Editorial Stock

Editorial stock photography is a retirement game that I play in my senior years. I don't do it for the money, although I welcome any money I earn for doing it. It's what I do instead of playing golf or tennis or watching daytime television. 

I work with a combination of three sets of rules—those of the marketplace, those of Alamy, my stock photo agency, and my own. Mostly, I stick to these rules. But rules are meant to be bent and sometimes broken. 

I'm a city boy. I don't have a car or a driving permit anymore, so I can't do landscapes. I don't do flowers or wildlife either. I see only pigeons and gulls and some other smaller birds where I am now. When I lived in Oxfordshire, I would sometimes see hedgehogs. There is something lovable about those little creatures. I had a family of them living in my badly tendered garden in Woodstock. There were voles, too. But I don't see these small mammals here in the center of Liverpool.  

I don't like to capture pictures of beggars or homeless people, although I sometimes do. It was impossible for me to resist snapping this man from Senegal with his dramatic posture. More often than not, I want my stock photos to have an upbeat, positive message. It's the message that makes it stock. If you can write a caption to an image, positive or negative, it's stock.

Instead of begging, this senior Chinese woman in Lower Manhattan collected cans for recycling. She was focused and hardworking with courage and a positive attitude. I used to say hello to her in Mandarin, and after a while, she gave me a little smile and a nod. I hope she's been okay in the lockdown. 

There are a lot of unexciting subjects that work well for editorial stock: signs, marquees, storefronts, statues, products, and people doing most anything. 

And then there are landmarks, of course. Landmarks can be tricky. Everybody snaps away at landmarks. Alamy has 125,039 images of the Manhattan Skyline, 71,792 of Big Ben. 

I do okay with stock sales of landmarks, with one frustrating, inexplicable exception: St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. I have what I consider some really good images of this most famous church on Earth, yet I've never had a sale or even a zoom. (A zoom is a closer look by a potential buyer.) 

It seems that I've repeated some things I've said in earlier blogs. I'm sorry about that.

Social Distancing

Last week I said that I'd begun to eat out again. Have you? Or are you worried about social distancing? 

I'm pretty good at guessing a person's height. I'm rarely off by more than a half-inch. So I think it's odd that I'm having trouble estimating the prescribed social distancing space of 2 meters. I know that that is roughly six and a half feet. The supermarkets and other businesses have distances marked out on the floor. But are they the same? Are they consistent? I don't think so. (Of course, I'm an American, and Americans don't use or understand the metric system.)

And what about the layouts for tables in restaurants? To me, they look like their closer together than 2 meters, both indoors and out. Here's a shot I took of Gino D'Acampo on Castle Street a few days ago. 

Two meters? One and a half? What do you think? 

I had my second mushroom pizza of the month at Rudy's next door to Gino's yesterday. There was lots of room where I sat inside in the cool. Scousers and tourists alike were sitting outside in the bright sunshine. Italians wouldn't be caught dead eating a meal in the sunshine. And neither would I. 

These two mountain village Italians seem to understand the concept of social distancing.

And let's not forget that in 1918 we were visited by another pandemic.

Recipe for Food Pics

Food is a large part of the common-access, editorial subjects I capture for Alamy. I estimate that a quarter to a third of my stock photo library deals with food. That includes people dining out, farmers' markets, items on supermarket shelves, and closeups of meals. Editorial stock photography is the only shooting I do now that I'm semi-retired. 

With the lifting of the Lockdown here in Liverpool, I've started eating out again. In this past month, I've had lunch out once or twice a week. Recently, there's a 50% government discount on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays which makes things almost affordable. 

A Pizzeria in Lower Manhattan

I have a friend who is a leading assignment photographer in America. She does wonderful studio shoots that often involve a chef, a stylist, and a few assistants. It's beautiful work. Me? Well, I don't do that. 

Instead, I aim at that place somewhere between studio-controlled images and casual snapshots. The meals I'm photographing are the meals I'm about to eat, and I'm usually hungry. I'm not shooting coherent sets of pictures or full restaurant menus. Each image I upload must stand on its own. 

Caprese Salad

I work fast, getting three classic frames: overhead, diner's view, and a closeup. Mostly, I use the light from one window. I don't ponder shots or look for "creative" angles. The props, the extras, are always utensils, napkins, and other things found in all dining areas. Food, I feel, is about taste. If an image tweaks your tastebuds, it's successful. If it doesn't, it's not. Simple, eh? 

At home, in summer, I like to fix myself a large plate of mixed, multi-cultural antipasto—some Italian, some Mexican, and a little Greek, Indian, or Middle Eastern. Tasty and healthy food. But for stock photography, simpler subjects work better. 

Green Beans on a Green Table

And famous, popular dishes seem to work best.  

A Cheeseburger and Fries

Street

That's "street" as in street photography, meaning candid images that illustrate the natural environment with an emphasis on meaningful activities. Mostly that's people doing things, but Elliot Erwitt did five books on dogs doing things that would certainly qualify as "street." 

These days, I do a fair amount of street shooting myself, but the emphasis is on editorial stock (street for stock). An image is editorial stock if it suggests a caption to me. I want to shoot more street, more unplanned people pictures, but trying to find people doing

Henri Cartier-Bresson pioneered the genre of street photography. He viewed his art as capturing the decisive moment. He used small 35mm Leica cameras. The new phone cameras and pocketable digital mirrorless cameras have given street photography a new lease on life. Is everybody a photographer now? No, just 94.6% of us.

Soon after HCB came Walker Evens, Garry Winogrand, Bruce Davidson, Vivian Maier, and others. The full list, even just my favorites, is much longer. It does not include Magnum's, Bruce Gilden. Bruce is at the top of two of my other lists: Obnoxious People and Total Assholes. Magnum has seen better days.

Do you think Boris reads my blog? He did backtrack on his "normal by Christmas" statement after I made fun of it last week. So maybe . . . maybe. . . . Nah. 

 

Aging

Someone on the BBC today warned against "pining for the past and cringing from the future." Good advice. Dealing with the present is hard enough.

A dear friend in Tuscany had a bad fall this past week. I will not suggest she is aging (ageing in the UK). In my day, it was not polite to discuss a woman's age. But her dog seems to have gotten very old. This faithful canine is blind, deaf, and unsteady on his feet—all four of them. He was the accidental cause of my friend's fall. It's not just humans who suffer as they age. 

Whatever your species, your years are numbered, and the later decades can be hard. My own sense of balance has diminished greatly in these last few years.

The buildings, sidewalks, and roads here in Liverpool are aging too. During the lockdown, landlords and the City Council have been working to repair them. 

The Prime Minister suggests that old folks should slim down. His advisors say it will give them a better chance if they have to deal with the deadly virus. So far, no fines or arrests have been mentioned. I'm older, Boris, but I'm thinner than you are.

I lost my extra pounds six or seven years ago. I did it by intermittent fasting, the 16/8 program. And I've stayed with the program. I eat only breakfast and lunch in an 8-hour window. I don't eat junk food, and I don't need to count calories. Oh, and I usually have a drink or two with my lunch. So far, alcohol has not been a problem. But if my doctor were to suggest that I stop drinking, I would make a change.

I'd find a new doctor. 

A Step Towards Normal

(This blog got lost because of a tech problem with Blogspot.)

I had a Pizza Margherita with mushrooms and a schooner of Italian lager at Rudy's on Castle Street at lunch on Saturday the 4th of July. The 4th is Independence Day in the United States. Here, it was the first day of the partial lifting of the lockdown. 

I sat inside. The tables were set far apart and the staff all wore facemasks. There was a family of three Italians with a toddler a few tables away who looked as if they were enjoying themselves—they lifted my spirits. Everything inside Rudy's went smoothly, but there was an elaborate confusion at the entrance where I had to do strange things with my iPhone that called for an extra pair of hands. In the end, this rigmarole seemed pointless. 

After lunch, I walked up to Bold Street to see what was happening there. Bold Street is shoulder-to-shoulder restaurants, bars, and coffee houses. The entire street is now closed to traffic. Several of the more popular bistros had tables outside. Unfortunately, it was raining and only one place had those large umbrellas. 

I was not able to go back to see how they did at dinner, but I will take another look at lunch today. 

A year ago Thursday, I arrived at John Lennon Airport in Liverpool on a Ryanair flight from Dublin. If I had been seeking adventure instead of security and tranquility, this would have been a great year. But, after trying to figure out the various local ways of doing things and straining to understand the local dialect, out of nowhere, came the coronavirus followed by the lockdown. And now there's the very real threat of a major world depression. You can't make this stuff up. 

In New York, Sunday brunch is an important social event. It runs from late morning far into the afternoon. Midday today, there were not that many people out on Bold Street looking for Sunday brunch. The sun was shining and most of the bistros were open but only about a third of those had tables on the street. My guess (and it’s only a guess) is that management is being careful; they’re not sure if the new social-distancing system will work. 

Also, there’s a glaring fact about Bold Street that occurred to me today for the first time. There’s nothing attractive about the place, this long line of restaurants on both sides of this long, narrow street. I’ve not been there after dark, and I guess that’s when most people go. Colorful lighting should improve things. Yes, I took pictures today. I don’t like a single one. 

I see many working hosts in shops and restaurants wearing face shields now instead of face marks. Medical experts are not in lockstep as to which provides the best protection. 

My Blog

Some things I carry in my pockets these days.

This blog was never supposed to be me complaining about my personal situation, nor did I want it to be a weekly whining narrative of complaints about things in general. Most of all, I really do not want to write any more about the pandemic. Alas, here I go again. 

We would be better off listening to what the medical and scientific community has to say and ignoring inept leaders' dumb, cockamamie remarks. Yes, I'm referring to that Evil Clown who sits in the White House munching Big Macs and ignoring difficult facts. He's America's ingrown toenail.

I'm willing to give Boris a chance, although his wishful thinking that all will be well by Christmas was a shocker. I expected him to start singing "Jingle Bells" and handing out tiny toy trees. Prime Minister, were you not in Intensive Care just a short while ago with the virus? 

I'm neither a Tory nor a Labor supporter. With my Irish passport, I could legally vote in the UK, but I see myself as a guest in this country right now, not a shaker and surely not a mover. 

Pubs are getting ready for our return.

I must have mentioned this before: I grew up in American politics. My father served 30 years in the House of Representatives. The Hon. John J. Rooney, Democrat from Brooklyn, NY. I've shaken hands with three US Presidents, and a fourth, Harry S. Truman, stepped on my foot. Ouch! Harry wasn't following social-distancing.

Until we get an effective vaccine we will be plagued with COVID-19 and more people will die. Christmas 2020? I don't think so.