Welcome To Psychedelic Photo-Rama!

The Virgin Mary, San Juan, Puerto Rico (click to enlarge)
©2009 Chris Ragazzo

Today was the day when the stats on blogging just didn't matter anymore. Who cares if everyone is blogging? Blog anyway. Add to the music. For me, this is my "Digital Blogging Genesis," the beginning of my photography blog.

Like my pioneering days in podcasting, co-creating the ever-popular "MyMacGuys Podcast," with my friend, Hank Cline, I have decided that some early ground-rules had to be set.

I hope to never to stay on track, never to be linear, and never to keep it all about photography, because like life, it is never just about one thing. Sure, I wake up at 5 a.m. some days to go shoot, but it always becomes about other things....the music I am listening to, the neighborhoods I am exploring, the foods that I am discovering...all under the guise of a photo outing.

So, like that smorgasbord of experiences, this blog will be a psychedelic cornucopia of all things under the umbrella of photography. I want to hear from you, out there. If you write, it will be part of the ongoing discussion. So, please, hang it out there with me. You won't regret it.

If I have learned anything these past years as a photographer, it is that you can't get bogged down in the tech. Learn it, yes. But don't let it keep you from making mistakes, shooting from the soul, and constantly learning "to see." I'll be talking a lot about "Beginner's Mind" and how to stay open. That tree is breathing. That ocean is talking. That mountain is listening. It is all part of the Psychedelic Photo-rama! I chose the word "Psychedelic" because for me it represents expansion of the mind, of the spirit, and a willingness to see below the surface of what we are experiencing.

So let's grab a camera and start shooting!
Join me as I begin this journey. I have no idea where it will take me.

Editor-In-Chief
Chris Ragazzo




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My First Love

We all remember our first loves. They hold a place in our hearts unsurpassed by all that will follow in years to come. We treasure our firsts, because they represent the beginning of a journey, when all the promise of "what could be" lies ahead of us, and not behind. We make all of our mistakes with our firsts, learn through the joy and through the pain, and somehow, without knowing it at the time, we will spend the rest of our lives chasing that feeling, hoping to experience it again, but knowing deep in our souls that there can only be one first love.

For me, that first love was my Canon AE-1, serial # 374694. I was 16 years old and had sailed through Photo 1 and Photo II classes at Horace Greeley High School, in Chappaqua, New York. It was an upper middle-class town, set in the wooded back roads of Westchester. It would be another 30 years before President Clinton and Hilary would make it a town anyone recognized. Before that, everyone thought it was the town that Teddy Kennedy had driven off the bridge in, to which all Chappaqua residents were trained to say, "No, that's Chappaquiddick." I am sure there are now people in Chappaquiddick who now say, "No, that's Chappaqua," when asked about the former President and his current residence.

In a town where it was not unheard for a kid to get a BMW on their seventeenth birthday, 35mm SLR's (single lens reflex) were dangling from the necks of my fellow classmates like peace medallions at Woodstock.

Until that point in time, I made due with by borrowing my mother's rangefinder. It was a very decent camera, but it came with a fixed lens, and focusing was not always a guaranteed proposition, especially in low light where matching up the two yellow squares was dubious.

I dropped hints at almost every dinner. Between arguing over the legalization of marijuana and the hostages in Iran, I would mention that my good friend, Matt Arkin, had shown me his Olympus Om-1, and how cool it was. I explained what an SLR was to my parents, and they could see how excited I was about the whole thing. I told them why looking through the lens itself was so much better, and I went on and on about how you could switch to different lenses for different situations. They always nodded during these diatribes, but somehow I knew that we really couldn't afford this luxury item at this point in our lives. Maybe if it were a graduation present, or a major birthday, I might see it happening, but these were frugal times, and my parents did all they could do to make ends meet as it was. I knew if they could, they would, and that point, they couldn't.

I continued to learn from our resident photography teacher, Mr. Swayne. He was probably an ex-hippie, very laid back, handle bar-moustache ever-present, and a tough critic. I liked him a lot. When I finished taking Photo 1 and Photo 2, he invited me to continue on to advanced Photography. I was now surrounded by the full gamut of gear, from Olympus to Canon, from Mamiya to Rolleiflex. One very rich kid even had a Leica. I drooled every time I came within two feet of it. It was a beautiful object to behold.

I shot every day. I shot trees, I shot students, I shot girls, I shot rocks. I had "Beginner's Mind" before I had to think about it. I was a virgin in this new world, and loving every part of it. The smell of the darkroom, with its pungent chemicals and slightly damp must was like my own private cathedral. I would enter this space like a priest enters a church. I knew there were secrets to be learned in that dark place and it drew me ever deeper the more time I would spend there.

One sunny day, my mother and I were driving around doing mundane errands when we stopped in our pre-Walmart world at Caldor's Department Store in Bedford Hills. My sister worked at the Customer Service Desk and I had spent many hours buying Estes Rocket model kits there to fuel my genetically pre-determined pyromaniac adolescent longings. Blowing things up and setting them on fire was a short but satisfying rites of passage.

My mother, a beautiful and gentle woman to this day, asked if I would help her with one of her errands. I followed her reluctantly, assuming I would pulled into some mom project. She had just completed a decoupage phase, but I digress.

We found ourselves in the electronics department. This was long before the concept of Circuit City's existed. The glass counters were lined with big round plastic radios in bright colors, and stereophonic hi-fi systems sporting 8-Track tape players. It was nothing short of heaven for a 16 year old kid. I had no idea what my mother could want in this section of the store.

A bald man with glasses greeted us and asked how he could help. My mother then smiled and and said, "I wonder if you could talk to my son about cameras."

I could not believe the words that my mother had just said. I felt a rush of adrenalin kick through my body and suddenly the fluorescent lights seemed to burn just that much brighter, and I looked at Mom to make sure she wasn't going crazy. She just stood there smiling in silence. She was as happy as any day I have known. She knew I could not be more surprised and she was relishing the moment.

The man walked me down to the display case that held all of the cameras of the day. Not your Leicas, mind you, but all of the SLR's competing at that point in time. There was Nikon, Olympus, Minolta, Canon, Contax, and others I had never heard of. The man pulled out two or three bodies and laid them gently on the glass counter top. I picked up Matt's OM-1. There it was, the object of my desire, right in the palms of sweaty hands. I looked through the viewfinder. It was the equivalent of The Rabbit Hole for me. I would never look back. I wanted to follow this world to whatever corner it took me. I was gone. Just gone.

I spent the next hour with the salesman, a very patient man who rattled of specs that meant nothing to me at the time. He told me that I could attach a motor-drive to some models, but not others. He said I could shoot in AE mode or manual, and that if I needed to underexpose I could choose increments of 1/3 a second or 1/4 f-stop. He turned buttons, popped shutters rapid-fire and swapped lenses faster than I could think. There were now 8 cameras on the counter, 10 lenses and two flash units. My mother stood there the entire time and never said a word. She was always a good student, and I think she enjoyed learning about these cameras, but most of all, I think she just enjoyed watching me taking it all in.

Then, a funny thing happened. I put the OM-1 down and picked up the Canon AE-1. I was surprised that it fit in my hands better than the Olympus. I put it back down immediately and returned to the OM-1. After all, the Olympus OM-1 was the camera that started my lust. This was the surefire status symbol that had had personally been tested in the real world with proven results on the scale of coolness. Hey, this was the camera...right?

I aimed the OM-1 around for a few more minutes, clicking that shutter because it sounded like something I couldn't quite put a name too, until I squeezed off a few more pops of the shutter and it hit me. It was the sound of "professional." A sound that hit me at a cellular level. A sound that still hits me when I am shooting today. It has never left me and that is not a romantic ideal, it is the truth as I know it.

Back at the counter, something wonderful was about to happen. I was about to choose my first, and there is a moment in all of our choices in life when you have to stop and listen to that voice within that knows no reason, but has wisdom by the bucket load. That very voice was telling me, "Chris, pick up the AE-1 again. Go ahead, I dare you," and I took that dare. I reached over and picked up the Canon. I turned it upside down and sideways. I cocked the shutter several more times, and then, I turned to my mother and I said, "I don't know if we can afford this, but I think this is my camera." Without blinking, my mother said, "Don't worry about that right now. Are you sure this is the one?" I was sure. I took one last look at Matt's Olympus, and folks, I never looked back.

I listened as my mother asked the salesman how much the camera would cost. He said that it was our lucky day, because the Canon was now on sale for $179.00. That translated to a thousand dollars in my head. It seemed like a lot of money, but my mother didn't hesitate to take out her check book and pay the man.

The man disappeared for a few minutes into the back stock room. I leaned into my mother and thanked her profusely for her generosity. It was the smallest of moments to the casual shopper passing by, but it was a moment that I will treasure for all the years of my life.

The bald man returned and presented me with a silver box with the bold Canon logo printed on all sides and the model name, Canon AE-1. It sat on my lap all the way home. I didn't want to open it for fear of shortening the moment. I wanted this moment to last forever, to savor all the feelings, all the promise that this small box held.

We drove in silence. I looked out the window at the trees going by, my mother sitting beside me so pleased with herself, and I pondered my life as a photographer, that at this point in time, was ahead of me and not behind.

Epilogue: It was that very camera that I took on two separate trips to South America. Once to travel The Mighty Amazon River, and once to participate in an 8500 mile race across the continent. At one point, my camera was left behind in a VW Taxi in Iquitos, Peru. Gone. But, thanks to the good nature of the cabbie, he returned a half hour later with my luggage that he forgot to remove from the front of the Beetle. It was the camera I used to document the birth of my daughters, my first car, my summer trips with my friends, and my girlfriend at college. I had that camera from the age of 16 until my early forties, when sadly, while visiting Playand Amusement Park in Rye, New York, my daughter jumped into my arms by surprise and the camera slipped from my shoulder. It landed squarely on the corner of the body and shattered the casing. There was now a light-leak that showed up on every single frame. My first love could not be saved. It was a sad moment, to say the least.

I eventually graduated to the Canon AE-1 Program, followed by the Canon A-1. When digital began, the Canon 10-D, and now the Canon Mark II. I sold most of the cameras I have acquired over the years, but there is one camera I still keep on the shelf in my office, in plain view, to remind me of my mother, of that day at Caldor's, and my journey into the world of photography.

The Bird Man

Nothing holds as much promise for a photographer as a cross-country road trip. In the days before digital cameras, that meant buying 20 rolls of Tri-X and 20 rolls of Plus X, and you were good to go. I always loved ripping those yellow Kodak boxes open and throwing the plastic containers into various parts of my luggage, in shoes, in socks or rolled up in t-shirts. Then there was that one container that didn't have any film in it at all. That one had a special place.

In the early 1980's, uncertain of what direction my life would take, I decided that 640 dollars was enough of a nest egg to hit the open road in my trusty 4 Wheel Drive Subaru wagon and head toward California with only one rule. Take as long as you want, and always stray from the main roads. It was summer when I left and after a few months working in various Hollywood crew jobs, I decided it was time to head home in time for Christmas. I was pretty sure I was done with Los Angeles. Little did I know I would return years later and raise my family.

On the drive back, I hit the mother of all snowstorms. It lasted two or three states. I still drove like I had just robbed a convenience store and put that Subaru through its paces. Nonetheless, I started to get very tired. The white on white was starting to lull me into a deep sleep.


Ice Wheels, ©2009 Chris Ragazzo

I gave up on side roads at this point. It was just too damn cold to shoot. I turned into a rest area filled with big-rigs and automobiles, all of us pretty weary from trying to stay in our own lanes. Then, I put my seat all the way back so I could lay flat and I was out cold in less than a minute. I figured I would give myself 30 minutes. I looked at my watch. It said 10 a.m.

The next thing I remember was that I was flying. I was amazed at how easy it was. I could dive and turn and swoop just by thinking about where I wanted to go. I looked around me and I was surrounded by a huge flock of starlings. They didn't seem to mind that I was accompanying them on their journey through the grey winter sky. I was shivering though. I remember thinking that I wouldn't last long up here in the clouds because I felt my hands were numb and my feet were starting to ache.


Then I heard the loud blast of a trucker's horn and I woke up staring at ceiling of my car. I wasn't flying after-all, but to my surprise, out of all three windows that were within my field of vision, the sky was black with starlings. They moved like a great school of fish, forming patterns of light and dark as they changed direction. There must have been ten thousand birds.

I looked at my watch. It read, 4:30 P.M. I had really been out. I guess I needed to sleep more than I was willing to admit. But, what happened next was very strange.

I turned my head to the right to stretch, and there was a man, an old man, standing at my window looking down at me. He didn't move. He just stared at me like he was looking at a pond. I thought maybe he didn't see me, that some reflection in my car window hid me from his view, but then he smiled like he could see that I was waking up.

I got out out of my car, but not before grabbing my Canon A-1 on the floor of the passenger seat. As soon as I opened the door, a rush of cold air swept in and did a good job of waking me up. The man watched as I stretched my arms. I pointed my camera at the sky while yawning and shot a few frames. I had the wrong lens and had no idea where my other gear was, so I shot some more. It must have rained while I was sleeping because the snow was gone, except for a few places. I must have come out of the mountains, but it was still pretty chilly.

"Pretty wild, huh?", I said to break the silence.
"Starlings. Listen to them," he said raising his chin to the sky.
"You taking a break? It's pretty rough out there."
"What?, he asked. "A break?" He seemed confused.
"A break from the drive. You know, what with the snow and all. It's pretty hellish of there.
"Oh. yes. The drive. Yes. I 'm taking a break and I noticed you sleeping there. I was worried."

He went on to tell me that he was from Pennsylvania, and that he had been driving trucks for 30 years. He said he lost his wife and the first fortune he had ever earned. He said he liked the road, and he told me a long story about fighting in World War II and how he got wounded, and how all of his friends had long since passed.

I asked him about his truck. He turned and pointed to a long trailer attached to a red truck.
I told him that I always wanted to drive a truck. And then I did something I don't often do. I knew that I wanted to document this day, but instead of asking if I could shoot him, I pointed my camera at the sky and made sure he was in the frame. I still don't know why I didn't just ask him. There was something strange about him I couldn't put my finger on. His clothes looked fairly worn and I wondered why he had no gloves.


I excused myself to go to the restroom. He said he would keep an eye on my car for me. As I walked away I wondered if he wasn't going to rifle through my car. I don't think I even locked it because I got out so quickly to shoot the starlings. Now it would seem rude to lock the car when this old man just offered to guard it.

I went into the concrete building. I must have been in there for three minutes. When I returned to my car, there was no sign of my new friend. I looked over at the red truck just as the driver's door opened and a man stepped down from the cab. It was a large black man with a wool hat on. He walked toward me and I asked, "Is that your red truck?"
"Yes, sir. I own that baby. Paid it off last year."
"Do you have a partner?" I asked.
"You mean a driving partner. My wife used to ride with me until she left me for some idiot at the drugstore. Can you believe that?"

He smiled and walked past me.

I got back in my car and turned the heat on. I threw my camera back on the floor where it lived.
As I slid the car into reverse, the snow started coming down again pretty heavy as I moved toward the on-ramp. I started slipping in the fresh snow, but I could feel my Subaru transferring power to each wheel. I loved that car. Then, just as I got back on the highway, about a quarter of a mile past the rest area, I saw a lone figure. He was standing at the side of the road, hands in his pockets, huge flurries of white snow blowing past him and around his face. He had no emotion on his face that I could read. He looked right into my eyes and turned his head as I passed, our eyes locked for those few seconds as I gathered speed.

I quickly turned to look in my rear-view mirror. He had pivoted his body to see my car driving off. The next thing he did, I will never forget. He saluted me. A slow and deliberate salute that he kept to his forehead without ever taking his hand down. I watched as the old man became engulfed in a cloud of white snow blowing off the highway from passing cars, as I headed home, hoping to be with my family for the holidays.

The Power of Self-Assignments

Man vs.Pollution, Los Angeles River
©2009 Chris Ragazzo
(click to enlarge)

Wouldn't it be great if you woke up every morning and a newspaper editor assigned you a story to cover with your camera? It would be important, relevant, hard to capture and completely up to you to photograph. The editor would trust you to do the rest. He wouldn't hold your hand, or tell you where to go. He would assume that you were capable of figuring all that out, and for that task, he was going to pay you handsomely, and your picture would be viewed by millions of people the next morning while they ate their breakfasts.

Well, as it turns out, newspapers are dying, the kind of trust I described is hard to find, and the money isn't all that good after taxes, but, the good news is, you don't have to wait for that assignment to start shooting photographs that are relevant, hard to capture and completely up to you to create.

It was early one morning, just after I purchased my Canon Mark II Ds, that I loaded the car with most of my gear, a piping hot double-capp from Peet's Coffee, music CD's from 1967 to 1974, and hit the streets of Los Angeles while my wife and kids were fast asleep on a lazy Saturday morning.

It occurred to me the night before, with this big beautiful camera fresh out of the box, that I didn't know how I planned to learn the nuances of this techno-beast. I could set strobes up in the studio and create tests, but I was bored just thinking about it. I needed something else. I needed, an assignment.

Being freelance is a "man on wire" prospect. Freedom without supervision, and sometimes, sadly, without direction, can be deadly. I am hoping that as I write this, there is a photographer out there reading this that can relate. We all need a goal, sometimes big, sometimes very small, but something that frames us just enough to give us direction. That's where the "self-assignment" comes in. Create an assignment or project that will stimulate you, challenge you, and really help you to hone both your vision and you personal shooting style.

Somewhere between Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth", and Traffic's "John Barleycorn, I gave myself my assignment...it would be "Pollution". There certainly would be no shortage of that in Los Angeles, so I started heading down the alleys of Venice and Santa Monica, past overflowing dumpsters being scavenged by early morning homeless folks. I shot a few uninspired frames. Soon I was heading out toward Manhattan Beach and beyond, by now deep into the second side of Genesis' "The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway," when I pulled my yellow Turbo Beetle to the side of the road and turned the engine off.

I sat there in silence. In two hours I hadn't shot one single frame I could use. I turned the car north and started heading home. As I was crossing over a bridge, I looked out my window and saw the L.A. River below me. I swerved into the emergency lane and shut the Beetle down again. It was time to hoof it. The comfort of the car would have to be abandoned. I grabbed my back pack, some water and an iPod, and I was gone. It took three minutes to wait for a break in Saturday morning traffic for me to safely sprint across four lanes.

Once across, I could sense that mind-shift that I have come to recognize and rely on over the years. That moment when you recognize that you are a hunter in search of your prey. In this case, the prey is the photograph that fulfills the self-assignment.

Looking at my photos of that day, I shot the following: birds eating garbage, rats crawling in bushes, work-relief kids cleaning up trash, garbage in water and on and on, and not one of those pictures really did it for me. I walked in the sun that was already too hot for about half an hour.
Finally, I decided to call it a morning. I was over-working, over-thinking, over-theorizing and overkilling the whole experience. I turned around and started the walk back to the car. I powered down the camera and put it back in the pack. I drank some water and cranked up, "All Along The Watchtower," the Hendrix version.

As I started walking back over the bridge, I turned back and looked over the edge. From this high-angle there was a very cool reflection that I hadn't noticed earlier. But now, the gear was packed, I was hot, and I still had to cross the four lanes of death before heading back. I waited a few minutes, then crossed the highway and loaded the Beetle. I started the engine. I was ready to go. I really was. I was almost gone, when I shut the Turbo down and got back out the car. I crossed the road again and started framing up. Runners and bikers kept getting in my shot. It was actually starting to piss me off, but this was Saturday morning and every office rat in L.A. was out to remind themselves that they were still human, so I would have to just grow some patience.

I finally squeezed off several empty frames of beautiful garbage reflecting in the water, when a runner passed by below me and I noticed that his reflection could also be seen. I framed up again and waited. Lots of couples passed by. I shot a few. Still, not quite ready to leave, I waited a few more minutes. Then, a solo runner appeared. I waited, both eyes open for him to enter the frame and I shot the photograph you are looking at.

I crossed the Deathway one last time and headed back to the house listening to Elton John's "Captain Fantastic and The Brown Dirt Cowboy." I was happy. Happy that I didn't quit until I had fulfilled my own assignment.

Is it a great shot? No. Does it convey the message of my assignment? Yes. Does it work on more than one level for me? Yes. The fact that the man seems oblivious to the pollution that he is surrounded by, that he most likely participated in creating, that is choking the very water that he drinks and uses, is multi-leveled enough for me. It is depressing and beautiful at the same time, and I like the overall symmetry of the image. At least, that's what I see. (In general, I leave all that I have just described for the viewer to decide, but for the sake of sharing information, especially for photographers just beginning their journey, I am telling you what makes this photo work for me.)

The point of the exercise, is that when you feel uninspired, you might just have to create a challenge for your artistic self, and act as teacher and student all at the same time. Waiting for inspiration can be deadly. So, don't wait. Take your camera off the shelf, start shooting and be really careful crossing the road.

Editor's Note: I sent a few photos from that day to the photo editor of The Los Angeles Times, whom I did not know at the time. He wrote me back right away, saying that he really liked the photos and had no use for them at the time. Months later, I shot a fire in Indio. I sent him those photos. With each communication, the correspondence increased in warmth and respect. So, new guys out there. It is never a waste of time to shoot your own assignments. It is a waste of time to send an editor an empty letter with none of your work attached. That, I can guarantee.

Fashion Week- Chapter 1

"Angelina" Bryant Park, New York City
©2009 Chris Ragazzo (click to enlarge)
(15 mm Canon L-Series lens)

From a photographer's standpoint, shooting Fashion Week at Bryant Park in New York City is a fight from the minute you enter the arena in the early morning, to the moment when security pushes you out the door at midnight. It is physically exhausting, mentally challenging, technically difficult and I would love to do it every single day. Add to that the fact that you are surrounded by the most beautiful women in the world, and it turns out to be gig worth fighting for.

In my four days backstage and beyond, I befriended a luminescent angel, appropriately named Angelina. Her English was far from perfect, so we did a lot of nodding and smiling, but also a lot of shooting. She and I made that instant connection, that only lasts a few moments...more if you should be so lucky.

Thus begins the dance at Angelina's invitation. She is agreeing to take your lens in as a friend. She will look deep into your soul, and your camera will capture these single moments in time long after the Main Tent at Bryant has been packed away for the next season.

This photograph was not by accident. I had noticed that when the models came off the runway, they passed in front of a very bright light that was used to light the backdrop of the runway. It was so bright that it made it hard for the models to adjust to the relative darkness backstage. This also happened to be where they had to take a step down from the stage. In that moment of adjustment to the light, they slowed down their pace for just a second, and then leapt backstage.

I could see that their faces were over-exposed, as the rest of their bodies fell into shadow. It had a ghostly quality that I really liked so I started bracketing exposures at first and shooting at a very high ISO. I think I was up at 1600 without a flash. But then I got the idea that maybe I shouldn't try to overcompensate with "film speed", but rather shoot at a slower speed and let that really hot light do all the work of spilling light into the corners of the frame. My favorite photographs use one light and since I had a mono-pod, I wasn't that worried about sharpness. Luckily, I had a lot of time to experiment because the rehearsals meant that 25 models would make the rounds 2 or 3 times.

Finally, the moment arrived. Angelina noticed me before she took the stage. She smiled. I smiled back, pointing to my camera to signal that I would be shooting her exit. With my eye to the viewfinder, I watched as three or four models passed by. I shot them for practice, but as soon as Angelina appeared, I considered her my actual model. I squeezed off this frame and hoped for the best.

In the camera's LCD it all looked too dark, but when I took the cross-town bus home, exhausted from standing for 14 hours carrying a 45 pound backpack, I knew I had the shot I was hoping for.

The entire time at Fashion Week, my mantra was, "What is new for me to shoot here?" For me, this was just one example of Beginner's Mind when on location.

DEFINITIONS: Bracketing is the general technique of taking several shots of the same subject using different or the same camera settings. Bracketing is useful and often recommended in situations that make it difficult to obtain a satisfactory image with a single shot, especially when a small variation in exposure parameters has a comparatively large effect on the resulting image. (Source:Wikipedia)

ISO / ASA :All film has a speed rating, whether digital or traditional. You may see this number called ASA or ISO (both indicate the film's rated speed). The ISO / ASA rating describes how quickly the film reacts to light. (Source: PhotonHead.com)

Editor's Note: A higher number, like 1600, means that the film or digital capture system is much more sensitive to light. In very dark situations, a higher ISO is often the only solution, unless you choose a flash or strobe.

The Shooting Zone

"The Gathering," Huntington Beach, California
©2009 Chris Ragazzo (click to enlarge)
(captured with a 15 mm Canon L-Series lens)

This image should really be the "brand image" for this blog. I captured this while shooting the US Surf Open in Huntington Beach, California, last summer. I spent hours walking up and down the pier with my 15mm Canon lens, looking for just the right spot to capture this gathering of humans on a perfect summer day.

I finally settled on this angle because it allowed me to capture the curvature of Earth, and I liked the array of beach blankets more than I did at different points on the pier.

Let's face it, the fish-eye is a trippy lens if ever there was one. It warps the world, takes us just one step out of our plane of reality and probably reminds those of us who traveled the astral plane without an airplane that there are some days that are just a little brighter, a little funnier, a little more audibly heightened. Are you feelin' me? Yeah, you got it. Just one of "those" days.

Which leads me to "The Zone". What is the zone? I am NOT referring to Ansel Adams here. He has cornered the market on that exposure zone. No, I am talking about the head-space you get in when you shoot by yourself.

My partner in television, Luis, wanted to accompany me on this particular day and I politely declined to have an assistant. He still thinks I am full of crap, (I know he'll be reading this) but I tried to explain to him that when you are silent, when you allow yourself to descend into the shooting zone, that your senses will heighten, your vision will deepen, your awareness of the environment will awaken...and that, my friends, is exactly where you want to be when you're shooting.

Do I get in the zone every day? Not on your life. I would be lying if I said that I did. But, I have learned a few tricks on how to conjure it up after these many years of rubbing the genie's lamp.

Rule # 1: Go it alone. Resist the temptation to have friends tag along. Yes, it is more fun to have friends, but that is not what you are doing today. Today, you're shooting.

Rule # 2: Ask yourself, "What do I see?" Then ask, "How can I shoot this so that someone who is not here could see exactly what I am experiencing?" It's harder than it sounds...(and impossible, by the way).

Rule # 3: Don't move. Just stand there. It will reveal itself to you in time. Just stop moving. It's a little like those 3-D posters. It's going to get psychedelic. I promise.

Rule # 4: Ignore Rules # 1, 2 and 3. They work for me, but that might not be your process.

Keep Shootin'!