Dawg Pics
Senior Member
I took a bunch of images of people taking selfies at the Golden Gate Bridge. They were having fun.
Post Your Black and Whites Photos!!
- Thread starter Dave_W
- Start date
Dawg Pics
Senior Member
I agree and could write a diatribe about it, but I'll spare everybody.
Anyway, I love black and white photography and good street photography. Sometimes a person with a phone makes a good subject, but hoards of people looking down doesn't do it for me.
Blue439
New member
Well, I am no good at street photography, for several reasons: 1. I don’t like to sneak and steal pictures, it is not in my nature to do such things and I think it is often unfair to the person(s) photographed without their knowing. Plus, being of a legal background, I am very aware of the 21st century potential legal entanglements —not to mention that, if you publish a photo online, it can be regarded as “published” in any number of countries as it is available there, and because each jurisdiction or almost, has their own take on such privacy law issues, you can never assess the exact extent of the legal risk you are taking —you just know you are taking one. And 2. I don’t like to walk up to people and ask them for permission to take a picture, as it is also not in my nature and the result you most often get (assuming they don’t try to hit you, break your camera, insult you or pull a knife or a gun) is very artificial, posed and far from what you had in mind to begin with. In addition, and unless you make them sign a release form, they can still claim the photo was taken with a hidden device without their consent, and sue you. I’m not being paranoid, just mentioning things that all actually happened in real life.
So, if you live by street photography and it’s the juice that feeds your artistic mind, by all means do take all those risks, and very possibly you will never face any of the issues outlined above. Fingers crossed! I’ll stick to my preferred domains, although I would like to have a dab at portraiture, as I fancy I wouldn’t be too bad at setting up a friendly and trusty/laid back relationship with a model. At least, the challenge would interest me, and I’d like to try, maybe, one of these days.
= = = = = = = = = = = =
I may not be good at street, but I can weave a tale to bore my audience, and today’s is this: in the old province of Auvergne, in the département of the Puy-de-Dôme (central France), the quiet village of Orcival is nested in a closed volcanic valley. There, for a reason that has long been lost in the mists of time, a majestic church, soon elevated by the Pope to basilica status, was built and dedicated to Notre-Dame between 1146 and 1178. It is one of the five major churches in Auvergne —and God knows there are many there!
Listed as a Historic Landmark on the very first list of 1840, the basilica is another of those dark churches of Auvergne, mainly because of the material used, which is black basalt. The cathedral in Clermont-Ferrand, Auvergne’s capital city, is also made of black basalt stones, and my wife, when she was little, claimed that the cathedral was “made with tires”, as Clermont-Ferrand is also the headquarters of Michelin, the famous tire maker, and somehow she knew that. I was told she was around 5 years old by then.
Some say that the large church in Orcival was erected to house a venerable wooden statue of the Virgin Mary, said to have been sculpted by Saint Luke himself, and which attracted throngs of pilgrims in the Middle Ages, hence the need for a large church to accommodate the crowds, even though the village was (and is!) quite small.
On the day I took this photo, I couldn’t take good ones of the outside because of the Sun’s orientation. I had little time to work on that church, therefore I focused on the inside, which is splendid and majestic.
This is a very nice modern cross and chandelier, probably made of brass. I would have liked to light the candles for the photo, but I couldn’t get close enough, as the choir was roped off and I couldn’t sneak inside. I always carry two essential, albeit non-photographic items in my backpack: a gas lighter for those candles, and a feather duster to dust off the cobwebs from rarely cleaned capitals... It is my mentor, a Benedictine monk, who taught me that...
Nikon Z7 II, Micro-Nikkor 85mm, ƒ/2.8 PC-E tilt-shift lens. Gitzo tripod, Benro geared head. Natural light.
So, if you live by street photography and it’s the juice that feeds your artistic mind, by all means do take all those risks, and very possibly you will never face any of the issues outlined above. Fingers crossed! I’ll stick to my preferred domains, although I would like to have a dab at portraiture, as I fancy I wouldn’t be too bad at setting up a friendly and trusty/laid back relationship with a model. At least, the challenge would interest me, and I’d like to try, maybe, one of these days.
= = = = = = = = = = = =
I may not be good at street, but I can weave a tale to bore my audience, and today’s is this: in the old province of Auvergne, in the département of the Puy-de-Dôme (central France), the quiet village of Orcival is nested in a closed volcanic valley. There, for a reason that has long been lost in the mists of time, a majestic church, soon elevated by the Pope to basilica status, was built and dedicated to Notre-Dame between 1146 and 1178. It is one of the five major churches in Auvergne —and God knows there are many there!
Listed as a Historic Landmark on the very first list of 1840, the basilica is another of those dark churches of Auvergne, mainly because of the material used, which is black basalt. The cathedral in Clermont-Ferrand, Auvergne’s capital city, is also made of black basalt stones, and my wife, when she was little, claimed that the cathedral was “made with tires”, as Clermont-Ferrand is also the headquarters of Michelin, the famous tire maker, and somehow she knew that. I was told she was around 5 years old by then.
Some say that the large church in Orcival was erected to house a venerable wooden statue of the Virgin Mary, said to have been sculpted by Saint Luke himself, and which attracted throngs of pilgrims in the Middle Ages, hence the need for a large church to accommodate the crowds, even though the village was (and is!) quite small.
On the day I took this photo, I couldn’t take good ones of the outside because of the Sun’s orientation. I had little time to work on that church, therefore I focused on the inside, which is splendid and majestic.
This is a very nice modern cross and chandelier, probably made of brass. I would have liked to light the candles for the photo, but I couldn’t get close enough, as the choir was roped off and I couldn’t sneak inside. I always carry two essential, albeit non-photographic items in my backpack: a gas lighter for those candles, and a feather duster to dust off the cobwebs from rarely cleaned capitals... It is my mentor, a Benedictine monk, who taught me that...
Nikon Z7 II, Micro-Nikkor 85mm, ƒ/2.8 PC-E tilt-shift lens. Gitzo tripod, Benro geared head. Natural light.
Last edited:
Peter7100
Senior Member
In the UK you can take pictures of people in public places without any comeback. Of course there may be different laws in different countries but the reality is that in today's World, we are all subjected to camera's on a daily basis as soon as you leave your house. There are millions of mobile phones constantly snapping away which will include numerous people. Many places capture and record people's movement on CCTV cameras for safety and security reasons. With regard to the latter I am all for that as I believe it can help to resolve crimes and hopefully reduce some. I therefore see no reason why the DLSR people should be penilised for doing their own snapping in the streets. Maybe if people don't want to be recorded they should stay in the houseWell, I am no good at street photography, for several reasons: 1. I don’t like to sneak and steal pictures, it is not in my nature to do such things and I think it is often unfair to the person(s) photographed without their knowing. Plus, being of a legal background, I am very aware of the 21st century potential legal entanglements —not to mention that, if you publish a photo online, it can be regarded as “published” in any number of countries as it is available there, and because each jurisdiction or almost, has their own take on such privacy law issues, you can never assess the exact extent of the legal risk you are taking —you just know you are taking one. And 2. I don’t like to walk up to people and ask them for permission to take a picture, as it is also not in my nature and the result you most often get (assuming they don’t try to hit you, break your camera, insult you or pull a knife or a gun) is very artificial, posed and far from what you had in mind to begin with. In addition, and unless you make they sign a release form, they can still claim the photo was taken with a hidden device without their consent, and sue you. I’m not being paranoid, just mentioning things that all actually happened in real life.
So, if you live by street photography and it’s the juice that feeds your artistic mind, by all means do take all those risks, and very possibly you will never face any of the issues outlined above. Fingers crossed! I’ll stick to my preferred domains, although I would like to have a dab at portraiture, as I fancy I wouldn’t be too bad at setting up a friendly and trusty/laid back relationship with a model. At least, the challenge would interest me, and I’d like to try, maybe, one of these days.
= = = = = = = = = = = =
I may not be good at street, but I can weave a tale to bore my audience, and today’s is this: in the old province of Auvergne, in the département of the Puy-de-Dôme (central France), the quiet village of Orcival is nested in a closed volcanic valley. There, for a reason that has long been lost in the mists of time, a majestic church, soon elevated by the Pope to basilica status, was built and dedicated to Notre-Dame between 1146 and 1178. It is one of the five major churches in Auvergne —and God knows there are many there!
Listed as a Historic Landmark on the very first list of 1840, the basilica is another of those dark churches of Auvergne, mainly because of the material used, which is black basalt. The cathedral in Clermont-Ferrand, Auvergne’s capital city, is also made of black basalt stones, and my wife, when she was little, claimed that the cathedral was “made with tires”, as Clermont-Ferrand is also the headquarters of Michelin, the famous tire maker, and somehow she knew that.
Some say that the large church in Orcival was erected to house a venerable wooden statue of the Virgin Mary, said to have been sculpted by Saint Luke himself, and which attracted throngs of pilgrims in the Middle Ages, hence the need for a large church to accommodate the crowds, even though the village was (and is!) quite small.
On the day I took this photo, I couldn’t take good ones of the outside because of the Sun’s orientation. I had little time to work on that church, therefore I focused on the inside, which is splendid and majestic.
This is a very nice modern cross and chandelier, probably made of brass. I would have liked to light the candles for the photo, but I couldn’t get close enough, as the choir was roped off and I couldn’t sneak inside. I always carry two essential, albeit non-photographic items in my backpack: a gas lighter for those candles, and a feather duster to dust off the cobwebs from rarely cleaned capitals... It is my mentor, a Benedictine monk, who taught me that...
Nikon Z7 II, Micro-Nikkor 85mm, ƒ/2.8 PC-E tilt-shift lens. Gitzo tripod, Benro geared head. Natural light.
View attachment 410323
Blue439
New member
The snapping is, from a strictly legal standpoint, not a problem. Anyone or anything that’s on public land, or is visible from there, is fair game. It’s the publishing that creates the (potential) problem. If you keep your snaps to yourself, you’re in the clear. If people see a street camera and figure they’re in its field of vision, it’s not going to be a big deal, first because there isn’t much they can do about it on the spot, and second because they’ll figure that footage is not about to be published anywhere. However, if people see you taking their picture, first they can hit you right away because you’re there, and second they will assume you take pictures to actually publish them somewhere —and it is that assumption that creates the (potential) problem.In the UK you can take pictures of people in public places without any comeback. Of course there may be different laws in different countries but the reality is that in today's World, we are all subjected to camera's on a daily basis as soon as you leave your house. There are millions of mobile phones constantly snapping away which will include numerous people. Many places capture and record people's movement on CCTV cameras for safety and security reasons. With regard to the latter I am all for that as I believe it can help to resolve crimes and hopefully reduce some. I therefore see no reason why the DLSR people should be penilised for doing their own snapping in the streets. Maybe if people don't want to be recorded they should stay in the house
Blue439
New member
Nice! It’s funny to see the exact same words on the ads I recently saw in Spain...
blackstar
Senior Member
Blue439
New member
... which is why it is funny!
Blue439
New member
The Saint-Étienne (Saint Stephen) Benedictine priory church in Nevers, central France. Light and shadows playing on the stones in a subdued, mystical and typically Romanesque manner. A wonderful show. You have nothing to do, just be there, enjoy and click the shutter.
Nikon Z7 II, Micro-Nikkor 85mm, ƒ/2.8 PC-E tilt-shift lens, manual focus. Gitzo tripod, Benro geared head. Natural light.
Nikon Z7 II, Micro-Nikkor 85mm, ƒ/2.8 PC-E tilt-shift lens, manual focus. Gitzo tripod, Benro geared head. Natural light.
Blue439
New member
Another one of the Saint-Étienne (Saint Stephen) Benedictine priory church in Nevers, central France, this time looking down from up in the gallery.
These are usually very narrow and often completely unprotected (think: Middle Ages) passageways, where the general public is of course not admitted. You have to secure authorization in advance, plus possession of the key (or presence of the keymaster) to the equally narrow spiral staircase that will lead you there. Climbing it is often no mean feat when you’re a bit broad in the shoulders (not to mention the stomach) and carrying a photo backpack and a tripod, all of that transporting very fragile and costly gear in an unyielding stone environment... When you factor in the claustrophobia I have been suffering from in recent years, going through those staircases designed for the much more small-framed people who lived in Mediæval times is quite a challenge.
Then, once you’re up there, you have to snake through, not suffer from vertigo at all, and be very, very careful in calculating every movement, deploying the tripod, setting up the camera, etc. No mistakes allowed as falling is not an option, yet you need to free your mind from all those practical and life-saving considerations to breathe in the atmosphere and the inspiration, find the best viewpoint, calculate your framing, etc. And after that, you need to pack it all up and carefully retrace your steps until you reach solid ground again... Fortunately, in that church, there was a low wall that afforded a modicum of protection.
Nikon Z7 II, Micro-Nikkor 19mm, ƒ/4 PC-E tilt-shift lens, manual focus. Gitzo tripod, Benro geared head. Natural light.
These are usually very narrow and often completely unprotected (think: Middle Ages) passageways, where the general public is of course not admitted. You have to secure authorization in advance, plus possession of the key (or presence of the keymaster) to the equally narrow spiral staircase that will lead you there. Climbing it is often no mean feat when you’re a bit broad in the shoulders (not to mention the stomach) and carrying a photo backpack and a tripod, all of that transporting very fragile and costly gear in an unyielding stone environment... When you factor in the claustrophobia I have been suffering from in recent years, going through those staircases designed for the much more small-framed people who lived in Mediæval times is quite a challenge.
Then, once you’re up there, you have to snake through, not suffer from vertigo at all, and be very, very careful in calculating every movement, deploying the tripod, setting up the camera, etc. No mistakes allowed as falling is not an option, yet you need to free your mind from all those practical and life-saving considerations to breathe in the atmosphere and the inspiration, find the best viewpoint, calculate your framing, etc. And after that, you need to pack it all up and carefully retrace your steps until you reach solid ground again... Fortunately, in that church, there was a low wall that afforded a modicum of protection.
Nikon Z7 II, Micro-Nikkor 19mm, ƒ/4 PC-E tilt-shift lens, manual focus. Gitzo tripod, Benro geared head. Natural light.
Blue439
New member
Yes, you’re in for yet another story...
In the late 1950s, a young Benedictine monk in the Burgundy abbey of La-Pierre-qui-Vire (literally, “The Turning Stone”) convinced his abbot to launch a collection of books devoted to Romanesque architecture and art, the beholding of which the young monk thought auspicious to religious meditation. The books would be printed and bound by the monks themselves within the abbey, the illustrating photographs would be numerous, of the highest quality and mostly in black-and-white, printed using a top-notch process involving intaglio plates and called héliogravure —photogravure it is named in English, according to the Merriam–Webster dictionary. The so-called in-house publishing house would be named Zodiaque.
This was a most incongruous venture as the monks knew nothing about any of the trades required and owned none of the necessary equipment. Somehow, and of course the monks would tend to see there the helping hand of God (and then again, who knows?), they managed to make it a resounding success, generating substantial profits for the abbey, which launched an ambitious building program on the grounds with the proceeds.
The adventure lasted for about 50 years, our young monk growing older and learning photography and visiting all the provinces of France and many other European countries and even all the way to the Holy Land... The books are now all out of print. Most have achieved textbook status with the most reputed universities in the world and fetch utterly ridiculous prices on the secondhand market (see a reasonable example here on eBay).
In 2021, I had to pleasure to write an essay for Kenyon College in Ohio about the photography in the Zodiaque books, and how to emulate it with the tools of nowadays. It was published in their Peregrinations online journal and can be read (and, I think, downloaded) here.
The young monk was named José Surchamp, and in religion he chose to be known as Dom Angelico, in homage, of course, to Fra Angelico, the Italian painter monk of the late Middle Ages († 1455), as young José was also a painter (together with a couple of his brothers, he created a number of alfresco paintings in religious institutions throughout France), a connoisseur of modern art and a keen practitioner of the piano. He died in 2018 at age 93 and I wanted to pay homage to him, as he was my mentor in the field of Romanesque architecture and art photography.
I have already shown him in action on this forum, climbing atop the great ladder of the firemen in his billowing robes to examine the tympanum of a cathedral up close, but here are three more snaps of him. He was such a great, humble, unimaginably cultured and kind person.
Cleaning up Romanesque capitals with a dustbuster in a Spanish cloister in the 1960s:
In action, operating his Hasselblad. His assistant, Brother Norbert, is holding the umbrella. Also in Spain in the 1960s, in front of the abbey’s Fiat panel van they used to travel and transport the gear:
In the late 1950s, with pro French photographer Jean Dieuzaide:
So, where am I going exactly with this story? To this: Angelico favored black-and-white over color photography for architecture and sculpture because our churches are now all the color of the stones they’re built with; all the paint that ever was, if any, has disappeared, and he thought color in photographs would detract from the contemplation of the subject matter of the photo. Lines, shapes and rhythm, those concepts that are ever-present in Romanesque and which, as I said above, he thought favored introspection and meditation, would be best used if the mind would be free of other distractions. A bit like the Cistercians who would stop the supporting pillars in their naves above eye-level so that they would not interrupt the plain vertical expanse of the wall... although Angelico was not Cistercian at all in his approach to life and religion!
So, following in his footsteps, I too do find that black-and-white photography lends a particular atmosphere to photographs which is probably more conducive to reflection... This Pagan–inspired leafy capital, in the priory church of Nevers (central France), will be my photo for the day. I hope people will think it could have been excerpted from a Zodiaque book...!
Nikon Z7 II, Nikkor 85mm, ƒ/2.8 PC-E tilt-shift lens, manual focus, FTZ II adapter. Gitzo tripod, Benro geared head. Natural light.
In the late 1950s, a young Benedictine monk in the Burgundy abbey of La-Pierre-qui-Vire (literally, “The Turning Stone”) convinced his abbot to launch a collection of books devoted to Romanesque architecture and art, the beholding of which the young monk thought auspicious to religious meditation. The books would be printed and bound by the monks themselves within the abbey, the illustrating photographs would be numerous, of the highest quality and mostly in black-and-white, printed using a top-notch process involving intaglio plates and called héliogravure —photogravure it is named in English, according to the Merriam–Webster dictionary. The so-called in-house publishing house would be named Zodiaque.
This was a most incongruous venture as the monks knew nothing about any of the trades required and owned none of the necessary equipment. Somehow, and of course the monks would tend to see there the helping hand of God (and then again, who knows?), they managed to make it a resounding success, generating substantial profits for the abbey, which launched an ambitious building program on the grounds with the proceeds.
The adventure lasted for about 50 years, our young monk growing older and learning photography and visiting all the provinces of France and many other European countries and even all the way to the Holy Land... The books are now all out of print. Most have achieved textbook status with the most reputed universities in the world and fetch utterly ridiculous prices on the secondhand market (see a reasonable example here on eBay).
In 2021, I had to pleasure to write an essay for Kenyon College in Ohio about the photography in the Zodiaque books, and how to emulate it with the tools of nowadays. It was published in their Peregrinations online journal and can be read (and, I think, downloaded) here.
The young monk was named José Surchamp, and in religion he chose to be known as Dom Angelico, in homage, of course, to Fra Angelico, the Italian painter monk of the late Middle Ages († 1455), as young José was also a painter (together with a couple of his brothers, he created a number of alfresco paintings in religious institutions throughout France), a connoisseur of modern art and a keen practitioner of the piano. He died in 2018 at age 93 and I wanted to pay homage to him, as he was my mentor in the field of Romanesque architecture and art photography.
I have already shown him in action on this forum, climbing atop the great ladder of the firemen in his billowing robes to examine the tympanum of a cathedral up close, but here are three more snaps of him. He was such a great, humble, unimaginably cultured and kind person.
Cleaning up Romanesque capitals with a dustbuster in a Spanish cloister in the 1960s:
In action, operating his Hasselblad. His assistant, Brother Norbert, is holding the umbrella. Also in Spain in the 1960s, in front of the abbey’s Fiat panel van they used to travel and transport the gear:
In the late 1950s, with pro French photographer Jean Dieuzaide:
So, where am I going exactly with this story? To this: Angelico favored black-and-white over color photography for architecture and sculpture because our churches are now all the color of the stones they’re built with; all the paint that ever was, if any, has disappeared, and he thought color in photographs would detract from the contemplation of the subject matter of the photo. Lines, shapes and rhythm, those concepts that are ever-present in Romanesque and which, as I said above, he thought favored introspection and meditation, would be best used if the mind would be free of other distractions. A bit like the Cistercians who would stop the supporting pillars in their naves above eye-level so that they would not interrupt the plain vertical expanse of the wall... although Angelico was not Cistercian at all in his approach to life and religion!
So, following in his footsteps, I too do find that black-and-white photography lends a particular atmosphere to photographs which is probably more conducive to reflection... This Pagan–inspired leafy capital, in the priory church of Nevers (central France), will be my photo for the day. I hope people will think it could have been excerpted from a Zodiaque book...!
Nikon Z7 II, Nikkor 85mm, ƒ/2.8 PC-E tilt-shift lens, manual focus, FTZ II adapter. Gitzo tripod, Benro geared head. Natural light.
Last edited:
Dawg Pics
Senior Member
What have I started?
Dawg Pics
Senior Member
That is what I was thinking.Dusting a place like that would be some job.
Dawg Pics
Senior Member
@blackstar Why did that make you mad? I was just making a joke about my previous comment, Peter's subsequent lighthearted comment, then your comment in series like it is a trend, which it isn't because I am not that influential, thus the laughing icon. I meant nothing bad about your image whatsoever.What have I started?