1/11/20: Final update to the recommended gear list

Almost 20 years ago to the day, a teenager made an unwise camera choice* to record what he was experiencing in case he might later forget. In reality, the choice was really to consciously notice the world around him and single out the bits that mattered – starting immediately with the things he was involved in, which at the time was the crazy period of growing up known as ‘university’. He’d used the family camera before, of course – for the obligatory vacation and landmark images and with the admonition not to ‘waste film on pictures without people in them.’ University represented freedom and the first time he could decide what to aim the camera at – back then, merely his friends’ silly poses and an image or two without people that he felt compelled to take, but wasn’t sure why. It wouldn’t be until much, much later that the process was a conscious one and more importantly, transcended the medium.

*APSC Fuji 1010 Tiara, if you must know. It was battery hungry, the film was expensive and the image quality was questionable. But hey, it was small and unobtrusive, and the really cool looking Ricoh GR1v was way too expensive for a student, even then.

I had no idea that the decision to start seeing the world around me would not just sustain me through the creative depression of the corporate wilderness for the better part of a decade, but take me to places I’d never even dreamed of. It would give me a respite in lunch-hour sized chunks from the sheer mind numbing boredom of audit. It would bring me to the attention of the watch collecting community – in lieu of actually being able to afford anything at the time – and brand principals in the early days of online forums, and later supply my first professional job. It would take me through a part time contributor position at a magazine that would lead to editor, disagreements over commercial/editorial integrity and the formation of this site, to write the truth and present it how I felt was right, independent of influence or dependency on advertising. It would lead me to make ‘pictures without people in them’ for companies and individuals I’d never thought I’d be involved with, let alone creatively contributing to. It would put me in a position to take user feedback and personal experience to directly develop better products with just about all of the major camera manufacturers – and it would leave a lot of things tainted in the harsh light of reality. It would train me to think like an entrepreneur and be self sufficient, and give me the ability to present the best face of my projects to the world. It would give me a meditative reprieve from times when I didn’t want to dwell too much on my immediate situation. It would lead me to question and seek to understand art, human psychology, my own motivations, and what truly motivates us; it would help me to understand the meaning of balance in more ways than one. Above all, it would make me close friends around the world. For all of that, I’ll always be thankful.

It hasn’t always been an easy ride, as anybody close to me will confirm. I’ve had my fair share of uncertain income, business mistakes, taking on jobs I wasn’t entirely sure I could pull off and unpleasant surprises from clients, unrelated individuals, industry peers and entities and everything in-between. I’ve been the target of jealousy and smear campaigns and entitlement and copyright infringement. Some of that frustration I’ve shared here before. Months of drought alternated – often back to back – with months so full I barely had time to sleep and was running on pure adrenalin. I’ve held anywhere between three and six ostensibly full time jobs at any given time, for most of my full time professional photographic career since 2012 – a close friend once joked that I was doing the work of six for the pay of two and a half, which is not far from the truth. I entered professional photography at a rapidly changing time and probably the last period to really make a run of things before fragmentation into quantity, the whole social media influencer mess; my guess at the time was I’d have 3-5 years before I’d have to figure out what to do next.

During the times I’d previously dabbled in trying to turn pro, I’d figured out that I would have to have a diversified approach: a professional portfolio that was focused enough to look specialised but with enough skills to take on pretty much any job; a public presence to build reputation and audience; something with more consistent income like teaching or education (which turned into workshops and videos); and something to put all of the pieces together to deliver unique value: this would be the consulting side for the camera companies. It seems that the strategy worked a little too well, because to this day people seem to assume all I do is reviews – even though that’s less than 5% of the content of this site. But they played an important part since validation is by far the most commonly searched-for thing photographically. Why that’s the case, I’ll never know – everybody has different objectives and opinions are therefore of at best relative value.

As it turns out, my workload split itself pretty much equally between professional work, education, consulting, and this site. In the last eight and a half years, I shot 202 assignments excluding those for my own watch company; led nearly 50 workshops around the world including smuggling six Americans into Cuba in 2014; produced close to 200 hours of educational video and two years of the weekly photoshop workflow series; wrote 1,815 posts (and owe Robin Wong a big thanks for another 80+) and replied to nearly 100,000 of your comments. At peak, there were nearly a quarter of a million unique visitors every month, and there have been just shy of 30 million visitors to date. I had half a dozen exhibitions internationally and nearly fell out of a plane making a series that in the end, never got shown. I worked with Hasselblad, DJI, Zeiss, Olympus, Leica, Sigma, Sony, was ambassador for three of those brands and nearly started my own camera company. I wore out three keyboards writing this site, and a further four Wacom tablets in retouching and post processing. Lastly: I don’t have an exact number, but my best guess is I shot more than two million images.

That’s a lot of work – an entire lifetime, for some; certainly a career’s worth for me. (And for increasing numbers of dishonest others, a place to steal content to farm ad revenue.)

If things are starting to take on a tone of finality, that’s because this is the point at which I confirm the suspicions you’ve been having: MT the writer and mingthein.com are both going into retirement. Between the demands of my ‘other’ job, not being able to travel, and trying not to repeat myself – I’ve run out of things to say. There really isn’t anything meaningful which we have not covered on this site in the usual rational, systematic fashion with plenty of images – there are certainly subtleties on subtleties about approach and theory and philosophy that we could continue to debate, but at that point, I’d be writing dissertations for an audience of at best, one. The truth is, I’ve said everything I wanted to say and more; I’ve done enough thinking and dissection about how and why I shoot that the whole enormous mass has become intuitive – and I want to go back to applying that and shooting the things that interest me, for me, without feeling the need to create content for the entertainment of somebody else. The internet has a nasty habit of a short attention span: they tend to look at things in tl;dr terms and not bother to use the search function. There is admittedly quite a lot of frustration in having a comment taken out of context and applied without relativity; a really good example is the inability to decouple equipment from process from creative objective. Yes, I go through a lot of gear. No, it isn’t for the sake of having the Next Best Thing or some sort of placebo – it’s because I’m in search of what I think of as envelope; the ability to achieve very specific creative objectives, which change – and therefore so must the tools.

But it does get tiring having to explain this all the time. I’ve always said that the very best position to be in as a photographer is an amateur: a person who engages in the activity for the love of it, without the constraints of shooting to a client’s expectation – be that a social media audience or a paying employer. This is my chance to go back to being an amateur, at least for a little while. The whole COVID situation has enforced a strange motivation on us creatives: at the start, I had one of my most productive periods because there wasn’t a lot else to do being under lockdown and unable to leave the house. But it was productivity in a different avenue – I did a lot of designing, and almost no writing or photographing. I’ve long come to accept that creativity needs multiple outlets; a single medium isn’t enough to fulfil one’s vision. But for photographers, the last few months has been a bad period not just professionally but also creatively: when you’re constrained to the same familiar environment you’ve probably already photographed to death within the first few months of moving in, what’s left? You’re forced to either not shoot, reshoot the same images, or try to see something different in the familiar. Many documented the personal process of lockdown, including myself; but after a while, routine looks the same. But the process of doing it felt oddly familiar: it was like starting to shoot all over again, and I kinda liked it.

The first time you do anything creative is difficult, because you’re not just grappling with trying to get the desired outcome from the building blocks you’ve got, but also the entire mechanical process of things. There are experiments that yield results that move you for reasons you don’t quite understand, and unfortunately cannot repeat; and others that fail completely. It was really that feeling of challenge and constraint again, and with the very same initial backdrop of documenting my personal sphere: it’s very easy to make different images of different subjects you’ve never seen before; it isn’t so easy to make different images of subjects you see all the time, but likely fail to notice. I found myself being forced to real see again, and in the process realised how much I’d been stuck in my comfort zone. The weight of experience becomes a tangibly corporeal thing that can sometimes hold you back from experimenting because of the expectations attached. Ironically, it seems the task of exiting my comfort zone would happen within the most comfortable of zones.

Except this time I had the vocabulary and technique to get the images I saw in my mind’s eye; but I just need that eye to see differently. I needed to not care about who would see the images (i.e. nobody); what I would use them for; what else I had to do with my time – in short, nothing more than whether I liked the result or not. All of the rational means of assessing and curating I use like the four things aren’t so much ignored as practiced and internalised to the point of becoming intuitive. I have had, and can have, pretty much whatever hardware I want; I can extract the full potential from that hardware. I needed an irrational, emotional thing to match an irrational, emotional process – something limited and constrained, but not constraining; something tactile and encouraging but not emotionless and functional. Yes, I did buy something; no, I’m not going to say what it is so I can avoid the risk of having it ‘spoiled’; I don’t need the affirmation of the internet that I made the right choice – I know I made the right choice for me. I enjoy the process of using it and it enables and encourages the kind of images that I’m making now – the images in this post – that move me but require no justification to anybody else. Odd as it may sound, the lack of negative emotional connotations for my tools is very important to me. It’s one of the reasons I have very few holdovers from previous collaborations/jobs/engagements; the creative in me needs a new, clean tool for a new job, and the businessman needs fiscal efficiency and low wastage.

There will always remain the need for dichotomy and contrast, however: I will still continue to produce work for my long-standing clients, and I’m fairly sure this creative loop will result in better work than before. I will still produce all of the images for my watch company because there’s a certain nice continuity between seeing a design that doesn’t exist, to translating it through physical process into an object, to being able to highlight detail and intent. As much as I hate retouching dust (now worse than ever with the kind of resolution media asks for and the insensitive cropping that accompanies it) – we aren’t going to move to CG imaging. Hell, I don’t even composite images – I’ve had more than one client surprised when they find out all of the watch images are a single shot in-camera and you can really see the same thing with your own eyes if the lights are set up right. It is a hard-won and exceptionally masochistic lost art that I have no intention of relinquishing.

At the same time as the world around us is changing and I’m grateful for having had the opportunity to travel to the places I have with the freedom we had previously – the immediate world around me is also changing. My daughter is growing up, and as much as I never quite understood the obsession and lack of objectivity that comes with photographing one’s children – it’s starting to make a little more sense to me. The last coupe of years have seen less photography and documentary of the younger one, offset against being busy with other things or directly involved and not having free hands or mental space to shoot – but I have the sudden realisation that time has skipped a gear and now seems to be progressing faster again. It’s certainly time to for me to put a bit more effort once again into trying to freeze her personality in a defining moment or two. She’s also turned into a bit of a camwhore, but I guess the outcome was always binary with a photographer father: either comfortable with being in front of the lens, or avoiding it entirely. At times I’m probably almost more self-conscious than she is about the camera.

In a post-pandemic world, I’m left wondering if faces are going to become a very personal thing; a mask lends a degree of not just immunological protection but also personality protection; it’s almost like the anonymity of the internet. We’re seeing a lot of bad behaviour that’s a lot harder to do if you know the person in front of you, and they know you; it’s just no longer personal anymore. Maybe if we go back to being able to travel again, we’re never quite going to have the same experience because people won’t look different; the subtle cues we get from the faces and expressions around us will be lost behind the mask. It makes me really want to take up portraiture; not just of the people I know or posed models, but a wide variety of subjects – almost more to feel what’s really going on at the present moment than to make an interesting image. I’ve said previously that portraiture is really the record of the relationship between the photographer and subject; but perhaps it can be more – it’s also the unspoken thoughts and emotions behind what was held back.

There are professions that are always going to be a bit morose no matter how you view them – an undertaker, for example – but photography isn’t one of them. Anything creative (except perhaps accounting) should come with a sense of liberation and the satisfaction of having made order and beauty out of incoherent parts. When that joy is no longer present, then I sincerely believe you’re doing it wrong. There is a tricky balance between focusing entirely on photography and not having any meaning to photograph and focusing on other things and failing to see; the pro almost inevitably errs on the former side, and the majority of the population, the latter. The hobbyist gets lost in the camera store. I look back at the highlight reel of my own work, and realise the images that spoke to me then and still speak to me today are almost all spontaneous, and produced during those fleeting periods where curiosity balanced opportunity – the last day of a work trip set aside for personal meandering; the free afternoon of a workshop; the time when the weather was crap and we shot documentary on the assembly line instead of on location.

Planned images are limited by one’s means and imagination. Serendipitous ones are unlimited by chance and one’s subconscious. I need to travel again, but not hold any preconceptions about what I’m going to see, or inhibitions against photographing it. Development of any kind – creative or otherwise – can only happen if the right things are broken down in the process. It means leaving your comfort zone and trying something new; of not being afraid that the next step may lead down a dead end. Professional photography, this site, teaching, consulting – has gone from being dangerously scary with a side of doki-doki excitement to business as usual; nobody told me what I was supposed to do, but I eventually found a comfortable process. It’s probably going to be harder to break those habits than anything.

I feel like the only obvious thing left is the question of what’s next – Horologer MING is now no longer a new venture; at some point in the last year I got the distinct feeling we’d transitioned from being the new kids to having our own defined niche in the industry establishment. The plan was already brewing during peak photography for me; by 2016 the wheels were in motion and in 2017, our first model was released to much nail biting and eventually success. In the three years since our public debut, we’ve released 16 models, been shortlisted for and won the industry’s biggest award, and become both commercially viable and sought after. We won’t make the mistake of growing too fast and being unable to uphold the level of collector engagement we started off with; instead, we’ll aim for a sustainable point that lets us have meaningful conversations with our buyers, make watches that continue to interest us personally and have the resources, time and mental overhead to make interesting images and drive engaging cars. I’ve come to realize that the spark required to keep one’s enthusiasm alive is maintained both by not fixating too much on one thing and being open to cross-disciplinary inspiration; it’s hard to keep an open mind if you can’t see beyond your immediate situation.

I’m not ruling out another publicly shared/photographic project in future, but right now I have no idea what form that might take – or if it will happen at all. I’ve been so caught up in the ‘business as usual’ of keeping this site/ client commitments/ teaching/ consulting etc. running that I’ve frankly not had a lot of time to think about a major change in format or direction. Perhaps it will eventually come after some time off, and probably like most inspiration – come at the least expected point. The truth is, I’ve been a photographer for so long at this point – longer than I haven’t been one – I can’t stop being one. It isn’t possible to turn off the seeing, it isn’t possible to completely lose that impulse to frame and capture – even if it diminishes from time to time. I do know this, however – it’ll have to be something that lets me make images in line with my creative and personal benchmarks first and foremost; I will always be the “client”. The curation thus remains simple and there is nothing to defend, apologise or make excuses for – or be overly sensitive of an external opinion about.

I started off wanting to record my experiences. At around the same time, I acquired more than a passing interest in watches and cars; I got a ‘real’ job to pay for that and realised it wasn’t at all what I wanted to do, even if I was quite successful at it. I didn’t really become ‘me’ until I accepted that I would have to take some risks and do an unlikely combination of things to make the puzzle work; it came back to photography, and then watches. Even my watch collecting journey has gone in a circle from affordable to knowledgable and off the deep end to back to now producing accessible pieces with the benefit of knowledge obtained after coming back from the abyss – it is somehow therefore fitting that the ‘retirement camera’ is also the descendant of the one that resulted in my biggest previous creative shift, and a company I’d worked with previously. My fate indeed has as strong sense of deja vu about it – but I’m okay with that, because it feels like I got a second chance. Some of you may be disappointed that this post doesn’t contain a sort of retrospective ‘best of’; I’d argue the opposite because it’s instead a glimpse into what’s to come. I’ll leave a clue: it’s really about photographing light first, transients second, and everything else as a supporting actor. Light and timing transcend the subject from what it is most of the time, into what it could be.

It’s been an intense eight and a half years. Thank you to all of you for the support*, encouragement, challenges and friendship – it’s time for me to start making pictures for myself again, and I hope you all continue to do so too. New comments will be disabled from the end of September and I will no longer be replying, but the archive listings will be updated and site itself will remain active for the foreseeable future – producing it was a huge undertaking and there’s a lot of emotional attachment here. It only makes sense to leave it up as a resource – perhaps inspiring some people, perhaps rewarding others with a kernel or two of insight. If it accomplishes that much – I’ve achieved far more here than I set out to do. MT

*And a special thank you to the patrons who’ve donated monthly to keep the site running – I will manually cancel the subscriptions on 1 September. I will continue to remain online in a more stream of consciousness format @mingthein on Instagram. 

MING 18.01 H41 diver, August 2020 / 3rd anniversary release. In a 40×12.9mm grade 5 titanium case with matching bracelet, synthetic diamond coated bezel, ceramic superluminova X1 and 1km depth rating. Available while stocks last at www.ming.watch

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Images and content copyright Ming Thein | mingthein.com 2012 onwards unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved

Presenting today a mixed bag of wimmelbild (fittingly, some of which is actually from Germany) and general urban patchwork accumulated over centuries – and in some cases, quite possibly millennia. There is something about seeing the evolution of a city in a single place that speaks volumes to the traditions and values of a society. The elements that survive tell us as much about changing priorities as the ones that don’t; often it seems that cultures have to come full circle in order to fully appreciate what they have. From a photographic standpoint, the sheer density of older European cities tends to encourage the kind of layering and stacking that results in a high visual density and elements of interest no matter where you look… MT

This series was shot with a Nikon Z7, mostly the 24-70/4 S and my custom SOOC JPEG profiles, with a couple of cameo appearances from an iPhone 11 Pro.

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Prints from this series are available on request.

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Visit the Teaching Store to up your photographic game – including workshop videos, and the individual Email School of Photography. You can also support the site by purchasing from B&H and Amazon – thanks!

We are also on Facebook and there is a curated reader Flickr pool.

Images and content copyright Ming Thein | mingthein.com 2012 onwards unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved

Whilst the previous post was all about ambiguity in groups, crowds or simply physically larger and visually more dense situations, with the barest hint of narrative (if any) dictated by gross body language – this set focuses more closely on couples or a single individual, thus leaving more room for expression and gesture. It is more of an emotional set that suggests causality from a detail or gesture frozen in mid-motion rate than juxtaposition. Though to be honest, the differences are perhaps not as stark as I make them out to be, even if during the curation process the images naturally separated themselves into two distinct groups. Enough words about images that are intended to stand on pure visual interest…MT

This series was shot with a mixed bag of hardware over some period of time and multiple locations, but predominantly the Nikon Z7, mostly the 24-70/4 S and my custom SOOC JPEG profiles.

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Prints from this series are available on request.

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Visit the Teaching Store to up your photographic game – including workshop videos, and the individual Email School of Photography. You can also support the site by purchasing from B&H and Amazon – thanks!

We are also on Facebook and there is a curated reader Flickr pool.

Images and content copyright Ming Thein | mingthein.com 2012 onwards unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved

I make no claims to have any idea what any of these people are doing – and judging from how some of them look in certain locations, I suspect neither do they themselves. But that’s okay, because it makes for the kind of open-ended storytelling photography that allows us to fit our own narrative to things, and thus manage to satisfy a wider variety of audience expectations. In my previous work of this kind, I’ve always tried to provide some sort of serving suggestion for the narrative; in these sets, I’ve deliberately stayed away from that as far as possible and focused on curation for the sake of visual entertainment only. Shadows, textures, patterns, dynamism and implied flow…but no immediate narrative. Because honestly, why not? MT

This series was shot with a mixed bag of hardware over some period of time and multiple locations, but predominantly the Nikon Z7, mostly the 24-70/4 S and my custom SOOC JPEG profiles.

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Prints from this series are available on request.

__________________

Visit the Teaching Store to up your photographic game – including workshop videos, and the individual Email School of Photography. You can also support the site by purchasing from B&H and Amazon – thanks!

We are also on Facebook and there is a curated reader Flickr pool.

Images and content copyright Ming Thein | mingthein.com 2012 onwards unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved

I’ll be the last person to pretend to understand the modern art housed within, but the architecture at Fondazione Prada was spectacular – partially rejuvenated, partially new buildings by Rem Koolhaas, and a very sensitive mix of hypermodern and classical Italian. The historical references to arches, stucco and what I think of as typically Italian tile roofs are all present; but modern volumes and spaces are added both above and below ground to house the exhibit and work spaces. I’m not entirely sure about the gilded palazzo, but I have to admit it does feel very much in keeping with the rest of the space and provides an interesting balance against the white tower. That said, I somehow associate this level of…bling with Gucci or one of the more showy brands. One of the most interesting things I found with the space was the feeling that whilst it was logically laid out and easy to navigate, there was always something left to discover – as though there was more volume hidden than actually apparent on first glance. Part of this is probably down to the mirrored theatre in the centre and the half-level offsets in the white tower, but also because there’s a surprising amount of open space present for what was probably a very expensive site. There just isn’t that feeling of crowdedness. Final bonus: the paninis at the Wes-Anderson-designed Bar Luce were pretty darn good, too. MT

This series was shot with a Nikon Z7, 24-70/4 S and my custom SOOC JPEG profiles.

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Visit the Teaching Store to up your photographic game – including workshop videos, and the individual Email School of Photography. You can also support the site by purchasing from B&H and Amazon – thanks!

We are also on Facebook and there is a curated reader Flickr pool.

Images and content copyright Ming Thein | mingthein.com 2012 onwards unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved

“Creativity” is a term we hear increasingly thrown around and applied to things that perhaps are both not obvious immediate recipients, and simultaneously perhaps the most needing of such treatment. Ask any non-creative person what they think it means, and immediately unstructure, randomness and perhaps some whimsy come to mind. If you ask a creative person, especially a prolific one, it’s probably the complete opposite. I’m going to take a balanced attempt at tackling this from the point of view of a creative person forced to be uncreative for a good chunk of my career, and who’s now finally spent about equal amounts of time doing both. So where does the truth really lie, what does ‘to be creative’ really mean, and why is any of it important?

Uncreativity is perhaps the easiest thing to define: it means taking what has already been done and accepted, and doing the same thing. Not trying to do anything differently, not having any curiosity over why things must be the way they are, and not feeling that fundamental burning need to ask ‘what if’? It means never having to operate outside of a comfort zone or encountering something where the solution isn’t a google search away. Not taking any risks means both little chance that things could go wrong or fail, but also even less chance of expecting a different or better outcome. This is the path most people take because risk means cost which in turn might make the key difference. in survival for some. It is the easiest path because it doesn’t require an individual to fight societal norms and conventions. I did this for the better part of ten years, and hated every day of it because inevitably I would ask the burning question “why does it have to be done this way when there is an obviously better or easier way to achieve the same outcome?”

I believe creativity is really two parts: curiosity and the ability to not just ask “what if?”, but also use some foresight to imagine the potential outcome. One has to be curious enough to want to look beyond the information that already exists; continually curious enough to collect all of this new information, and then put seemingly disparate pieces together into something else. The result of the latter is what most people think of as ‘creativity’, even if in reality it is a much more complex and continuous process than this. It’s a bit like Lego: you can make something according to the instructions provided in the box, or you can use the same pieces to make something else. That something else may or may not use all of the elements available; just as you might require elements from another set to complete your idea. Or you might choose to improve on the end result of the instructions by changing things along the way. All of these outcomes require taking fairly interchangeable pieces and combining them in a way that isn’t necessarily obvious or prescribed.

Lego, is of course perhaps the most obvious example because it’s a closed system in which it’s clear that following the ‘standard’ path yields one particular outcome; just as deviating yields a very different outcome. But expand that metaphor to the point where the elements aren’t obviously related and have neat standard connections, might or might not be dynamic or transient, aren’t necessarily physical or in the same medium, and the instructions are missing pages and written in multiple languages – and there you have life. I’m sure you can see how it’s possible to have creativity within a particular sphere (say, music, or painting, or engineering for example) – just as it’s possible to bring in elements from outside those disciplines to provide solutions to problems or extend capabilities beyond conventional thinking – e.g. biomimicry in engineering to make light and strong structures, or using painting techniques in photographic retouching. The better a person is at making these cross-disciplinary connections, the more creative they tend to be.

Personally, when I’m designing watches these days I treat them as a three dimensional photographic composition, with light that could change – thus I still have a structured hierarchy of elements in which readability takes priority, but then I will also bring in the concept of layering, reflection, textural changes, etc. which require both two and three dimensional considerations, as well as choices of material etc. Inspiration and ideas might come from a particular quality of an object – perhaps weight and tactile feel of a vintage lighter; or the way light reflects off moving water; the feeling of lightness of a cloud; or the airiness and strength projected by architectural spaces or aircraft. There often isn’t a direct translation between one medium and another: you can’t directly use a flying buttress on a dial, for instance. Nor can you always employ reflections since there are restrictions in where you can place things due to ergonomics or underlying engineering requirements. And all of this is before we even consider production feasibility or cost!

I redesigned the plates and bridges of this movement, but the movement itself provided the original (physical) constraints within which to work. I could have designed the entire movement, but the operating principles of the movement would have been defined by the industry standards and what is producible. I could design my own entirely from scratch – but even then I’d be subject to at very least the laws of physics and materials. See what I mean about derivative?

You would think that focusing one one thing would give you an advantage: I’d argue the opposite. Spending more time on one subject will give you depth and familiarity, but not the kind of breadth that allows cross-disciplinary jumps in logic that allows nonlinear advances in the original subject. I designed watches before I started shooting, but I became much better at it afterwards – and specifically, after being able to decompose exactly what about the images I liked could be translated into a something from a design point of view. It all once again boils down to the need to ask the question: “what if?” Curiosity is the start; it drives both information collection and questioning what happens when pieces of information are combined. The combination and evaluation process is creativity. In this way, creativity is never about making something out of nothing: it’s always derivative in a way, even if ‘more creativity’ means a more distant derivation: 1+1=5, instead of 1+1=3.

I suspect curiosity is something innate to all humans, but the degree to which it gets deployed is very much at the mercy of both information access and the people around you. I’ve never seen a child that hasn’t gone through the ‘but why?’ phase of questioning; but I have seen a lot of adults give dismissive answers because they themselves are not curious or don’t know the answers – and can’t be bothered to find out. Do that enough, and you’ve conditioned yet another person never to ask why. Entire governments encourage this by punishing dissent; society makes it difficult if you stand out by leaning on everybody’s fundamental desire for acceptance and companionship; yet the same groups of people question why there is no economic progress or creative progress and worship those who are different but financially successful. I’d argue that the deck is doubly stacked against people who make it because in addition to the challenges of simply doing something that might not have been done before, you continually face roadblocks from society or governments who do not understand whatever it is you are doing, and default to either fear or ‘not my problem’. I have personally faced this more times than I care to remember, especially in Malaysia.

Frankly, there really is no excuse (at least for the current generation) in today’s Information Age where the answer to any question is a search string away. You don’t even have to ask somebody, thus removing risks of social backlash. I think at some level we are seeing the effects of this, but not enough. Ultimately, creativity matters because if we don’t have at least some proportion of the population that asks why – we will not just live in a static society, but an entropifying one; if there is no way to repair something that has deviated from any sort of previous expectation or experience, that something simply ceases to be. Eventually, everything in the world will succumb to entropy, and there will be nothing left. If nothing else, we need curious people to keep the effects of plain entropy at bay; we need even more for society to acquire the headroom it needs to progress intellectually and emotionally beyond merely chasing basic needs in a never-ending cycle. Fortunately, for those of us who have had the proverbial lightbulb – it’s not something you can switch off. We keep doing it because just as people have been conditioned to accept and not ask, we’ve been conditioned to always ask. MT

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Visit the Teaching Store to up your photographic game – including workshop videos, and the individual Email School of Photography. You can also support the site by purchasing from B&H and Amazon – thanks!

We are also on Facebook and there is a curated reader Flickr pool.

Images and content copyright Ming Thein | mingthein.com 2012 onwards unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved

Continued from parts I and II

In the early days, there really wasn’t that much difference between the race cars and the road cars; often one and the same would be seen at Monza, Le Mans or Spa or the other endurance road courses. The predecessor to Formula One differed a little since those were purpose-built single seaters. But for the most part, there wasn’t anything like the massive differences we see today – even a high end sportscar like a 911 GT3 is still quire different from the actual GT3s that go racing; to say nothing of touring cars, NASCAR and rally – those are basically completely different cars that merely happen to share a deliberately similar looking body. I found the machinery from the early days of racing absolutely fascinating and thoroughly frightening at the same time: notice the lack of seatbelts, tiny brakes, minimal cockpit enclosure, those thin bias-ply radials that would be small on a Prius, and the seat made up entirely of the fuel tank (!). The roll bar is your head, protected by a a very impact-resistant pith helmet. Things got a little better later on, but that spare tire looks to be an unrestrained projectile in the event of a crash. Motorsport is still dangerous today, but nothing near as binary as it used to be. Either you were the champion, or you became one with your machine – permanently. MT

This series was shot with a Nikon Z7, mostly the 24-70/4 S and my custom SOOC JPEG profiles.

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Prints from this series are available on request.

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Images and content copyright Ming Thein | mingthein.com 2012 onwards unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved

Continued from part I

I think of this set as being full of very distinctive details of a particular era – yet there is crossover and overlap and transition between them. Even though the continuity is present, there’s a very clear looping back to the historical cars after the late 80s/ early 90s – at this point we see a divergence. The exotics retain the volume of recent vehicles, but gain the curves, lines and surfacing of 40-50 years prior. The mass vehicles just start looking a little melted and lose that sharp definition of the Bertone-era; where Alfa is in the present day is yet another mix of those two: more definition, larger volumes, but also more adventurous curves. As a designer, it’s interesting to see these particular details evolve and get re-referenced from other cars in their history; also to see what was kept and in doing so, signals a brand’s particular identity. Sometimes the most unusual or distinctive elements land up reused in the most unexpected places. Plenty of food for thought here… MT

This series was shot with a Nikon Z7, mostly the 24-70/4 S and my custom SOOC JPEG profiles.

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Prints from this series are available on request.

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Visit the Teaching Store to up your photographic game – including workshop videos, and the individual Email School of Photography. You can also support the site by purchasing from B&H and Amazon – thanks!

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Images and content copyright Ming Thein | mingthein.com 2012 onwards unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved

I had the opportunity to spend a day photographing the cars at the Museo Storico Alfa Romeo just outside Milan. It wasn’t just the famous cars that were interesting – there you already sort of knew what to expect, so it was more a case of finding interesting angles. The real treasures were the ones you didn’t know about – the lines, the curves, the detailing all speaking to a time when a lack of mass production and regulation allowed for a lot more variety. Can you imagine a car that wasn’t symmetrical left to right today, due to hand beaten panels? Or with red front lamps? Coming from a time when it’s getting increasingly difficult to differentiate between one brand and another…let’s just say it was a refreshing change, and yes, they really don’t make them like they used to (rust jokes aside). MT

Part one of several, probably.

This series was shot with a Nikon Z7, mostly the 24-70/4 S and my custom SOOC JPEG profiles.

v

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Prints from this series are available on request.

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Visit the Teaching Store to up your photographic game – including workshop videos, and the individual Email School of Photography. You can also support the site by purchasing from B&H and Amazon – thanks!

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Images and content copyright Ming Thein | mingthein.com 2012 onwards unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved

The journey for every photographer involves a few things:
– Figuring out what it is you want to photograph [motivations]
– Figuring out how you want to present it, or your [style]
– Seeking affirmation
– Not needing affirmation
We’ve discussed the first two items at length here before. We haven’t discussed the last two – and I think it’s about time we did, having firmly felt that I have been sitting in the final category for some time now. Right about after leaving Hasselblad and shifting my primary focus away from the photography industry to watchmaking, actually. It’s no coincidence that once you stop worrying about something, you feel increasingly liberated as to what you can ‘get away with’; it’s the gift and curse that the amateur fails to appreciate compared to the professional. There is fundamentally no need for the amateur to care what anybody but themselves thinks of their own work – yet most do, more intensely than the pro whose paycheck is dependent on client affirmation. Why?

Whilst this is a simplification of sorts, it’s also why 99% of the content online exists: most people are either looking for confirmation that the decisions we made are right – be they creative or technical – or looking for ideas on where to go or what to do next. In both cases, there is a fundamental element of ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I care what other people think so I’ll look’ – and even if you don’t necessarily follow, it’s impossible to escape the subconscious influence this has on one’s decision making. Very, very few people can say they genuinely don’t care what others think; it requires a supremely confident person and strong state of mind to rise above.

Social media has not helped any of this one single bit. There is a strange reward mechanism by which what we post is given summary judgement by random people we don’t know but somehow attribute far too much weight to; they decide if we are worthy of a ‘like’ and somehow that carries a correlation to self-worth. This of course makes no logical sense when couched in these terms; yet it doesn’t stop people from posting. In the last months I’ve repeatedly asked myself why I myself continue – and I can’t find a good answer beyond habit and the need to cultivate some sort of public personality for professional reasons. But it gives me no pleasure to post images on instagram and facebook and read and reply the judgmental or ignorant comments like “wow, what a sharp camera”. It feels like obligation, not enjoyment – and if so, why?

I’ve said this before many times: the amateur really only needs to care about what they themselves honestly think about their work. There is no need to worry about what others think; you are only producing work for yourself. It is probably better not to be distracted by the thoughts of others for this reason: you can experiment in directions you might have been discouraged from before achieving the results you envisioned. The more difficult the vision, the more likely you are to be turned off if you let somebody see and judge before you yourself are ‘finished’ or ‘happy’ with the rend result. The professional only need worry about the opinion of their client, since they’re the ones paying the bills – the rest is merely noise. Even what you personally think is much less relevant since one would hope that the client hired you for a job in line with your strengths rather than just as a randomly commoditized service provider (but then again, you might work in Malaysia).

So what, then, is photographic maturity? How does the mature photographer act?

Beyond knowing whose opinion matters in what situation – I think there’s also the experience factor. You know what images you’ve shot, what images you’re unlikely to repeat, what images you’re drawn to. To some degree this does mean that you land up making the same kinds of images a few times, but it means you can stop yourself from doing something worse, and instead ask yourself how you can do better – or, not care at all, and just shoot the same damn images because you like them. Both are perfectly acceptable approaches of the mature photographer.

You also know that under some situations photography is not appropriate or you have other priorities; you still feel the angst of not being able to shoot, but your eyes still see compositions and you know that you could make the images you want if you were shooting. If you can’t control yourself, you know that composition is independent of hardware and you can use the ubiquitous smartphone to scratch the itch. You also know that a strong composition transcends technical qualities and still ‘holds’ regardless of what you shot it on. You know that sufficiency is real, and most of the time for most uses – certainly self gratification – said smartphone will get the job done.

You may feel better using more specialized/expensive/serious hardware, but you know that all of this is a tool, which is fine; if you can afford and deploy better tools, then who’s to stop you? It’s your money and your creative process. You know that hardware doesn’t make up for creative or skill shortcomings, and you also know when your ability to execute is limited. You accept that what works for you – vision, workflow, hardware – isn’t the same as what works for the next person, and reviews are only valid in the context of the kinds of images the reviewer produces and their similarity to your own. You don’t need to seek external affirmation for any of your choices, but you’re sufficiently cognizant of your own limitations to know when to ask for help.

If I’m honest, reaching this stage of maturity as a photographer – or anything – requires both time and confidence. And it’s not something most people ever get to; it’s something you have to reach by passing through the stages of uncertainty and seeking external affirmation and existential questioning of “why am I doing this” to realize that you can only be happy if you make your best work, and you can only make your best work if it isn’t a compromise. To be better, we have to get into that zen state where we don’t let our uncertainties get in the way. We have to care, but not care too much. Just like compositional balance, there’s a point where you push things a little bit further because your gut says it’ll work…to hell with what anybody else thinks, we make photographs for us. MT

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Visit the Teaching Store to up your photographic game – including workshop videos, and the individual Email School of Photography. You can also support the site by purchasing from B&H and Amazon – thanks!

We are also on Facebook and there is a curated reader Flickr pool.

Images and content copyright Ming Thein | mingthein.com 2012 onwards unless otherwise stated. All rights reserved