Lifting it from the floor, time slowed, and I felt a figurative, if expensive, bullet graze my shoulder. The mangled plastic rewind mechanism pointed towards the long repair that lay ahead of us.

I had no immediate plan to buy a second Leica M body, though I was saving for one. The temporary loss of the M6, combined with the fortunate proximity to my birthday, provided a gossamer-thin layer of cover needed to justify the exciting purchase of my now precious Leica M3.

The History of the Leica M3

Launched in 1954, the Leica M3 sold over 226,000 units before it was discontinued and replaced by the M4 in 1967.

Despite its name, the M3 was the first Leica M series camera to be introduced following a redesign of Oskar Barnack’s popular screw-mount Leica cameras. Taking its letter designation from the word Messsucher – the German for Rangefinder – the Leica M3 was so named for the rangefinder focusing mechanism, and a choice of three sets of frame lines was viewed through its single bright viewfinder window.

Additional innovations further set the new Leica M3 apart from its predecessors. For convenience, the wind-on dial was replaced with a thumb lever advance, and the solid shell of the screw-mount models was replaced with a hinged back, which eased and quickened the changing of film.

The camera remained entirely mechanical, although technology permitted minor automatic and electronic action within the new design.

Convenience

The most convenient redesign, however, was the top plate. Unlike the Barnack models, the shutter speed could now be chosen from a single dial. All controls on the new M were found across the top plate and could be read at ease from above.

Building on this novel convenience, the operation was significantly improved. Across all areas of the model, from shutter release to film advance and film rewind, the camera is oh-so quiet.

Though in this review lenses will be set aside, as one would expect from a Leica, the optics of the Summicron 50mm f2, with which it shipped, are perfect. Replacing the M39 Screw Mount for swift and nimble lens replacement, the M3 has a bayonet system appropriately dubbed the M Mount.

That this revolutionary design has remained consistent, with few changes or additions, for almost 70 years, is a testament to the timeless excellence of the original Leica M.

Leica M3 Build Quality

To some extent, build quality is a subjective matter of opinion. One person’s robust, solid camera body is another’s leaden paperweight. For me, build quality is directly proportional to the camera’s life expectancy, and, as is obvious from my camera being only a few years younger than my parents, the Leica M3 lasts, partly due to its sturdy construction and precise operation.

Used every day, an M3 should last a decade without the need for cleaning, lubricating, and adjusting (CLA), and, if kept well, will still look just as good as it did new.

What makes the Leica M3 a tough, robust camera is that its metal body, specifically brass, is strong and resistant to corrosion. The top and bottom plates are brass-plated in chrome for a clean, bright, and distinctive sheen. The covering stretched around the camera is vulcanite, and though intended for grip, it has given the camera a now-classic aesthetic.

Light Enough For a Day on the Street

In comparison to most professional SLR cameras, the Leica M3 can’t be described as a heavy camera, however, it does have some heft to it. Place it in the hands of someone unsuspecting, and there will be a surprise at its weight.

Of course, were it too heavy, it would not have become the acclaimed and sought-after camera it did. It is light enough to carry all day and not get tired. Containing a roll of Kodak Tri-X, my M3 weighs 622g, and with the Summicron 50mm f2 lens attached, it is not much less than a kilogram, weighing 844g.

Light enough for a companion all day out on the street, and heavy enough that it will be missed if left behind, or worse.

The Leica M3, while in its 69th year, has not yet been bettered for simplicity or reliability. The internal workings of the camera are mechanical. With the exception of the gold sync contacts for flash bulbs and electronic flash, there are no electronics on board, and there is no battery required.

A conversation with an acquaintance at Leica in London described the shutter speed timing mechanism within the M3 as akin to a Swiss clock. Exacting pinpoint precision at all costs. It is a light-tight box with a timed shutter, and yet, it is so much more.

Let’s take a closer look.

The Top of the Leica M3

Like that of the Leica M4 that succeeded it, the chrome-plated brass top plate of the Leica M3 is iconic.

The beautiful, precise engraving of the Leica script sits above the Ernst Leitz Wetzlar imprint. Simple, unassuming, and yet elegant and timeless.

Though one may argue it is not as instantly recognisable as the famed red dot, with its top-plate branding, the Leica M3 is less likely to distract or catch a subject’s eye while shooting in the street.

To the right of the Leica script, placed just above the hot shoe, is engraved both the model and the serial number.

Shutter Dial and Shutter Release

Unlike the screw-mount cameras that came before, the Leica M3 combines both long and short shutter speeds onto the same dial for a single, unified, and quicker selection. The shutter speed dial is a robust, solid circular piece of metal that is difficult to nudge accidentally and would take Peter Gabriel’s titular sledgehammer to break.

The ridges cut into the dial mechanism both catch the dial, firm in each setting, and give haptic reassurance to the photographer with its ever-so-satisfying click into place.

There is a small, oblong channel cut into the top of the dial between the 1/2s and 1/4s settings. That this had some purpose was only made clear when I bought a Leica MR light meter, which attaches to the top of the camera.

From the bottom of the meter, a pin slides into the channel, and, as the shutter speed is selected on the meter’s control, the pin controls the dial on the camera.

A more modest Range

Though modern digital Leicas have a range of electronically-assisted shutter speeds from an hour through to 1/4000th of a second, the mechanical M3 has a more modest range from 1s to 1/1000s.

There is a Flash-sync setting set at 1/50th of a second, and, should you need a longer shutter speed than 1 second, there is a Bulb setting for manual control.

All speeds are marked in black against the chrome metal of the dial and, when not in darkness, can be seen with ease – even with eyesight as poor as mine.

From the shutter speed, one only needs a short 2 cm journey to the right to find the shutter release set within a ring that sits above the advance lever.

As with all but the limited flash function, the shutter release is mechanical and has no electronic support. There is no half-press for focus or to activate a light meter, only a simple, smooth, steady depression of the button to hear the pleasing ssnnk of the horizontal, cloth shutter curtain travel across the frame.

Film Winder and Counter

On the older Barnack models, when the photograph had been made, there was an arduous dial to turn and wind the film on. All manner of contortions were needed to quickly set the camera for another frame. Replacing this is a thumb-controlled advance lever.

In earlier models like mine, the advance used a double-stroke mechanism. The first to cock the shutter, and the second to advance the film.

In later models, this was replaced with a single-stroke action with both functions occurring across a single draw of the thumb.

As the film advances, look across to the left at the rewind knob. It’s comforting to see the film is advancing inside the camera by observing the small pair of dots that revolve as the lever is pushed.

Double-Stroke

Many Leica M3 users advocate a double-stroke lever; others a single-stroke. From all the information I could find, it seems to be a subjective preference. I have it on good authority, though, that if a double-stroke mechanism requires repair, Leica will instead replace it with a single-stroke advance, so if you like the DS, don’t break it.

Single or double stroke, the wind of an M3 advance is smooth, and, as it is made of solid metal rather than the plastic-tipped controls of later cameras, there’s little chance of breaking the lever.

As the film is wound on, the inexorable frame counter ticks forward. Found on the farthest right of the top of the camera, the counter is housed in a subtle dome of glass.

Though there are 44 frames marked on the counter, the mechanism stops turning at 40; two of the additional four are cosmetic and complete the circle back to 0.

Unlike earlier Leicas, the camera effects an automatic reset when the take-up spool is removed, flipping the counter back to -2, to allow for two wind-on shots before the counter returns to 0.

Rewind Knob

On the opposite flank of the top plate rests the rewind knob. If there is one criticism a modern photographer may levy at the Leica M3, it is that rewinding the film takes an interminable time – especially when compared to the speed of winding back an M6.

To rewind the film on an M3, one flips the lever on the front of the camera towards the letter R, lifts the knob out from the central advance indicator, and twists. Relentlessly. Twist until the knob resists and the film is pulled off the take-up spool.

Between 20 and 30 seconds can be spent twisting and turning the knob before even beginning to load a new roll.

While I’ve heard tales of a Leica-produced crank tool that can be fitted around the knob to make rewinding quicker, I’ve never seen one or known anyone to use one.

Leica M3 Rangefinder mechanism

The Leica M3 is, of course, a rangefinder camera, and, thus, focus is found via the rangefinder mechanism built into the body.

For the unfamiliar, to focus using a rangefinder, the photographer looks through a viewfinder in the middle of which is a second small, illuminated rectangle. As the focus ring is turned, the picture in the smaller rectangle moves left or right. The goal is to match that of the diminutive rectangle with the image in the larger window. As the lines superimpose, the focal plane has been found.

Earlier Barnack Leicas separated the viewfinder and the rangefinder. The photographer peered through one window to focus using the rangefinder system and then moved their eye to the window beside it to compose the frame.

On the Leica M3, the separated windows have been combined for the convenience of the photographer. It makes all the difference.

On the front of the camera can be seen the three rangefinder windows. When facing the camera, on the right, there is the unified viewfinder. To its left, there is the bright line illumination window. This gathers the ambient light to illuminate the frame lines within the viewfinder. Further to the left is the rangefinder window, which provides the image in the small, central rectangle used to focus.

Effective Base Length

The accuracy of the focusing system within a rangefinder is dependent on what is known as the Effective Base Length (EBL). The higher the EBL, the more accurate the focusing. The lower, the less accurate.

The EBL is calculated by multiplying the base length of the rangefinder by the magnification of the viewfinder. The base length is the distance between the viewfinder and the rangefinder window.

Leica M3s have the same base length as other Leica M series cameras; however, as the magnification of the viewfinder is higher, the effective base length is more accurate.

The Leica M3 has a viewfinder magnification of 0.91x, which is close to a 1:1 ratio of magnification. For comparison, the Leica M6 viewfinder has a magnification of 0.72x.

The base length of the M6 is 69.25mm x 0.72 magnification, which gives an EBL of 50mm. The base length of the M3 is 69.25mm x 0.91 magnification, which gives an EBL of 63mm.

While such things are marginal, the larger EBL on the Leica M3 makes the camera more reliable to focus, particularly when using longer lenses wide open, where every millimeter counts.

Though one can cheat closer in various inventive ways, the M3 is rated to focus from as close as one meter, all the way out to infinity. While the camera does have automatic parallax correction, it is wise to keep it in mind when shooting near the subject.

Frame lines

Setting the rangefinder mechanism aside, then, let’s look through the viewfinder itself and those bright, beautiful, welcoming frame lines.

One of the big attractions of a rangefinder camera, particularly the older Leicas, is the lack of distraction in the viewfinder. There are no flashing lights, nor levels, grids, or gauges. There is a single set of frame lines and the rangefinder rectangle. That’s it.

The frame lines available are limited. Newer Leicas have a selection of six. The M3 provides only three. The 50mm lines are always on, and either the 90mm or 135mm lines will appear if an appropriate lens is attached.

The frame lines can be previewed without changing the lens by using the lever on the front of the camera.

With such viewfinder magnification, there’s no latitude to provide frame lines for 35mm or wider focal lengths. Should one need these, an external viewfinder is required. Mind you, if an external viewfinder was good enough for Winogrand on his trusty M4, it’s good enough for any of us.

Leica M3’s Baseplate and Tripod Mount

Unlike the majority of film cameras, the Leica M3 opens with a hinged backplate that swings vertically. The backplate is held in place with a brass baseplate that attaches to the body via a small jut on the right-hand side and is locked by a circular latch on the bottom.

There is little to the bottom of the camera until the baseplate is removed, save for the tripod mount. On Leica M3s sold in America, the thread of the tripod mount is measured at 1/8″, while those sold in Europe have a 3/8″ thread.

However, the most confounding thing for new M photographers is that the mount is not centred, sitting instead on the right-hand side of the camera. This can look and feel odd when used, but photographers have been mounting their M3s on tripods for almost 70 years now with little to complain about. It only takes a little getting used to.

Loading the Leica M3

Once the baseplate is removed, the hinged back can be swung up to view the film path in front of the shutter curtain, and it is in the absence of the baseplate that the bottom of the camera becomes somewhat more illustrative.

On the left, there is the cavity for the film roll, and on the right, there is the removable take-up spool.

In comparison with modern analogue Leica M cameras, the M3 is more time-consuming to load. One needs to remove the take-up spool, find the small clip to slide the film underneath, and then load the roll and take-up spool into the camera, ensuring the film is seated correctly in the transport path and on the wind-on cogs.

Much easier than the Leica III series to be sure, but requires some concentration, particularly when loading in the dark or on the move.

With time comes practice and with practice comes ease – especially if using the Winogrand flip. When changing rolls on his Leica M4, hung around his neck, Garry Winogrand would flip the camera upside down, so the bottom was facing him as he looked down onto it, and the lens rested against his body, making removal of the rewound film and replacing it with a new roll a little easier.

Mind you, Winogrand would temporarily put the bottom plate in his shirt pocket. I take my cue from our dog, and mine ends up in my mouth.

On the Back of the Leica M3

In keeping with the sleek, minimal aesthetic of the Leica M3, the hinged backplate is home to only the ISO and film-type reminder, a small spring-loaded dial to be turned to indicate when using either a black and white, tungsten, or daylight film – and the corresponding ISO.

Above the backplate, set into the chrome-plated brass of the body are two small plugs – the rear flash sync terminals, two plugs I’ve never had cause nor facility to use. Both terminals require an outmoded, proprietary Leica-devised connection to fit, and while there is a combination of different adapters that will get it there, your flash also needs to have the PC connector at the other end.

For a flash with a sync speed of 1/50s, I’m not sure it’s worth the effort, but it’s there should it be necessary.

The terminal with the symbol of the bulb is for the old ignitable glass flash bulbs. The terminal with the lightning bolt symbol is for xenon electronic flashes, so any semi-modern flash you may want to use. The difference between them is timing. The former is triggered a fraction earlier than the shutter, as the old glass bulbs were slow to ignite.

A Lifetime Investment

Advertised by Leica as a lifetime investment in perfect photography, the Leica M3 became as famous as its photographers, who, in their number, included Cartier-Bresson, Capa, Frank, Erwitt, Winogrand, and far too many others to mention.

It is a camera prized for its precision engineering, robust build, and beautiful design. It is by far and away the most enjoyable film camera I have used, and I expect to use it for many years to come.

This slightly-edited article was originally published on Shoot It With Film on January 12th, 2024.

The post The Leica M3: A Comprehensive Guide appeared first on Neil Milton Photography.

Having spent an adulthood of anti-zionism and pro-Palestinian advocacy, and a couple of years watching a genocide committed by the far-right settler-colonialist government of Israel, from the point of view of a smartphone screen, I am sick. I am exhausted. I am profoundly sad. And I am angry. I am rageful. The words, From the river to the sea pass through my mind every few minutes, it seems.

From the River To the Sea

As I sit here warm, comfortable, and safe at home in Warsaw, I can’t begin to imagine myself in the place of the civilians in Gaza who have suffered this disgusting collective punishment. This genocide has wiped out whole bloodlines. Israeli forces have forcibly displaced people. Infants shot in the head. I can, however, pay tribute to the Palestinian journalists and citizen journalists who have shown the world the truth of what has been happening in Gaza. Many of those have been killed; in fact, [when I originally wrote this], the CPJ has announced this to be the deadliest time for journalists in modern warfare.

Since the inevitable mowing of the lawn began in Gaza on October 7th and the brutal genocide that came after, I have been following the Polish-Palestinian protest movement. From marches to the Polish parliament, demonstrations outside the American and Israeli embassies, and student encampments, to the visit of anti-Zionist Jewish speaker and author Gabor Maté and cultural events such as Palestine Solidarity Days, I have spent time with fellow pro-Palestinian supporters and activists, documenting as I go.

Free Palestine!

The post Free Palestine! appeared first on Neil Milton Photography.

We Sink Ships

From, I would guess, 2008 to late 2010 Heidi and I took on that name as our identity for a mixed-media collaboration that would see us exhibit our photographs and those of others, produce a weekly radio show, collaborate with others to make a short film, and later for it to have its premiere at 2010’s International Arts Festival in Edinburgh. In an odd twist of fate, my turn to compose music for the collaboration would lead me away from photography and back to music for the following decade, though I did find my way back to my camera eventually.

In the late noughts, as social media was only becoming popular, and the internet was still in its sullen teenage phase, Heidi and I devised our plan to host an online gallery that would operate much like a physical gallery in that there would be an exhibition for some time, then it would come down and another would take its place. All the while, Heidi and I would be working on our own art to intersperse the guest exhibitions with ones of our own.

An Organic, Glacial Aesthetic

Our art was simple with an obvious influence of the music we were listening to at the time, a great deal of Scottish and Icelandic music. The art often took on an organic, glacial aesthetic. I made photographs with my Leica M8 and a body cap attached with a pinhole laser cut into it. Heidi used a Nikon DSLR and a selective focus gadget called a Lensbaby. We would base our exhibitions on a theme, and in the beginning, half of the photographs would come from me and the others from Heidi. It was later that we began experimenting with digital double exposures, overlaying my photo with Heidi’s or vice versa. After some time online, our debut two exhibitions, Talvi/Winter and Before You Wake were printed and displayed in the 13th Note cafe for our first physical gallery show.

As the project progressed, we invited friends, colleagues, and people we admired to exhibit their work on our little online space. We met with Glasgow’s online radio station, Radio Magnetic, and joined their roster. We recorded every week, sometimes inviting guests to DJ, other times choosing top 5 lists to trade back and forth. At the end of each month, I began a too many fireworks radio show which directly led to the return of the label from hiatus. It was through this radio show we first met and became friends with worriedaboutsatan, Erased Tapes’ Robert Raths, Ólafur Arnalds, Nils Frahm, and Codes in the Clouds. Our friendship with Codes in the Clouds would indirectly lead to my work with VLMV 6 or 7 years later.

We Sink Ships: Elements

As one decade turned into another, Heidi and I began what became our final project, Elements. For each of the classical medieval elements, Air, Earth, Fire, Water, and Aether, Heidi and I would create an exhibition. I would soundtrack each exhibition with what were my nascent attempts at modern classical music. And our friend Rhys Baker composed a poem to accompany each element. Later, a new acquaintance, Matty Ross, would weave our photographs with his own and with archive film footage creating an evocative film with the classical elements and technology at its core.

We Sink Ships is a project I am proud of and now just over 15 years on, I do feel it ended far too soon, though it has to be said, it did so as a result of my move to Poland and my drift towards a solo musical project. I do regret that we did not continue with the potential it may have had.

Below are some of my favourite pictures made by We Sink Ships, and you can see some of the other exhibitions we made and curated on the excellent retrospective website Heidi created on Cargo Collective.

The post We Sink Ships appeared first on Neil Milton Photography.

Practice makes perfect, so we’re told. As a lazy teen playing noisy guitar, I rebelled against sensible notions, such as being good with the instrument. No need to practise, then. Later in life, when I began to play the piano, times had changed. I understood the importance of practice, compounded by the indisputable fact that I wasn’t particularly good at it.

Making an Effort

Despite what some may say, street photography is not easy, and it takes years of determined, deliberate practice to make it look like it may be. Henri Cartier-Bresson’s quote that your first 10,000 photographs are your worst sits in eerie similarity to the odious Malcolm Gladwell’s assertion that one needs 10,000 hours of practice to achieve mastery. Weathered street photographers know that in any given year only a handful of photographs made will be special. I manage 10 to 15 true keepers each year, and if I am lucky, 1 of them will be a truly special frame. Of course, I achieve nothing if my camera sits on my desk, and I’m indoors playing the latest Spider-Man PlayStation game.

To practise street photography, one must walk out of the apartment door and become immersed in the world found there. Here, the street photographer learns by doing, by walking the many kilometres, wearing down the soles of the shoes, and by training the eye to see and the reflex to react. Commit to the practice of street photography, and whether rain or shine, throw the camera over a shoulder and get out there.

Building Experience

A musical instrument is practised before performance, whether alone or with a group. Issues are ironed out before taking to the stage. In street photography, the practice is done on the run. As such, all perceived failure can be treated as the product of practice. To critically evaluate the pictures after a day out photographing is a crucial way to learn what went wrong and to find the best strategies to correct it the next time. If a poor composition was chosen, how may it have been improved? If timing was off, would a quicker reaction, or a delay, have made for a better photograph? Was the shutter speed too slow? Was the aperture too wide?

New Horizons

With practice and review, such things become second nature, and some choices can be left to muscle memory. With repeated practice, the camera can become an extension of the photographer. Natural in hand and when brought to the eye – familiar and used without breaking concentration. Finding this comfort with the camera is made easier when beginning by choosing 1 camera and 1 fixed focal length. Familiarity with a camera avoids any fruitless search for dials or settings in the heat of the moment. Sticking to 1 focal length, the boundaries of the frame become instinctive. Even without the camera, I can intuit a 28mm frame.

As those rhetorical 10,000 worst photographs are slowly spent, so much can be learned by experimenting and practising on the street. Take chances, make bad photographs, if only to see the limits, or lack thereof, of a certain idea. There is no substitute for being present, with an innate curiosity watching life unfold and releasing the shutter when something feels interesting. Though it can be tempting to stick to areas of the city where success has been found, overcome that temptation to push outside the comfort zone and mix those happy hunting grounds with new horizons.

Growing Confidence

A vital benefit of practice I have found is growing confidence that pushes me out of periods of imposter syndrome. I have some experience, and yet, I still find myself struggling with the fear of not being good enough or the fear of confrontation. These anxieties are more pronounced when I have had a longer break from making photographs. After some afternoons out in the city, pushing myself to stretch the elastic of my comfort zone, I find the practice has given me back the confidence that leaked out, like the air from a bicycle tyre.

It would be silly to imagine that a camera can be left on the shelf for months, and then the rusty street photographer can hit the ground running. With some experience and a hiatus of over a decade, I can say without fear of contradiction that this isn’t the case. Street photography does take some figurative warming up. I would say it took about a year for me to exceed the level I had left behind before moving to Poland.

In microcosm, this works in much the same way on a daily basis. While it may happen, I don’t expect to make my best photographs immediately upon leaving the flat. It can take some time to build momentum and to find the rhythms of the street. Some days it is easier than others. One afternoon it may be chaotic, on another it can be prosaic. Finding and matching that pace can take a little practice.

Directions?

This feels like a lot to return to the simple truism that to get to Carnegie Hall, it takes practice. Or, in the case of street photography, we can think of the alliterative words of Magnum photographer Bruce Davidson when he described what it takes to make a great photograph: Passion, persistence, patience, and, I would add, practice.

The post On Practice appeared first on Neil Milton Photography.

Cartier-Bresson, Meyerowitz, Webb, Winogrand: as exceptional as they are, they are unable to see the future, but they did learn to predict it. This talent for anticipation may be innate, an instinctive sense honed through childhood, but it can be learned. One only needs to study the patterns and rhythms of the street to develop an awareness that feeds an intuition that supports anticipation.

The Psychology of Anticipation

In the sense of street photography, to anticipate is to recognise a future moment to allow time to be in the right place at the right time to make the photograph. To do so means recognising patterns and predicting movement. Unique occurrences that unfold in the street are rare, so the photographer begins to unconsciously recognise cause and effect. Whether comedy or tragedy, an aggressive collision between 2 people will give rise to some drama. A missed bus sparks a commuter’s gesture of frustration. A child playing with a ball in a busy street? That ball is going to find its way under someone’s feet. The potential is endless; it only takes some experience to develop intuition and a gut instinct that something may transpire.

In a past issue of my newsletter, I wrote about the French concept of disponible, of being open and receptive to what might occur. Anticipation is an important part of this, letting one’s eye be open to all possibilities, waiting for something to happen and trying not to dismiss or second guess a situation. To notice and wait for development, attention to detail is key.

Honing Anticipation

Anticipation doesn’t come easy, though it can be learned and developed. As I have noted, a vital aspect is to become familiar with the patterns and repetition of the street. This is, to some degree, synonymous with understanding human nature and the behaviour, both rational and irrational, that we exhibit in public. Beyond that, though, it is helpful to learn to see beyond the obvious. A situation may seem run-of-the-mill, completely without interest, but then some small detail or action turns the scene on its head. So often something may catch the eye and the scene will not develop as one may hope. So what? What is lost? The photographer was attentive to the possibility that something may unfold, and in those situations when it does? Perfect!

It is crucial to pay attention. Elsewhere, I’ve written about staying alert when photographing in the street. Avoid podcasts, music, or anything else that may divert attention away from the street. Look for stories that may occur. See something and imagine what might transpire. In this way, one can be quick to make a decision and step into the space to make the photograph. While it may seem unlikely, a comparison can be made of Garry Winogrand’s photography with the paintings of his contemporary, Jackson Pollock. Both artists are at the centre of their art. Pollock literally stood on his canvas and dripped the paint. To view Winogrand’s photographs is to feel like you are in the midst of the frame. He was a master of anticipation.

Timing is Everything

Often, street photographers will talk about the importance of timing. Richard Kalvar often analyses a frame by imagining what it may have been a second before or a second after. Criticism of much of the mediocre street photography out there tends to rest on a frame made a fraction too early or a fraction too late. Considering a photograph made at 1/1000s, Joel Meyerowitz notes that in 1s, 1000 photographs could have been made. Was the one captured the right one? In the documentary, The Impassioned Eye, Henri Cartier-Bresson illustrates that oft-misunderstood decisive moment: oui, non, oui, non, OUI! Everything falls together in that fraction of a second, then is gone.

To predict and then catch that fraction of a second, then, is what anticipation in street photography is all about. Foreseeing and then positioning oneself for that optimal moment to trip the shutter – that moment of heightened emotion, action, drama, comedy, or irony. To spot things as they begin, then predict how they may transpire, how movement, action, gesture, and emotion will affect the scene – that is anticipation.

The post The Importance of Anticipation appeared first on Neil Milton Photography.

In truth, candid street photography is not easy. It is a dynamic, stealthy practice, often beset with failure, that requires some nerve, even audacity, to be close enough, ready to fill the frame. The street photographer makes photographs without permission not to avoid accountability, but instead to capture the scene as they see it, unbothered by the presence of the camera. Provided they work with sincerity and empathy, there is nothing inappropriate or transgressive in making these pictures.

Thankfully, there are a number of subtle, illusory techniques used by the masters that can help the street photographer go unnoticed. Well, mostly.

The Misdirect

The irrational fear that stands between street photographers and opportunities for engaging and exciting pictures is that of being caught in the act and that trouble may ensue. Most often, when someone sees a camera, their response is one of curious suspicion. While it can happen, it is rarely anger. Nevertheless, once the subject is aware of the camera, the picture irrevocably changes.

By far and away the most popular technique in candid street photography, used by almost all of us, is the Misdirect, sometimes known as the Tourist. Last year, I was fortunate enough to stand on the Place de la République in Paris and, from afar, watch Richard Kalvar masterfully employ this approach.

In practice, it is simple. Approach the scene, for example, a couple in conversation, by pretending to photograph something else. Something beside, above, below, behind – it doesn’t matter. If the subject becomes curious or suspicious, step out to compose from a different angle on your pretend subject. Like the NPCs in a stealth video game, eventually the question mark that is metaphorically hovering over your subject will disappear, and then you can return for the shot when they are convinced they are standing next to an enthusiastic tourist.

The Misunderstanding

Similar to the Misdirect, the Misunderstanding also applies some creative sleight of hand or, I suppose, sleight of lens. The previous technique is most useful in situations when you are approaching a subject, whereas this one is effective when the subject is moving towards you.

Walking along a busy city street, you may see, for instance, a character dressed in a peculiar or visually arresting way. As he walks past, you raise the camera to your eye, compose and click… You remove the camera from in front of your face, wind on the film and are about to carry on, but this eccentric has decided to take issue with your photograph and give you a piece of his mind.

A clever, if cute, trick is to keep the camera to your eye for some time after the subject has passed. Most often, any suspicions raised by the presence of the camera are allayed as the character turns to see, in fact, the photographer they believed to be picturing them was in fact photographing something else. This technique is particularly useful for the beginner lacking in confidence, but is useful for all, particularly to avoid an unwelcome confrontation.

The Mistake

There is a video on YouTube and, one would imagine, saved to many a street photographer’s hard drive, taken from Michael Engler’s film, Contemporary Photographie [sic] In The USA. The extract is a short interview with Garry Winogrand as he photographs on the streets of what I imagine is Los Angeles. This video is both illustrative and instructive of this particular technique.

Watch the video closely, and one will see the famously kinetic and jittery Winogrand raise his Leica to his eye; before it gets there, he has composed the frame and released the shutter. Without missing a beat, he takes the camera from his eye, shakes his head, and feigns to make adjustments to the focus or the aperture, all the while the unsuspecting subject sees someone unhappy with their choices, or worse still, with a defective or substandard camera.

This particular approach is one that use often, however, it is not easy and takes an abundance of practice. One must learn to compose through the viewfinder as it is approaching the eye – one must, nevertheless, compose!

Later, in the video, in a nod to the Misdirect, Winogrand goes further when he makes a photograph of a subject who passes by, eyes locked on the photographer. Winogrand turns and follows the gentleman past, pretending not to see him, pretending to be looking at something else. It truly is a skilled performance.

The Mischievous

There are photographers, of course, who are less concerned with remaining invisible, feeling instead free and confident to make their presence known. Some use the camera to provoke a reaction from their subject. Unposed and still candid in nature, this style of street photography is, however, more aggressive. There are many ways to undertake this approach. Bruce Gilden, for instance, is famous for pushing boundaries and bringing his camera and an off-body flash very close to his subject.

There is, however, still technique. If you watch videos of Gilden on the street, he often carries his camera and flash with his hands crossed behind his back, bringing them forward to make the photograph only at the very last moment.

Though Gilden takes this approach to its extreme, there is a place for it in your street photography toolbox. Not every situation requires a quiet, unseen approach. Even if such an approach is preferable, it may be impossible, at which point the decision has to be made whether to dive in, come what may.

The post Techniques for Candid Street Photography appeared first on Neil Milton Photography.

The first article in this short series was titled Required Reading for Street Photographers and, with the exception of one salty contrarian, was well received. Those were books that I believe one must read for a strong start in the practice of street photography. As this series continues, I will list further recommended books that supplement or complement those already chosen.

Snaps – Elliott Erwitt (Phaidon. 2001)

Elliott Erwitt is often quoted as having said that all the technique in the world doesn’t compensate for the inability to notice. In this extensive collection, Erwitt provides the reader with a comprehensive demonstration of his exceptional capacity for noticing. Snaps is not only a great introduction to the photographer’s work but at the time of its 2001 publication, a sweeping retrospective. It’s astonishing how much work Erwitt has made since. The photographer’s distinctive, witty style is oft-imitated (not least by your author) but never bettered. Whether famous faces or public passers-by, the peculiar, the curious, and the humdrum all come alive in front of Erwitt’s lens.

Following Murray Sayle’s insightful introduction, the book opens with North Carolina, 1950, that of the segregated water fountains, one of Erwitt’s most enduring images. Over the next 500-or-so photographs, split neatly across nine one-verb-titled chapters, there are photographs of gesticulating presidents, Polish confessions, naked nudists, evocative emotion, disarming Americana, and a great many dogs. Everything one might expect from this master of photography whose work has been described as a study and celebration of life. Snaps is a perfect introduction to a wry, humorous, empathetic tradition of street photography and that is continued in our next book.

Earthlings – Richard Kalvar (Flammarion. 2007)

The conceit of Richard Kalvar’s first monograph Earthlings is that the photographs are a view of human beings as an alien race. As Kalvar himself says, it is almost as though he had come from another planet to observe the Earthlings and the strange situations in which they find themselves. I spent some time in Paris with the photographer last year and it was a formative, decisive experience for me, at the time a year only since returning to the practice of street photography. Particularly as, in my own photography, I share his proclivity for odd situations and the connections, expressions, gestures, and emotions that leak from them.

Kalvar often talks about the French word, disponible. To the photographer, it translates to being open and ready to photograph. This is how he makes his work, receptive to the unknown and the unforeseeable. As the reader pages through this collection of 88 photographs, they find that each tells or implies small dramas playing out within the 4 walls of their rectangles. At capturing these, Kalvar is a master and Earthlings is his magnum opus (if you may excuse the rather obvious and unintentional pun). This book, the photographs within, and the loose concept binding it all together have had a profound effect on my return to photography so it would be remiss of me not to recommend it somewhat early in the series.

Glasgow – Raymond Depardon (Seuil. 2016)

43 years ago, just over a year after I was born in sleepy Bellshill, The Sunday Times brought French photographer Raymond Depardon 15 miles from me to photograph both the rich and the poor of Glasgow. Finding the more affluent citizens of the city less interesting, Depardon wandered the poorer areas of the city and made some of the most striking photographs of the nation’s second city. The Times chose not to publish and the photos were confined to a box for decades until uncovered for an exhibition of the photographer’s colour work. In 2016, the photographs were collected together for the first time in a book published by Seuil. Glasgow by Raymond Depardon is staggering.

My early memories of Glasgow are over a decade later and though a lot had changed, much had not. I remember areas south of the river, or in the east end that even in the 90s had not seen any appreciable improvement. In Airdrie, my home town, 15 miles to the east, there were areas of great affluence and those of great poverty. To that degree, the town was a microcosm of the city. Depardon’s photographs, then, have great nostalgic appeal, but, they are also astonishing, empathetic pictures of a proud and determined people.

It is in Depardon’s photographs of the Glaswegian children, however, where the collection comes alive. The vivid pink of a little girl’s dress, or a luminous blown bubble of gum, artfully set against the steel grey concrete sky of Glasgow speaks to the playful warmth, and curious nature of the city’s young. This is the epitome of empathetic street photography.

Street Photography and the Poetic Image – Alex Webb and Rebecca Norris-Webb (Aperture. 2014)

I was slow to appreciate the compositional and serendipitous majesty of Alex Webb’s street photography. Though I didn’t ignore colour street photography, my preference was for black and white pictures and as I began to make photographs of my own, I concentrated on reading the photographers working in monochrome. When I felt comfortable in my own black-and-white practice, I started to spend more time with books by Martin Parr, Harry Gruyaert, and the aforementioned Alex Webb. Of course, it was through Mr Webb that I discovered Mrs Webb, or more accurately Rebecca Norris Webb – the pair, of course, creative as well as romantic partners for many years. In 2014, the pair wrote this book for Aperture, the second of the publisher’s Photography Workshop series.

This is an enjoyable, thoughtful wander through the poetic possibilities of street photography. Chapters in the book are short and informative, and it isn’t always clear if the text accompanies the photographs, or if the pictures illustrate the text which makes the reading even more entertaining and educative. As one may expect from Aperture, the photographs are well-presented and the colours are as vivid as hoped. For beginners, one might better suggest Matt Stuart’s book, however, Webb and Norris Webb occupy different creative niches within street photography so the more oblique advice that emerges from their individual perspectives on their respective practices complement one another so well, especially if the reader comes to the book with an existing appreciation of their work.

Street Philosophy of Garry Winogrand – Geoff Dyer (University of Texas Press. 2018)

Garry Winogrand is the only name in this list to be seen, explicitly, in the first of this series, appearing as he does in the New Documents, 1967 book I chose as required reading. Nevertheless, he has such a profound and lasting effect on what is now considered classic street photography that I felt it was fitting to include him again. This time, a book modelled on John Szarkowski’s collection of photographs by Atget. This is a notable collection of 100 photographs spanning the photographer’s career, some unseen before publication, accompanied by a perspicacious critical essay by writer, Geoff Dyer.

Despite the title, if one is expecting a pedagogic analysis of Winogrand’s stated philosophy of street photography then one is destined to be disappointed, and while that is what I originally hoped for, I nevertheless came away happy that Dyer let loose with his own playful, enthusiastic interpretations of Winogrand’s work. Winogrand’s famous quote that he photographed to find out what something would look like photographed is as transparent as his philosophy was. I’m not even sure Winogrand often understood what drew him to his subjects, so it is a tough ask to expect Dyer to know. Nevertheless, the essays that accompany 100 photographs from Winogrand’s extensive archive provide enough analysis, interpretation, and creativity to spark both motivation and inspiration in equal measure.

The post More Recommended Reading for Street Photographers appeared first on Neil Milton Photography.

In On Reading, a concise collection of photographs by André Kertész, there is a picture made in The Bowery, New York City, on December 8th, 1960. Two men stand a few feet apart, each reading a newspaper. This picture, however, is all about the faces.

In the background, a man peers down at his pages, lying on a windowsill, in deep concentration. We can never know what he is reading. With his fingers carefully following the lines of the page, perhaps he is skimming the sports results or racing odds. In the foreground is his companion – do they even know each other?

This other gentleman has an enigmatic look, his face contorted. At first, it seems like mirth, but looking closer, one wonders if it is anger. Frustration? Disgust? In a book full of people reading, this photograph leaps out for the expressions on the faces of the subjects.

The Expressive Face

In a previous life, I was an instructor and coach for public speakers, most notably working with TEDxWarsaw. I taught my students that both facial expression and eye contact are vital cogs in the gears of good communication. To illustrate, I used photography to show how much we give of ourselves through our faces.

The expressive face is ubiquitous in the annals of street photography. I chose a photo by Kertész – Cartier-Bresson, Frank, Winogrand, and Erwitt get plenty of love around my little corner of the internet – but I could have chosen a picture by any street photographer of any worth from the invention of photography to date. The quickening pulse of the metropolis can be read in the emotions found on the faces within street photography. The masters of street photography are skilled at anticipating moments of expression, whether joy, contemplation, melancholy, or heartbreak. A key practice to make better street photography, then, is to master the art of capturing expression and to do so, one must learn to see.

Those with interesting, weathered faces make fruitful subjects, though, as Bruce Gilden often warns, those who work too hard to be seen as a character make poor subjects. Too often, this brings an evident artifice to the picture. Set aside from the pretenders, true characters stand out.

Authenticity

Though others may capture expressive faces in street portraiture with the explicit involvement of their subject, awareness of the camera forever changes the picture. Those in front of the unblinking lens interact with it whether they realise it or not. Clothes are smoothed, hair is tidied, posture is straightened, and most damaging of all, the expression on the face changes from one of unaffected emotion to a peculiar, uncanny simulacrum of what is inferred to be expected.

Instead, the street photographer may practice anticipation. To capture authentic, true emotion in the street, timing is everything. Emotion can be fleeting; such moments are ephemeral. Often, an ebullient smile, a gesture of love, a withering glance, or a flash of anger can pass between people before a camera can be brought to the eye. It takes experience to see the potential in a moment and to idle around, in plain sight, waiting for the moment and click.

Eye Contact

The ultimate expression of connection and communication is, of course, eye contact. More timid or less experienced, street photographers may be afraid of eye contact. If the subject looks down the barrel of the lens, they will recognise their photograph has been taken and there may be a confrontation. That is a risk, though it is a small one. We can assume the worst in others, and it may lead us to have irrational fears. Most often, nothing will be said. If something is mentioned, it will be curious to begin and then amiable. Only a few may react in an inappropriate manner, and though it is good to be prepared for this, it should not be expected. The best way to avoid aggravation is to smile and be open.

Eye contact, though, is often the cherry on top of an otherwise strong photograph. The expression read on the face, whether an amused smile or a look that could kill, is not directed at a third party; instead, there is a connection to the reader of the photograph, which adds intensity to the emotion felt when reading.

With a camera and the world outside the front door, street photography is easy to do. It is, however, not easy to do well. The art of capturing expressions of a spectrum of emotions on the faces of one’s subjects shortens the odds of making excellent work and standing above the average, humdrum street photography out there.

The post The Art of Photographing Faces appeared first on Neil Milton Photography.

Cons. Chucks. Hi-tops. Gutties. Whatever you call them, Converse Chuck Taylors have long been my favoured flavour of footwear, beating Adidas Samba to the finish by the width of only a shoelace. While great footwear for hanging around a record label office (read: various kitchens over the years), or throwing oneself chaotically around a stage, Chucks aren’t ideal for hours of walking.

In 2017, to celebrate Magnum’s 70th anniversary, the agency published a collection of advice from its photographers. Paraphrasing a tip from Abbas contained within, it was titled Wear Good Shoes. Since setting back out onto the streets, my Chucks have been relegated to the cupboard, making the occasional outing when I photograph a music show or two. Instead, I’ve spent the last few years experimenting with other shoes, some suitable for 5 or 6 hours spent on my feet.

Worth Every Penny

As photographers, we often spend a lot of time daydreaming about the money we will spend on this lens or that. We imagine what camera body we might buy to make our lives that little easier. It is rare that we will consider the shoes we buy as part of our budget for gear. If, like me, street photography is where we have decided to concentrate, and we hope for longevity, then taking care of our feet is vital and spending a few quid to buy decent footwear is worth every penny.

The first and most important consideration when deciding what to walk around in with a camera in hand is, of course, comfort. Having worked for years in music retail before ever lifting a camera to my eye, I knew how important comfortable shoes are. Spending hours on end standing, often standing still, in the wrong shoes can be tough. To endure long hours in the city without ever thinking of any pain or fatigue, for street photography, getting into something with comfortable padding and an insole with good support and a good fit is vital. Something weatherproof is recommended for the autumn and winter months.

Quickly and Often Quietly

Mobility is next. Light, slim shoes are preferable to anything with bulk. On the street, one needs to move quickly and often quietly. This becomes more difficult when plodding around in colossal hiking shoes. Shoes that squeak should also be avoided. Picture yourself inching closer to a subject to make a shot while all the time a shoe is shouting eh-eee, eh-eee. Stealth, it is not. While on the subject, the colour, as with most street photography clothing, should be inconspicuous. Black or dark colours are preferable.

I began my journey with a first step towards my favoured sports brand, Adidas. I started with some classic Sambas, but while good for a kick-about, they weren’t great for walking. Since then, on good recommendation, I’ve worn through 2 pairs of Adidas Lite Racer shoes. More recently, though, I have been wearing the comfortable Allbirds shoes; however, since the company has gone bananas and inexplicably pivoted to AI, I’ll be going back to Adidas when it comes time. Whatever you buy, though, keep in mind the need for comfort and mobility, and as Abbas suggests, wear good shoes.

The post On Wearing Good Shoes appeared first on Neil Milton Photography.

Nestling underneath my spasmodic impostor syndrome, I am told I have the particular affliction of being far too hard on myself. The practical upshot of this, of course, is that photographs good enough to make my edit don’t. I see this as net positive as it weeds out weaker photographs. My family and friends are less keen as it does so to a fault, and some good work is left on the cutting room floor. Reviewing past work is a valuable step to include in a workflow as it has benefits that stretch beyond finding one or two missed photographs.

Hidden Gems and Untold Stories

A rewarding, comprehensive rummage through the archive of negatives of old can offer a mine of potential hidden gems or stories left untold. When shooting on film, it is common to make a photograph that heightens the anticipation of developing the roll, only to be disappointed by the result afterwards. Our immediate emotional response to the picture threatens to shroud what is good and only show the imperfection. With the benefit of time, reevaluating old photographs allows the frame to be looked upon with fresh, less critical eyes, and we can then avoid the perfect being the enemy of the good.

Over time, the personal, societal, or political significance of a picture may evolve. An ironic visual comment on the pandemic, thought of as too close to the bone in 2021, may now, in 2023, with temporal distance, seem more wry and appropriate. Time can lend new context that breathes life and a renewed affection to a once discarded photograph.

Artistic Growth and Learning from Past Mistakes

When I look at my first film photographs, shot on Tri-X with a Zenit TTL in the snowy Warsaw winter of 2021, two things are apparent. I was rusty after more than a decade’s absence from serious photography, and it was clear I didn’t appreciate the technical differences set between digital photography and making photographs on film.

In poking around those early folders of negatives and photographs, it is remarkable to see my journey from a film newbie to the photographer I am now. Recognise that artistic growth is of particular use when in a rut. We find the gutters from the past and accept that we fall into them for a while, but then we overcome them in a new burst of creative energy, and that is heartening. Measuring pictures from months or years ago with those of more recent times is also an active way to learn from past mistakes. Honest criticism of past work shows what to avoid in the future.

Gaining a Fresh Perspective and Inspiration for New Projects

Early in 2022, I began a long-term project directing my camera at the fans and subculture of motorcycle Speedway. My initial trips to the UK to photograph Speedway meetings were a mixed bag, and my time spent in the pits at the Warsaw Grand Prix was a strong experience but photographically mediocre. As the project was not progressing the way I had hoped, my enthusiasm waned and the Speedway season came to an end. In 2023, my life changed. I left my job, returned to school, and out of necessity, I placed the project on hiatus.

Since the pause, I have taken time to retrace my steps and see what was successful and what didn’t work. My time in the pits photographing the riders, crew, and track marshals, that was successful. My photographs of the supporters around the race grounds were less so, in particular those at the Grand Prix at Warsaw, with less opportunity to walk among the fans. A review of these photographs has shown those that work as stand alone images, and has given fresh perspective into the possibilities of such a project, and what I need to do, to make it successful. In much the same way, a recent return to photographs from 2007/09 has pointed me in the direction of a possible new long-term project, one that I may not have considered without the trigger of past work.

Appreciating the Journey

As a street photographer, taking the time to rest and revisit older photographs allows a valuable beat to reflect and appreciate the work made so far. Taking a moment to consider the changes in our creativity, our process, and how we now see is integral to enjoying the creative journey we are on. Moreover, looking at past work engenders a sense of nostalgia for the situations we found ourselves in, evoking the contemporaneous state of mind and memory of what sparked the desire to make the photograph. With distance, reviewing past work allows us to evaluate how all of this has informed the photographic path we now take.

The post Reviewing Past Work appeared first on Neil Milton Photography.