The Art of the Crop

Way back in the olden days when dinosaurs ruled the earth, photographers used to have to go into darkrooms filled with the stink of chemicals and painstakingly figure out the very best way to print a picture.

Cropping the pic was a matter of positioning photo paper under an enlarger, moving it up or down, refocussing and finally exposing the paper to light and praying.

Photoshop and the hoard of digital editing software make the job much easier. Best of all? Nothing stinks.

The girl in this picture was giving away free hugs in Union Square in New York City. (Yes...I got one.) When I asked her why she was hugging strangers, she told me "There needs to be more love in the world."

Uh huh. My wife didn't buy it either.

But it makes an interesting picture, right? A pretty girl smiling at the camera and holding up a sign with interesting words written on it. I had almost talked myself into thinking this was the finished photo. She's engaging and the picture almost works, based on the subject matter itself.

But the job of the graphic artist is always to make the picture better. We need to ask ourselves how the picture can be made stronger...and what we can do to cut back on meaningless detail or any detail that doesn't strengthen our subject.

So let's plan the crop, shall we?

The guy's feet and hands are a huge distraction on the right side of the picture. They've got to go. And then there is the whole Rule of Thirds thing. (There's a complete blog entry about this a page or two back, by the way.) To briefly summarize: the Rule of Thirds asks you to put an imaginary "Tic Tac Toe" grid over the picture. The four areas where the lines intersect are called "Dynamic Points." For professional results, you need to put your main subject on one of those Dynamic Points.

What is the subject? The girl. What's the secondary subject? The sign. The Rule of Thirds makes the crop easy. We can cut out the guy, bring the main subject onto a Dynamic Point and build a much stronger visual. Take a good look at the two pictures above. See how perfectly following the Rule of Thirds allowed us to remove tons of meaningless detail and strengthen the main message of the photo.

"Every face tells a story." So does every graphic. You want to tell that story as simply as possible with as much precision as you can muster. That means no meaningless bits. It means deciding if the space you choose to allow around your subject serves to make the photo better or whether it is just cluttering your image. If it clutters it up, crop it out.

Someone is going to write in and talk to me about "Negative Space." This is the notion that putting space around the main subject actually ads to the overall impact of the photo. And, while Negative Space can be very effective in enhancing your graphic, it is often just an excuse for wimpy cropping.

Ask yourself the Three Questions of the Crop:

1) Is my Main Subject on one of the Dynamic Points?

2) Is there meaningless poop in my graphic? Everything should have a REASON to be there. If it doesn't have a reason to be on your image, delete it. Poop is poop.

3) Does the graphic say what I WANT it to say? I will often do my best with an image. Then I will put it away for a couple of days. When I re-open it, I see it with fresh eyes. I'll often find that the stuff I thought was so very clever when I was doing it just looks dumb now.

Imagine THAT!

Where were you when you heard John Lennon had been shot? I was a reporter working at a rock radio station. It's one of the few times I was able to break into regular programming with a news flash.

It was a strange story. The first reports from the scene were that Lennon had escaped serious injury. Then came the news that he had been badly wounded and, following that, the sad news that he'd died.

Every visit to NYC will see me dragging my wife along so we can take a few minutes in Strawberry Field -- the John Lennon mosaic memorial in Central Park. While it is true that we just had the most wonderful trip there yet (see the blog below) -- my interest goes way beyond John Lennon.

I love to photograph Strawberry Fields because the people who show up there are so darn interesting. So are the items they leave behind and the stories that they share. I vividly recall making the trek to Strawberry Fields on a freezing day just before Christmas. There was just myself and a Japanese tourist. He stood there for a long time and then started to sing "Imagine." He didn't sing it particularly well -- but he was sincere. And he wasn't singing for me anyway.

Each time I have been there, someone has left something behind. Sometimes it's pictures. Often flowers. Sometimes a walrus or a guitar or a poem. But there has always been something. The interesting thing is that what's put on the ground usually stays there, untouched, which in my experience is very unusual for New York City.

Who does this? Until our most recent trip to Strawberry Fields, I had assumed that people brought stuff with them. But as I came back time and again I started to see that things were starting to look very much the same. Flowers were always arranged in a peace sign. I kept seeing the same props again and again.

The mystery was solved during a long conversation with Red, a street person who makes Strawberry Fields his hangout.

Who does all this work? Gary does.

Yup. According to "informed sources" (ie "Red" -- the guy the blog just below this is about) have revealed that Gary's behind everything. Red says a street person named "Gary" makes it his business to ensure the mosaic is treated with the reverence it deserves. He painstakingly sets out his props each morning and every day he makes the rounds of florist shops and they donate the flowers. It's one of those great New York stories that makes travel so very interesting.

Red thinks Gary does it because it allows him his "fifteen minutes of fame." But let's face it: cool is cool -- no matter why it's done.


Now you know.

As for photographing this great monument, you need to consider some things. It's flat. It's a mosaic. It's relatively big and it's round. (This could easily read "visually uninteresting" for a photographer.)

Light plays a key role in getting the mosaic picture just right. There is a time in the mid morning when the sunlight will dapple the mosaic and give you those rich tones like the one in the picture above. Use Photoshop to apply a Brightness/Contrast Adjustment Layer and you'll have the kind of graphic that would even make Gary smile. I'd planned for the photo to be off balance. I wanted shadows and flowers. I wanted the picture to be more than a shot of a round mosaic in Central Park.

But there are other considerations when photographing monuments. Give it a little thought. What's a monument for? It's purpose is to honor something or someone. Given that premise, it ALSO follows that the monument picture isn't just about the monument -- it's about the people who go to see it. Who are they? What do they leave behind? What do they do there?

We've all seen the Vietnam memorial, right? It has the names of soldiers who have died. Great concept -- lousy photograph. It's just a bunch of names on a flat stone. But most of us have seen pictures of men in uniform reaching forward and touching a name or weeping or sitting quietly and looking at the names. Suddenly the names on a flat stone can rip your heart out. Suddenly they aren't letters. They are people. Why? The subject (the wall) has been brought to life because it has been "humanized" by actual humans. You can't help but relate on some level to the graphic.

Words are easy to ignore.

People aren't. Figuring out a way to "humanize" a monument or statue will make your graphic talk to viewers in any language. We relate because an emotional connection has been built through a human element.

More than adding context (the fifty dollar way to say "where the thing is") -- the addition of people interacting with the monument adds an element the viewer can relate to. It humanizes stone.

Flowers on the Imagine mosaic do the same thing. They make the whole picture wonderful because they pose questions: "Who does this?" "Why do they do it?"

Of course now you know the answer -- at least as far as Strawberry Fields goes. It's Gary.

That's what Red says anyway.

Photographing Street People in New York

His name is Red.

There's no way he is ever going to read this. He has only an abstract knowledge of email. You'll find him most days around Strawberry Fields, the John Lennon mosaic memorial in New York's Central Park.

My wife and I arrived there on a blisteringly hot summer day and watched hundreds of tourists file past. Some paused to have their pictures taken squatting over the mosiac. Tour after tour came through and I found myself sharing the very dim New Yorker's view of "Herd Tourists." (So many people come and look...but they just don't actually see anything. This is quite unlike myself. I notice everything. Every blade of grass. Every insect in the air. Ahem.)

Sitting on a bench, surrounded by a huge backpack and several shopping bags is Red. His hair hangs well beyond his waist in one unruly mass of dreads. There's a ring in his nose and a stainless steel ball in his ear.

He swears at anyone who tries to take his picture -- but he's a compelling figure. There's this air of dignity about him. No. I'm not making it up. Here's a guy who can fit all his worldly "stuff" into a couple of bags and I am deep into "photographer mode." This means that if I see something or someone that will make for a good image, I will take it.

I admit it: I was trying to figure out how to get his picture without getting myself pounded into the ground by this guy.

But on this particular New York morning, I got a lesson that changed everything about how to photograph strangers.

My wife and I sat on a bench across from the Imagine mosaic (more on that in a later blog) and we were both silently watching Red bum a cigarette from a German tourist. Said German tourist is on the edge of getting seriously freaked out by this particular New Yorker and surrenders the smoke without a fight. Red thanks him and shambles back to his bench. He's a big guy, I think.

"Wow," says my wife. "Look at him."

I don't say anything since I know my woman well enough to figure out where this is going.

"You should go over there and talk to him," she urges.

I snort, desperately hoping to head this off while there exists even the remote possibility that it is indeed "head-offable." What I think is "Are you nuts? Have you heard that guy yell? Do you REALLY think it's a good idea to go up to a street person with a ring in his nose and start talking? Are you freaking nuts???"

But I grunt something that doesn't commit me to anything.

"Don't you want his picture?" she asks.

"No," I lie.

She looks at me in a way that makes me want to be somewhere else far away, gathers up her stuff and without another word goes to talk to him.

I follow because that's what every man should do when his wife does something that has the potential for getting herself knifed by a street person. I am muttering under my breath and praying at the same time.

"Hello, Sir," says my wife, laying her #10 Charming smile on him. She settles in on the bench beside him.

"How you doin'?" says Red.

"Do you mind if we talk with you for a minute?" asks my wife.

Red shrugs. I am trying to recall the precise series of defensive actions taken by Chuck Norris in the last "kick their butt" movie I saw. But I think my days of flying drop kicks are over. (Okay. They never were.)

They get into a conversation. Red explains that he's from Texas, that he served in the military, had aspirations to be a history teacher, has been a roadie for the Grateful Dead and has worked on movies as a grip. He sleeps on the stairs in front of a synagogue..and is only afraid for his safety when the skinheads come around. He's fascinating. Well spoken. Intelligent. An amazing storyteller.

A cynical part of me is wondering if it is all true. But I work with actors every day. This guy isn't acting and there's a ring of truth to the way he speaks. He's not trying to impress anyone. Believe him or not. He doesn't care.

My wife asks if I can take his picture. I hold my breath. Does this woman have NO fear? Hasn't she seen the way he responded to others who tried to take his picture?

"Naw," he says. "Go ahead. Can you guys throw me a couple of bucks?"

We already were going to -- and I start taking pictures. I had this absurd feeling as I did so. Here I am a hefty tourist with an expensive camera, a full belly and new clothes taking pictures of a street person, like he is an exhibit in a zoo. I really don't feel that way. And I really don't want him to think that...and I have a sudden understanding for why he yells at tourists who point their cameras at him and start shooting...like he was a fire hydrant or a building.

Y'know...like I was planning to. It shames me just a little. I can't really explain it any more clearly than that.

Suddenly I wanted to tell people something about Red. That's what the picutre above and this whole blog is about. I really want you to know there is a human being of wonderful depth waiting for you at the John Lennon memorial in Central Park. And I don't want him to come across as just another street crazy. I want to show him to you as a human being.

How is that different from the way I used to do it? To be honest...my most likely course of action before this would be to put on the telephoto lens and "steal" a shot. I would have robbed Red of a fraction of his autonomy...and I would have robbed myself of encountering one of the coolest New Yorkers I have ever met.


Think about it for a second. I would have taken a furtive shot and hoped for the best. I would not have accorded my subject the respect that allowed him to relax. He would have been a "street person" photograph -- instead of a man named Red.

My wife, who makes her own bracelets, took one off of her wrist and presented it to him. (Red has rings, earrings, bits of cloth woven into his massive dreads...) and he took it with genuine respect. He wrapped it around a strand of dreads and admired it with the joyful intensity that only someone who has very little can muster.

We left our umbrella and twenty bucks with our friend that morning. And he left us with a wonderful travel memory and photos that allow us to glimpse his heart.

So if you're travelling to NYC and you happen to see a man with a ring in his nose and dreads down below his waist don't be afraid to sit and pass an hour or two with him. Your time will be well spent. If you remember, tell him David and Sheree will be back to say "hey" one day soon.

And try to start your conversation by calling him "Sir." He'll like that.

Tips for Travelling Light

Seeing grown men sobbing at the gas pumps isn't uncommon anymore. Think of what must be happening at the airlines! They are grasping at every possible straw to make ends meet in the face of skyrocketing fuel prices.

Enter the twin horsemen of "Extra Charge for Baggage" and "No Free Pop" on most airlines. The No Free Pop thing is easy to handle. But a zero tolerance policy on carry-on is a wee bit scary.

The airlines used to turn a blind eye to people like me who got on with a camera bag and a backpack. Those days are gone. As I get ready to depart for the Big Apple, I've had to think in terms of what things I MUST take with me:

1) My camera with two lenses and assorted photography stuff will not be given to some dexterity challenged baggage handler. The very thought makes my blood run cold. But I use an Olympus eVolt 500 and that's a big sucker. (My wife, by the way, has started travelling with a point and shoot compact and has been getting some wonderful shots. I am not there yet.)

2) My laptop (which keeps me in touch with my business, family and you guys) has to go. I use it for Photoshop work on the road, storing photographs and much more. But it's a 17 inch screen. **sigh** I have an older 15 inch that will work. Maybe...

3) My iPod is my only line of defence if there's a crying kid on the airplane or if I am seated with a travelling salesman who can't (or won't) take a hint when you don't ask a single question about what they are blathering on about. I've loaded my iPod with great music mixes, books on tape -- and even a movie. Fortunately an iPod is small.

4) The latest issue of Photoshop User, my Bible and a Robert B. Parker novel.

5) Extra glasses -- since not being able to see on a trip would really suck.

Aside from the usual stuff (lens wipes, rocket launchers, sunglasses etc.) that's it for carry-on.

What do I PACK? Answer: don't pack anything you would be heartbroken or really screwed if it gets lost. This means:

1) Two extra pairs of underwear. That's it. I know some people are cringing. But I am gone for a week. One pair of underwear can last two, maybe three days. Plus I understand they have additional underwear available for purchase in New York if I need it.

2) Two t-shirts and one long sleeve shirt. That's it.

3) One pair of cargo pants. If it's nasty I will put the legs on. But this way I also have a second pair of shorts if I need them. (Sure. Cargo pants are for geeks, right? Well I am a geek and I intend to be a warm geek if it gets cool.)

4) My Logitech portable speakers for the iPod. This way my wife and I can listen to music or books on tape in the hotel room. It's a tiny little speaker system that travels well.

5) My Backpack. Since we leave the hotel room early in the morning and don't return till late at night, my backpack is important. It carries my camera gear, clothes and iPod as well as all the assorted junk we pick up as the day goes on.

This all leads to the Stuff I Will be Wearing:

1) My Tilley Hat. This goes with me everywhere. It's easy to wear a hat and take it off. With this little marvel I don't care if it's raining, snowing or blowing. It even has a secret compartment in the crown for stashing extra money. Shhhhh...don't tell anyone.

2) My Palm Pilot has all the information I need for emergencies or simple schedule information. This will be in my pocket. It's an invaluable travel companion: When we get to the Park and Fly parking lot for example, I will go to the date I expect to return on and make a note of the stall we're parked in...because there's no way I will remember on my own. This way I can flip open my Palm Pilot with a suitably smug expression, and tell the driver where to take us. (It's a good idea, at this point, to avoid smug side glances at the guys who are red-faced ripping their pockets apart looking for the scrap of paper they got when they arrived.)

3) Travel Pouch: travels inside my shirt and contains money, passport and important documents. (Speaking of money -- it's a good idea when travelling to put your money and charge cards in several different places: a money pouch, a pocket, in your shoe -- whatever. This way if you get robbed or your pocket gets picked, you don't lose it all.)

4) Earphones, extra batteries for the iPod etc.

5) I'll be wearing my all-purpose waterproof windbreaker which has doubled as a pillow, a blanket and a towel (don't ask.) It crushes up small, can be easily packed and covers me for every reasonably anticipated weather condition NYC can offer in July.

That's it. I'd like to leave a little room for other stuff I find along the way to bring back. But overall I've found I usually take way more than I use. The notion of wearing clothes and just leaving them behind in favor of new stuff is something I am playing with...but I am also pretty cheap...so we'll have to consider that.

I get really pumped before a trip. I believe the "before" part is almost as good as the actual trip. There's this air of mystery and anticipation that comes just before a trip. I don't know who I am going to meet or what pictures I will get. I don't know if the weather will be warm and wonderful or rainy and nasty...but it's all part of travel and being a travel addict.

Here are a couple of tips for getting through the airport traffic with a minimum of teeth gnashing and hair pulling:

1) Keep your laptop in an easy-to-access case. This way you can get it quickly.

2) Wear slip on shoes. Americans security is SO excitable. Slip-ons means you can get in and out of the shoes quickly.

3) ALWAYS get to the airport early. Those cool people who arrive just in time for the flight are actually stupid. Imagine getting a flat tire...or realizing you forgot your passport or...??? Better to sit quietly, wait for your flight and read a good book.

4) Avoid making jokes about bombs in the airport line-up. These people have no sense of humor and you vastly increase your chances of deep blushing and uncomfortable sitting if you do.

5) RELAX! My wife has the notion that I get all flustery at airport securtity. Pfffft. It's all part of travel. Besides I always sweat like that.

6) Take a minute before you leave home to look over ALL your stuff and ensure you have the stuff you need. While it is true that they usually have a lot of stuff at your destination, it's usually expensive stuff and it's never quite the same as your own stuff. Trust me. Take a minute. Stuff can be very important.

So here we go...on this GSoTT ("Great Summer of Three Trips) -- with the first about to launch NOW!

Start Spreading The News...

...we're leaving today on the Red Eye to one of our favorite destinations: New York City. It's a place we've been to a number of times before, my wife and I. There are a lot of known things about New York -- stuff I know will very likely happen. At some point:

1) I will go to Strawberry Fields and try to find a fresh way to photograph it. I find this little mosaic monument to slain Beatle John Lennon fascinating. The people who go there are fascinating. The things they leave behind are fascinating. The fact that he was gunned down just across the street is fascinating...and sort of creepy. But fascinating.

2) We will dine at our favorite restaurant in Little Italy called "Pompadoro's" where they serve food so good you wish you had at least another two stomachs. (We will also have a cheese pretzel even as we remind each other that it isn't good for us.)

3) We will take a LOT of pictures. You'll see some of them here and also on my NAPP portfolio http://www.photoshopuser.com/members/portfolios/view/gallery/782623

4) We are going to take an Amtrak to Philadelphia to have a look at an authentic pirate ship exhibit (a National Geographic production starring spoils and artifacts from the pirate ship Whydah) and will very likely run up the steps of the museum just like Rocky did...a sight sure to bring unbridled mirth to the locals.

5) We will be two of the thousands watching the fireworks on the 4th of July from an island. (Americans -- particularly New Yorkers) KNOW how to celebrate the holidays.

6) Sadly we won't be able to go to the New York Renaissance Faire (which was a Travel Hightlight of All Time last year) or see a Shakespeare in the Park play -- because neither will be active during our time there.

We leave on the red-eye tonight.

Want to come along?

Stalking Paul Newman

I mentioned in another blog that I like to go to the Grand Prix races in Edmonton. It's not because I like cars. It's because there are SO MANY great pictures there. I want to share an article I wrote a couple of years ago about "Stalking Paul Newman." It doesn't have anything to do with Photoshop...but I hope you enjoy it.

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STALKING PAUL NEWMAN

I am going to get THE definitive picture of Paul Newman, I decide. I am filled with what writers call “steely determination.” (I am not entirely sure what “steely determination” is – but it seems to fit. Especially the “steely” part. I am definitely feeling “steely.”)

I am going to photograph a Hollywood legend. Star of The Sting, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid – the original Cool Hand Luke. Close personal friend of Liz Taylor….yup…that Paul Newman.

THIS is the year. My year.

I am armed with a liter and a half of the World’s Most Expensive Grand Prix water (three bucks a bottle!), my trusty camera and a recently acquired Pit Walk Pass.

The Pit is aptly named, I decide. It smells like someone has been cooking old fish, but that may just be the interaction of burning rubber and motor oil. The Pit crackles with a well rehearsed but nonetheless frenzied activity. But I will not be distracted. I know that Newman Haas Racing is sponsored by the Golden Arches. So I am looking for McDonald’s.

I creep along the Pit Walk, every sense tingling – my entire being fixed on the Goal, finger quivering over my shutter button, camera poised. I am a hunter. My steely eyes narrow against the glare of the sun.

THIS is the year….

“Did you see him?” my wife asks. At first the voice sounds far away. I process the words.

“See who?” I ask back. There is a sinking sensation starting somewhere deep inside.

“Paul Newman,” she says, using the patient wife voice.

“What?” There’s a whiney quality in my voice that is most unfitting to a Great Hunter.

“Paul Newman. He just drove by on a red scooter.”

“What?” (‘What’ is one of those words that never fail you. So I say it again.) “What?”

My wife sighs and looks off into the distance. I suspect she is trying to decide if it is worth repeating to me without any visual aids or a suitably large collection of Crayons.

“Paul Newman just rode by on a red scooter.”

An image of Butch Cassidy doing charming tricks on a bike to a giggling-way-too-hot Katherine Ross comes to mind. A red scooter?

“Ah. He’s here then,” I respond as my mind jerks itself back to reality. It’s one of those sentences you start and midway through; you realize no matter what you do, you are going to sound really stupid, so you try to turn it into a joke. I rakishly raise my left eyebrow significantly.

My wife knows me too well, simply heaves a tired sigh, and looks off in another direction.

“A red scooter?” I ask. You kind of expect Paul Newman to arrive in a limo, preceded by at least seven rose petal tossing flower girls and a couple of heralds playing those long trumpet thingies.

My wife nods. She is growing disinterested. I can tell this by the way her eyes glaze over and take on that far off quality as she looks in every direction but mine.

“I know where he went,” says she.

“You do?” I ask. I absolutely firmly resolve that this will be my LAST lame question of the century.

“You want to know or not?”

I nod with a weakly affected boredom. Slyly, I wish to convey the impression that I know exactly where Paul Newman is…and am simply testing her to see if she is worthy to make the trek with me.

She sighs.

Again.

I pause and cleverly snap a quick shot of the only female racer, Katherine Legge, on pre-race trip to the porta-potty. I am, after all, the Great Hunter.

My wife has disappeared. I trail after her…or more precisely…where I think she may have gone.

I locate her. She points and says: “There he is.”

“Where?” I ask.

She points to the back of a white head in a red hat sitting high in a red booth.

“There?” I ask. I am already breaking that last-lame-question-of-the-century thing.

She nods.

I place my Lowepro bag at my feet, take off the water cooler and settle into my Hunter’s Blind. I wait.

Cars drive by.

I wait.

Cars come into the pit and gaily costumed men in helmets use mysterious but very loud machines for fifteen or twenty seconds. When the cars drive off, the people in the stands applaud.

Uh huh.

I wait.

I see Paul is drinking unflavored Dasani water. I watch him drain the bottle. Okay well actually…I see the bottle tilt upward, held in a really old hand…and get drained. You can almost see Newman’s lips. I shrewdly snap off a couple of quick shots. You can never tell when someone will want a picture of Newman’s lips.

Time passes.

“Is that him?” asks a woman as she waddles up. She sounds breathless and smells unpleasantly of hot dogs.

“Yup,” I say, noting she is trying to use her bulk to shove her way into my portion of green fence.

I look significantly at her and then down at the Lowepro bag in front of me…then back at her. “This place is mine,” my look says. “See? There’s my bag and water cooler and everything.”

She ignores me and toes my bag back a few inches. She shoves herself more firmly into my area and peers around. I think she may be nearsighted.

“I don’t see him,” she sniffs.

I am torn: Do I tell her the truth and win her respect…or simply let her think I am a misguided-but-well-meaning-fellow-groupie so maybe she’ll go away?

No contest.

“Guess not,” I say, using my most sheepish expression.

She sniffs again and waddles off.

A hand grasps the edge of the booth…a white shoed foot steps out….PAUL NEWMAN is coming out of the BOOTH!

I grab my camera and set it to my eye. I wait seven years for the little red square and the reassuring “ting” sound that tells me I am focused.

Where is he going? What is he doing?

Ting!

This is it. My one chance. I watch as he takes careful old-guy steps down the stairs, preserving each step safely on my digital chip. He is moving toward……a cooler…….oh my God…he is getting WATER!

Paul Newman is getting his OWN WATER.

My camera is clicking clicking…the battery warning light comes on. I mutter under my breath, decide prayer is better, and keep shooting.

As Paul leans forward and takes out TWO fresh waters, the battery warning light turns red. But I am shooting….shot after shot…praying for focus…thinking “This is Cool Hand Luke!”

I consider calling out to him. No one else seems to notice. But if I call out to him, what do I say? I stay quiet and continue shooting. Paul gets his water and goes back to the booth.

Minutes after he returns to the booth a young woman settles herself in beside him and he obligingly slides over a few inches to make room. Just like a regular guy.

I need to rest for a second.

My wife comes over.

“Did you see that?” she asks.

“Uh huh,” I say. It’s about all I can manage.

“How come you were standing way over there?” she asks.

“What?” I respond. (You can’t ever get enough of the old standby.)

“He was right here,” she says, gesturing to the water cooler, a scant five feet away from her…I have cleverly used a telephoto lens. The sinking sensation gets deeper. My telephoto lens and I have had frequent disagreements about what the term “focus” really means.

I mutter something meant to reassure us both…mostly me…and take up my spot at the fence again, on the lookout for waddling breathless women.

Cars go round and round the track.

I take carefully rationed sips of water, telling myself it is just plain strange to try calculating how much each sip is costing me. My eyes are fixed on the back of a white haired head with a red ball cap. I am willing him to come out, mentally reminding him that he has had THREE bottles of water and he really should step out. I have already scouted the Pit Walk and know precisely where the nearest Porta Potty is.

I wait. I consider staking out his red scooter. After all, he HAS to go to the scooter sometime, right? Thus far, I have nobly resisted the urge to photograph Paul Newman’s red scooter because the idea is just too stalker-like.

(You just shush.)

So I wait…more cars snarl by.

People ooooh and ahhhh….and I wait some more.

I begin to realize that I have had a lot of water myself. A LOT of water. My body is pretty much done with it now…but I remind myself about the mission…I think of bright meadows without any streams in sight -- just a gaggle of galloping magazine and newspaper editors waving blank cheques at me.

Cars drive by.

I watch Paul Newman step out of the booth.

Did you get that?I watch him, dully thinking “Oh…that’s Paul Newman…getting out of a booth…about fifteen feet away from me.

“How nice.”

Some deep part of my subconscious drives an elbow into my ribs…the psychic equivalent of “HEY! THAT’S PAUL NEWMAN!”

“What?” I say to my subconscious.

“CAMERA…GET THE CAMERA!!!”

Adrenaline surges through me. I am the hunter who had the Yeti in his sights and dozed off. I am the midnight photographer who watches Nessie rise out of a foggy loch and thought “Oh…how nice” to himself.

There will be time for self loathing later, I decide. Plenty of it.

I have reloaded my camera with batteries. Swallowing hard, I raise my camera to my eye and start shooting. Newman crosses to chat with one of his drivers…a guy who had some car trouble. They are talking…just a couple of guys. I am waiting for Newman to have an expression….anything….and as the camera goes click click I wonder what people call him. Paul? Mr. Newman? Luke? Butch?

I only need one picture, I think. Just one.

I stalk him as he walks across the tarmac…just a few feet away, pretending to ignore me. Click click….and I see him pause as he hears a voice familiar to my ears. He is just starting up his red scooter (which I now feel free to photograph, by the way, since it is no longer a plain red scooter but is, in fact a red scooter with Paul Freaking Newman on it)…the voice is very familiar.

IT’S MY WIFE TALKING TO PAUL NEWMAN!

Okay…I have been busily sneaking shots and there she is talking to him. Actually talking. My wife isn’t afraid of anything. I begin formulating a defense in case the Hollywood Royalty Police to come and take her away.

Surely directly talking to Paul Newman is against some law…

I watch as she takes off her hat and holds it out to him. She wants him to sign her hat. Newman is considering it. You can see the debate going on in his eyes. He pauses. My wife is looking at him.

He looks beyond her and sees a gaggle and a half of people hurrying his way. He half says/half mutters “I can’t…if I do….I’ll never get out of here…” Then he stops, kisses the tips of his fingers and blows the kiss at my wife. He's still a charmer, I decide.

He’s also polite and I think I really should get a photo of my wife talking to Paul Newman as he drives off on his little red scooter. Realizing I am to photojournalistic reflex what a sloth is to a champ car, I watch him drive off – and try not to meet my wife’s eyes.

I know after all – which the question is coming: “Did you get that? Did you get me talking to Paul Newman?”

I realize later that I have a picture of Paul Newman talking TO my wife. But my wife isn’t in the picture, though if you squinch up your eyes really tight you can sort of see her reflected in his sunglasses.

Helplessly, I watch Paul Newman putt putt off into the sunset, riding tall on a little red scooter. He wears sunglasses, but I know clear blue eyes are fixed in front of him.

I half wish he would turn in the saddle and wave goodbye…or change his mind and come back to sign my wife’s hat after all. But he doesn’t. And you know something? I don’t want him to.

If he did, he wouldn’t be Cool Hand Luke, which is exactly who I want him to be.

Adjustment Layers...and Why You Should Care

I think this is one of the top questions: "What's an adjustment layer?" There's a second unspoken question: "Why should I care???"

Adjustment Layer is third ONLY to "Curves", the whole notion of "Layers" and my most used command ("Undo") in the pantheon of "Cool Stuff in Photoshop."

What is it?

It's a layer that you can do all kinds of adjustments (from Brightness/Contrast to Curves to Hue and Saturation) to an instantly created COPY of your original. This means that if you screw it up, you aren't totally messed up because the work you did is on a copy. I think of the Adjustment Layer as an infinately adaptable magic layer on top of my graphic...but that's probably just me.

How is this different from the idea of copying a layer and working on the copy? you ask. Gee...that's a good question. Adjustment layers are wonderful because you can SELECT areas to apply your changes to without ever touching a selection tool.

You PAINT them onto the Adjustment mask.

Once you've added an Adjustment Layer you'll see a NEW box opening in Layers. This is a relatively terrifying thing the first time you look at it because it looks so darn strange.

I've outlined the actual Adjustment Layer in spiffy red so you can find it. You get a different Adjustment menu (this one is a Curves Adjustment) depending on which adjustment layer application you chose.

The way-seriously-cool-thing about Adjustment Layers is that you can now feel free to totally screw up your graphic. You can try wild application and strange combinations and it doesn't matter. If you don't like the way it looks you can delete the layer and start all over.

I know what you're thinking. "How do you make changes to the picture without making a selection." Yet another good question!

You will see that the Adjustment layer is represented as WHITE. Finish up your adjustments. (Let's say that you want to vastly lighten a portion of your picutre...but not all of it. With your Adjustment Layer you can lighten the WHOLE picture until it looks really hideous -- all except the areas that you wanted to lighten.)

Take your Paint Bucket Tool and choose a BLACK from the color picker. Pour the Paint Bucket over top of your Adjustment Layer. You will see all your recent changes disappear. Why? Because BLACK COVERS THE LAYER.

Take your brush and choose the White default color from the color picker. Now brush over ONLY the areas of your photo you want to change.

Leave some time so you can make the appropriate number of "ooooo" and "ahhhh" sounds as you watch ONLY the portions you wanted to change show up on your screen.

You can make very precise changes to your graphic. No muss. No fuss. No selections.

It is true that what I've told you about here is a serious over-simpification of how to use Adjustment Layers. But remember that people write books about this stuff. My advice? Play around with all the many Adjustment Layers available. You'll see your graphics doing the most interesting things.

And if you mess something up? Relax. It's Photoshop.