steel shafts. His wife said he looked like he was roasting metal hot dogs.

Toko consistently shot in the low 80s with these nameless, nearly cremated golf clubs. He regularly beat guys who teed off with drivers that cost more than Toko paid for his entire set of clubs. You see, Toko had three things going for him: skill, training and practice.

You can guess where this is headed. It’s important to have modern, enjoyable camera equipment, but STP—Skill, Training and Practice—are the three most important accessories you can possess. The three make a circle that strengthens itself as it grows. Get some training, practice what you learn and you will develop skill.

We often jokingly say that something will happen “as sure as the sun’s gonna rise tomorrow.” It’s comforting for humans to turn to nature to find consistency and reassurance that things are normal. Every year, either on December 21 or December 22, the part of the world I live in experiences Winter Solstice. It’s a time for celebration, as witnessed by many cultures from the ancient Romans (Saturnalia) to the Hopi Indians (Soyalangwul).

Today is the shortest day of the year, and by extension, tonight is the longest night. That means that tomorrow will be just a little bit longer than today. And next Saturday will be longer still. Each day will steal a few precious minutes of light from the night until day and night become equal and finally day triumphs over night.

At least for a few months, until the cycle repeats.

What does this have to do with photography, you may ask. Photography is light interrupted. When the days are short, cold and occasionally wet it’s hard to get out into the field and do much picture taking. So how does one feed the photo habit during the winter? Here’s a short list of ten great winter photo activities.

Back-up your images. This one is so important I am going to write it twice. Back up your images—at least the ones you do not want to lose. Buy an external hard drive (or two—they’re pretty cheap these days).

Macro (close-up) photography. Stop at the florist, buy the six most colorful flowers in their refrigerator and start snapping. If you get into this you may want to buy a true macro lens and tripod, but even if you don’t you can usually get some good pictures. At the very least you can get some color to counterbalance the muddy grays and whites of winter.

Learn how to use a bounce flash. Buy a set of NiMH (Nickel Metal Hydride) rechargeable batteries, charge them up and practice taking portraits of your kids, pets and neighbors until you’re happy with the results.

Post Process. Now is the time to browse, classify, organize and process all of the digital images you’ve been waiting to find time to get around to. I have a backlog so old that some were taken with a cell phone that had a dial instead of a keypad.

Learn CS4 or one additional feature of Photoshop Elements.

Shoot and edit a home video that people can actually bear to watch. (This process usually begins with a tripod and ends with a nicely labeled DVD.)

Upload, share and store. Find a congenial photo community website and create an account. It’s a nice way to share holiday or vacation pix, too.

Take a trip. Short of that, take a hike. Florida and Texas are warm destinations; if you don’t have the coin, put on your boots and gloves and drive to the closest state park.

Buy a photography book for your local library. Okay, that’s not really taking pictures, but photography is about more than just pressing the shutter. I grew up thinking that the Exakta was a worldclass camera because my local library back in Indiana had exactly one photography book: The Exakta Way. Too cheap to buy them a book? Then donate a couple of your old books.

Comment on this blog. I can think of only nine winter photo activities, off the top of my head, so if you can think of #10 please add it below.

Thank you.

To make matters worse, some bags are designed to discourage the user from accessing the contents when the bag is in the carry position. That’s fine for many people, and would be fine for me, too, if I didn’t change lenses so often—or if I had a 15 mile hike in between changes. But I don’t work that way—I guess my attention span is too short.

I needed a backpack that could carry my DSLR, a few lenses (including long zooms), a flash and Minolta Auto Meter IVF. Easy enough—but I also needed space for a lightweight raincoat, sack lunch, a Ziploc bag full of filters, knife, flashlight and miscellaneous other items. Oh, yeah—binoculars, sunglasses and a bottle of water, too. And above all else, I wanted to be able to get at the camera and lenses inside without stopping and removing the pack.

I almost gave up. Then I discovered the Tamrac Aero Speed Pack 85 Model 3385.

The main SLR compartment is long enough to accommodate a camera body with a Tamron 70~200mm f2.8 or similar zoom attached, and deep (or tall) enough that I don’t have to remove the battery grip from my Pentax K20D. There’s also plenty of room on the side to stuff the wide strap (to keep it way from the camera’s LCD) and even a locking pouch that will hold a lens cap (up to 77mm or so). In addition to everything mentioned above I can fit five lenses besides the one on the camera. And it will hold a notebook computer with a 17-inch monitor in a padded, isolated compartment away from the other stuff.

The shoulder straps are comfortable and simple, and that’s welcome. Some bags have a rigging system so complex that you have to go to Marine boot camp for training. You can attach Tamrac’s SAS (Strap Accessory System) pouches to the shoulder straps, too, so you can have your cell phone or other items close at hand.

Everyone has different needs when it comes to backpacks and gadget bags. That’s one reason why there are so many on the market. If you only need to carry photo equipment and aren’t worried about packing other gear, one of the Lowepro Slingshot packs might be the ideal solution. They’re sturdy, versatile and affordable. But if you need space for a slew of odds and ends, give the Tamrac Aero Speed Pack a close look.

Last weekend I stopped into a busy electronics store to check out their holiday camera selection. They are part of a regional chain—not a national big box store—with salespeople who are knowledgeable and well known for their aggressive helpfulness. I had a Panasonic LX3 hanging from a strap around my neck but stuffed half-way into an inside jacket pocket in such a way that it barely peeked out. I wasn’t hiding it exactly; I was keeping it from banging around as I walked.

The sales guy spotted it at once. “Is that an LX3?” he asked, nodding toward the bulge in my jacket. I told him yes and his smile broadened. “That’s a very cool camera!” he exclaimed.

I think this the first time I’ve ever had a sales person admire the camera I brought into a store. Especially a store that’s known to have sales people who’d rather lunch on roofing nails than let a customer leave the store without buying something. It’s common to hear some lame line about how cool the camera they’re selling is, but it’s remarkable that this person identified the camera at a glance.

It is a cool camera. Whisper “24mm f2 lens” to any photo hobbyist and they’ll salivate. There’s more to a Panasonic Lumix DMC-LX3 than the Leica lens—much more—but the lens alone is enough to justify owning one.

A short time ago I was shooting with a Tamron 18-270mm zoom lens on a Canon EOS 40D and discovered something very surprising. When I reviewed the images of some leaves that were backlit against a bright sky I didn’t see any DPF. You know what DPF is, of course: Dreaded Purple Fringe. It usually inhabits the contrasty edges that separate highlight and shadow areas in some digital images. I’d upload an example, but I know you have plenty of your own.

Many people call this violet border “chromatic aberration” but that’s a cryptic and somewhat incomplete description. I checked with a close friend who is an engineer with a camera maker in Japan. He explained the phenomenon this way.

“The cause of the purple fringe (sometimes it is ‘blue fringe’) is due to the magnification (image size) being different for each wave length. Therefore, even when the subject is in focus on the green wavelength, for example, the image size of the other color wavelengths are slightly different. That is why the edge of the image has a blue or purple area. I am talking about chromatic aberration related to magnification (in Japanese, ‘Bairitsu Iro Shuusa’).”

He went on, “One of the major reasons why purple fringe is so noticeable in digital photography is because the customer can easily magnify the image in pixel size to one hundred percent. Comparable viewing conditions would be like printing the image the size of your wall and then viewing it from 10 inches away...”

Better lenses correct for this aberration, so that the purple-banded area is all but invisible.

Earlier I was impressed by the Tamron 18-270mm zoom for a completely different reason: the Vibration Control (also known as image stabilization) is so effective that I was able to shoot at 270mm (430mm equivalent) at 1/15 of a second without visible camera shake. And that’s pretty damn good since normally I can’t even eat a forkful of scrambled eggs without spilling some halfway to my mouth.

Take a look at the images of the yellow leaves. Both were shot handheld at 1/15 of a second. Go buy this lens. Nothing I can write will make you understand how good it is until you try it. It’s available for Nikon and Canon digital SLRs and I’ve seen it advertised in the $599 price range. At least go try one so you can judge for yourself.

A Digital Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas—I awoke with a jolt—Ah !
I forgot to buy film for my brand new Minolta.

Oh, what could I do? I was in such a spot!
I had batteries, flash, and a tripod. But not

even ONE roll of film to capture the day.
And Santa Claus’ visit was just hours away.

A quick call to some stores—but it was too late.
Even the shop at the Mall closed at eight.

Then one of my children looked inside the book.
“It doesn’t NEED film, Dad. Here—take a look.”

“This camera is DIGITAL. Don’t lose your cool.
It’s easy. I’ll show you. I learned how at school.”

“Take sis’s picture. Go head and shoot ‘er.
Then I’ll help you edit it on our computer.”

“Delete what you don’t like and with the rest
We can make color prints, or e-mail Grand-ma the best.”

Well, unlike the old story where all through the house
not a creature was stirring—in our case the Mouse

just kept right on clicking on into the night.
We had a great Christmas full of fun, bits and bytes.

—Jon Sienkiewicz

Happy Holidays!

©2001 Jon Sienkiewicz. All rights reserved.

On Thanksgiving morning I left home before eight and drove my Jeep 20 miles to photograph a farm I’ve been shooting for the past 15 years. Sometimes it’s hard to keep a relationship fresh and exciting for such a long period of time, but like an exciting woman, this subject reveals something new to me every time we meet.

It was 34 degrees when I left home, but at the higher elevation in New Jersey’s Ramapo Mountains, the mercury hovered at 31, just cold enough for the hoar frost to still be thick and brilliant. Clouds hid the sun and I waited until their feeble rays broke through just enough to highlight the brittle, frozen leaves.

I worked for over an hour, I guess—I lost track of time the second arrived. I moved quickly, knowing that the sun would soon be strong enough to banish the frost sculptures. In every direction I discovered something new—a bristling red berry, a leaf silver-tipped with rime, green grass dusted with frost. When I finished my bare fingers were numb and my feet were like ice. But I felt wonderful.

And I felt so lucky to be able to enjoy the moment. We all have so much to be thankful for. I’m blessed in that I don’t have to look far to see my true fortune.

I’ve come to the conclusion that timing specifications (shutter lag, shutter release button travel, LCD refresh, AF speed, etc.) as well as the more obvious variables (like menu structure, button tension and the locations of the controls) all combine to create a mechanical rhythm as real as a melody. In order to operate a camera comfortably and effortlessly it’s necessary to get in tune with that rhythm.

I didn’t just dream this up overnight.

For nearly forty years I’ve had the great fortune to use many different cameras, lenses and related gear. At Minolta we introduced new cameras several times a year, and I’ve made many, many trips to Japan to participate in product meetings where prototypes were discussed and future designs decided. These days I shoot with one or more new cameras every month. And I must confess, I have never liked any camera the first time I used it. It usually takes me at least a week of struggling before I begin to comprehend the rhythm of a camera.

So I was stunned a few weeks ago when I picked up a Pentax K20D and felt the rhythm from the first embrace.

To be honest, I was predisposed to like the latest Pentax DSLR because several years ago I reviewed the Pentax *ist DS and had a similarly compatible experience. It was small, felt good in the hand and was quite responsive. And I liked the location of the on/off switch—a small but important detail. Although I used that DS for only two weeks, several of the images I shot with it have been published in unrelated articles. You could say that the camera and I just clicked.

The Pentax K20D is much more advanced but it retains that same familiar rhythm. It offers body-integral image stabilization that works with any Pentax lens and an advanced digital signal processing engine that produces very low noise, even at higher ISOs. It’s full of real “photographer” features like double exposure capability, single channel black and white and interchangeable focusing screens. You can adjust the color balance of the LCD—can you do that on your DSLR? It even has a built-in digital filter that simulates infrared. It’s the perfect camera for fanatics.

There’s a dedicated RAW button so if you want to switch from shooting JPEG files to RAW you can do so instantly, with a single button press. It produces “forever compatible” DNG raw files directly, and comes with Silkypix, a powerful RAW conversion software application.

Frankly, I don’t pay much attention to pixel count, but the Pentax K20D uses a 14.6-megapixel CMOS sensor. You can also shoot at 10- or 6-megapixel and of course, RAW plus JPEG simultaneously.

I’m guessing that if you visit this website you already understand how the Program mode works on digital cameras. The program slope itself is generally adjustable in some manner, with the bias shifting from Sports (high shutter speeds) to Portrait photography (shallow depth of field). The Pentax K20D allows the user to select a program slope that is biased in favor of MTF. MTF stands for Modulation Transfer Function and choosing it means that the camera will select the best aperture settings for whatever lens is attached. You no longer have to remember that your 28mm lens is sharpest at f5.6, for example—the Pentax K20D recognizes which Pentax lens is attached and makes the appropriate settings automatically.

Thanks in part to our temporarily struggling economy, the Pentax K20D is available with a sharp 18-55mm zoom for well under $999 (I’ve seen it at reputable resellers for as low as $900) and that’s an incredible deal for a full featured, weather resistant DLSR that offers so many features. Pentax lenses are very good, too, and there are some unique offerings, like a 40mm f2.8 pancake style that’s a hair over one-half inch thick. You can use any K-mount lens ever made. And they’re affordable. A versatile 18-250mm Pentax zoom can be had for around $399, and the 55-300mm f4-5.6 is about $100 less.

So what happened to Minolta, anyway? Simple. Vectis wrecked us.

Ask any former Minolta Corporation employee what “Vectis wrecked us” means and you’ll get a knowing nod of the head. Vectis was the sub-brand name of Minolta’s very complete line of Advanced Photo System (APS) cameras. You remember those, right? Big promises, funny names and expensive film.

To protect the innocent and ignore the guilty, I won’t name names or specify numbers. But the truth is APS was Minolta’s idea. Minolta Japan’s uppermost management and R&D directors convinced Fujifilm, Kodak, Canon and Nikon that “good old sharp and reliable 35mm film” cameras needed a boost to assure long term survival. How right they were! How wrong they were! The camera industry needed a boost all right, but the boost it needed wasn’t a new format that billed itself as being “a bridge to digital.”

Vectis dealt a second blow to Minolta that most people have forgotten about. Minolta sold one of the first digital SLR cameras, the RD-175. Built on a unique three-ccd design, it was truly a market leader in the mid-1990s. Although it was a marvel of engineering it was only 1.75-megapixel and needed updating. Many of us believed that we should stay with the Minolta Maxxum AF lens platform. If nothing else, we would have been demonstrating our long-term commitment to the Maxxum/Dynax/Alpha line—or so we argued. But Minolta Osaka decided that the 1.5X magnification factor that came into play when an APS-C size sensor was used with lenses designed for 35mm film cameras would never be accepted by photographers.

Arguing with Minolta Osaka—in those days—was like standing on the platform of a train station, yelling at people to get back on the train and sit down. In Latin. Got that image in your head?

Because the truth is this: Minolta had so many APS lenses (and parts to build APS lenses) that they HAD to produce a digital SLR camera that accepted them. Enter the RD-3000, a chunky DSLR that was doomed from birth.

Subsequent Minolta digital cameras, including the Dimage 7 and Dimage X, defined new categories that are still with us today. And the argument can be made that Minolta’s experience in APS contributed to their success in digital. But for many of us who lived through Minolta’s final ten years, Vectis wrecked us.

When the opportunity to blog first came along, I politely said “no.” None for me, thank you. Don’t misunderstand—I’m not one of those writers who believes that a blog is something clumsily written by an amateur with whom they must suddenly compete for a free lunch in the press room at CES. I understand that blogging is a legitimate form of journalism.

It’s just that the whole notion of blogging perplexes me. Where did all of the bloggers come from? I had no idea that so many people like to write. How many kids in your high school English class LIKED writing “themes?” How many could SPELL “theme?” See what I mean? And today they’re all adults with blogs.

What’s the motivation? Egomania? Immortality? A compulsion to proliferate flawed grammar? It takes a big set of frontal lobes to believe that strangers are even vaguely interested in what you have to say. If that’s the enticement, does it play out? Most people who read and enjoy an article in their favorite publication can’t remember the name of the journalist who wrote it. So how could they possibly track down and follow that writer’s blog?

Perhaps the current blogging outbreak means that people actually do want to talk to one another. If I judge solely by what I see on the street—people listening privately to iPods, unwilling, even, to make eye contact with strangers—I’m forced to believe that humanity is far too inwardly focused to ever be interested in the words of a stranger. Maybe reading a blog is a safe, sanitary way to understand what another person is thinking without the risk of being put on the spot to reciprocate unless you really, really want to—and can do it under the cloak of anonymity. A blog offers a layer of insulation that allows the reader to be compassionate and detached at the same time.

But I must admit, the chance to get away with writing one-sentence paragraphs really appealed to me.

So, I talked myself into it. I’m blogging. Now, who has their finger on the bleep button? Am I posting this stuff myself? What if I innocently use a word my daughter brings home from second grade without realizing that it’s the latest synonym for poop? Does the spellcheck feature of MS Word catch stuff like that?

And now that I’m committed, where will all of the blog-worthy ideas come from? Mercifully, blogs are characteristically short, so I won’t be trying to crank out nine hundred words on Saturday morning before my kid wakes up. Blogs are for people who love to tell stories but can never think of a plot. No beginnings or endings, just a collection of middles.

Blogging is a big responsibility. I have an obligation to tell you the truth, to check my facts and to be as clear as possible at all times. That explains the name of this blog. If you’ve read many Owner’s Manuals you’ve surely seen the phrase: “This page intentionally left blank.” The publisher uses it to let you know that the empty page is not a mistake, or at least it’s not the printer’s fault. The company couldn’t come up with anything meaningful to say.

My hope is that you read something here that you do find meaningful and useful in one way or another, and that you write a comment to say so. And I hope that if you really like what you read—if it adds to your enjoyment of photography even one tiny bit—you’ll steer a likeminded friend to this blog so they can share.