Touring the Wild, Wild West: Part One

Badlands National Park

 From Home to the Badlands

On September 4th, 2018 we hitched the valiant Chevy pickup to our Starcraft travel trailer (all the necessary amenities and big enough for two if they like each other) and headed west. Driving more than 7,000 miles in 30 days, we indeed saw many sights: the Badlands, Yellowstone, the Grand Tetons, Arches National Park, the Grand Canyon and much, much more. And of course, took many pictures.

Driving hard, we covered 512 miles the first day and 506 the second, dry-camping each night in Wal-Mart parking lots, a practice RVers call "boondocking," although I'm not sure why. A Wall-Mart or Cracker Barrel parking lot is hardly the boondocks. 

The third day was easier -- we drove 398 miles and arrived at Badlands National Park in late afternoon. Five hundred miles a day may not seem all that much for car travel, but pulling a trailer is a different story. I tried to keep our speed just under 65 miles per hour.

The valiant Chevy and our Starcraft travel trailer at Badlands National Park.

 

Located in southwestern South Dakota, the 244,000-acre Badlands were first established as a National Monument in 1939 and then as a National Park in 1978. Geologists say the distinctive rock formations are the product of many centuries of deposition and erosion. The park is also rich in fossils of many prehistoric species.

 

After cruising around the park for a while, we went down to the town of Interior (no kidding!), population 94, and checked in at the Badlands Campground for the night.

Viewing the Badlands from the Badlands Campground in the town of Interior.

 

The next morning we drove through the park some more. The Badlands are home to many species of wildlife, however all we saw were prairie dogs, which we had fun photographing from our truck before headng west to Custer, South Dakota, Custer State Park, and Mt. Rushmore.

A curious prairie dog.

About the pictures: The photographs I made on this trip are mostly of scenes that have been photographed by countless other people, so don't expect anything new and earthshaking. I present them simply for my own enjoyment, and, I hope, for yours as well.

Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts?

(Photographs copyright David B. Jenkins 2020)

Soli Gloria Deo

To the glory of God alone

Adventures in HDR

Our home for the last 26 years.

The realtor asked for a photograph of the front of our house. Easy, right?

Well, yes and no.

Easy to step out with my camera and snap a photo. But to make a picture that shows the house to best advantage is another matter. Our house faces west, so the photograph has to be made in the afternoon to get good light on the front. But there are woods in front, partially shading the building. To complicate matters further this was in the fall, so there was only a narrow window of opportunity for good light.

Even then, if I exposed for the deep blue sky above and behind the house the front would be unacceptably dark. Or I could expose for the building, in which case the sky would be an ugly, bald white. What to do, what to do, what to do? 

I've never been a fan of a technique called HDR (High Dynamic Range) because to me the results often look somewhat artificial. The process involves making a series of photos in a range of exposures from light to dark, then using a special software to combine the various exposures into one that's just right, with both light and dark areas of the photograph rendered in their proper values.

My main problem with the technique is that many people who use it lighten dark areas of their photos to what I consider an unrealistic degree. That's why I think HDR pictures often look phony. But I had a problem and HDR appeared to be the best answer. So I downloaded a free software called easyHDR BASIC 2.

With my Fuji X-T20 camera on a heavy Bogen tripod (the tiny camera on the big tripod looking a bit ridiculous), I made a series of exposures, downloaded them into my computer, and went to work. I wound up combining just two exposures, one light and one dark. You can see the result at the top of this post. 

My office, by the way, where I'm writing this post, is in a loft behind the two top windows. 

Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts?

(Photograph copyright David B. Jenkins 2020)

 Soli Gloria Deo

To the glory of God alone

A Commercial Photographer's Life in the Fast Lane

 

 

One of my long-time commercial photography clients was a company that manufactured packaging for food. Carry-out boxes for fast food, pizza boxes, boxes for cakes and other bakery items --if it was food and could be put in a box, they made a box for it.

Officially, the client was the company. As a practical matter, the client was a short, slightly tubby man who was the company's in-house art director/graphic designer. Whenever he designed a new line of packaging he would bring it to me to be photographed for the company's advertising catalogs and flyers.

Sounds simple, right?

But no, not simple. He apparently had a mental image of how each product photograph should look (which is good, at least up to a point), and while I set my lights in position and stood by my camera ready to shoot, he would fuss and sweat over each tiny detail, sometimes for hours. And not just in the studio. For the photo at the top of this post we went to a fabric store and carefully chose the blue background material and other accessories.

For the photograph below we put a 4x8 sheet of heavy plywood on sawhorses and covered it with 4x4-inch white tiles. For the entire time I worked with this client I kept both white and deep green 4-inch tiles in my studio -- enough of each to cover that sheet of plywood.

 

When I first began working with him, I photographed everything on 4x5 sheet film in a Calumet/Cambo view camera. Later on, I used a roll-film adapter on the same camera. It gave 10 exposures, each 2-1/4 x 2-3/4 inches on a roll of #120 film. In the final, printed piece the quality difference between the 4x5 film and the smaller format was indistinguishable.

These were the days before digital photography, so frequently, after making some adjustment we would put a Polaroid adapter on the camera and make a Polaroid print that he could examine. Then more painstaking adjustments.

With all the Polaroids and continual tweaking of the setup, every session took much longer than it would have for another client, and I eventually had to start billing him for the extra time. But the man simply could not be hurried. It was frustrating, but we eventually arrived at the photograph he wanted.

For myself, I was glad to have the business. And we actually turned out some decent-looking work.

One of  the things that makes commercial photography so enjoyable to me is that it is an endless sequence of problem solving, but with manageable problems. If I fail to solve them the world will not end. (But the consequences for my business may not be good.)

Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts?

(Photographs copyright David B. Jenkins 2020)

Soli Gloria Deo

To the glory of God alone

Studio Work

The above photographs were made for a

company that specializes in products for making molds.

 

Someone has said that the two happiest days in a photographer's life are the day he opens his first studio and the day he closes his last one. I don't necessarily subscribe to that, because I sometimes miss my studio, even though I closed it 20 years ago.

I started my business on January 1, 1978, working from my home -- which I continued to do for six years. In 1984, I decided that having a studio would help me expand my business, and found a nice space in an industrial section of Chattanooga. The studio had been used by another photographer at some time in the past and already had a nice darkroom with a large sink plumbed in. It also had a good-sized shooting area and a separate office.

I was there for three years, until a major project fell through and I could no longer afford it. I moved three times in the next six years; finally, 1n 1993, winding up in my ideal studio in a commercial building on a downtown street. It was great -- a large shooting room with a very high ceiling, a roomy darkroom, and an office and reception area. I was there for seven years.

Image for a printing company.

 

Gradually, however, two things happened: beginning around 1997, the commercial photography business in my small market began to decline, and the nature of my business changed so that I was doing more work on location than in the studio. By 2000, the income from studio work just about equaled the amount it cost to operate the studio. The rest of my income came from work outside the studio. A no-brainer. I closed the studio on June 30, 2000. But as I said, I still sometimes miss it. 

I can set up an impromptu studio in my basement, and that works okay. But I miss having a place where everything is right at hand -- light stands and lights already set up, backgrounds ready to move into place, and a fully equipped darkroom ready to process color or black & white film -- that part, at least, unnecessary in these digital days. 

Working from home has its advantages, to be sure. I no longer have to pay rent and utilities for a studio which is used less and less often. Also, instead of making a 50-mile round trip to Chattanooga every day, I only go when I have business there. And the internet now makes it far easier (and cheaper) to keep in touch with clients and prospective clients. 

But I did some nice work in my studio (I modestly say!). I hope you'll enjoy the samples I've included. I'll write more about this in the future and show some more of the things I did. 

Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts? 

(Photographs copyright David B. Jenkins 2020)

Soli Gloria Deo

To the glory of God alone

 

55 Years and Counting

Cutting our wedding cake. August 21, 1965.

 

Fifty-five years ago today, a beautiful and amazing young woman put her hand in mine and said "I do." Why would she do that? As she told me years later, "I knew life with you would be an adventure." And so it has been. 

But seriously, how many twenty-year-olds would be willing to tie their lives to a widower eight years her senior with a four-year-old son? As that son wrote 48 years later in a moving Mother's Day tribute, "She was only 20 when she married my father, and while it didn't mean much to me at the time, I've since marveled at that. A beautiful 20-year-old woman, surely not lacking in prospects, taking on a moderately bratty (so I've been told) four-year-old of her own free will and choice? Who does that?

"My mom, that's who."

Louise with Rob and Don at Vizcaya (Miami) 1970.

 

And that's who she is. Our life together has been an adventure. Not easy, no. But far from boring. We are two stubborn opposites who usually resolve things by butting heads. But we do resolve things, and we do keep on loving each other. (Which may be definite proof that there is a God.)

Louise at a restaurant near the Coliseum. Rome, 2005.

 

Since 1990, we seem to average one major trip about every five years. In 1990 we went to Europe twice; first Eastern, then Western. In 1996 we went to Hawaii. In 2000, Louise went to Ireland with her sisters. That was a Devlin girls trip, so I didn't go. But in 2005 we went to Italy, Switzerland, and Lichtenstein; in 2010 to Israel and Jordan; and in 2015 our 50th anniversary trip to Alaska and Canada. Louise has also been to Belize, Romania, and El Salvador on medical missions and my photographic assignments have taken me to many places. So life has indeed been an adventure. 

Louise with a baby donkey.

 

And not just travel. More than 30 years ago we forsook suburban life and moved to a remote 30 acres in the north Georgia mountains, where we lived in a trailer for six years, built a house, and raised a small herd of beef cattle. 

Louise on our new tractor, 2005.

 

And now it's our 55th anniversary. Who could have imagined such a thing? 

Louise at 75

 

The cattle are gone now; the house and property are soon to go on the market. But we're still here, still together, and still looking forward to whatever God has for us in the future.

Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts?

(Photographs copyright David B. Jenkins 2020)

Soli Gloria Deo

To the glory of God alone

 

A Day of Mixed Emotions

Andrews Lane in Northwest Georgia's McLemore Cove.

Lookout Mountain in the background. The house in the

distance is the Andrews-Guthrie House, built in the 1890s.

(Olympus OM-D E-M5, Panasonic 14-140mm II f3.5-5.6 lens)

 

Yesterday was a day of greatly mixed emotions. We signed a contract with a realtor to put our house and property on the market. It gave me a weird feeling of finality.

In the early1980s we began thinking about a place in the country. In 1985, we found and purchased 30 acres in North Georgia's Mc:Lemore Cove, an enclosed valley between Lookout (home of Rock City, remember?) and Pigeon Mountains. In 1987, we put our home in a subdivision near Chattanooga on the market. We soon had a buyer and moved to a 12x40 foot mobile home on our property in the Cove -- temporarily, we thought.

But the sale of our home fell through. And since that represented the money we needed to build, we were stuck in our 500 square foot "tiny home." And as usual, we were too far ahead of the times to receive the recognition due us as trend-setters. But don't feel sorry for us -- my wife and I agree that those were the best years of our life together.

Our old house finally sold in 1993 and we were able to begin building. We moved into our new home in February, 1994. It has been a great place to live, but now has become a little more than we want to maintain. So on the block it goes.

What's in the future? Well, nobody knows the future but we've priced the property high enough that it may not sell. If it doesn't, we'll continue to live here and find ways to deal with the maintenance. If it does sell, maybe a bigger truck and fifth-wheel trailer or a motor home and some extensive travel. My wife and I are both up for whatever adventures life brings.

But you don't close a 35-year chapter of your life without some pangs.

 

Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts? 

(Photograph copyright David B. Jenkins 2020)

Soli Gloria Deo

To the glory of God alone

 

Time To Hang Up the Keys

Lewis Bruton was getting along in years. One day, he pulled his 1950-era GMC pickup out of his driveway west of Lawrenceburg, Tennessee, and into the path on an oncoming vehicle on U.S. Highway 64. After the crash, he backed the truck to the front of his barn, put the keys in his pocket, and never drove again.

You can see the barn behind the truck. Here's another view.

 

Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts?

(Photographs copyright David B. Jenkins 2020)

Soli Gloria Deo

To the glory of God alone

The Postmistress of Halfway

The Halfway Trading Post, Halfway, Kentucky

 

 

 

U.S. Highway 231 runs 912 miles from St. John, Indiana, just south of Chicago, to Panama City, Florida, crossing the Ohio River from Rockport, Indiana to Owensboro, Kentucky on a mile-long, cable-stayed bridge. It does not go through Chattanooga, but intersects at many points with highways that do -- making it a logical route for the Rock City barn painters to decorate with their signs.

Not many of those barns are left these days, but there were still a few when I was working on my book Rock City Barns: A Passing Era. I found one just north of Spencer, Indiana on a memorable day in 1995 when my Dad rode with me as I looked for barns in south central Indiana, and others were found in Tennessee and Alabama. I only found one in Kentucky, at a little wide spot in the road called Halfway, because it's halfway (roughly) between Bowling Green and Scottsville. I think it may be a four-lane now, but when I was last there it was still a two-lane highway.

Martha Shaddix

Martha Shaddix always wanted to own a Rock City barn.

As a young girl growing up in Florida, she rode up through the South in the back seat of her parents' car to visit relatives in Georgia and North Carolina.  Watching the road, watching the barns go by, dreaming of a barn of her own.  With a See Rock City sign, by golly.

Her dream came true in 1978 when she bought the old store at Halfway, Kentucky, complete with a See Rock City sign.  Opened in 1923, the Halfway Trading Post was, at the time I was making photographs for the book, one of only two country stores still in operation bearing the Rock City message.  The other is in west Tennessee and has not been maintained by Rock City for many years.

Life is kinda slow in Halfway, except on U.S. Highway 231, where traffic is kinda zippy.  Martha opens up her store every morning, six days a week, and since she's the Postmistress too, she goes out and raises the flag first thing.

After the Rock City Barns book was published Martha sold it in her store for many years. Whenever I passed by that way (not far off the route to my parents' home in Indiana) I would take her a fresh supply.

(Canon EOS A2 Canon EF 24mm f2.8 lens, Fujichrome RDP 100 film) 

Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts? 

 (Photograph copyright David B. Jenkins 2020) 

Soli Gloria Deo

To the glory of God alone

Your LCD Is Not Your Friend

 

 

Rock City Barn on U.S. Highway 41A in Webster County, Kentucky.

Trying different filters, I used a #85 (light orange) filter to give

the  feeling of early morning light for the picture at top,

The second photograph was taken without a filter.

 

Your LCD -- you know -- the little screen on the back of your digital camera that you check to see if you got the shot? It's handy, and you may think it's great, but if you want to be a better photographer, it is not your friend.

Do you find yourself checking the screen after every shot to see if you "got it?" What if something better occurred while you were looking at that screen? You don't know, do you, unless you're photographing something totally stationary. Even then, there could be changes in the light or someone could move into or out of the picture, changing its significance -- you wouldn't know, would you.

This business of checking the LCD frequently is commonly called "chimping," because of its resemblance to chimpanzees looking at a picture.

For most people this is a non-issue. "I got it, it looks good enough. Let's move on." And for most people, good enough is good enough. But if you're serious about becoming a better photographer, good enough is never good enough.

Digital photography is marvelous in many ways. It makes the process of making pictures much easier and more convenient. And cheaper, too, because once you've paid for your camera and lens(es), the pictures are essentially free. And for beginning photographers, the LCD is actually a good learning tool because it gives you instant feedback. But after you've mastered the basics, it's time to ignore the LCD except in certain cases. Some cameras even allow you to turn the LCD around, so it's hidden from view.

In an interesting paradox, digital makes photography easier for beginners, but beyond a certain point can actually hinder the growth of experienced ones, while film makes things much more difficult for beginners or occasional photographers while helping experienced ones become even better.

Why is this? It's because with film we were never absolutely sure we had the shot. So we kept working the situation, trying different angles, different lenses, different exposure combinations, maybe a different filter or two. The result was that very often we ended up with much better photographs than we had originally visualized. Better photographs that never would have existed if we had just snapped off a few exposures, checked the screen, and said, "Okay. Got it." and moved on.

Having said all that, one good use of the LCD is checking the histogram to see if your exposure is correct. Your camera manual will explain this if you don't know how to do it. But never assume that just because a picture looks properly exposed on the screen that it is properly exposed.

As an aside, let me say that exposures in the digital era are almost universally bland. In film days, exposure was one more tool to create mood in a photograph. With film, we often underexposed slightly for greater saturation, but I often see digital photographs rendered in very light tones, even so far as blowing out the highlights. All a matter of taste, I guess.

 Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts?

(Photographs copyright David B. Jenkins 2020)

Soli Gloria Deo

To the glory of God alone

The Tall Tobacco Barns

Once they numbered in the thousands. But the distinctively-shaped tall tobacco barns of the Georgia coastal plain are just about all gone now, done in by progress and changing cultural trends.

Usually built of logs or planks, the tall, thin, traditional barns were adapted to a method of tobacco drying called flue-curing, invented way back in 1838. Flue-cured tobacco is dried at low heat without being exposed to smoke, a process that yields a mild, lemon-yellow-colored leaf called “bright,” which is popular for cigarettes.

A decline in the popularity of smoking, with a consequent reduction in tobacco growing made many of the barns redundant, and the development of computer-controlled curing sheds of insulated metal and plastic made all of them obsolete. 

Left to themselves, the barns are falling down from disuse, neglect, and disrepair. Some have been damaged by hurricanes, and others have been leveled by fire. So whether you smoke or not, if you're in south or southeast Georgia, drive around and see a few of the old tobacco barns. They're a beautiful part of Georgia's historical landscape, and they won't be here forever.

Best of all, you don’t have to inhale to enjoy them.

The above is an excerpt from my limited edition book Georgia: A Backroads Portrait. Signed copies are available for $195. Email djphoto@vol.com.

Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts?

(Photographs copyright David B. Jenkins 2020)

Soli Gloria Deo 

To the glory of God alone

 

 

 

The Definitive Portrait

Portrait of a leader

There are different kinds of portraits. The casual portrait, the kind people snap of friends and loved ones with their cameras or cell phones; the studio portrait, intended to show the subject at his or her best, perhaps with a bit of flattery; and the business portrait, designed to show the subject as friendly, accessible, and capable, the kind of person from whom you might want to buy insurance or a house.

There's also the corporate portrait, portraying strength and leadership; and the editorial portrait, giving insight into who the person is and what he or she does.

My favorite kind of portrait is what I term the definitive portrait. It's closely related to the editorial portrait, but goes deeper, showing not only what the person looks like, but also revealing something about his or her character.

The absolute master of the definitive portrait was the great Canadian photographer Karsh, whose books are a catalog of world leaders of his day in various fields. If you are of a certain age and the name of Hemingway or Churchill is mentioned, the picture that comes into your mind would almost certainly be a Karsh portrait.

I've done a number of portraits in my career that I believe are definitive, but the one I consider most successful is of a man who was the founder of a university and pastor for many years of a church that at one time was one of the largest in the world.

When I was asked to make his portrait, he was 78 years old and still active in the work to which he had given his life, although no longer involved in day-to-day affairs. My goal was to make a portrait which would reveal something of his character and be definitive of the later years of his life. In other words, I wanted to make the portrait by which he would be remembered.

I approached the assignment with a small degree of trepidation, because I knew I would only get one chance. He was not known as a man of great patience, nor did he suffer fools gladly. I set everything up in advance of the session in a large room near his office so that he would only need to walk in and take his seat. I chose floodlights rather than strobes, because I felt he would be more comfortable with steady light than constant flashes.

Two lights were placed behind his position at 45 degrees to each side. The third was in front, at a slight angle to my right. My camera, a Hasselblad 500CM with a 150mm f4 Sonnar lens, was loaded with Fujichrome RDP 100 transparency film, and two additional backs were also loaded and ready.

I greeted the subject as he entered the room, helped him take his seat on the posing bench, gave him a few words of instruction, and began to work. Neither of us spoke much. After exposing two rolls of film, I felt I had what I wanted. I thanked him, he left, and I began to pack up my equipment. Portrait encounters, for me at least, are often like that. Intense, but brief.

Did I capture something of his character? What do you think?

Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts?

(Photograph copyright David B. Jenkins 2020)

Soli Gloria Deo

To the glory of God alone