More photoshop fun

Here's that "interesting old dilapidated farmhouse" I mentioned in my last post. The photo I'd taken of it seemed pretty good to me at first glance (apart from the vignetting in the upper right corner), even after having stared at it for a long time. But that was before I "met" Julianne Kost. I've been watching her DVD tutorials on Photoshop, and I had no idea how much better you could make an already pretty good photo. Today I learned how to fix lens distortion and change perspective. I wasn't even able to recognize lens distortion before I watched this video. After watching it, the distortion jumped right out at me in my original image. The photo was taken with a 24mm lens, which is a somewhat wide angle. The wider the angle, the more distortion (towards the "fish-eye" look of ultra-wide angle lenses) you will get. It's barely perceptible at 24mm unless you know what you're looking for. You might have to click the image to see an enlarged version to be able to see it. Notice how the rusty post to the right is sort of bowed as it bulges out towards you away from the center of the photo? That's lens distortion...well, one kind anyway.


Now look at the photo again after I did some touching up in Photoshop. The post is straight. The perspective on the house looks a bit more natural (not all of that tilt in it before was due to the fact that the house really is collapsing!). I also got rid of the "vignetting" (the darkening in the corners) which is another lens artifact. I probably had too many filters on my lens, and the wide angle lens will pick up a bit of the black rim of the filters in that case. Normally your camera will correct for the fact that the lens opening is round and the frame is rectangular, but in some situations it's not perfect.

I don't know what it is about falling apart buildings, but I really like to photograph them. See this other one I did.

Self-portrait à deux: chip off the old block

Here's a shadow self-portrait of me with my Dad. We had gone out for a walk together with our cameras, "up the road a piece" from my parents' house to Wild Acres, with my mother and sister along for the exercise. Of course when two photographers get together for a walk, the exercise is only incidental. You can't get your heart rate up very high when you're stopping every so often to photograph the interesting old dilapidated farmhouse, or the rough texture of a barbed wire fence post. It was one of those magical, early spring, New England days when shades of grey and brown seemed crisp and glowing. This photo doesn't really showcase the glorious light of that day (I plan to post others that do in the coming days); I include it only because it's an example of another type of self-portrait. And it captures for me the father-as-mentor relationship which nurtured my love of photography. I do not yet have the patience of my Dad in setting up a shot (I remember us kids whining to him when he was taking what seemed like forever to get the family portrait up at the cottage just right, which always paid off in excellent compositions). But I think I get some of my attention to detail from him.

Beauty in Decay

This is a photo of the old Farnham Mill in Cheshire, Massachu­setts, built circa 1885. A lot of New England towns were mill towns, and the skeletons of their former industry are sprinkled along rivers and country roads. Some have been refurbished and turned into cute little malls with touristy shops. Others have been left to decay and return to the dust from whence they came. This one belongs to someone who appears to be involved in the arts and non-profit organizations in the Berkshires, so maybe she has some plans for it up her sleeves. (It'a amazing what you can find out with a clever Google search!)

In spite of its poor condition, actually because of it, I find this shell of a building quite photogenic. I'm not the only one who does. I discovered that local Berkshire photographer Thom Smith has photographed it and calls it his favorite mill. I saw his photo of it in an exhibit he had at the Berkshire Medical Center when I was there in December. I credit him with the identification of the name of the mill. It's interesting how different photographers can take such very different photos of the same subject. Thom had the advantage of more saturated colors due to the season of the year, but I had the barren trees to reinforce the theme of deadness and decay. I'll leave you to decide which one you like best.

Palm Pilot Photography

My dad recently sent me this amazing photo he had taken on his 1.2 megapixel Palm Pilot. It's called Wild Acres Marsh. Click on the image to view it at full size. I have not compressed it at all, so that you can see the quality of it. Not bad, eh? I was pretty impressed that it came out so well given the cruddy resolution of Palm Pilots. All the credit goes, of course, to my dad (who was, incidentally, my earliest inspiration for photography). The composition is wonderful. I love the use of line, both the vertical lines of the dead trees in the marsh and the curving lines of the field leading the eye towards the living (though denuded for winter) tree. The colors are rich, and the mist swallowing up the receding background gives the whole thing a mystical quality. The latter is why it works at a lower resolution, I think.

This just goes to show you that you don't need ultra-high resolution on a camera or lots of fancy controls (any controls, for that matter, other than a shutter release) in order to do great work. The eye of the photographer is more important than the technical gadgetry. Photographers often bristle when someone praises our artwork by saying "Wow, that's a great photo. You must have a really awesome camera!" The best retort (thought of no doubt in a case of l'esprit de l'escalier) was "If a chef makes you a fine meal, do you say 'That was delicious. You sure must have some great pots and pans!'?"

As I told my dad, this photo reminds me of some of Paul Butzi's work in his Snoqualmie Valley gallery.