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My first SLR was a Canon AE-1, which I took on safari to Africa in 2005. I got it and a large collection of lenses secondhand from Goodwill in Lebanon PA. Among these were an outstanding off – brand 135 f/2.8 and the mandatory 50mm f/1.4.
When I upgraded to my 7D in 2009, I also bought a Bower lens adapter to use those old FD’s on the new 7D. As many others have noted, this brings mixed success. Sometimes the old lenses are as sharp as they were on my AE-1, other times they’re foggy and unusable.
I would never use them for a paid gig, because they are so unreliable. But about once a month, I break them out just for the fun of it, to challenge myself and remember what an aperture ring feels like.
Most of these images were shot with the 50mm f/1.4 FD. As I said, in the right conditions, it can produce incredible work. If I could count on it to perform this well more frequently, it would live in my camera bag. Unfortunately, it will have to live as a second – string lens, the one I turn to when I’m craving a little camera history.
Got a finicky lens you love to hate? Drop me a comment and let us know how you deal with it.
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“You have to risk everything from time to time. The death of creativity is getting stuck in your ways” – Hans Zimmer
I’ve been thinking a lot about perspective and perception. Particularly the way we view ourselves and the effect it has on our lives. The way we view ourselves not only changes the way we deal with other people; it has the power to totally reshape our lives and alter our paths.
As artists, we have an awesome power to out – think ourselves. It’s remarkable easy for us to do. In fact, I don’t think I know a single successful artist who doesn’t second – guess their work and their worth on an almost weekly basis.
I used to think it was luck that separated a successful artist from an unsuccessful one. Right place, right time and all that. But the truth is, as Harvey Dent so gracefully put it, “We make our own luck”. The difference is that a successful artist knows when to listen to that nagging self doubt, and when to tell it to shut up.
It’s not an easy thing. It takes practice. And that secret, cynical voice will never really go away, just recede and get smaller and less powerful. But that’s good enough.
I don’t believe that you can really start creating and growing as an artist until you have confidence in your work. Until you can let it stand on its own, and speak and breathe. That’s when you start to push boundaries and change worlds. But it all starts by saying, “My work is pretty awesome and people want to see it”. Because it’s probably true.
So try it. That side project you’re working on, that script you’ve been revising for the past two years, that painting you’ve been touching up all month – show them off. You might be amazed at the reaction.
I have a habit of processing photos and walking away for a few days, only to return and push the images further. This set really benefitted from it. They have a creepy, horrific look that came very organically. I like to believe that’s the location’s essence coming through. That it followed me home like a rogue spirit and possessed the images, making them reflect it’s own inner demons.
Shot on 7D and Canon 28mm f/1.8. Processed in Lightroom.
10
We opened principal photography on our new short Sight last Saturday, shooting VFX shots outside on the hottest day of the year. With our thermometer reading 102 degrees in the shade, we unpacked our gear in a dead end alley in South Philly. We drew up Sam Hall’s old green screen, stretched between two light stands and secured with clamps and rope.
Keeping one eye on the mouth of the alley, Sam Lodise strapped on a set of kneepads and took up a hunting rifle. He trained it on the camera in front of him, his eye steel – cold orbs.
As the day wore on, the camera became too hot to touch. We applied and reapplied wet towels and ice packs in hope of warding off the dreaded “overheat” warning. All the while, Sam Hall crouches in front of the camera, squinting down his viewfinder adapter and making minute adjustments to the placement of the rifle.
Sweat poured. After each take we passed around a spray bottle and took turns dowsing ourselves. Our spare bottles of water rapidly heated, baking on the pavement.
Finally, the final shot was printed and we wrapped. We retired to a living room full of Pacifico and South Philly hoagies. Another day in the life.
* All photos courtousy of Elizabeth. See more of her work on flickr.
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