Photography Lesson #2

[Rob C]

Friends! So good to see you again!

That you are here proves to me that you have mastered the important lesson of our first learning experience together. I am both pleased and humbled that so much has been learned so soon. As your facilitator, I feel obliged to let you know that this has been a two-way process, and that through your many and varied intelligent questions I, too, have learned so very much from you, my students! Thank you, thank you!

To conclude, I feel it incumbent upon myself to give, freely and without hiding professional secrets any longer, the key to your ultimate success as top, contemporary photographers able to stand erect and brave in the face of whatever the combined efforts of the terrible twin sisters, Fate and Chance may throw your way.

The secret: go out there, face the world and dig deeply into your abundant reserves of youthful courage, drink deep from the rivers of hope and prowl the edges of the known. There, between what is and what might be, you will discover the very essence of your own self. Carpe diem! Forget not Lesson #1 and do it!

When you have done it, take it in an old paper bag (always appear modest and unassuming!) to the offices of National Geograffics magazine and ask to see the photography editor. He will immediately welcome you into his humble office-cum-studio, take one look at your amazing oeuvre, and that contract will be there on his desk for your signing before you can count from one to three.

Remember: avoid cliché, seek cliché; embrace the ambience, love the mood! Follow your instincts and produce exactly what the editor Marketing Department wants. And you will go far - right as far as Georgia, if you are lucky! I love you; peace!



Oh - further, postgraduate studies are on offer on my website. You can buy any or all of my books as you leave the building.

[Stan Bax]

... I was getting worried that no one asked for money, which made Rob C's effort not quite convincing, but the Master redeemed himself in the last sentence in his post


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[Eric Myrvaagnes]

I take this lesson's image to be a closeup of your navel. So the message must be: "Contemplate your navel intensely, that you may become a modenr (sick) pro photographer."

Am I correct?

Sign me up for the complete series, Teacher!

[Rob C]

I take this lesson's image to be a closeup of your navel. So the message must be: "Contemplate your navel intensely, that you may become a modenr (sick) pro photographer."

Am I correct?

Sign me up for the complete series, Teacher!

What are you talking about, Eric? This was shot one warm, but wet night in Atlanta, just outside the car park at the Coca Cola Institution of Contemporary Arts. The rain had been falling gently for quite some time, but the steam just kept on rising... As I was in a little bit of a hurry, I thought I'd better not wait any longer, so I left the safety of my '59 Cadillac Coupe de Ville (robin's-egg blue, metallic) just long enough to snap this monument to the vanished Miss Coke. No, it's not her navel either: it's a small imperfection in the casting. You just can't get the skilled staff anymore - it's a digital thing: they all want to 3D-print their art now, not make it by hand. Modenrism, I suppose

Oh, those long-lost Golden Era artists! Time for a Renaissance.

But I do wonder what actually befell Miss Coke. Nobody at HQ was available for comment. Out to dinner, I suppose.

Rob C

[GrahamBy]

Here you go, advice from a friend from a dark, wooded part of Mittel Euopa:

Advice for artists:
On the first Monday of each month, go to the nearest forest.
Be quiet and attentive, notice how the dawn dew reveals intense notes of crushed leaves and bergamote, and a delicate, sensual scent of fleshy, fragrant flowers emerges from the earth.
Create a work of art with the instruments of your choice (it can be a painting, a drawing, a polaroid, a sculpture, a performance or a sound installation).
Don't take a photo of it, and don't tell anyone about it.
Leave the work there, to the mercy of the elements.
Don't tell anyone where you left your work, and don't go back to it afterwards.
This should be performed as a monthly sacrifice to the goddess of inspiration.

[Rob C]

Here you go, advice from a friend from a dark, wooded part of Mittel Euopa:

Advice for artists:
On the first Monday of each month, go to the nearest forest.
Be quiet and attentive, notice how the dawn dew reveals intense notes of crushed leaves and bergamote, and a delicate, sensual scent of fleshy, fragrant flowers emerges from the earth.
Create a work of art with the instruments of your choice (it can be a painting, a drawing, a polaroid, a sculpture, a performance or a sound installation).
Don't take a photo of it, and don't tell anyone about it.
Leave the work there, to the mercy of the elements.
Don't tell anyone where you left your work, and don't go back to it afterwards.
This should be performed as a monthly sacrifice to the goddess of inspiration.

And an even more noble one to the god of litteration.

Any advice for the other days? First Mondays are already pretty full: I always check to see if the pension came in... not much time for anything else before that, or I'd have to go out unbathed and probably undressed.

You become aware of many things with the pension: other people's seem to stretch further; first Mondays don't always fall on the same date (number) which makes keeping calendar track more than a little difficult. It's the same with prescription drugs pills: some come in packets of 28 where others in packets of 30. Immediately the more astute reader notes that in due course of time, more visits are needed to the chemist than would have been the case had all been available with the same loading. When I was young - in the sense of not being a pensioner, not even thinking of being one - packets of concern usually came containing the contents in groupings of three.

Nobody gave me poetic advice, though, which might explain a lot.

Rob C

[Zorki5]

Friends! So good to see you again!

I thought this would be followed with

"Rise hands, those of you who once attempted to take a once-in-a-lifetime shot with lens cap still on! One, two... Three... (mumbling)

"Now rise hands those who don't know what Freudian Slip is! One... Two..."

Rob, people won't take your teaching seriously if you don't follow correct procedure! 

[Riaan van Wyk]

Teacher, how am I to take you seriously if you not once have said what camera I must have? And what lenses and settings to use!

[Rob C]

People, people! I've been generous enough for three souls! If you seek Photography Lesson #3, you must take the Postgrad route or await my next moment of magnanimity!

Rob C, aka ¿Master?