About

Photographic Philosophy

My photography is about whatever sparks my curiosity, catches my eye, or interests me in the moment. What I shoot, why, and how? That all depends on what feels right at the time. I shoot for my own enjoyment. No strict rules, no rigid formulas—just instincts.

Over the years, I’ve met countless other photographers—some amateurs, some professionals—and I’ve enjoyed sharing tips, tricks, and techniques. But I’ve also come across those who seem more focused on critiquing than creating. Whether in casual conversations, in 'Letters to the Editor' sections of the old photography magazines, or in today’s social media comments and blogs, there's always someone ready to say: 'I would have framed it differently,' 'You should have used this f-stop,' 'A prime lens would have been better,' 'Real photographers only shoot in manual mode,' or even, 'I don’t like the brand of gear you use.'

Then there are the purists who scoff at post-processing. Editing has always been part of photography. Today’s software is incredible and offers far more flexibility than we ever dreamed of in the darkroom days. The tools have changed, but the practice remains the same. Post-processing isn’t a shortcut or cheat; it’s just another step in refining the final image.

Lighting is fleeting, and time waits for no one. You weren’t at my shoot, so we’re lucky I caught the moment at all.

If you like what you see, feel free to share it. If not, thanks for stopping by—I wish you well in your own photographic journey.

Experience & Bio

Although my photographs have been published a few times and I have been compensated for them, I consider myself a serious amateur when it comes to photography.

First Photograph

I remember my first photograph.

It was toward the end of the 1960s. I was seven years old, and my family, as we had done before and continued to do for several more decades, was vacationing on the New Jersey shore. My dad, my uncle, a cousin visiting from abroad, my brother, and I had just finished a day of fishing. As was customary, my dad was eager to memorialize the day's catch with a snapshot (my mother often lamented that most of our "holiday pics" were of dead fish!).

Dad had always been the one operating the camera (my brother and I were forbidden to touch it), so he rarely appeared in any of his trophy images. But this day was different. Dad handed me his Kodak Instamatic 100 and told me to take the requisite shot.

I had often studied the Instamatic—visually, from afar, of course—and pondered how this small box could make pictures. Now, here it was in my hands, and I was expected to make it perform its magic. Holding it at waist level, I looked directly into the lens, still puzzling over how this device operated. One of my fingers found the shutter button... click. I had taken my first photo.

Unfortunately, it was not of the mighty anglers and their prey. That was my second photo.

In those days, film and processing were expensive. We always waited until all the frames on a roll were exposed before the cartridge was dropped off at the drugstore for processing (this was well before 1-hour photo labs made their appearance). Photos were taken sparingly and judiciously, and it was often months before we saw the results.

Imagine everyone's surprise when the long-anticipated "holiday snaps" finally arrived in the mail, and among the printed memories was a full-frame, slightly blurry, significantly washed-out selfie (though nobody knew that term at the time) of a perplexed seven-year-old. Of course, since I was forbidden from touching the camera, I had to explain how that image came to be.

My first photo is still one of my favorites. Unfortunately, decades of photographic dye fading, improper storage in a non-archival album, and the negative having been long-discarded, has left this image only in my memory.

Early Photography

I was 12 or 13 when I asked for and received my first camera: a Kodak Ektralite 10. I was warned at the time that photography was an expen$ive hobby—no truer words were ever spoken. It was expensive then, and it still can be today.

The Ektralite 10 was a fixed-focus (~25mm), fixed-aperture (~f/11), fixed-shutter (~1/125s) rangefinder-style camera. It used 110 cartridge film and was truly pocket-sized. I carried it frequently, though due to its technical limitations and the cost of film and processing (a high reach for a young teen limited by allowance and part-time jobs), it was used sparingly. Due to the small negative exposure area, 110 prints all suffer from noticeable graininess.

I still have a number of prints (and one roll of developed 110 negatives) in my collection that I can attribute to the Ektralite.

Over the years, my family and I transitioned through various Point-and-Shoot cameras, each with differing capabilities and photographic results. Notable in the lineup was a Kodak Disc camera (worse than the Ektralite) and various Polaroids (very expensive per image and difficult to display finished work).

Serious Interest

In the early 1980s, we acquired a Fuji Discovery 975 Zoom. Though still a rangefinder-style camera, it featured auto-loading 35mm film and a integrated 35-80mm zoom lens—a significant upgrade over all the previous devices I had used. This was my initial introduction to 35mm film.

Shortly afterward, I entered university and began studying Metallurgical Engineering. A critical tool for a metallurgist is technical photography, and it was a core requirement that we all become proficient in black-and-white photography—not only in capturing technical images but also in mastering darkroom procedures and techniques. This coursework greatly enhanced my interest in photography.

It wasn’t long before I purchased my first 'real' SLR camera: a Minolta X-700 equipped with a Minolta 50mm f/2.4 Macro Lens. Photographic Spring had finally arrived! The long, bleak Point-and-Shoot Winter was over, and a warm, sunny Photographic Summer loomed on the horizon.

During graduate school, I spent part of a summer working in Colorado. To this Easterner, the breathtaking western landscapes made it easy to justify sacrificing a substantial string of good meals to afford upgrading to a Sigma 35-80mm zoom lens.

Shortly after Colorado, I added an off-brand 70-200mm zoom to round out my photographic range capabilities. I also quickly justified (at least in my mind) the purchase of a second body—a Minolta X-570. It just made sense. Why risk introducing dirt and debris into the inner workings or, worse, dropping a lens during a swap? Carrying two bodies, each with a different lens, meant I was fully prepared for any situation. Over the years, I also acquired various other fixed and variable focal length lenses.

I primarily shot 35mm color negative film. Color slide film was too finicky for my liking. I occasionally dabbled in black-and-white photography, developing and printing my own images.

Film and processing were still expensive, so, as in my Point-and-Shoot days, photographs were taken judiciously—but far more frequently.

Dark Clouds on the Horizon: The Digital Revolution

I used my dual Minolta body scheme until film and processing labs became difficult to find in my area (circa 2003-2004).

Throughout my engineering career, I traveled frequently, primarily to perform product troubleshooting at customer locations and project sites. Early on, I carried one of my Minolta bodies and a lens or two, expensing the cost of film, developing, and printing. My employer appreciated the inclusion of photographs in my reports.

However, one day during a meeting, a coworker complained about not being reimbursed for personal items lost by an airline during a mandatory business trip. This prompted me to ask about coverage for my camera gear if it were lost or damaged on company business. The response was clear: no reimbursement for personal items. At that point, I stopped carrying my gear.

It only took a few image-less trip reports before my employer and I had a heart-to-heart discussion. The company eventually agreed to provide me with a camera setup. I was given a budget and authorized to purchase an appropriate camera within that allowance. Ricoh had just introduced the RDC-300 digital camera, and thus I took my first step into digital photography.

For its time, the Ricoh RDC-300 was a great camera. It was highly reminiscent of the Point-and-Shoot days, however; the ability to instantly review images was a game-changer. As I was often traveling on short notice, I was expected to have the Ricoh on hand at all times. This meant I could also use it for personal photography on evenings and weekends, though I still primarily shot on film.

When I left that employer, the Ricoh stayed behind. I returned to exclusively shooting film for a while, but I missed the convenience of digital. Eventually, I cycled through a series of Point-and-Shoot digital cameras—Kodak EasyShares, Sony Cyber-Shots, and Nikon Coolpix models. When one camera failed or a significant upgrade (such as a larger sensor size) was introduced, I would upgrade, not caring much about brand—though I tended to prefer Nikon Coolpix offerings.

Two things frustrated me about digital photography of the time:

 1. The lack of manual control. Yes, some cameras had built-in zoom and even rudimentary exposure controls, but they still felt limiting.

 2. Poor color rendering. This had always been an issue for me, even with film photography. Since I never mastered color darkroom techniques, I was always at the mercy of professional labs and their generic processing methods, often receiving prints that didn’t match what I saw through the viewfinder.

During my film days, I had a slight workaround—I would switch film brands based on seasons and lighting conditions:

§  Fuji Film had a slight green tint—ideal for spring and early summer.

§  Kodak films had a warmer, yellow cast—best for summer and fall.

§  Agfa film had a bluish tone—perfect for winter photography.

With early digital, I lost that ability to fine-tune color at the source. The limited software of the day was sadly lacking in color-correction capabilities, making it difficult to recreate the subtle tonal shifts I had come to rely on with film. Achieving natural-looking colors often required more effort than it should have. This made digital photography feel more like a compromise rather than a true replacement for film.      

Despite my frustration, I continued using Point-and-Shoots, occasionally testing new DSLR offerings from Nikon, Canon, and Olympus. Each time, I hoped to find a camera that felt right in my hands—one that offered the control and image quality I missed from my film days. While the image quality was improving, the ergonomics always felt awkward. I remained disillusioned with the limitations of post-processing tools. Early editing software lacked the precision needed to correct color the way I wanted, leaving me frustrated with results that still didn’t match my vision.

Breaking Free: The Digital Spring

In 2015, my Digital Spring finally arrived. An industry committee I served on scheduled a meeting in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Since I was chairing a subcommittee, my attendance was mandatory. I informed my family of my impending trip and we decided to drive out and extend the trip into a vacation. Our itinerary included the Petrified Forest, the Grand Canyon, and several favorite locations in Colorado.

A decision point had arrived:

   Dust off my film cameras, source enough film stock, and try to find a reliable processor,

   or fully commit to DSLR photography and escape the Point-and-Shoot doldrums.

I went shopping. Again, I tested Canon and Nikon DSLR offerings. Great cameras, but I still didn’t like the handling. I debated whether I should compromise on comfort and just get used to one of them.

Then, I saw it—the Sony A7. I immediately loved the design. It felt familiar. The lens selection was limited, and Sony was very proud of their 'glass' prices ($$$), but the included 28-70mm kit lens was perfect for my trip, and the overall package price fit my budget (especially since the A7 had been discounted following the release of the A7-II). In discussions with the sales clerk, I also had my first introduction to Adobe Lightroom. While I didn’t stick with it for long—eventually switching to the equally capable but more affordable ACDSee—it was clear that post-processing software had finally caught up to my long-held expectations.

A quick swipe of the credit card and at long last, my digital Point-and-Shoot winter was over. Happier, sunnier photographic days were about return!

I found out years later that Minolta merged with Konica to address the emerging digital photography market. Konica ultimately sold Minolta’s intellectual property (IP) to Sony, who in turn used that IP as the foundation for the Sony Alpha series of cameras. No wonder I found such a comfortable fit with the A7.

The A7 was my workhorse for almost a decade. I used it to photograph friends, family, pets, landscapes, fall foliage, sunrises, sunsets, flowers, butterflies, birds, wildlife, and street scenes. Occasionally, I’ve been called upon to shoot portraits—proms, graduations, birthdays, family gatherings, etc.—but portraiture is not my favorite genre.

I’ve also taken up sports photography. One of my children played high school soccer, and my wife coaches both high school swim and girls' tennis teams. The A7 is a very capable camera for these sports, especially with the right lenses. However, for these genres, it does 'suffer' from a relatively slow 5 fps (frames per second) maximum stills frame rate and limited burst duration. This means anticipating an action shot before depressing the shutter and hoping the optimal moment doesn’t occur between frames or after the burst ends - many missed shots.

A few years ago, the stars aligned: increasing requests from my wife to photograph more and more meets and matches, an impending trip to Australia, and a very good bonus at work. This justified—at least in my mind—an upgrade to the A1. I don’t own the proper ‘glass’ or memory media to achieve the A1’s maximum 30 fps, but the 20 fps I do get is a game changer for wildlife and action photography.

Some would argue that the A1 is overpriced and that the A7R-IV offers greater resolution at a reduced cost. However, for the mixed genres I shoot, I’ve found the A1 to be an excellent tool.

The size and styling of the A1 and A7 sometimes draws considerable attention in public—other serious photographers often ask about the A1 when they see it. To have a more discreet option for routine use and for travel to ‘questionable’ destinations, I also have added a Sony A6600 to my arsenal. The A6600 is a decent camera, on par with the A7; however, I do have some complaints about its low-light autofocus capabilities. This has made sunset photography a bit frustrating at times.

Current Projects

I have recently become the custodian of the family photo albums. In examining this treasure, I have noticed that despite the collection being consistently stored in a cold, dry, and dark location, the effects of time have still taken their toll. This realization has instilled in me a sense of urgency to preserve these memories.

Similarly, I have reflected on the condition and future of my own photographic library. I have thousands of prints—most with their corresponding 35mm negatives—stored in albums, binders, shoeboxes, and storage bins, all tucked away in the deep recesses of various closets. Most of these images, and those in the family albums, have not been viewed in years.

It has made me question: If these images are never seen, was there ever a point in capturing them?

Thus, I have undertaken the daunting task of preserving and cataloging both my family’s and my personal photo collections through digitization.

As I rediscover hidden gems, I will share select images on this website and social media so that friends, family, and others can enjoy them.