Life on the Road

We do not know much about the details of Atget’s life. Some of the more general facts survive. We know, for example, that he was born in Bordeaux in 1856. An orphan, Atget was brought up by an uncle. While still very young he went to sea as cabin boy. These experiences made a deep impression upon him and shaped his vision of the world – we know that in his later years he recalled to his friends many of the events from this period.
Atget’s path to a career as a photographer was rather circuitous. As a young man, after leaving the merchant marine, he pursued a career on the stage. He never rose to the stages of Paris as far as we know and his career was limited to the provinces and later the suburbs of Paris. Apparently, he was not physically suited for the parts offered to leading men and so he found himself usually playing the villain’s part. Eventually, he left the theater and decided to become a painter. Despite the fact that he continued to paint for some time, this too proved lacking. But his experience as a painter was enough to provide the foundation for his work as an art photographer.

For thirty years, Atget pursued one subject, Paris. He did so with equipment that we today would find primitive. He worked without benefit of light or color meters and his 18cm x 24cm view camera lacked all the features we now take for granted. The lens on his camera was likely quite simple and had a fixed focal length. The glass plates he used offered little consistency since the emulsion on the glass varied greatly. As one web author wrote –

“Because the emulsion used then were non-color-sensitive, he never used filters. For interior work, he used no artificial light of any sort but availed himself always of natural light. Any shutter used with the lens was at most a simple bulb shutter. Atget made a practice of closing down to a small aperture if conditions permitted. Only when he photographed people did he open up the diaphragm and focus critically on the center of interest, leaving the background out of focus. It is doubtful if his lens could have been faster than 1/11 at its widest opening. It would seem from the photographs themselves that most of them were taken during the summer months when the sun’s actinic rays are stronger. Also most of the human figures of these series are posed to the extent that Atget probably asked them ‘to hold still a moment.’”

Yet, his scenes from the life of Paris remain profoundly breathtaking and even though the Paris we know is now very different, his work is still moving and still speaks to us about the heart of the city.

Atget enjoyed little success during his life time.  Some prominent Parisians of the time - Luc-Olivier-Merson  and the playwright Victorien Sardou – did purchase his work but his success was otherwise minimal. Before the World War of 1914-1918, Atget was gradually winning recognition and financial support. The First World War brought an end to that and save for the purchase of some of his plates by the archives of the Palais Royale, his lived a simple, impoverished life. In 1927 his death passed with little notice.

The vast body of Atget’s work focuses not upon the extraordinary, but upon Paris itself. The day to day. That which others viewed to be mundane. Atget’s ability to see the world again for the first time, even in the most mundane of moments and events, discloses to those who see his work, the depth and beauty that is always hidden right before our eyes. We need only open our eyes to see the world again. It is this ability to see the extraordinary in the mundane, this ability to see past the everyday, which resonates to those of us at NyghtFalcon.

These days it seems to be the first question we are asked – “Who influenced you?” In the end, it isn’t as easy a question to answer as it might seem. The people who influenced us are both numerous and diverse. So are the traditions. For example, I didn’t realize until relatively recently how critical my training in philosophy has been to the development of the NyghtFalcon style. But that is for another time and another essay. And there is the influence of Rembrandt everywhere in our work. But we shall talk about him another time as well

My interest in photographing the world around me didn’t start in earnest until nearly eight years ago. A corporate executive, I spent much of my time in Europe and, given all the issues I was wrestling with during that period of my life, I frequently found myself on the streets well past midnyght with my first digital camera in my hand. As any one who knows anything about photography can tell you, nyght photography is never easy. I had no idea that that was true. I knew nothing about photography, nothing. It didn’t take long to begin to figure things out.

One nyght, I stood in front of the window of an antique shop. On the other side of the glass was a stunning vase. I raised my camera, took aim, and pressed the shutter. The flash sent blinding light off the glass and back into my face. The photo suffered the same fate. I paused, considered the situation, then turned the flash off. No light this time, but the camera twisted in my hand because the exposure was long. Once again, nothing. The third time I cradled the camera in the space between my index finger and thumb then anchored the elbow of my left arm against my waist. This time, I got what I wanted. And so the NyghtFalcon tradition began to be formed.

In the fall of 2002, I left the corporate world. For the first time in my life, I knew I couldn’t go back to that life. The pattern of doing photography at nyght continued in earnest. JD Milazzo, now a Senior Photographer and partner in the firm, became a constant companion. We never knew where we would go, how long we would be, save for the fact that when dawn came, we would call it a nyght and spend the day looking at what we had done. We drifted across the back roads of North Carolina and even went as far as Savannah and Charleston. We always took the road others never travel – and so we still do now – that’s how we found Silver Reef and Wells-Fargo.

Still wrestling with my past, I created my first fine art series that fall. It was called “Tea and Sympathy” after Janis Ian’s song by the same name. One day, for reasons that escape me, I sent it to a magazine called “Life Imitating Art.” I was shocked when I learned that the series would be published. At that point, I knew no matter what happened, I would never return to the life I had.

Not long after, I became a free lancer for a local paper. My first assignments were photographing people at bars on Saturday nyghts. As I have been known to say, everything I learned about photography I learned photographing drunks. I learned how to deal with difficult people, how to hold my ground, how to take a potentially difficult situation and turn it into a good photo, and how to get really good candid photos. The list goes on. Most of all, I learned how to adjust to the demands of the moment and how to get what the client wanted no matter what I had to do to get it. This is at the core of what we do today. Any where, any time, world class photography

Without a doubt, as you might now expect, we are most influenced by photojournalists. Among them we count Atget, Cartier-Bresson, Gordon Parks, Avedon, Eugene Smith, and Walker Evans. In the next article in this series we will look at how the early photojournalists have influenced our style.

Induro, the company that makes our tripods, has featured us on their blog. To view the story, click here - http://blog.indurogear.com/?p=482

How many men does it take to change a flat on a small Daihatsu SUV?

Theoretically, just one.

But theory and practice are often very different.

Fourteen hours after a long hot day started, we made our way in the Daihatsu SUV through the streets of Coxen Bay toward French Harbor. I did what I could to stretch out in the back seat – which wasn’t easy in such a small car. Eventually we found the restaurant, parked the car and went in.

It was late. Only one other table was occupied and as we ordered dinner we kept the conversation light. In short order I finished my second coke and waited for the third. In typical Latin fashion, dinner arrived in its own good time. It was quite good and it didn’t take long for us to eat, pay the check and then leave.

When we left the restaurant, I opened the back door and got in. JD walked around the back of the car and when he reached the other rear door he opened it and announced that the car had a flat.
“You’re kidding” I said knowing he wasn’t. I got out of the car and joined Mike and JD looking at the tire. Not only was it flat but a dog had urinated on it. Something told me it wasn’t going to be as easy as we hoped.

And it wasn’t.

We had to find the jack. That took some time. Then I loosened the lug nuts and jacked up the car as Mike and JD watched only to conclude that with the car parked on a slight incline the jack would not raise the car high enough to get the tire off. Easy to solve. Theoretically. All we needed to do was move the car to a flat surface and try again. If we could find a flat surface. The fact that all our camera gear – more than $50,000 worth or gear – was in the car didn’t help. While we were calm, there was a clear sense of urgency. We knew nothing of the neighborhood, had no idea how safe it was and it was late. Very late now.

Before we could move the car, the restaurant’s guard, complete with machete, and three other men from the neighborhood decided to help us. Only one, Marco Polo by name, spoke enough English to communicate with us and Mike did what he could with his Spanish to fill in the blanks. Instinctively, I wanted to get my camera – after all how often does one get to see not one but seven men try to change a tire - but logic told me that that was not a good idea.

One of the men knelt in front of the tire and grabbed it. I tried to explain to him that a dog had urinated on the tire and that he needed to be careful. Apparently either he did not understand or he did not care. “Help you,” he said as he moved his eyes in such a way as to let me know that they all wanted to help us.”

“I understand, but, listen, don’t grab the tire, a dog –“Not only did he grab the tire but he wrapped his arms around it and pulled it to his chest. I tried to tell him that there was too much pressure on the tire and that he didn’t want urine all over him. He smiled and I decided it was best to just let him try to help.

Meanwhile, Marco suggested that we lift the car so that the tire could be removed. “Bad idea,” I thought but it was too late. There were five men behind the car all attempting to life it. It was a bad idea. The bumper, nothing but foam and plastic, twisted and after a few seconds, the car came down again on the jack and the tire was still on. The only way to life the car was to raise the jack. Even if we lifted the car we would never be able to hold it long enough to get the flat off and the new tire on. Despite the twisted bumper they tried lifting the car again. And again. The second time the car shifted and I had to grab the jack and reset it or the car might have turned over.

“This is not going to work,” I said to Mike. “We need some wood. If we can raise the jack two or three inches the jack with raise the car enough to get the tire off.” Mike spoke to the men and I did what I could in English to explain to Marco how we would use the wood. One of the men, the one who lived in the house in front of which we were parked left and returned with some long boards – 2×6s that had to be ten feet long. There was a round of discussion – all of it in Spanish and under Marco’s direction the boards were turned sideways, placed under the car beside the jack, and then the men tired to raise the car by pushing the boards up. There was a loud crack and one of the boards snapped. The car came down hard.

This time I looked directly at Marco and explained that the boards needed to go under the jack and that once they were there we would get the tire off. I knelt in front of the tire as Marco placed the jack on the wood and raised the car. Except he didn’t want me to get dirty – though I was totally covered in sweat it was so humid and hot. I wanted to insist – until I realized that I would only offend him. I stepped away. Marco raised the jack and the tire swung freely. I had been correct. Raising the jack was the answer.

Once the tire had been replaced everyone was laughing and congratulating everyone. JD and Mike looked very relieved. Mike tipped the men and we washed our hands and the got in the car and drove away. We laughed and joke most of the way back to the hotel but beneath the laughter, we were immensely relieved that we had survived what could have been a very dangerous situation.

Title: Boot Camp Seminar
Location: Greensboro, NC
Description: To be conducted in the Green Hill Cemetery
Start Time: 9:00
Date: 2009-07-11
End Time: 12:00