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The Power of Photography

Photographers use their cameras as tools of exploration, passports to inner sanctums, instruments for change. Their images are proof that photography matters—now more than ever.

Thirty-four years before the birth of this magazine, the Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard sourly prophesied a banal fate for the newly popularized art of photography. “With the daguerreotype,” he observed, “everyone will be able to have their portrait taken—formerly it was only the prominent—and at the same time everything is being done to make us all look exactly the same, so we shall only need one portrait.”
The National Geographic Society did not set out to test Kierkegaard’s thesis, at least not right away. Its mission was exploration, and the gray pages of its official journal did not exactly constitute a visual orgy. Years would go by before National Geographic’s explorers would begin using the camera as a tool to bring back what is now its chief source of fame: photographic stories that can alter perceptions and, at their best, change lives.
By wresting a precious particle of the world from time and space and holding it absolutely still, a great photograph can explode the totality of our world, such that we never see it quite the same again. After all, as Kierkegaard also wrote, “the truth is a snare: you cannot have it, without being caught.”
Today photography has become a global cacophony of freeze-frames. Millions of pictures are uploaded every minute. Correspondingly, everyone is a subject, and knows it—any day now we will be adding the unguarded moment to the endangered species list. It’s on this hyper-egalitarian, quasi-Orwellian, all-too-camera-ready “terra infirma” that National Geographic’s photographers continue to stand out. Why they do so is only partly explained by the innately personal choices (which lens for which lighting for which moment) that help define a photographer’s style. Instead, the very best of their images remind us that a photograph has the power to do infinitely more than document. It can transport us to unseen worlds.
When I tell people that I work for this magazine, I see their eyes grow wide, and I know what will happen when I add, as I must: “Sorry, I’m just one of the writers.” A National Geographic photographer is the personification of worldliness, the witness to all earthly beauty, the occupant of everybody’s dream job. I’ve seen The Bridges of Madison County—I get it, I’m not bitter. But I have also frequently been thrown into the company of a National Geographic photographer at work, and what I have seen is everything to admire and nothing whatsoever to envy. If what propels them is ferocious determination to tell a story through transcendent images, what encumbers their quest is a daily litany of obstruction (excess baggage fees, inhospitable weather, a Greek chorus of “no”), interrupted now and then by disaster (broken bones, malaria, imprisonment). Away from home for many months at a time—missing birthdays, holidays, school plays—they can find themselves serving as unwelcome ambassadors in countries hostile to the West. Or sitting in a tree for a week. Or eating bugs for dinner. I might add that Einstein, who snarkily referred to photographers as lichtaffen, meaning “monkeys drawn to light,” did not live by 3 a.m. wake-up calls. Let’s not confuse nobility with glamour. What transfixes me, almost as much as their images, is my colleagues’ cheerful capacity for misery.
Apparently they wouldn’t have it any other way. The lodestone of the camera tugged at each of them from their disparate origins (a small town in Indiana or Azerbaijan, a polio isolation ward, the South African military), and over time their work would reflect differentiated passions: human conflict and vanishing cultures, big cats and tiny insects, the desert and the sea. What do the National Geographic photographers share? A hunger for the unknown, the courage to be ignorant, and the wisdom to recognize that, as one says, “the photograph is never taken—it is always given.”
In the field I’ve seen some of my lens-toting compatriots sit for days, even weeks, with their subjects, just listening to them, learning what it is they have to teach the world, before at last lifting the camera to the eye. Our photographers have spent literally years immersed in the sequestered worlds of Sami reindeer herders, Japanese geisha, and New Guinea birds of paradise. The fruit of that commitment can be seen in their photographs. What’s not visible is their sense of responsibility toward those who dared to trust the stranger by opening the door to their quiet world. It’s a far riskier and time-consuming proposition to forgo the manipulated shot and instead view photography as a collaborative venture between two souls on either side of the lens.
Conscience is the other trait that binds these photographers. To experience the beauty of harp seals swimming in the Gulf of St. Lawrence is also to see the frailty of their habitat: scores of seal pups drowning due to the collapse of ice floes, a direct consequence of climate change. To witness the calamity of war in the gold-mining region of the Democratic Republic of the Congo is also to envision a glimmer of hope: Show the gold merchants in Switzerland what their profiteering has wrought, and maybe they’ll cease their purchases.
In the past 125 years, it turns out, Kierkegaard has been proved both wrong and right about photography. The images in National Geographic have revealed a world not of sameness but of wondrous diversity. But they have also, increasingly, documented societies and species and landscapes threatened by our urge for homogenization. The magazine’s latter-day explorers are often tasked with photographing places and creatures that a generation later may live only in these pages. How do you walk away from that? If my colleagues suffer a shared addiction, it’s to using the formidable reach and influence of this iconic magazine to help save the planet. Does that sound vainglorious? Ask the Swiss gold merchants. They saw Marcus Bleasdale’s images at a Geneva exhibit, and their Congolese gold purchases halted almost overnight.
Of course, every professional photographer hopes for The Epic Shot, the once-in-a-lifetime collision of opportunity and skill that gains a photograph instant entry into the pantheon alongside Joe Rosenthal’s Iwo Jima, Bob Jackson’s encounter with Jack Ruby gunning down Lee Harvey Oswald, and the Apollo 8 astronauts’ color depictions of planet Earth in its beaming entirety. And yet, game-changing photographs are not what National Geographic photographers do. The most iconic photograph ever to grace these pages is not of anyone or anything historic. Rather, it’s of Sharbat Gula, an Afghan girl of maybe 12 when photographer Steve McCurry encountered her in 1984 at a refugee camp in Pakistan. What her intense, sea-green eyes told the world from the cover of National Geographic’s June 1985 issue a thousand diplomats and relief workers could not. The Afghan girl’s stare drilled into our collective subconscious and stopped a heedless Western world dead in its tracks. Here was the snare of truth. We knew her instantly, and we could no longer avoid caring.
McCurry shot his immortal portrait well before the proliferation of the Internet and the invention of the smartphone. In a world seemingly benumbed by a daily avalanche of images, could those eyes still cut through the clutter and tell us something urgent about ourselves and about the imperiled beauty of the world we inhabit? I think the question answers itself.

 

By Robert Draper

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Step-by-Step Guide to Stock Photography: Microstock vs. Macrostock

If you sell photos via an image website without a specific end-user in mind, you’re participating in stock photography. And while that concept is understood by most, there is some confusion regarding the difference between microstock and macrostock sites.

Microstock is the more popular of the two, but certainly the more controversial one as well. Many photographers don’t appreciate microstock sites because they sell images for just a few dollars, and only pay photographers cents on the dollar. In this regard, microstock sites such as iStockPhoto and Shutterstock are viewed by some as pricing professional photographers out of the market.

However, microstock sites are extremely popular amongst bloggers, business owners, web designers, and the like, because of the wealth of images available for such a low price. Users often purchase a subscription that allows them to download a specific number of images, most of which are royalty free - meaning the end-user can do whatever they want with the image once they purchase it.

The Bottom Line on Microstock Sites: Anyone can submit photos, and once a photo is accepted, your work is done. Any future downloads are easy income, and you can sell as many copies of the same photos as you want.

Macrostock sites like Getty Images are the more traditional of the two stock photography types. Macrostock is far more expensive - anywhere from $30/image upwards of $3,000/image or more, depending on how the images are licensed and sold. Macrostock agencies used to have a niche on the very best photos, but that has changed in recent years. Images that used to only be available by companies like Getty are now available to a degree on microstock sites.

Where macrostock agencies differ is that they offer exclusive rights to some of the images they sell, thus, the primary reason why some people prefer macrostock. Publishing houses, advertising agencies, and businesses that need custom photos are all prime customers for macrostock sites. These types of end-users need exclusivity - an advertising agency, for example, wouldn’t want to use images in a campaign that anyone else could use.

Benefit of Macrostock Sites: You can earn much more money per image, but because of the exclusivity of some of the images, you might only get one sale out of an image. There is much lower volume of sales on macrostock sites as well.

For you as a photographer, likely the greatest influence on which type of stock site you submit your work to will be how much money you make. On the one hand, you earn less per image on microstock sites, but because of the sheer number of people that purchase images from microstock sites you have an opportunity to make a decent amount of money over time. On the other hand, you make more money per image on a macrostock site, but you might not sell many images given the price and the fact that it’s more of a niche audience that uses macrostock sites these days.

Out of Focus—On Purpose

Contributing editor Jim Richardson is a photojournalist recognized for his explorations of small-town life. His photos appear frequently in National Geographic magazine.

Getting things out of focus takes work.

Of course I'm not talking about my usual out-of-focus pictures, the ones I delete immediately and never tell a soul about. No, I'm talking about the intentional things we photographers do to limit the depth of field in our pictures. Things we can do to make the backgrounds nice and soft, leaving just the subject in focus and standing out dramatically from its surroundings.

I still remember the time, some 50 years ago, when I first realized how cameras could be set to produce this effect, marveling at the sorts of images I saw W. Eugene Smith producing for Life magazine. Or the sorts of stark images David Douglas Duncan could evoke from the battlefields of Korea, just the eyes of a dead-tired GI in focus, searching for relief from weariness.

The standard formula for controlling depth of field is to control the f-stop of the lens. And that is true enough. A wide-open aperture results in a shallow range of focus, and a small aperture gives you lots of depth, with almost everything in focus.

Mostly that's true, as far as it goes, which really isn't very far. And there are several important caveats to these mantras, and some other really important criteria to consider if you really want to make the effect work.

Here are a few tips:

F-stop matters somewhat less than is generally taught. Yes, you can control the range of focus from any given subject distance, but just controlling the f-stop won't usually turn a crystal-sharp background into a dreamy-soft background.
Closeness to subject matters a lot. Put simply, if you really want to throw the background out of focus, get really close to your main subject. Even an extreme wide-angle lens like my Nikkor 14-24mm f/2.8 has a really shallow depth of field when the subject is six inches [15 centimeters] in front of the lens. Getting close to your subject has a huge influence on the background sharpness.
Relative subject distance matters a lot, too. Separating your subject from its background by a large relative factor is a powerful way to control depth of field. If the subject is two feet [0.6 meters] away and the background is 50 feet [15 meters] away, you get very shallow focus. On the other hand, I remember shooting football games in bright sunshine and trying to make the players stand out from the crowd behind them. If the players were on the other side of the field and the crowd was just a bit farther off it didn't matter what f-stop I used, even with a 300mm f/2.8 lens. But just a little change in angle put the crowd further away and the players popped out nicely.
Get lower to the ground. Huh? This sounds really stupid. But consider this: If you are standing up while taking a picture of a flower on the ground, then the background behind the flower is virtually the same distance away. But if you get down low the background is now much, much farther away and perfectly out of focus. This phenomenon was well known in the days of twin-lens reflex cameras, which were easy to set on the ground and view looking down into the viewfinder. Take a look at fashion photos from the '50s shot on a Rolleiflex to see the effect. Works like a dream.
Choose a background lacking in specular highlights. Lots of small bright highlights are always harder to get pleasingly out of focus than something large and featureless.

(And if the background is a perfectly plain sky it probably doesn't need to be out of focus at all.)
Get a bigger camera. If you have a point-and-shoot then get a digital SLR. If you have a small-chip DSLR, then get a full-frame DSLR. If you really want out of focus, get an 8x10 camera. The physics of lenses is such that the larger the actual film or sensor, the less depth of field you have. Point-and-shoots have extremely short focal-length lenses, resulting in just about everything being in focus no matter what you do. (If you are a depth-of-field junkie and want to argue this point, then read on to the next item, where you'll find even more to harrumph about.)
Get a longer lens. Physics again. The longer the lens, the less depth of field—in practice. Wide angles have more depth of field and telephotos have much less—in practice. (If you are a depth-of-field junkie I can already hear the howls of protest on this one. Yes, I know all the arguments and the way depth-of-field discussions turn into raging flame wars on the Internet. But for the general practice of photography as done by working photographers, this is true enough to prescribe.)
Buy a tilt-and-shift lens and use it wrong. The tilt part is what comes into play here. The effect of tilting the lens to produce more depth of field has been known almost since the beginning of photography. And generally that's what a tilt-and-shift lens is used for (beside keeping tall buildings from falling over). But there is nothing to keep the creative photographer from doing it "wrong"—tilting it the other way and decreasing the depth of field by a lot. It can look very cool. On the other hand, it seems everybody in the world now knows this trick, which means it will soon enough be passé.
Buy a Lensbaby. This is a tilt-and-shift lens (minus the shift part), combined with a lens element that makes the edges of the image pretty soft to begin with. Great fun to play with and it gives you just huge control over depth of field (as long as you want less).
Just reach for the "blur" brush in Photoshop. Most any software today gives you abundant options to blur a picture and then paint back detail where you want it. But realize that when you do this you are seriously getting into the world of "fiction" photography. It might be beautiful and dramatic, but be very careful that you don't represent the resulting photograph as being "nonfiction."

Article written by
Jim Richardson

my flower....