Being a Professional Photographer. Kind Of.

I certainly take enough photographs to call myself a photographer. I even sell some photographs, which technically makes me a professional photographer. But that doesn't describe what I do very well.

I'm not a wedding or event photographer, because I don't have the desire, the open weekends, the battle-training or nearly enough equipment.

I'm not a studio or model photographer, because I don't have my own space, or nearly enough equipment.

I'm not a travel photographer, because I don't get sent on trips to take photos, and I certainly couldn't make enough money to pay for my next trip by selling pics of my previous trip. I might not have nearly enough equipment.
I don't do wildlife or extreme-nature photography. Those guys are absolute rock stars, camping on snowy ledges overnight to capture rarely-seen animals or sunrises over volcanos. Also, I don't have nearly enough equipment.

I suppose what I am is a glorified amateur photographer with a little bit of equipment, an above-average travel schedule, and a lot of tenacity when it comes to finding a way to make a living doing something I enjoy.

I'm far from being rich, well-known, or even financially comfortable, but I intend to try like hell, because there's enough I love about this profession that makes me want to actually succeed and become a true professional.

So, while I continue to claw and scratch at the other part of my job – my REAL job of graphic design, I keep on taking photos, using some advantages that few other "semi-professional" photographers have.

My strengths:

• I get to travel quite often, thanks to certain older relatives who have retired and moved South, and thanks to my awesome spouse, who gets invited to conferences all over the globe.

• I see things that other photographers do not see. I'm not exactly sure why this is, but I suspect it has to do with my later-in-life arrival to the photographic world, my advertising and retail experience, and my 20-year career as a graphic designer. I've got to capture what others have missed, because (as I have made clear above) I have neither the time, equipment, nor financial resources to get a better picture of the Eiffel Tower at sunset than everyone else. But I might – just might– get one unique and wonderful picture.

• I will crawl up a hill or lay down in the sand if I suspect I can capture a cool angle.

• I have a deep focus for post-processing my images. To an outsider, I might appear to be a crazy person who stays up too late, re-cropping and re-exposing photos to get them just right, using every tool available in Adobe Lightroom, while listening to Pink Floyd and drooling a little.

• I've got just enough self-loathing to admire my own work very briefly, before calling myself a hack and vowing to get better at what I do. I talk to other photographers, read articles, watch how-to videos, and experiment with technique. Not as much as I should, but a whole lot. But also, not enough.

If you're interested enough to buy one of my photos, either via my calendar, my website, or at a craft fair, I thank you most sincerely.

But I also promise to keep my fire stoked and show you better pictures the next time.

Photo Safari to Hancock, NH

I recently made a same-day decision to drive out to Hancock, NH, in order to capture some New England winter quaintness. If I want to keep creating my Hidden New Hampshire calendar year after year, I can't fill it with only summer and foliage shots. Not only because it would get boring, but the 2016 calendar will go to print before the leaves turn.

The town itself is about 40 minutes away, so I packed my camera, tripod and snow pants and headed out on an afternoon that – somehow – wasn't windy, snowing, or insanely cold. It's been a rough month!

I'm trying not to beat myself up about the photographic results.

It was chillier than I'd hoped. Also, after a few minutes of wading through knee-high snow with equipment, my hardiness meter fell. I had hoped to last long enough to capture the glow of the setting sun on the town, but an enormous cloud bank put an end to those plans, and I just did a little exploring instead before heading out. The sun mocked me by coming out for a few more golden minutes when I was halfway home.

“Failing to prepare is preparing to fail.”

- John Wooden

Great quote. And I was guilty as charged. I didn't do more than glance at the weather forecast. I didn't have many backup targets in mind, after the meetinghouse. I should have had other locations scouted out beforehand. Even for a tiny place like Hancock, there are articles to read, images to google, online maps to virtually wander, and histories to consider. There's… well, it's work. And like everything else worth doing well, it can be tedious.

Still, goal number one was to capture the town meetinghouse in afternoon light, and I got some very good shots. In fact, I realized later, upon examining my images, that I had been very efficient with my camera settings, tripod handling, and decision-making, which tells me that I've clambered to an ever-so-slightly higher plateau of competency.

If we ever get a break from this weather, I'll be ready (darn ready!) to head to my next photo safari.

Birth of a Logo, Part 3 (conclusion)

You can read about how a designer whittles massive amounts of information and input down to a few visual ideas in part one of this series. Part two deals with solidifying a few logo ideas for the client, and, when the feedback comes, the designer's crushing realization that he's not a genius after all.

After I was challenged to improve upon the first ideas I presented to the client, I needed to reassess where I was. This part of the process is not as simple as taking all of the client's criticism and implementing their ideas, because the client hasn't seen the million things I've tried and rejected along the way. Sometimes their "solution" goes right to a place I've already been. Once I hear what's not working, my brain starts racing with new directions and possibilities, and I have to tune out any well-meaning suggestions that may lead me around in a circle or back the way I came.

Also, design by committee rarely works well.

As I wrote in part two, the kernel of my idea got to stay - the profile of New Hampshire as a lighthouse. Everything else about this logo had to justify its existence.

"Dynamic. Modern. Community."
Those were the feelings missing from my first attempt. And that was all the fuel I needed to set off in a new direction.

Dynamic: does a library coalition need to convey physical movement? No, but my sturdy old lighthouse (an excellent metaphor for knowledge and enlightenment) also had to suggest flexibility, relevancy, and currency. Maybe I should add more well-placed lines to my lighthouse…

Modern: Fair enough. My first color palette of blue and white was pretty dull. What else might be too standard about what I presented? Maybe there were shapes that could take the viewer's eye on a more interesting (and less linear) journey…
Community: Was my design too sterile and unfriendly to suggest a neighborhood place where you'd enjoy going?

I added a more modern color to complement the "New Hampshire Blue" already in place. Then, I tried to create a new set of lines that would be more exciting to look at. Maybe I could add something for local flavor, too…

Okay, we have a second, more modern color to use with "New Hampshire Blue". We have a happy seagull! We have more interesting lines. But it felt like too much was going on. Is the seagull distracting? Is the lighthouse idea lost?

Here's a different approach, arrived at after another million scribbles. Can you see beams of light, books, and the letter "S," all at the same time? This is a triumph, but my old idea had vanished entirely. The colors still look nice together, but maybe that teal should be a hair brighter. And, instead of "books in space," I needed to marry the old idea to the new one.

What if one set of lines was the lighthouse beam, and the other became waves? After more wrangling and heartache, I finally created this:

Eureka! I see New Hampshire, a lighthouse, waves, book pages, an "S," a light beam and the ocean at the same time. It's not too busy or too staid. And, with a tiny bit more back-and-forth with the client, we added an open book masquerading as a door, adding an element of community friendliness.

I was proud to present this final idea to my client, who was nice enough to call it "flippin' awesome."

I'm happy to show off this piece as the result of hours of hard work, but also a lot of constructive communication. I give the client a lot of credit for knowing what they wanted, and for letting me figure out how to achieve it using my own vision and skill set.

Also, support your local library!

Birth of a Logo, Part 2 of 3

In part one, I described the complex and chaotic way that logo design is started, and the crushing weight of everything that goes into the process.

But amidst a jumble of half-cooked ideas, brilliant nuggets and outright failures, the designer eventually pulls things together. Shapes coalesce, colors sort themselves out, and visual balance starts to round out. Things start to get exciting. The chase is on.

Gross missteps and embarrassments still happen in this part of the process, but as solid ideas are honed in on, each miss is leading the designer closer to a hit, or – with hope – a home run.

The unappealing work I did at the start of the process for Seacoast Area Libraries (a bespectacled seal reading a book?) eventually morphed into something new, when I realized my manipulations of the New Hampshire state outline began to look like a lighthouse – a perfect symbol for the New England Seacoast.
Here, after much wrangling, are the results of combining those two ideas.

This one is "lighthouse-y" enough, but the outline of New Hampshire is too stylized and  almost impossible to pick out.

Here, the seacoast area profile is more understood, while the lighthouse image is still obvious. I put the seacoast area of New Hampshire next to a blue field representing the ocean, a helpful visual cue.

I was getting close.

After these initial ideas were sent to the client, the feedback was very positive. But one person remained unconvinced. She wrote: 

I feel like it is missing something... I would like the seacoast libraries to come across as dynamic & up-to-date, and I'm not sure that this logo does that. I am definitely not a graphic designer so I am very unqualified to suggest what might work better -- but maybe even something as simple as color or font?
Here are a few things that seem to be missing (as concepts):Movement, Color, Modern-ness, Font with more character - more life, Some nod to the importance of people (librarians! patrons!) & community

Ouch.
The pointedness of her comments proved she was indeed qualified.
As painful as it was to face rejection, I know I needed it in order to create my best work. I have learned over the years not only to accept constructive criticism, but to embrace it. And further, to find a substitute for it when no one is complaining. A friend, a message board or a group of peers become vital to the designer's progress. And if I can't find those things when convenient, I just criticize myself, as honestly as I can.

And in my heart of hearts, I knew she was right. I could do better. This criticism didn't discourage me; it motivated me. Show me a successful designer and I'll show you someone with thick skin and a resilient imagination.

So, I went back to the drawing board. The kernel of inspiration (the NH profile/Lighthouse idea) stayed, and everything else about this logo was fighting for its job.

In part three, I will kick things up a notch and produce a final logo for my client.