Personal projects, Part 1 — Finding ideas

“Photograph what’s important to you.” It was advice given to me by a veteran photographer (thank you David Wells) in my early days as a professional. We were discussing photo ideas before I would travel for an entire summer in the high latitudes of Scandinavia. I didn’t have solid ideas for photo stories during the trip. I was committed to the experience of travel and my escape from small town photojournalism was most important. But the advice, the idea of being open to photograph whatever I found, was solid.

The images I created that summer, in Denmark, Norway and Sweden, were quite different from what I worked on during the early 90’s. I was locked into a format of covering baseball games, holiday parades and community happenings for a small town newspaper. At times it was rewarding, but it also was a creative albatross. News photography should be alive and breathing, not created to fit a format.

In Scandinavia, I had spent over a week in the arctic. I photographed and hiked in the permanent summer light around Norway’s Lofoten Islands. I photographed the play of shadows and sun Stockholm’s Old City. My last days were spent roaming the streets of Copenhagen photographing people. Soon, after adding the new images to my portfolio, I gained several new clients. The new photographs sold my vision and I was sold on the concept of personal work.

Since then, I made sure to explore ideas as often as I could. Not all would develop into complete projects, which was frustrating at first, but I learned that the process of exploring ideas was just as important as the results.

Persistence is also a key to success in creating new projects. I always explore ideas to a very deep level and once I find a groove, I work at an exhausting pace. Another factor was confidence. As I completed new projects, my confidence also grew. Whoever coined the phrase Success Breeds Success, was right on.

In 2001, I had started what would become my first long-term project. On a whim, I traveled to Iceland in the winter darkness. I became fascinated by Iceland and returned in the spring to find amazing landscapes and began a several year project documenting the island. After several exhibits in the U.S. and Canada, I had new identity as a landscape photographer. It was puzzling since I considered myself a photojournalist. But I accepted the new persona and used it to advantage.

Soon enough, I was photographing people again. First, a short project about Philadelphia fire performers, then a series on women’s sports. I revisited the subject of fire — a very tricky series of close-up images of burning flowers.

I’m always asked how I think of these ideas. I can’t answer that question. I don’t really know how and why these ideas appear. I guess it’s something in my subconscious, something that keeps me from the deep sleep I really need, that sends me in these directions.

In March 2010, an online news story pointed me to NASA and the Space Shuttle. In autumn, the shuttle would be retired after 30 years of service. I had always appreciated the space program and as a kid was somewhat of a space geek. I remember creating presentations in elementary school on the comet Kohoutek, which did a celestial drive-by in the mid 70’s. In third grade, I even built a solar eclipse viewer (though my efforts were for naught as the clouds that day blocked the show.) These days, with the exception of watching occasional Sci-Fi (my only thoughts of space), I was out of touch with NASA and its projects.

I started thinking about when I visited the Kennedy Space Center as a kid in the 70’s. I imagined what it could be like to witness a launch. And to entertain myself, I surfed to NASA’s website. There were 4 launches remaining. The next was in early April and only a few weeks away. The others were in May, July and September and were traditionally busy times for my freelance business.

Could I make it to Florida and get really lucky and see a launch? I had to at least entertain the idea. A window of time when I was traditionally slow (Easter weekend) opened up and I started the What if I went to Florida to see a launch?process of planning. What had been an errant daydream, was now a mission. I was determined to see a launch, and also photograph one.

Personal projects, Part 2 — The Plan

Now that I had my mission, photographing the April 5^th launch of Space Shuttle Discovery, I developed The Plan by asking myself a few important questions.

How do I go about photographing a launch? I had photographed lots of sports, so action, motion and tricky lighting were friendly territory. Is a press area accessible to freelancers? If I couldn’t gain press access, where is a good location for public viewing? How many cameras should I use and what types of shots do I want? What types of shots are even possible? What if the launch didn’t go off as scheduled, how many days could I spend waiting? What was traffic like during a launch day and how early would I have to arrive? Since this was an early morning launch, would I have to set up in the darkness? What if I had to wait a few days, could I camp (legally) and how would I secure my equipment?

The answers only led to more questions. It reminded me of the opening lines in the forward of Traveling Souls. Pico Iyer writes, “Every journey is a question of sorts, and the best journeys for me are the ones in which every answer opens onto deeper and more searching questions.” Hopefully this would be one of my best journeys.

After going over the possible scenarios and conditions I could find myself in, I was overloaded with information. Maybe I should I travel light, use one camera and experience the launch as a spectator rather than a photographer?

That thought was brief and the choice was clear. I would pack as many cameras and tripods I could handle. I would drive to Florida and adapt to whatever challenges I would find.

I planned to shoot with 3 still cameras. A Nikon D300s would be my primary hand held camera fitted with a 200-500mm lens. Camera two, a Nikon D3, with a 60mm lens would be on a tripod and set to shoot a vertical sequence. It would be linked to my hand held camera with a radio remote control — each shot with the hand held camera would trigger an exposure on the tripod-mounted camera. Camera three, a Nikon D2X, would also be tripod mounted and set for a time exposure.

Creating video is also part of my future, so I thought of how I wanted to capture the launch. The Nikon D300s also shoots HD video, but it was my primary camera so I wouldn’t be able to take advantage of its dual role. Instead, I decided on a Panasonic pro HD camera for the wide shot and I would push my JVC consumer video camera to the limits of its digital zoom.

Audio is an extremely important part of producing video. The primary recording would take place directly in the Panasonic camera fitted with a shotgun mic. As a backup, I needed a second source to record the launch. A mic stand rigged with a Zoom digital recorder and a stereo mic would be a good solution.

The Plan was coming together. I would simultaneously run 3 still cameras, 2 video cameras and the audio recorder. All were set for different exposures, shooting concepts or technical specs. This effort would be focused, both literally and figuratively, on a tiny dot on the horizon — launch pad 39A, which was across the Indian River and 12 miles from Titusville. I would have to finalize these settings in the early morning darkness. This made The Plan’s execution daunting.

I figured it would be the toughest shoot in 23 years I have been a photographer. The pressure to produce was great, but it also fueled the motivation to succeed. That is, if the launch even happened. There was a 10-minute launch window for Discovery. Its trajectory needed to match that of the passing International Space Station. Discovery’s mission was to supply the ISS with spare parts and retrieve scientific experiments. If a stray rain shower moved in or cloud hovered for those 10 crucial minutes, the launch could be delayed until the next day. Or if there was even the slightest technical problem with the STS (NASA’s shuttle program is called the Space Transportation System), the launch could be delayed. My own window for witnessing the launch was three days. If the launch wasn’t a go by then, I would head home. I needed to return for important client work.

This photographic effort could be wasted for lots of reasons. Most of them were out of my control. The odds of succeeding on my first try to witness and photograph a launch seemed tiny. But for me, that was precisely the reason to attempt it. The worse the odds, the better the payoff. The launch will happen. I needed to see it. I needed to photograph it.

Personal projects, Part 3 — Titusville

I left Philadelphia on March 31st, traveled at a leisurely pace and planned to arrive in Florida after three days of driving. On Day One I toured the Goddard Space Flight Center in Maryland. By evening, I was visiting friends at Fort Bragg in North Carolina and had beers with Special Forces paratroopers. On Day Two I drove to Savannah, Georgia. In town, I found The Sentient Bean, an earthy, hippy café, where I chatted with an artist who once worked with crews in Florida filming shuttle launches. That evening at the hotel bar, I spoke with a Czech/American businessman who told me the story of witnessing his first launch. If my plan didn’t succeed, I now had a Plan B. I may be able to dig up enough stories from others who experienced launches. Their accounts could provide contrast if my attempt was unsuccessful.

On April 2^nd I arrived in Titusville. It’s a tiny town on Florida’s Space Coast and according to my online research there were great views of the launch complex 12 miles out. I scouted a few locations and found a grassy patch of land along the Indian River on Route 1. It provided a direct view of the launch pad and would be a perfect place to camp. Next I headed to the outskirts of Orlando, about 25 miles away and checked in at the hotel. The hotel manager told me about her first time seeing a launch. She witnessed the Challenger tragedy and will never go back to see another attempt.

The next day, I toured Kennedy Space Center in the afternoon then drove back to Titusville. Big RV’s were already arriving along the river’s prime spaces. I realized I needed to reserve my spot a day earlier than expected. I quickly drove back to the hotel, packed all of my gear then went on a frantic Walmart shopping spree to prepare for perhaps a few extra days of urban camping. I couldn’t afford to lose the prime location I found.

After raiding Walmart, I drove back to Titusville and arrived at the viewing site before nightfall. I set up my tent (which I found out wasn’t permitted until 24 hours before launch) and had a perfect view of the launch pad. Soon, I was joined by what would become my first set of neighbors. A family from North Carolina arrived in a pickup truck towing a camper. I was happy to have company.

The next morning, the day before launch, I reconfigured my hastily set up campsite so it was photography friendly while others began to arrive. By mid-morning, the best spots were occupied. My decision to arrive early was sound. Not only did I reserve a great location, I could work on my shooting plan and camera configuration during the daylight hours.

I moved my car a few feet closer to the river’s edge, rearranged my tent so its door faced the launch pad and marked out an area with the bamboo I found in Walmart’s garden section that I carved into stakes. I roped off my workshop and attached glow sticks to each stake and tripod so people (including myself) wouldn’t trip over my equipment in the darkness.

As dusk approached so did the crowds. I chose to skip sleep. It was better to pull an all-nighter rather than be groggy and sluggish after only a few hours sleep. And how could I possibly sleep? In less than 12 hours I hoped to be witnessing something for which I had created an elaborate plan. I spent the evening checking and rechecking my cameras several times. By midnight, I cracked the lightsticks. My work area had a festive glow that matched the vibe throughout the camp. It was Woodstock for Space People.

When I was online researching all things shuttled related, I signed up for text messaging from Spaceflightnow.com. Their messages update subscribers with changes in launch status and general news about the space program. Now that the launch attempt was only hours away, each time I had a new message I feared its content. After all of this preparation the words appearing on my screen could announce a lengthy delay or cancelled launch.

Messages from the morning of launch:

3:28 AM
Weather conditions currently “no go” for launch. Low clouds rolling in.

3:35 AM
Countdown continuing on schedule and the weather is “go” for launch again.

5:15 AM
Weather remains “go” for space shuttle Discovery’s launch at 6:21 AM.

5:53 AM
The Air Force controlled Eastern Range now working a technical problem in Discovery’s countdown.

5:57 AM
The Range resolved the issue and is now “go” for launch of shuttle Discovery at 6:21 AM.

The anticipation of each message I received reminded me of the same feeling of dread when expecting the inevitable phone call — one that starts with the words We Need to Talk. But my relationship with the shuttle was healthy. With less than a half hour remaining, I still had the blind optimism I brought to Florida. I was here and it was going to happen, it had to…

Personal projects, Part 4 — 6:21 AM

At 6:16 I started the audio and video capture. All of my attention was focused on a glowing framework of steel supporting the shuttle parked twelve miles away. I waited for launch. At 6:21, a spark on the horizon quickly grew into a miniature sun and the shuttle rose above the launch pad. About nine minutes later, the shuttle was a tiny shining dot high above that soon disappeared. Orbit was reached and the launch attempt was successful.

A smoky mass of vapor trails swirled above the launch pad and the sun began to rise. The crowds started to leave and I photographed the sky. By dawn, the vapor trails formed clouds and started to glow. Noctilucent Clouds (the Latin term for night-shining) were above us and alive with color entertaining the few of us that remained. The launch itself was amazing but what was happening overhead inspired awe.

I broke camp and by noon was back at the hotel in Orlando. Once there, I crashed until late afternoon. I needed to recover from the 30-hour sleepless session that involved a lot of caffeine. I awoke a few hours later to begin the archiving process by copying the captured imagery and audio onto three hard drives. All that was left to do was begin the 1200-mile ride home.

I left Florida with imagery and sounds of an experience that marked the end of an era. It was now my job to tell the story of the 131^st launch as I witnessed it. I would tell my version by creating blog posts like these, researching the publishing market looking for openings where I could sell this imagery and eventually create a self-promo video of the experience that’s now in post production.