My series, Women with Icons, continues to amaze me in how diverse it's becoming, and how much each new situation encourages me to think on my feet and come up with new ways to photograph.

The case in point here is one of my recent additions to the series, Sarah Mattingly:

Sarah

Sarah's appointment was unusualy frenetic. It was scheduled on-the-fly, shot on-the-fly, and edited nearly as quickly as it was taken. She was leaving home in a matter of days to return to college, which gave me little scheduling leeway for weather and even less time for mental preparation. I was also late to our appointment, meaning that the available light I was so hoping for was quickly waning even as I sped my way to her house. But in the span of about 20 minutes, and with a pair of frozen hands later, I knew exactly which shot I was going to use from the session. She warmed me up with a cup of cocoa and sent me merrily on my way.

But while external factors--time, location, available light, etc.--have a significant effect on my approach to photographing, internal factors--level of familiarity with the subject, my impression of their personality, emotions at the time of shooting--have an impact as well.

I'll use two somewhat similar portraits as an example here: Liana Lloyd and Sylvia Araj. Both are intent, highly personal close-ups of the subject, with the icon featured prominently near the face. Both are somewhat dramatic and intimate. But I have known Liana for more than 10 years, and met Sylvia as an acquaintance a mere year or so ago.

Liana


Sylvia

For Liana's portrait, it was my initial friendship and intimacy with her that allowed me to photograph her in a vulnerable, close-up position. She was comfortable with me, and I felt that I could fuss with her hair and get in her face. Giggles of friendship were interspersed between more serious silences. The quiet, knowing companionship we have had allowed me to bring out a sense of regality from her (which I've always felt was there).

Not so with Sylvia. Initially, what struck me about her were the strong lines of her features, how frank and open she seemed to be, eager and interested in the things and people around her. She had a sharp and self-assured quality that led me to zoom in on her, to make the viewer stare deep into her challenging and confident eyes. She, too, is regal, but in a different way than Liana.

As you can tell, I tend to do a high-level of interpreting--forming impressions and assumptions--while I photograph individuals. It's partly why I enjoy traveling on-location to people's abodes, because what you fill your surroundings with, how you live your life, and where you choose (or happen) to live your life say a lot about the kind of person you are. It's never the complete story, and folks will always surprise you, but it doesn't hurt to observe, reflect, and disappear into others' worlds for a space.

And, as a portrait-painter I know once said, "You've always got yourself hanging around your neck while you make portraits." No matter what you do to try and describe the other, a little piece of you gets injected into everything you make.

Over the Christmas holiday in December, I took a vacation for a family reunion. Eighteen members of my extended family were congregating--a monumental event to take place in Texas. Of course, I brought my camera along to record it.

As the vacation progressed, I noticed that my approach to recording family events--the frequency with which I pulled out my camera, the types of things I photographed, the quantity of photos that I shot--was drastically different from my approach as a wedding and portrait photographer.

The source of this difference is what I'll call "respecting the moment."

Many other photographers, I'm sure, have written about this--the way that covering an event or simply looking for opportunity have a way of altering your perspective and taking you out of the moment. You stand outside the event or environment, and observe in a global fashion. With events, I watch for the energy of the group to change in order to anticipate a laugh, or a quiet, touching moment. WIth the environment, I spend more time exploring nooks and crannies, watching the light and construction of the room, or examine the surrounding area for visual monstrosities that might become obstacles.

But with family, you have to relate at the same time. You are much more mentally inside the event or environment, because you are an integral part in creating it. Being the photographer in a family means you are given less slack, in a way, when your flash is too bright, or Aunt Bernice is getting uncomfortable, or the cousins are tired, et. al. Because of this deep relational element, you have to respect the moments that are being created in a different way, sometimes by abstaining from photographing altogether.

And I think this is the reason why I feel that so many photographic opportunities are missed when I spend intensive time with my family. You could also say it's the reason why so many family photos are often bad photographs. Many family photographs are taken more as afterthoughts. They act as a record that a laugh or quiet moment happened, but are not a record of the actual moment itself, because the photographer was too busy being in the moment when it happened.

So a balance--"respecting the moment"--must be struck. When photographing family, I try to think in advance about what events are going to happen throughout the day, and what specific times and events I would want to have my camera ready. That way I can feel at ease with missing a few "opportunities" if I feel that I'd rather relax into the moment, or if it would be annoying or inappropriate for me to be in everyone's face with a camera.

And come to think of it, when it comes to my family, more often than not I'd rather be in the moment with them, laughing away. Those moments are precious to enjoy, and good photography can coexist with them.

Last week, a new lens came in the mail: a Nikkor 50mm f/1.4 AF model, which fits on my brand new FM10 film camera, as well as on my D70. Like Thumper, I'm twitterpated.

I'm utterly infatuated with the fact that its focal length is fixed. After years of using a 35-70mm zoom, and becoming comfortable with that flexibility, slapping on a 50mm lens flexes creative muscles that have long been dormant. It forces me to not be lazy. In order to compose a different shot, I must move my body to another position, rather than swiveling a ring.

It also demands more from my attention to focus. If I open the aperture largely (f/1.4), my extremely limited focal plane opens me up to blurriness like nobody's business. It can be a welcome effect in many situations--eliminating distracting backgrounds, for instance. But one slip of the focus ring, and the wonderful passing smile of a dancer can turn into a mushy, freakish mass of sludge.

Regardless, this 50mm blessing from heaven has got me revved and excited to take pictures again.

All this, of course, is not to say I do not think that zoom lenses are not beneficial or necessary. Heavens to Betsy, I wouldn't shoot a wedding without one! Zoom lenses enable you to react more quickly to a situation--quickly adding context (zooming out) or editing the scene (zooming in)--which is critical in journalism and other documentary settings.

But I'm in love with my 50mm f/1.4. So much so that I might even deign to name it. I think I'll call it Lola.

So I recently developed the film from Jeremy & Vanessa's photo shoot, and I'm actually more pleased with these photos than the others. What is it with me? Am I just completely wedded to film, forever destined to be better at this than digital? Am I hallucinating here? What do y'all think?

taken with my Nikon FM10


taken with a HOLGA

I particularly love the vingetting with the HOLGA--it's so perfect for a willow tree and a couple photo.

Today I had the honor of photographing many lovely women in Pittsburgh for my Women with Icons project. Among them were Mary and Lydia Halkias. Mary contacted me through the internet, and since she happened to be located near to Nathan & Liana's house, we made a special trip to visit our friends and take the opportunity to visit with Mary and a few of her friends.

It was a gorgeous sunny afternoon; fortunate, because the forecast had called for thunderstorms. Mary talked with me between shots about how important it was to her that she choose a saint's name for her daughter that she would use everyday, and that she would grow up connected to that story and to her faith. And she herself expressed her feeling of honor for being named after "such a powerful intercessor" as the Mother of God.

Mary & Lydia Halkias

Out of all the portraits I took with Mary, the ones with Lydia struck me as being the most touching. The tenderness that exuded from Mary for Lydia I found so striking that I thought that it would be important to convey that in the portrait I chose for her.

Lydia Halkias

As for Lydia, she struck me as a very self-confident and friendly child. She was very openly curious and intelligent, but with a lot going on behind the surface. I wanted to place her in a confident stance that emphasized how strong she was for one so young--small in relation to her surroundings, but proud, forward, and young.

Reflections on other photos taken on this day to come.

In yesterday's photographic session, Mary's mother-in-law, Carol Halkias, volunteered to be photographed. She was a quietly peaceful soul, but her eyes exuded quiet, almost electric energy. Placing her in the center of a quiet garden seemed deeply appropriate; she seemed like the kind of person who was like a mountain spring--providing refreshment and energy to those around her by her presence.

Carol Halkias

The session continued with the Livanos ladies. The four girls trailed after their mother, shaking my hands in turn. I learned that they were four of seven--all children named after saints from all around the world. Dianthe, their mother, spoke of how important the faith was to their family; they celebrated the feast days of their saints in lieu of their birthdays, and emphasized how the stories of their saints connected them with a global Christianity, not one that's just based in ethnicity or family.

Top row (left to right): Estolia (St. Estolia), Kassiani (St. Kassiani)
Bottom row (left to right): Polina (St. Apollinaria), Mariam (The Thetokos), Dianthe (The Theotokos / Flower of God).

To me, this family portrait emphasizes among the best that is in Christianity.

Over the Memorial Day weekend, I got to catch up with some family friends, the Harrigles, and see how their recently-adopted daughter, Sophie, had grown.

Sophie is a full-blown toddler now, walking and smiling and playing and babbling away happily. Last I saw her she was probably around six months old.

I photographed little Sophie Harrigle with her mother and father as a part of my series, Women with Icons. Early on in my project, I discovered (with the help of my husband) that it didn't seem appropriate to photograph very young children without the presence of their mother, or even both parents. Pictures of children who are far too young to even venerate icons or imagine that icons depict real people don't seem to hold gravity, or don't seem "fair" to the idea itself.

This is especially true for Little Sophie, who is too young to know how precious she is to her parents. Fr. Gregory and Jeanne found each other late in life, and were determined to adopt. After much difficulty, they were able to travel to Lebanon and bring Sophie home.

"Sophie, of course, means 'wisdom,'" said her mother, Jeanne. "We picked the name together, and it means a great deal to us. Saint Sophia was the mother of three daughters, named Faith, Hope, and Charity. It took a lot of those three things to get Sophie here to us so we could take care of her. We had to have a great deal of faith and hope, and we had to on the charity of others. And finally God brought this blessing into our lives."

The icon in this case becomes a symbol of the this new family. Wisdom, faith, hope, love, and charity helped to bring them together. Not to mention how the faith itself binds them together in a spiritual sense. Sophie and her icon are the center of meaning. I'd like to think this photograph records a moment of thanksgiving.

Also over Memorial Day weekend, I took the time to take a few portraits of my dear friends Nathan and Liana. The weather was wonderful, and the shade beneath a tree afforded lovely, even lighting for their portrait.

You may remember Liana from her portrait in the Women with Icons series, of course. She and I have been friends since middle school, and it's uncanny the rapport that we still hold together. I met her husband Nathan when they were dating in college, and was honored to be a part of their wedding, and then a part of their chrismation into the Orthodox church.

The two of them are very natural, unassuming, and affectionate together, making them excellent subjects. Liana, of course, is very comfortable in front of the camera, in contrast to Nathan.

It could be that she is so comfortable, perhaps, because we were taking pictures together since we first knew each other. I spent afternoons in high school doodling with her, drawing her portrait while she held still. She (among others) is one of those people I feel artistically drawn to. I find it endlessly fascinating to work with her as a model, and could never get tired of photographing her.

I took these two shots while at the National Aquarium in Baltimore. Near their beautiful tank full of sharks and rays, there are these tall cylindrical glass containers full of water, lit from above, that bubble up every now and then, like the ubiquitous treasure chest in a fish tank.

Each of these is a lengthy exposure (1/15 to 1/2 a second), since the water (and location) made everything eerily dark. But the bubbles themselves glistened through the glass and made interesting distorted shapes if you looked at them a certain way.

It's one of those things which proves to me (yet again) that the most random things can become your subject matter; most of finding something interesting to photograph comes from looking and being ready (both of which require the practice of careful attention and openness--neither of which I have mastered at all).

Over the past few weeks, I've tried to snag a few photos after church of kids playing and enjoying each other.

I love this one--so close up and such a natural smile, not the frozen, "Hey honey, look here!" kind of smile, but genuine fun coming through. And the fact that she's backlit means that there's even lighting on her face:

I think I could get used to doing this.

Meet Alex.

Alex is a kinetic little boy of the tender age of 3. He was very difficult to photograph, for the mere fact that he move so quickly and so much. But every now and then I caught a moment of fun or goofiness that made running around with him worth all the while.

On a technical note, one of the things that helped was keeping the camera on either aperture-priority or shutter-priority, so as I moved through the dappled light in his backyard quickly I didn't have to worry so much about exposure. Usually with portraiture I control everything manually, but there are times (especially when photographing weddings or kids) when it's helpful to have the camera think for you, as long as you're being smart about when you let it do so.

Bonnaroo always affords some interesting photographic opportunities. Of course, it's great to catch shots of your favorite bands, but because much of Bonnaroo involves going to see musicians perform it's often the out of the way subjects and happenings that prove more interesting and compelling photographic material. Such as:

Stephen and I came across a troupe of musicians and performers, who had gathered a substantial crowd around them. Every year, Bonnaroo hires buskers of these types to entertain and create a nifty concertgoing environment. A lot of photographers had gathered around, some snapping away with fancy flashes, and others just hanging back in the crowd. It was just past sunset, which made for even lighting, but it was quickly fading. The shot above is my favorite--the subjects are facing towards the fading light, there's enough blurring to give a sense of rapid motion and energy, and the colors came out wonderfully.

I'm in love with how bizarre this shot is. A flash from another camera fired off to the left while I was taking my shot, and I think it lends a weird quality to the thing that compliments the subject matter.

Just a plain ol' nice close-up, thankyouverymuch.

You can see the rest of my shots from Bonnaroo here.