The License Plate Guy

The License Plate Guy is a resident of Virginia City, Nevada who

just posted a license plate or two on his shed and neighbors just

kept sending him new ones which he kept posting. Pretty soon the

collection grew 'like topsy'. Your ratings and critiques are

invited and most welcome. If you rate harshly or very critically,

please submit a helpful and constructive comment/Please share your

superior knowledge to help improve my photography. Thanks! Enjoy!

John

just great!

When I look at this picture, the thought that crossed my mind is "what keeps the US together are license plates".

 

Please note that my thought might have no connection to reality. It's just what I thought looking at the photo.

 

Probably because of the man leaning with such an angle and the license plates keep him from falling. Phisically and emotionally.

 

Strange place, the US. One day you're not anymore Bob or Andy, you are the "License Plate Guy". From that point on, you become a ghost and you are provided with a new personality you cannot leave anymore.

 

Even if he throws everything away, they will say "Hey, you know, that one over there was the License Plate Guy".

 

How sad.

Bruno, your commentary was first rate. However, to temper things, the man was multi-talented. I came upon him and he was splitting logs with a special machine, and the license plates were an infinitesimally small part of his life -- something he 'just started by accident' and that idiosyncratic neighbors just kept going' through donations.

 

I did frame him with his collection of license plates and, forgetting his name, I did name him 'The License Plate Guy, so I must take most of the blame for his anomie, as he was a 'real guy' with a 'real personality' and not at all wedded to his very small avocation -- he seemed to be a well-rounded guy, at at least very normal (probably more normal than I).

 

But your commentary was a 'gem' in itself, worthy of publication as a piece of social commentary, whether or not it has a true relationship to this particular guy's place in life. (There are people in the US who truly brag about such things as their license plate collections and live for them; this guy was modest about his and apparently it started almost as a 'gag'.)

 

I took 'normal' photos of this guy, from a 'normal' angle and they were OK, but when crouched (ouched, also), it became more worthy, I think.

 

(It's just a trifle, still, not my highest art, but I'm getting better for my secondary stuff).

 

Best wishes, Bruno. (still laughing from your commentary).

 

John (Crosley)

What a great comment.

 

Thanks.

 

John (Crosley)

A photo like this just takes one or two seconds to frame.

 

This 'license plate' guy was interrupted from splitting logs, and although happy to cooperate, but realizing I was not from a newspaper or magazine, had limited patience. He was happy to pose in front of his license plates so long as I chatted with him nicely, but he had limited patience, and when I took some, with me standing up, of him in front of his collection, and then realized they were 'ordinary' I had just about a second or two, to kneel (ouch) to get an extraordinary view, including framing, setting exposure (partially automatic with adjustments) and then to capture the moment with him looking the right direction -- not at the camera) and to get the vectors going the right direction -- frame of door, arms, folds of shirt, etc.

 

All that came about in about three seconds or maybe four or five, and then I arose, with this photo. Speed photography. I think I could get an award for a special category for speed framing and speed captures.

 

John (Crosley)

respectfully john, it takes years to frame this shot. years of mucking around and experimenting and understanding what works and doesn't work and forgeting and figuring it out again until its so instinctive you don't even recognize the skill even though you put it all together brilliantly in one or two seconds.

 

the pov, the off center composition in the direction of his lean, the boldness in cutting off the structure, the great exposure, the ability to coax a coy smile from a gruff gent; need i go on?

Although I took photos seriously but briefly in the late 60s and early 70s, there was a long hiatus (3 decades?) until just about two years ago on the 6th of Feb., when I posted my first (and greatest ever) photo from the past, just as an experiment, and got enough views in the first month (not requesting critique or knowing how to) to encourage me, all 10,000 views from those who came across my slowly growing black and white folder.

 

So, I went out and took new photos to complement those from the late 60s, early 70s and some from a few days or a week each from each decade intervening.

 

And sure enough, people actually looked at them.

 

And I began to 'get my eye back'.

 

But I think I always had 'the eye' from the first photo (one of which is posted from my first roll in Early B&W folder (includes recent work). I just was not so prolific then as film was expensive, and I couldn't afford to print, so I viewed my photos from the negs and sometimes, when I could afford it, from contact sheets -- it encouraged concentrating on 'large' elements in composition. (If it were a small element, it wouldn't show on a contact sheet or 35 mm negative.)

 

Hence, the emphasis in my photography on 'large' elements of composition. It always has lurked in my photography for that reason. If I started with a 'view camera' my photography probably would have been different; same if I had been richer.

 

So, what you see is the result of my being poor and endlessly reviewing my contact sheets (when I could afford to have my film processed that far or purchase the paper and developer) and looking at negs (let's see . . . you hold the Tri-X at a certain angle to the light and it appears as a 'positive image' if you're careful.)

 

So, you may be right; it took years to be able to do this (again), but I think I could have made this image 35 years ago, if I had the equipment, the chutzpah to approach the guy (which I didn't have then) and the ability to coax the smile from him.

 

Still, I am producing at a prodigious rate: I have hundreds of photos of such quality downloaded and not even edited for uploading, and I don't even take photos that often (but I carry a camera everywhere.)

 

I can go to the store and get a good photos of the clerks and customers; and got a wonderful photo of an Apple I-Pod Salesman the other day at an Apple store -- it'll turn up in my 'Faces I Have Seen' folder -- a surefire winner.

 

And I keep experimenting, often now with a superwide angle lens, and often not even with camera to eye, but holding the camera in front of people's faces, or beneath their hands or above their heads (to demonstrate, I tell them, how easy it is to get a good photo, and many will be out of focus or blurred because of 'motion', but some photos will be stunners).

 

This was consciously framed, but now I can get such photos just by holding a camera to my knees and firing sometimes, and some photos will be as good or better (from time to time) as this, even though I didn't frame to my eye, and I'll discover new and different ways to portray things.

 

I keep experimenting and learning.

 

Just like I practiced law . . . and with passion.

 

I think it's exciting . . . and engrossing.

 

Thanks for noticing; it's so personal, I hardly think it shows sometimes.

 

Addendum: Ben, I just looked for the first time at the rates; thanks for your high estimation of this photo -- I think highly of almost every photo I post in my best folders and often am astonished by low rates, but accept them with equanimity -- it's the comments truly that count (especially comments like yours.)

 

John (Crosley)

"I did frame him with his collection of license plates and, forgetting his name, I did name him 'The License Plate Guy,"

 

That's exactly my point, John. I'm not suggesting that a guy can be really without personality. But sometimes people do unconventional things and these things label them to everybody who doesn't know them personally.

 

Applies for this guy. Applies, for instance, also to Bob Dylan or maybe you are the Camera Guy for the people who see you walking around.

 

I remember a sentence I read in a book from Roland Barthes:

 

"A portrait is a closed field of forces. 1. I am myself. 2. I am the person who I want other people think I am. 3. I am the person the photographer thinks I am. 4. I am the person who the photographer wants me to be to show his craft".

 

Is it really an accident that you forgot his name, or are there reasons for which the name of the guy shifts away to make place to other qualities?

 

I read how you took this shot. You say that you took several more, well, there must be a reason for which you chose this one!

Your commentary is excellent.

 

I don't always remember names unless the name has importance to me, and this guy's licenses had importance, and I don't recall that he ever spoke his name clearly over the roar of the log splitter and the vehicles around him, so, not to appear stupid or pushy, I just didn't pursue the subject.

 

And, for the purposes of this photo, 'the license plate guy' seems good enough.

 

He also may be 'the neurosurgeon' to kids whose lives he may save, or simply a retired army private, or a 'good husband' (or not) depending on who knows him and how.

 

I'm almost assuredly now the 'camera guy' or maybe even now the 'photo guy' since Google makes my photos easy to find with an index of my name only, and my subjects often look up my photos and often look eventually for their own image.

 

Maybe, Bruno, you have had the same experience -- You Just tell the curious how to find your photos, and later find a comment or two from them on your photos or portfolio. It's very edifying.

 

I have no compunction about being 'the photo guy' just as many PNers may call me 'the wordy guy' or even 'the essayist'; I have no problem with that. At one time in my life, I was 'the attorney' almost to the detriment of all else, and some people stll know me by that, though it's long abandonned.

 

Bruno, when you're not photographing, what do people know you as?

 

;~))

 

John

Hmm. Guess I have many personalities.

 

At the university I was "the guy with long hair" (if you check my portrait on my p.net homepage, you'll see how time can be unforgiving).

 

I live in Germany now, so I bet people call me "the italian guy".

 

But when I used to live in Milano, I was "the guy from southern Italy".

 

During a recent trip to Naples a friend of mine, since I had my camera with me once in a pub, called me "Peter Parker".

 

Plus I can imagine 10.000 names I might not be aware of :)

thanks, advise thick skin john re ratings; the site is dominated by people who like "pretty" pictures -- this kind of thing is less understood. glad you post here, i miss people like balaji quite a bit and hope you don't go the same path.

Nicely done, John, especially with the angle while keeping the closest license plates still in focus. I've seen several of these guys across the country. I saw a "hubcap" guy one time that had filled his yard, and the sides of his garage with hubcaps. Of course, I was without a camera at the time. Just another great shot missed. Glad you didn't miss this one. Cheers.

This is true 'Americana' of the Route 66 type that has been chronicaled but supposedly has mostly disappeared - but in Nevada you just have to snoop around a little bit to go back half a Century or so.

 

You can even find a guy toting a shotgun down main street, as I saw that day (but didn't photograph since I couldn't make it interesting).

 

When I worked in Nevada in the 60s, the rich 'cowboys' (all hat and no cattle, often wore huge silver belt buckles, talked with Western accents, and occasionally carried side arms.) Them were the days.

 

One day, feigning ignorance while counting cards at Harolds Club shortly after Harold Smith Sr., and Jr. sold it to Howard Hughes for $25 million (a princely sum) and Harold Smith, Jr. was sitting at my table, I 'doubled down' a 21 instead of collecting twice my bet and drew an 'ace' and won a double bet instead of 1-1/2 times my bet, for a slightly higher payoff. I counted the cards and knew what was left. It was a sure bet, but I looked like a sucker who didn't know what he was doing.

 

Harold Smith, surrounded by 'easy women' and sitting in his own casino for one of the first times, couldn't believe I 'hit' a 21 which is a surefire bet and couldn't believe this 'bumpkin' gambler was counting cards, so he proceeded to bankroll my bets and 'teach' me to play '21' (at his expense).

 

He lost $10,000 that night,and I won $100 by counting and playing scientifically.

 

His father, who got the main part of $25 million sale, and invested in another casino -- largely for his friends -- ended up living on Social Security in a mobile home park, bankrupt, and probably the son -- who wasn't the brightest bulb in the fixture -- went the same way.

 

I always won or walked away if my skills were not up to it after betting $10 or $15 at the dollar tables. (They sometimes sent a 'mechanic' (crooked dealer) to deal (seconds) to me, and I could tell by how fast I got 'bad' cards, and they could tell by my betting pattern I was counting. (I could also 'hear' the bad cards being reviewed by the dealer before they were passed over for a 'second' and 'worse' card to be dealt to me. My hearing was very good and to be trusted. See the book 'Beat the Dealer' by Thorpe, for a complete description -- out of print now, but he invented card counting -- an MIT professor who 'cracked' the game of 21/blackjack (under old rules at least).

 

During that betting session and while Harold Smith, Jr. of famed Harold's Club was financing my bets, Joe Conforte who owned the Mustang Ranch brothel of nearby Story County was behind me at the craps table 'on a roll' with a loud, cheering crowd, drunk and reeling as he threw the craps dice, and he often reeled right into poor old me.

 

He also blew a huge sum that night when he went 'craps', but I just walked out the richer.

 

I was the tortoise; they were the hares.

 

Nevada is different; real Americana. Reno was a family town; mob influences were not seen or at least 'under control' compared to Las Vegas and Hughes essentially drove them out by buying everything out with his billions through Robert Maheu. (whom Hughes publicly called a crook, Hughes sued Maheu, his former business manager for defamation, Maheu sued reclusive Hughes to court to for defamation, and Hughes defaulted (with his huge fingernails and psychotic need for reclusiveness), and lost a billion or two in a default judgment to Maheu -- or a similarly large sum.

 

Them were the days. I offended a few of 'the boys' and used to look under my car hood every morning before I started my car at 4:00 a.m. before boing to AP. 'The Boys' used to blow up cars of those they were 'irritated at'.

 

Joe Conforte offered me a 'free pass' 'run of the house' at the famed Mustang Rangh Brothel after I wrote something critical of him, but I didn't want to appear on a blackmail film, so I declined. (Much as I truly wanted to use such a pass, I didn't want to be filmed surreptitiously).

 

Virginia City, here is in the mountains of Story County where the Mustang Ranch was located, and Conforte courted these voters since his multi-jillion dollar business depended on its semi-legality (and their votes).

 

It's pretty laissez-faire (let alone) in Nevada.

 

Still is.

 

To each his own.

 

If you want to collect license plates, I'll bring you some rare ones and you can pin them on your shed.

 

If your neighbor's a prostitute, maybe she also makes a good chicken dinner, and works for the largest employer in your county, which means she pays her rent on time!!!

 

It's different in Nevada; they recognize life's foibles and don't blink.

 

(A Nevada Congressman, commenting on the Bush Administration, I heard recently, and whose car had a bomb planted in it when he was with the Nevada Gaming Control Board (or Commission) said he feared even more what is happening in Washington these days (not being specific) than his days in Nevada when they tried to assassinate him for opposing casino expansion plans.

 

Go figure.

 

I'm very sorry Balaji's gone; he is a treasure, and a prodigious producer who deserves to be published.

 

As to ratings, Balaji simply opted out, but I don't and I don't fear low ratings, except they mean that some photos don't get seen very much, which kind of robs my talent, but them's the breaks. I have no plans to leave. This place is wonderful.

 

I'm rewarded with this wonderful forum for my photos and an opportunity to hone my stories, which may someday show up in print in a more formal print setting © 2006, John Crosley, first publication 2006, all rights reserved.

 

John (Crosley)

great stuff john, thanks for the stories. you have a time and place to explore, and i admire you for taking on that challenge.

I'm continually approached by 'asset management' people in stores who 'fear' my large cameras, (but not those 8 megapixel digicams that people use to take photos who really mean to do dirt -- the insurance adjuster and investigators know enough not to carry pro equipment - they just carry small cameras, sneak in, do their job and go out, and no one's the wiser.

 

Even tonight I got stopped twice, at Albertson's and Target (Tarjay), and just snapped at the people, one of whom, a butcher, who was absolutely sure I was taking photos (I wasn't, I was buying meat),but the store manager knows me and my photos and apologized profusely.

 

Yes, a thick skin.

 

but I'm a big guy and the worse they can do is ask me to leave.

 

I can always say "I've been thrown out of better joints than yours' many times.

 

Or retort 'What is so special about this *($ store that anyone in their right mind would want to take a photo of it?' which sets them on their cans often.

 

But usually, I engage my subjects, and they're willing, when I'm in retail stores, and they like it. Even the managers and salespeople.

 

Vanity attacks all sorts of people.

 

What is interesting lately is to spy how beautiful young women kind of 'primp' when I'm carrying my expensive lenses and large D2X and D200 Nikons, thinking I'm going to photograph 'them' instead of what I normally do (how are they to know?) It's their hubris, borne of good looks and constant admiration that makes them think I'm going to take their photo because they're pretty or attractive, but I'm interested in a higher truth (say an obviously 'gay' guy checking a beautiful woman out, and looking 'askance' at her; now that's a photo I'd take.)

 

A thick skin; if you saw my body, you'd know it's consistent with the rest of my body.

 

Somebody should invite Balaji back and somebody also should publish him.

 

He's a treasure.

 

John

It's symbiotic; I wouldn't be much of a photographer or a writer without an audience.

 

The idea of writing and photographing for no audience at all is kind of like the idea of making love with no partner -- an exercise in exasperation and futility and completely narcissitic and senseless.

 

I need you guys more than PN needs me. And I keep that in mind, always. Some good photographers got it in their minds that they were 'better than' PN or that Brian couldn't touch them because they were 'so important'.

 

Their accounts are now deleted.

 

I expect mine to be here for some time and if I overstep, for someone to warn me politely and instructively.

 

John

All these Nevada photos were taken in one day trip from California to Nevada and back -- no motel and no overnight stay. Just an early start and a late return. One day's shooting, morning to night, and back home.

 

Not so extensive on the travel.

 

John

I spent a week in Vegas just a few years ago. That was really long enough for me. If you want to see big silver and gold belt buckles, you can see a lot of them in Oklahoma, where I live now. You could even go to Shepler's or Tener's and buy yourself one. Of course, you'd have to buy the belt for it, then get some pants for the belt, and then get a western suit. There's no stopping once you start. Best Regards, Barry

I'm in a hurry and could just read quickly your favolous story (the free pass is a highlight)... you know, I've read that you're often travelling... if you ever happen to be in Germany... hm, write me a mail, I think that drinking a beer with you must be really interestin. You'll be my guest.

I spent a week in Las Vegas 'one afternoon'

 

I find the place infinitesimally boring -- full of stale smoke, stale people, and stale, overdone things.

 

But then I lived a year in Reno, and worked a short walk from the downtown 'red zone' with all the big casinos and ate lunch every day in Harrah's Terrace (beef stroganoff was the best, and extremely cheap).

 

I learned to 'count the cards' and if short on funds, I just headed downtown and 'gambled' a little with $10, and ran it up to $100 (a week's salary almost), then quit and walked away, so I didn't get my knees busted or attract too much attention (I was once warned by a dealer at Harold's club about attracting too much attention by the distinctive style of betting and 'hitting' a 'Blackjack' player does when one 'counts the cards'; it's recognizable by every dealer, pit boss and those hunchback no-neck guys (and cameras) concealed in the catwalks above the gaming, that you can't see through the ceiling mirrors.

 

I think Reno has gotten too big for its britches, but it doesn't seem a 'friendly' place; watch this place for a photo or two of monoliths (megalights?) that have overtaken that once family-friendly 'gaming' (euphemism for gambling) town.

 

No matter how you cut it, outside of the glitz and 'glamour' of Las Vegas Boulevard (the Strip) Las Vegas for all its reputed glamour, is a dusty, dirty town that is growing like 'Topsy', friendly in the neighborhoods, but full of people who'll send you home shirtless and even take your automobile and not even give you a bus ticket home (but still friendly to their neighbors as all getout.)

 

Full of whores (not prostitutes, but genuine whores, who hang around for the droppings of successful gamblers who can't leave the tables alone. They exchange their sex for the pickings and consider themselves 'high class' people because they dress nicely and with some 'taste' (expensively).

 

In fact, there is a feeling in Las Vegas, that 'expensive' equals 'good taste' which is almost an oxymoron the way they attempt to accomplish it.

 

It just isn't the place for me, nor was Reno, which I half loathed after moving there from San Francisco.

 

Reno was COLORFUL and full of COLORFUL characters.

 

When after I returned to Columbia College, Columbia University to finish my schooling (interrupted by student riots and a gunshot wound, then by a trip to Viet nam) after leaving Associated Press, Clifford Irving penned his alleged autobiography of Howard Huges (bogus) and McGraw Hill Publishing (a prestigious and profitable publisher) offered me a job based on my experience and expertise in Nevada to research through my Nevada 'contacts' the 'authenticity' or not of the 'HUGHES' alleged autobiograpy, but I declined.

 

Kind of 'a pox on both of your houses' I thought. A pox on Howard Hughes and a pox on McGraw-Hill, reputable publisher of the prestigious Business Week (a business Bible and others), for spending megabucks on something so improbable as a Hughes 'autobiograpy'

 

Not only was there Joe Conforte, the brothelmaster, and Bill Lear, who invented the 8-track cartridge and adapted the Lear Jet (the first personal jet), but also such stalwarts as the old hobo-looking guy, LaVere Redfield who packed 10s and 100s of thousands of dollars in his pockets and briefcases he carried around and bought up all the land around Reno at auction, becoming one of Nevada's richest men in a city of extremely wealthy people (no state income tax).

 

He once offered a woman of somewhat 'loose morals' $10,000 for sex, got his sex, then reneged AND SHE SUED HIM.

 

Where else but in Nevada could a court even consier such a thing and not throw it out based on the lack of a binding and legal 'contract'?

 

And the highest paid judge in the nation was the lowly municipal court judge who lined up all the marrying couples and married them en masse, kind of like a precursor to the Reverand Moon (of Moonie fame) because he got a fee for each marriage he performed and he was the only one in Reno who could do it on demand (a preacher could do it too, but they were associated with chapels and they wanted to sell you flowers, etc. etc. etc., driving up the bill.) There was no 'waiting period' in Reno, like there was (and is) in California, -- just buy the license and get married. When Judge Abe Beamer retired, they had the court clerks do his job and his hundreds of thousands of marrying fees went to the county of Washoe, instead.

 

And down in Las Vegas was Mr. Binyon of Binyon's Horseshoe Casino, who not long ago buried one or two million in gold in the desert and then was murdered for his gold (they caught the murderers or course).

 

Maybe he was saving it for a rainy day (in the desert?) (or it wasn't properly accounted for with the IRS. -- I didn't follow that story.)

 

And, when the brothelmaster and felon Joe Conforte didn't withhold federal income tax and Social Security from his 'girls' (working girls at that) for their 'services' the federal bankruptcy court in Reno allowed a 'trustee' in bankruptcy to continue the operation of his brothels (there were several grouped together) as a going business under bankruptcy court supervision, and every January first, the local paper published the year's annual court filings, together with an account of how many 'services' (ordinary and extraordinary) the brothel 'girls' performed on their customers and at a total and average cost of X and Y, all neatly spelled out in graphs (with circles and arrows and photos for all you Arlo Gurthrie fans).

 

Where else but in Nevada?

 

The local paper was astonishing reading.

 

And in Winnemucca, to my chagrin because I didn't find out about it, the cops continued to frame black people for alleged crimes that never were committed, just to get their jollies eventually resulting in one of the largest civil rights awards ever made when it finally and not long ago came to an award.

 

Many black people went to jail. (One white cop trick; vacuum a guy's carpet and put him in prison for five to ten years for finding 3 seeds of marijuana

 

(I wrote that story, with outrage, when I was there, not knowing the defendant was black, as there was no photo and no one noted it to me, including his attorney, and the trial was 150 miles away from the office I was permanently anchored in.

 

Even the brothels had a three-bell system for blacks and one bell call if the customer at the gate was white -- institutionalized discrimination, which hit the national headlines when finally written about.

 

Yes, it was an interesting year, and I returned for years and years, since my in-laws lived there.

 

John (Crosley)

 

(I do sound like an old man; all I need is a corncob pipe, a whittling knife, a whittling stick, and a porch to sit on to tell my tales, with a lonely harmonica wailing in the distance.)

 

;-))

 

jc

 

I'll take you up on that; I frequently get to your 'fatherland'. (We now even have a Homeland which we are trying to make secure . . . ').

 

I love German pilsner and other light beers for a short drink or two, once or twice a year (not a beer fan and not the dark beers, however, but the light beers are just the thing to quench a thirst after weeks of traveling in places where one can't drink the water for fear of sitting on a toilet for a week or two.

 

If they're served cold enough.

 

And I've been over most of Germany except Berlin and the East. I've lived near Giessen and Marburg, with friends off and on (student and instructor friends -- platonic young women I met in travels)

 

One is pictured in one of my few nude photographs (the only true nude photograph -- she's an accomplished portrait and nude photographer with I think a fine arts degree and through her, I exhibited the only time in my life, in Wetzlar of all places - home of Leica (just a few photos if that, at an exhibition she helped organize, since she taught in Wetzler, near Kleine Linden, Grosser Linden, Giessen and down the pike from Marburg.

 

My best portrait (of me) ever was done by her -- but I'm bearded and though it's 14 years ago, I look older in that than now.

 

Go figure.

 

(Her boyfriend, she told me, was captured as an escaped convict who lived sometimes with her -- Thomas Henning, whom I knew; he even went to school at the univeristy in Giessen and as part of his student work even interviewed the local chief of police for the local newspaper (such chutzpah).

 

Although this woman was his 'girlfriend' my close woman friend was 'bi' after having been seduced as a student by a woman teacher, and the woman photographer always was around this 'girlfriend', and she always was taking photos of 'nude women' so I think I've put two and two together.

 

I think she was one very satisifed portrait and nude photographer doing what came naturally.

 

And a very good photographer, but who could never take the photographs I take (nor could I take those she took).

 

Our ways have parted; she brought a female friend on an invited trip to Hawaii with me, and spent all the time with the beautiful young woman, and hardly spoke to me, which left me kind of 'stranded' with no one to talk to (the beautiful young woman, a model and friend, only spoke German, was an artist who did political cartoons wonderfully, and alledly helped harbor the photographer's boyfriend when he escaped prison on a 'leave' from which he never returned. (according to her story, which I fully believe).

 

Just one more small event in a rather boring life I've lived.

 

I don't know what I'd talk about if we met, as I've nothing to talk about and often am at a loss for words ;))

 

I've lead a sheltered existence.

 

John

Did it occur to you that in addition to the eccentric and wonderful people I collect and cherish through my photography, that in order to do that, I had to have had such experiences as I've written about.

 

One can't create in a vacuum, at least not for long (I did as a youth, but the vacuum cylinder was pumped dry, for lack of experience.).

 

Now, loaded with an enormously interesting life, I am primed to take, I hope, enormously interesting photographs (or ordinary photographs in an interesting manner).

 

John

As you know John, i am not so good writer.

So i just say: I like the photo! All the colors in it, the way you took the picture. Very interesting! A greetings from Holland, Ellen.

It's interesting how I can use lots of words to describe in a quasi-scientific and 'intellectual' manner, the precise choice of angles, etc., I make as a photographer in order to achieve a particular result.

 

The actual truth is I look in the viewfinder until I fill the viewfinder with the subject and exclude all the remainder, and the rest is what I hope will be an interesting photo.

 

And, when I look in the viewfinder now, and I see a photo that looks like a 'snapshot' or someone else's low-rated photo (or mine) from Photo.net, my brain's gears go into overdrive and wonder 'how can I make this photo better or more interesting?'

 

Sometimes, as here, it's merely a different camera placement -- such as getting down low and taking a photo from a different angle. It's a 'device' or 'trick' that pros use very often, if you look at successful worldwide news photos, etc.

 

The whole idea is not to follow rules, but to create a photo from which one can extrapolate rules so one can help create the next photo.

 

This would work well as a B & W photo, I think, but it works especially well in color, especially since his blue shirt is 'plain' in color and striated with shadows from his outstretched arm in the direction of his arm -- for a happy effect. And the shirt and the blue license, left, tend to 'mirror' or repeat each other, also another happy or fortunate effect.

 

I can't actually 'digest' all these things when I'm shooting. I'm more reduced to the 'gut' level that Late Supreme Couet Justice (of America) Potter Stewart wrote when asked to define 'pornography': "I can't define it, but I know it when I see it."

 

The same usually applies to my images; some images I look at again and again in my image review, and others never get more than a quick review and no further consideration.

 

(Occasionally a 'top' photo will slip by this review, so I go over my 'discards' after a few weeks and months again and extract new 'hidden gems' which I was too shortsighted and overlooked previously.

 

Also, I have a friend who runs a photofinishing business who's a topnotch photographer, a former pro, who admittedly once lived the life depicted in "Blow Up", the movie, and he can spot a gem among my prints, on the rare occasion when I have them printed, or even in my flash cards on those rare occasions when he reviews them.

 

One needs friends like that; they're invaluable, and a camera club provides such support if it's well-run, but I am unaware of such a club near where I am, especially one that will tolerate a 'street shooter'.

 

I'm pretty overwhelmed how this photograph has commanded feedback, as I saw it as a secondary photograph for a secondary portfolio, more personal in nature than an example of my art at its best -- more of a personal quest which happens to be on display than displaying anything I considered to be my good art.

 

Go figure.

 

My friend says he's going to display this photo in his store along with others taken in Nov.-Dec., in a sort of mini-gallery. We'll see, as he's pretty busy, and this is definitely secondary.

 

I enjoy so much when you drop by Ellen (and I do so much love your country and its people, who have some of the best, most subtle and well-developed humor in the world, to my taste anyway.)

 

(I just looked at your rate; thank you for the compliment. I almost never look at (or for) rates when I write comment replies, as I don't want to 'skew' my responses, as I'm not 'fishing' for rates with my comments.

 

John (Crosley)