Brian Peterson Photography

I took my first photograph in 1972.

It was made under the benevolent direction of a seven-foot tall fourth-grade photography teacher named Mr. Hill.

O.K., maybe he wasn’t that tall, but I remember staring eye-level at his huge hands tipped with blackened fingernails stained from years of soaking in photographic processing chemicals. He smelled funny too. I later learned his odor came from spending so much time in darkrooms; an inherently creepy thought for a young boy that watched way too many scary movies. He was a decent looking fellow, but combined with his lumbering stride, pale skin, deep voice, and squarish head; Mr. Hill was only shy a couple of bolts in his neck.

He was a little quirky and I liked him.

Mr. Hill taught an introductory short-course in photography at Half Moon Bay Elementary a couple of times each year. HMB was then a small Northern California town of about 4,000 people with no tans…the population and melanomas kept in check by a nearly constant damp fog blanket.

The first day of our course was held just before Christmas break. Mr. Hill told us we would need three things: a camera; one roll of black & white film; and five dollars to cover processing and printing.

I had none of those things. But with Christmas just a few days away I made a 9-year-old’s last minute pitch to Santa’s representatives.

My parents were wonderful. They encouraged and supported many of my young interests. However after Santa came through with a Kodak Instamatic, they insisted I use my 50-cent per week allowance to continue funding this foray. They must have had a sense where all this might lead and made a wise decision.

I now had a camera and wouldn’t have to wait long to buy my first roll of film. I had just been given two dollars from Great-Grandma Irene for Christmas. The only problem was this annual allotment always came with her depression-era admonition to use it wisely. And, like Mr. Hill, my Great-grandmother had physical qualities that made me take her seriously.

So the Saturday after Christmas, after weighted review of my investment options, I finished my chores early and pedaled my banana-seated Schwinn about a mile to the new Thrifty in town to purchase a 126mm cartridge of black and white film. It was a typical cold misty Half Moon Bay morning so that by the time I arrived my hair was dripping, I was shivering, and my new blue faux-down jacket was a flattened, soggy cloak.

I purchased the film, came outside and paused before getting on my bike. I’d never even seen film before. Pulling the yellow box out of the bag, I noticed there were few directions to help me answer some pretty big questions. Could I open it in daylight? How should I handle it? Would the chemicals from the film eat though my skin like battery acid?

I obviously had concerns. So I carefully pried opened the cardboard Kodak box like someone expecting spring worms to jump out. I found the film wrapped like a cocoon in yet another package. This one was yellow foil paper. Was this the one you were only supposed to open in that darkroom? The contents were precious, full of potential, and just maybe…a little dangerous.

Biting back my curiosity, I left the unopened film pouch in the cardboard box, placed it back into the small paper bag and frisked myself from head to toe for the driest place to shelter it for the ride home. Fortunately, bell-bottoms were in style and so were knee socks. So feeling a little like James Bond with a gun strapped to his calf, my cargo made it home dry, if not a little shaken.

Just to be safe, I cased the entire house looking for the darkest closet to load my film. So with camera and film in hand, I gave my parents and younger sister, strict orders not to open the sliding closet door until I came out. I then marched into my mother’s narrow closet to face the unknown.

Parting a curtain of tightly packed polyester dresses, I toed some high heels aside, closed the sliding door behind me, and sat cross-legged in a tight clearing on the closet floor. I first opened the camera back and balanced it between my legs, readying it for the film. I then slid the foil pouch out of the cardboard box and, while there wasn’t much to loading an instamatic camera, I remember pausing for a 9-year-old’s minute or two, (which was maybe five or ten seconds) savoring the mystery. I then slowly tore open the paper foil package; but before I could put my fingers inside, it hit me. That semi-sweet acrid odor of fresh film that I wasn’t at all sure I should be breathing. It was a smell I would come to know very well.

I pulled the 126mm cartridge out and quickly felt my way around an odd shape that allowed me to only install it in the camera one way. So I dropped it in, closed the back securely and came out of the closet with what felt like a loaded weapon.

All the effort I had spent just to get to this point weighed on me as I walked outside to search for my first subject. In that first class, Mr. Hill had given us a little guidance on framing and composition but I was immediately overwhelmed with choices.

Some older kids a few doors down were playing basketball. A guy on a motorcycle was idling down the street. Our family dog, Gypsy, was lounging on the freshly cut grass of our front lawn. And between the slats in the 6-foot fence between our house and the neighbor’s I spied my little sister playing uncharacteristically quiet with her friend from next door.

My subject was chosen. Now I just had to get in close enough and somehow get the camera above the tall fence and pointed in the right direction without them knowing a novice paparazzi was invading their play.

I quietly placed my right foot on the baseboard of the rough redwood fence. Lifting myself up with my left hand and camera in my right, I stretched my bare forearm over the edge, tilted the camera and made my first exposure…or so I thought.

When the film was developed and the results anxiously reviewed, I had a wonderfully framed shot of…nothing!

My first lesson: Take the lens cap off.

My second lesson: Don’t spy on your sister. The splinters aren’t worth it.

The rest of that precious roll was spent discovering all the other stupid things I would spend my formative years as a photographer avoiding.

BTW, if you’ve read this far, and haven’t seen examples of my more recent work, please don’t stop now. It really has improved!

The word “professional” can mean many things. As a professional photographer, I believe it must include:

1. Being courteous.
2. Taking the time to understand and exceed your expectations for fine photography.
3. Representing my abilities faithfully. This includes knowing when to refer you to another photographer if my abilities won’t meet your expectations.
   
4. Not just being on time, but a little early.
5. Maintaining primary photo equipment.
   
6. Maintaining backup photo equipment for when the unexpected happens.
7. Living a healthy lifestyle to allow for work at the peak of my ability.
8. Remaining a student of photography. Keeping current on industry trends and techniques along with regular upgrades to improve imaging and service.
9. Charging a fair price for my services.
10. Being creative. But remembering it’s always your wedding, your session, or your company…not simply an opportunity to create “art” (the anti-Prima-Donna clause).

I just returned from what has to have been one of the most well organized and well-attended bridal fairs I’ve ever attended. I was fortunate to have time to meet and speak with several new vendors and colleagues. It still surprises me that Northern California is home to such a robust professional wedding community. Since I’ve relied on mostly word-of-mouth advertising, I haven’t done a show for quite some time. Certainly a lot of work, but more than worth the effort. If I had a chance to speak with you briefly and you have more questions, please give me a call this week.

Personality counts.

Few professionals will work as close with you than your photographer. That’s why it’s important that you not only like the photographs of your photographer, but their personality as well. So if you like the quality and style of a particular photographer, and their fee is withing your budget, what more is there to decide?
Often, when new acquaintances ask me what I do, they immediately recount stories of their own or a close friend that had a horrible experience with their photographer; “they were bossy, dictatorial, or downright rude. Plus the pictures came out bad.”
So how can you tell if you’ve got a photographer that’s going to be both professional and easy to work with? Here’s a quick 5-point checklist I always ask myself - see if they work for you:
1. What does your “gut” tell you? Some people call it intuition, a sense, or a first impression, but how you feel after your first few interactions with your photographer should be a big part of your decision. Don’t let a low or even high price temp or sway your choice if you can’t shake an uneasy feeling that things might turn sour at some point.
2. Meet at least twice before making a decision. First impressions are usually a good guide, but maybe your first meeting was at a bridal show, and there wasn’t enough time to get a sense of what the photographer is like. Schedule at least one additional follow-up meeting where both of you will not be distracted.
3. Do they listen at least as much as they talk? This is critical. You never want to feel like you’re being “sold.” You are not buying a car or an insurance policy. Be sure your photographer understands what you want; this includes everything from the style of photography to what they wear.
4. Ask questions. Especially in this new era of digital photography, it is important to be very clear about what you are actually purchasing. Will your photographer allow you to make personal copies? What kind of album, if any, is included? How long will it take before the proofs are ready? How will the proofs be delivered to me? One of the best ways to ensure you are not disappointed is to align your expectations with their service and the package you are purchasing.
5. Do they appear to be genuinely interested? This may make up a large part of your good or bad feeling in general and can be difficult to put your finger on. But sometimes you can just tell that they are not attentive to really helping you make your special day, special. There can be all sorts of reasons for this; maybe they’ve burned out on doing weddings or they talk too much about their expensive equipment or qualifications, or simply they don’t seem to care that deeply.

It’s not often you get paid for taking pretty pictures of rocks. But that’s part of the fun of being a photographer; you never know what your next assignment will be.

I was lucky to again be called to shoot some commercial images for the company, LW Stone, a leading provider of natural stone products based here in Northern California. Today was a full day of shooting these very cool looking stone veneers (if my wife had a clue how perfect this product would look around our house, I’d be committed to doing only trade!). We just finished shooting an interior fireplace in a gorgeous home built by local contractor Jerry Tucker. Jerry commissioned a mason to artfully apply these laser-cut stone slabs onto an interior surface that is the centerpiece of the home’s Great Room living space.

It was challenging to photograph as it was important to retain the natural color and texture of the stone, while maintaining a warm “lived-in” look. This required me to cover most of the surrounding windows that were letting in normally desirous North light and substitute them with 3200k Fresnel video lights. Each had a 1/4 CTB filter on so that the glow in the fireplace still looked adequately warm after white balancing to the CTBs. I exposed a series of images for various parts of the subject; a long exposure to strengthen the weak gas fire; an even longer exposure for the shadows; a short exposure for the highlights in the stone veener; and several others to use in a high dynamic range composite. Taking this many images allows me the greatest flexibility in post to paint in the look I want without having to resort to any PS trickery outside of deftly wielding an erase brush.

After the interiors it was off to shoot the backyard of one of the principles of the company, Scott Lane. This is a place straight out of Sunset Magazine. In fact, I have plans to shoot Scott’s place for Sunset as soon as the finishing touches are completed. Their place truly has the kind of landscaping that challenges any photographer by simply demanding technical perfection on a par with the beauty.

With today’s shoot, we captured a half dozen angles featuring specific aspects of the natural stone for immediate use in web and brochure marketing. I relied on mostly natural light and bracketed exposures of which I will composite in PS to creat high dynamic range images. Of course, at five minutes before and after sunset I was hustling to get every last angle I could imagine before the Magic Light extinguished. When I returned to the studio tonight, I dumped all the files to an array and a backup drive and saw that each of the images were just what I was expecting. Hopefully, the client will agree.