I have a strange feeling that history is about to repeat itself...
Actually, I *know* that history HAS repeated itself, sort of, in a personal kindof way...
OK - I shall no longer be mysterious and just get on with the topic of my post: Panoramic photos
I first got into photography after my father convinced me that it would be a good idea to carry a camera in Bangladesh, as arriving in that strange country would mean that I would see unfamiliar and strange things, a perfect opportunity to take pictures. I was initally reluctant, but eneded up packing an old Canon T70 with a manual lens and the rest is history.
This time John Novis, Head of Photography at Greenpeace International is to blame, as it was his suggestion that I take a Linhof Technorama 6x17 panoramic camera with me to the Southern Ocean. Initally I was sceptical as it's a large, fully manual bulky piece of kit, needs an external light meter, takes rollfilm and most importantly lives on a tripod if you want a straight horizon line. Now all these aspects made me cringe, as I knew I'd be working on a ship and inflatables with neither lab facilities nor any solid ground to put the camera onto. Moreover, a roll of 120 film is good for just 4 exposures, so pick your frame wisely, bracket and hope for the best.
Admittedly, I didn't use it much on the Esperanza: by the time the camera was set up, the picture opportunities were gone, and most of the time the ship rolled too much to get a steady frame anyway. But far from becoming a doorstop, I then decided to drag this thing on my three-week trip across Australia where the Technorama finally came into its own. It was there, on dry land, with an abundance of time and solid ground (and rolls of film, I should add) that I truly learned to appreciate this camera. It was like - real photography. No, really, this thing made me feel like I'm taking photographs again, and not 'shots', or 'frames', or worse still, 'files'. Instead, the Technorama exposes film, needs winding on, cocking the shutter, a double-check on aperture, speed and focus settings and then it's all over in a fraction of a second. I loved it. And I love the perspective of the resultant pictures.
Rather than boring you with lots of detail on technique and settings, I'll simply attach a few of those panoramics which I have finally managed to scan and retouch. There is more to come, probably in its own section in the portfolio, so watch this space...
28 May 2008
21 May 2008
Scenes From the Tar Wars
This article on the MotherJones website has got to be the most exhaustive and accurate description of life at the Tar Sands in northern Alberta that I have ever seen. Apart from having met Dr. O'Connor and having heard and seen all those issues raised myself, it felt like the writer managed to express in words what I tried with pictures. Read the article here. Some of the pictures I took last year can be seen here.
8 May 2008
Gotcha!
Picture the scene: a pitch black, moonless calm night off the coast of Sicily, a few miles of driftnet in the water visible on the radar, two Greenpeace inflatables pulling the damn thing back to the Arctic Sunrise, equipped with a net hauler and a crew keen to get it on board. Cue Sicilian fishermen: they realise what is happening and start hauling their net in from the other end. The scene is frenzied, both teams racing to get as much of the net on board as possible - and it has something comical.
When the fishermen's vessel gets close to the Sunrise, we cut the net and let them have the rest of it. That frees the Diomede II, the pirate fishing boat in question to pursue the inflatables through the dark night. The angry fishermen have provisionally covered the name of their boat and armed themselves with cans of tuna and baked beans, beer bottles and various other missiles which they proceed to throw at us, missing us narrowly on several occasions. A game of cat and mouse ensues, lasting into the early hours of the morning before we make it back onto the Sunrise.
The mood there is good: what the busy activists on board managed to secure is nearly two kilometres of illegal driftnet, a few dead Tuna and a small Sea Turtle which barely survived the whole escapade. We spend the best part of the first night stacking the net, cataloguing the catch and media on board prepping the pictures for the morning's news release.
On day 2, we follow the Diomede II into port near Taormina. Giardini Naxos is a picturesque spot underneath Mount Etna, with tourists and now also irate fishermen. The Italian coast guard, notified in the early morning hours finally shows up in the afternoon. Carabinieri police have arrived to question the Diomede crew, and by the late afternoon the slow workings of the local bureaucracy have found their way onto the Sunrise. With the coast guard boat nearby, Greenpeace is asked to hand the confiscated nets back to the fishermen for lack of alternative transport options. The stage is set for the farce: the same fishermen who pelleted us the night before are now standing on the deck of a smaller boat asking for their net to be given back to them. Upset ensues aboard the Sunrise, raised arms and voices, lots of swearing and shouting and seemingly helpless coast guard officials who neither want to be there, nor deal with the situation eventually find a solution. Under threat of arrest for non-cooperation, we are asked to haul the net back onto the fishermen's boat, but the coast guard is officially responsible for its safekeeping. It makes me laugh, in a sarcastic kindof way.
We follow the fishermen and coast guard boat back into port, but are not allowed to take pictures or video. We watch the Diomede crew unload the evidence and stacking it on the pier, all the while chatting to the coast guard officials and sending thinly veiled threats in our direction. Can you imagine anywhere else where the suspect would be allowed to handle the evidence of his crime while at the same time making threats against the accusers? I can, but it's not the sort of place you want to be, really.
When the fishermen's vessel gets close to the Sunrise, we cut the net and let them have the rest of it. That frees the Diomede II, the pirate fishing boat in question to pursue the inflatables through the dark night. The angry fishermen have provisionally covered the name of their boat and armed themselves with cans of tuna and baked beans, beer bottles and various other missiles which they proceed to throw at us, missing us narrowly on several occasions. A game of cat and mouse ensues, lasting into the early hours of the morning before we make it back onto the Sunrise.
The mood there is good: what the busy activists on board managed to secure is nearly two kilometres of illegal driftnet, a few dead Tuna and a small Sea Turtle which barely survived the whole escapade. We spend the best part of the first night stacking the net, cataloguing the catch and media on board prepping the pictures for the morning's news release.
On day 2, we follow the Diomede II into port near Taormina. Giardini Naxos is a picturesque spot underneath Mount Etna, with tourists and now also irate fishermen. The Italian coast guard, notified in the early morning hours finally shows up in the afternoon. Carabinieri police have arrived to question the Diomede crew, and by the late afternoon the slow workings of the local bureaucracy have found their way onto the Sunrise. With the coast guard boat nearby, Greenpeace is asked to hand the confiscated nets back to the fishermen for lack of alternative transport options. The stage is set for the farce: the same fishermen who pelleted us the night before are now standing on the deck of a smaller boat asking for their net to be given back to them. Upset ensues aboard the Sunrise, raised arms and voices, lots of swearing and shouting and seemingly helpless coast guard officials who neither want to be there, nor deal with the situation eventually find a solution. Under threat of arrest for non-cooperation, we are asked to haul the net back onto the fishermen's boat, but the coast guard is officially responsible for its safekeeping. It makes me laugh, in a sarcastic kindof way.
We follow the fishermen and coast guard boat back into port, but are not allowed to take pictures or video. We watch the Diomede crew unload the evidence and stacking it on the pier, all the while chatting to the coast guard officials and sending thinly veiled threats in our direction. Can you imagine anywhere else where the suspect would be allowed to handle the evidence of his crime while at the same time making threats against the accusers? I can, but it's not the sort of place you want to be, really.
3 May 2008
In the Med
Yes people, we are in the Med. Just crossed the Messina Strait, a narrow navigable gap between the Italian mainland and Sicily. The weather is sunny and warm, the seas calm and having been called an 'utter bastard' for getting (and enjoying) this assignment by a friend and colleague is something of a compliment. No, really, it is.
The truth is - I love being here, and joining the Arctic Sunrise was like coming home. Although I've never lived on this ship before, or sailed with its crew, life on board seems strangely familiar. Ok, there are a few friends on board, and a lot of new people I haven't met, but the whole thing feels like it's off to a great start. Having lived in the Mediterranean as a child, I have a natural affinity for warm, sunny weather and a lot of blue water around.
Sailing past Mount Etna, Europe's largest active volcano, we subsequently also sailed past the volcano Stromboli and other volcanic islands nearby. The scene could not have been more clichee: sunset, warm light and a little bit of haze in the distance - perfect for those dramatic colours and dense long-lens shots. I thought I'd treat you to a few and report on the campaign a little later. Enjoy the show, hope you're jealous!
The truth is - I love being here, and joining the Arctic Sunrise was like coming home. Although I've never lived on this ship before, or sailed with its crew, life on board seems strangely familiar. Ok, there are a few friends on board, and a lot of new people I haven't met, but the whole thing feels like it's off to a great start. Having lived in the Mediterranean as a child, I have a natural affinity for warm, sunny weather and a lot of blue water around.
Sailing past Mount Etna, Europe's largest active volcano, we subsequently also sailed past the volcano Stromboli and other volcanic islands nearby. The scene could not have been more clichee: sunset, warm light and a little bit of haze in the distance - perfect for those dramatic colours and dense long-lens shots. I thought I'd treat you to a few and report on the campaign a little later. Enjoy the show, hope you're jealous!
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