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Okay, let’s talk about something that most people who photograph would like to do without—the tripod. Let’s face it, tripods are expensive (at least good ones are), bulky, heavy, inconvenient and, generally speaking, a pain in the behind. And yet…I wouldn’t be caught out in the field without one—ever. In the more than two years that I’ve been guest blogging here on 1001 Scribbles, I’ve posted a few hundred accompanying photographs and I can tell you without equivocation that not one of them was rendered handheld. Not one. The same is true of the images that have appeared on my own blog.

So, I’ve established my credentials as a tripod acolyte. The obvious question is: why? Why do I insist on using a tripod in light of all the negative points I’ve made about this most inconvenient of photographic tools?

Let me first note that a tripod is not an asset for all forms of photography. It can, in fact, be a true impediment. If you’re into street photography, for instance, it’s just about the last thing you want with you. Most sports photographers also find tripods to be far too inflexible to utilize. (Depending on the sport, and the venue, many use monopods instead.)
But when it comes to the photographic genres I engage in—landscapes with a touch of close-up work tossed in—a good tripod is not only helpful, I’d go so far as to say that they’re very nearly a necessity.

So what will a tripod do for you? There are, in my opinion, two primary benefits, one concrete and the other largely intangible. The concrete benefit involves all the technical advantages one accrues from shooting from a stable platform. Added sharpness, across the board is one. This benefit comes regardless of shutter speed, but is especially noteworthy the longer the shutter is open. Beyond about 1/15 second, even with stabilized equipment, the sharpness advantages of using a tripod are undeniable, regardless of focal length. Additionally, if you want to render one part of an image sharp while allowing other parts to go soft with a slower shutter speed—silky moving water, for instance, with rocks or other features remaining sharp—there’s no real alternative to using a tripod. And with the benefit of an anchored platform, the ability to combine exposures–as part of manual blending, HDR work or focus stacking–is a far more viable option than when hand holding the camera.

The intangible advantages of tripod use are arguably even more important: a tripod forces you to slow down in the field. The vast, vast majority of the time, this is a good thing. By requiring you to work at something other than a point-and-click pace, you’ll find yourself taking greater care with everything you do—from deciding what shot to take in the first place (hey, it’s got to be worth it if it means setting up the tripod first) to metering to fine-tuning the composition. More indirectly, the slower pace will also almost certainly put you more in tune with the place you’re shooting and the process by which you’re rendering it.
The caveat about certain types of photography notwithstanding, I can all but guarantee you that your “keeper ratio” will increase—perhaps astronomically—as you transition to using a tripod regularly. Some of that will be technical, some of it will be indirect, but regardless of the specific cause, the end result will be images with which you’ll be more pleased. And isn’t that the goal of every photographer?
Thursday Tips is written by Kerry Mark Leibowitz, a guest blogger on 1001 Scribbles, and appears every other Thursday. To read more of his thoughts on photography, please visit his blog: Lightscapes Nature Photography.





My friend has taken an interest in my photography and has asked me to send him periodic samples of my work. He has typically shown a particular affinity for my images which contain things like creeks, waterfalls, fields of flowers and trees lush with foliage. See the pattern here? These are all things that are not in abundance in a desert environment.
Two years ago, when I told him that I was
I explained that there was nothing unique about my desire to go to Arizona to photograph; people from all over the world travel to Arizona and the surrounding states of the American Southwest for photography—a concept he simply couldn’t wrap his mind around. Why would people travel thousands of miles to come to a place that had “nothing”? Why would I leave all of these inspiring ecosystems that he was seeing in my photos, native to the American Midwest, filled with water and greenery and trees with leaves that change color in the fall to go to such a bleak and barren place?
I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this. It’s a natural tendency to become habituated, to at least some degree, to that which is common to our own experience, regardless of what that is. We’re inclined to take the familiar for granted. Sometimes it requires the perspective of an outsider to reboot our own associations with places and things. My friend has been in the desert all his life. Where I see haunting, singular beauty, all he sees is monochromatic monotony. Similarly, what I often regard as the cluttered, indistinct scenery of the Midwest is like Shangri-La to him.
I’ve always said that I spend my time living in a part of the world that is hardly amongst the planet’s garden spots for the kind of photography I like to engage in (i.e. landscape), and I firmly believe that to be true, but it’s always helpful to receive a reminder that there’s plenty of natural beauty out there, simply waiting for someone with the appropriate mindset to see it for what it is and reveal it.




I hasten to point out that it is possible to take the idea of simplification too far. Taken to its logical extreme, one could simplify to the point of effectively removing every element in the frame, thus making the center of interest difficult to identify because it has been omitted entirely. The goal of the exercise is to simplify the composition to the point where the center of interest is best enhanced. That may involve removing most of the elements, or just a few. (Sometimes, after all, additional elements in the frame complement the center of interest, making it more rather than less apparent.)
To echo the introduction to this entry, there are no absolutes and no objective truths connected to any of this. The only way to know whether you’ve simplified too much…or not enough…or just enough is to go through the exercise and ask yourself—not someone else—if you like the end result. How can you be sure that you’ve got it right? You’ll know when you see it.





