Pelican 1510 case & Think Tank Airport International bags for Airports

I've just bought a Pelican 1510 case for flying. Until now, I have used a variety of 'solution's, none of which has been full-proof when going to airports, as each carrier seems to have their own rules and it is often down to the discretion of the staff I meet at the airport on the day of check in, whether I will have to check-in my bag, or not.

Side by side comparison of both bags.

The Airport International Think Tank (Left) is wider than the Peli-Case. It allows me to carry more items but the Peli Case is more durable and still allows me to carry most of my items.

I really like the Think Tank bags. They are very durable, tough and well designed and thought out items. I also love my Think Tank Airport International bag, with one exception: it is often 'caught' at check-in. Very often I will see the attendant peer over their desk and say 'pop it on the scales'. Well, even with the bag completely empty it is around 7KG in weight. So I know as soon as this happens that my bag is going into the hold.

One of the solutions I've had for this encounter, is to take out the valuables such as laptops etc, that I think are a high risk of being stolen. I'm also of the opinion that my film cameras are deemed valueless, so I have had very little worry when checking the Think Tank Airport International in. It has happened over ten times now, and on all occasions, everything arrived safely and still in one piece. That's quite comforting to know, as the bag is quite durable, but the top lid is quite soft and wouldn't withstand someone walking over it.

The most recent solution I've had, is to not use this bag at all. I find that if you turn up with a trolley bag that is the full dimensions, it is often weighed. Whereas if I turn up with a backpack no one seems to check the weight of it. My theory is that they assume that if it's on my back, it can't be that heavy.......

But I really dislike backpacks in general, and I also hate lugging them around airports. Plus, they still get stopped from time to time and have to be checked in.

So I've come to the conclusion of late, that it's simply easier if I just check in my camera gear, minus film, minus laptop and minus anything seriously desirable. Which is why this week, I've bought a Pelican case that conforms to carry-on size regulations.

This means that I can still attempt to carry the bag onto the plane, but if they ask to weigh it, and it is now inevitably heading towards the checked-luggage area, then the bag is more robust to withstand knocks and bumps along the way.

In the images above, I show you the new Peli Case alongside the Think Tank Airport International bag I was using. The Think Tank is wider, and also has more space inside. I can get all my equipment plus laptop all in this bag, whereas I really have to squeeze everything to get it into the Peli Case, minus laptop and minus any accessories I had in the lid of the think tank case. To sum it up: the Peli Case works, but it's not as spacious as the Think Tank Airport International. But I think this is Ok, since I am finding that the Airport International is often stopped at check in and quickly becomes something I am hoping will withstand the checked-luggage area of the airport.

I have no firm idea yet whether this is a solution that will work for the long-term, as I haven't tried the Peli Case out as yet. Also, your needs may differ from mine: I travel a lot, and I've been asked repeatedly to check in my Think Tank, plus, I don't think my old film cameras are considered 'valuable' in the eyes of any potential thief. Whereas maybe your sexy new DSLR may be. But I've come to realise over the past four years, that my bag is often checked-in, and I'm becoming more relaxed at doing so, as it has survived so far and nothing has been damaged or broken. Using the Peli-case for the future just seems like the best way forward to securing the success rate that I've had to date at checking my equipment in, but also allow me to try to get the bag on as carry-on as well. We will see.

The three ingredients to composition

Composition is often thought about in terms of where to place the subject within the frame. But what if I throw the subject out of the frame, or at the most, give you a very limited set of subjects to work with? How would you compose your shots, and would you consider how each of them would fit together in a portfolio? What would be the unifying theme if you had to relate them in some way? Is it the subject, the location, or would it perhaps be the colour palette that would be a more useful way of uniting a set of images together?

Subjects are only one aspect of composition. Colour palettes and colour relationships are another, and lastly, there are also tonal responses. My own compositions are often sparse in terms of subject matter, so I think what unifies my work is either the colour palettes I play with, or the tonal responses.

In my latest Hokkaido work, I've deliberately gone for an almost black and 'light blue' tonal response to the work. The absolute blacks of the Crane birds match and unify with the dark tones of the trees of the Hokkaido landscape: this is one part of a two part ingredient list for making this portfolio work. The second part is the colour palette. Despite actually shooting a lot of 'pink sunrise' during my time on the island, I felt they were at odds with some of the stronger 'colder' colour palette images that I found lurking in my processed films. 

I've realised over the past few years just how important tonal responses within a collection of images is to unifying the set. Images are really made up of three dimensions: subject, colour and tone. For me, to think of composition as being about subject only, is to ignore colour and tone at your peril.

This is why I think my work in the Digital Darkroom is a vital ingredient to what I do. Clicking the shutter is only one small part of the image creation process. Identifying themes and relationships in my work is an important part of this process and is crucial in  bringing these themes tighter together.

I didn't capture the landscape, it captured me

Thoughts on impermanence

While I've been on the Norwegian island of Senja, I have been thinking a lot about the snowy weather and the wild mountain peaks that surround me.

These mountains have been here for a very long time. They have stood, facing the elements for a duration that I can only begin to imagine, let alone comprehend, and comparatively speaking, I have only been here for the shortest moment of their existence.

Coastal scene, Island of Senja, Norway

This has made me consider my own ideas about permanence, and that I have a tendency to relate to the landscape 'within my own timeline' and  think of it as being part of my story, when in fact I am a tiny part of its story.

The landscape has seen more than I will ever do, it has witnessed and been part of land reforming over many millennia. To think that my images may convey this landscape and 'capture' it is quite a ridiculous notion because the landscape is more powerful and permanent than anything I will ever do, or achieve. The mountains I have walked over and  the rivers I have crossed are a reminder of my own impermanence. It's a humbling thought.

It raises the question about the importance of my photographs and the illusion that my images have some form of permanence: my photographs are just as transient as I am. If I am lucky at best, my images will continue to exist for a little while longer once I am gone.

This has made me wonder if I place too much importance upon my work. I feel that I may have my views on my own work out of proportion to the bigger picture since it is the landscape that has more of a right to permanence than any photograph I will ever create.  

I do not 'capture' the landscape. Instead, it is the landscape that captures me.

The lens points both ways

A good friend of mine just recently said to me 'the lens points both ways' when talking about her work. She was referring to the belief (which I also believe) that photographs tell a lot about the photographer behind their creation.

Indeed, sometimes I meet very talented people who have a good work discipline: they begin things and often keep going to see the work through to completion. I have also met people are are extremely talented, who never finish anything.

And also, I have met people who may not be as talented as the two types of people I refer to above, but they have a strong sense of 'following through' with anything they start. 

This has led me to believe one thing: that being talented isn't enough. There has to be a strong work ethic to pull through and complete what you do and to keep moving forward. Good photography is a combination of ability as well as effort. 

But there also has to be a sense of balance. Working too much and too hard will only cause burn out. Procrastination may be our enemy 'most' of the time, but it is not our enemy 'all' of the time. We do need to have an understanding of when it is time to not do anything, just as much as it is important to know when the time is right to work. Like a music composer who understands which notes to play next, and when to leave a pause in the music, rest as important as the work itself.

As a photographer, do you feel you have a good balance between putting the work in to create your imagery? Do you also feel you know when it is time to rest and go do something else instead? Do you never complete work? Or do you feel you have a strong sense of rhythm to your creative life and feel you know yourself well?

These are important questions, because our creative output (or lack of), often says a lot more about us than we think.

Muck Boot Arctic Sport - The Ultimate Winter Photography Boot

The choice of outdoor clothing we use is just as important as our choice of camera equipment. If I am comfortable, dry and warm while out on location, then this goes a very long way to allowing me to become absorbed by the process of making images.

Muck Boot Arctic Sport. The essential Winter Photography boot!

For many years I have used Scarpa hill walking boots for my outdoor photography pursuits because they give me great ankle support in uneven terrain. They are also made of leather and with the right waxing, are completely waterproof. They are of course a personal choice and just about any outdoor hill walking boot with sturdy ankle support, that is waterproof and has a firm sole (which will not twist and bend when walking over uneven terrain) will suffice for most of what I do.

A year ago, things changed for me. I took a chance and bought a pair of Muckboot 'Arctic Sport' boots. I have been using them in places where there is lots of snow or water. They are like a wellington boot on steroids with thermal insulation, a rigid sole and they are absolutely waterproof to just below my knees. I have found them to be extremely comfortable, warm and dry and I can even wade into water that is more than a foot deep. 

When I bought the Muck Boots, I wasn't sure if they would have sufficient ankle support go give me stability while walking over uneven terrain, or navigating down rocky slopes. I have found them to be sufficient at this, although I do believe that nothing compares to the ankle support that I get from a traditional pair of hill walking leather boots.

The Muck Boot Arctic sport boot has become my favoured boot of choice for most of my photography, and I am now finding that I feel less of a need to take a traditional pair of hill walking boots with me, because I often flood them since they are only waterproof up to my ankle. I think having a boot that allows me to get access to shallow streams and to cross areas where the water is more than a foot deep is very useful.

So I would really definitely think about these boots for winter photography. I am not sure they would be suitable for summer or warmer climes as they are well insulated, so your feet may boil.

One last thing, I have also found that a pair of microspikes has become invaluable for my photography also. It would be easy to assume that micro-spikes are only required for icy conditions but I have found them very useful for slippery rocks and some beach areas where the rocks are slimy. Just this week while on the Lofoten Islands, we had no snow, but everyone was commenting on how secure they felt while using them in areas where the rocks were slippery.

kahtoola microspikes. Essential winter and beach / slippery rocks accessory.

So in a nutshell: if you do a lot of winter and beach photography, the Muck Boot Arctic sport is a very highly recommended boot by me, and I would also suggest you buy a pair of Kahtoola micro spikes and keep them packed *always* in a side pocket of your camera bag.

An Unembellished truth, Hokkaido, January 2017

I often feel that my first images of a new landscape may possess an elusive quality, one that is difficult to recapture on subsequent visits. There is an honesty present, simply because there are no preconceptions to hold on to. Everything is new.

Through repeated visits, this innocence may be replaced by experiences where the initial impressions can often become lost or burried.

Where last year Hokkaido was more about atmosphere and fog, this year I found myself confronted by a more literal representation. 

Hokkaido is a landscape heavily touched by man, and I think by photographing these symmetrically placed trees, I've moved from a point of suggestion to something more unembellished, more truthful.

Of course, no one of two ways is better. I think suggestion in imagery can be really powerful and this is often where I love to focus my attention on. But my photography doesn't have to be this way all the time. There is still room for a literal point of view, if one feels that what they are seeing is more than enough to convey a strong image.

Rather like the adage 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it', so too is it pointless to heavily manipulate some work if the work is already conveying something strong. 

But for me, this year was simply different. It was a new kind of Hokkaido. And it didn't really warrant nor ask of me to edit it too much.

Challenging our vision through inversion

Recently, I found that I can invert all the colours on my apple laptop via the system preferences*.

It was a fascinating experience for me to go over familiar work of mine and notice new things in the work. All because I was being forced to see it differently through inverting the colour and luminosity.

What was most fascinating for me, was how my perception changed about the work. With some images I was able to see new shapes that had not been apparent upon previous viewings. Other times it was more that I noticed imbalances in the tones between one area of the image to another area. But I also found that sometimes the images just became quite erie in some way. A new mood or feeling was being projected by them.

As a photographer, I'm always looking for ways to see my images anew. The problem with working on images for so long or living with them for a while, is that become invisible. I stop seeing what's really there, and I become blind to potential errors or issues in the work.

Inversion has been a technique used for a long while. When composing, or editing my work, I will sometimes turn the image 180º so that my eye is forced to walk around the image in a different way. Since I am mostly a left-to-right viewer, I find my eye stumbles into things that weren't an obstruction when they were turned the right way up. 

So if you can use rotation to invert an image and see it differently, then why not invert it tonally? 

* To invert the colours or turn your entire screen monochrome, go to System preferences / Accessibility and choose the Display submenu, you will see the choices 'invert colours' and also 'use grayscale'.

The space between us

My father has often pointed out to me, that many of my pursuits or hobbies have been solitary ones. When I was a small kid, I spent a lot of time painting and drawing and much preferred to spend a lot of time on my own. I am to my own admission, a covert introvert. Over my life, I've learned social skills to help me hide the fact that I spend a lot of time looking within, and find the time on my own with my own thoughts something that I really need, and also enjoy.

When I made this photograph of this small volcanic cone in Argentina, I'm sure I tapped into my ability to remain within the scene while at the same time be outside of it. My camera is a great way of giving space between myself and my subjects.

Now before you start to think that I'm someone who's not sociable or able to have a conversation with, those that know me probably find me very chatty and outgoing. The reason why I bring this up, apart from to convince you that I am a normally functioning human being, is that I think one of the true skills of a photographer is to be able to be part of something while at the same time remain outside it. Let me explain further.

In order to really see something for what it may present in picture terms, there needs to be a degree of separating ourselves from what it is we are photographing. We need to be able to look at something differently from those around us. Rather than thinking of our potential subject as something of purpose, we are instead looking at it from an aesthetic point of view. There has to be space between us and our subjects for this to happen. But there also has to be a sense of connectedness to our subjects as well.

I think I have, through my own genetic introversion, gained skills at a young age to be part of what was going on around me, while at the same time remain within myself. This skill has allowed me to be able to exist in the external world while also hold onto my own rich inner-life.

I think this is one of the components of most if not all photographers: we have the ability to be part of our surroundings while at the same time, be separate from them. There is no better tool that I can think of other than the camera which allows us to exist in the world, while also at the same time be outside of it. When we pick up a camera, we create space between ourselves and our subjects. We are no longer part of the scene but instead we are outside of it looking in. And I think this is a situation that many of us find comfortable to be in.

Before you assume that my point of view is that all photographers are introverts (this could be true, it may also be false), the point I am really trying to make today, is that making photographs requires an interesting mix of being able to be part of something while at the same time be outside of it.

If you are someone who has a rich inner-life, then you may find that photography has come naturally to you because it allows you to be outside of the situation, while at the same time part of it. But if you are not an introvert, then maybe this experience of being outside of the scene is still an interesting one for you because it is something you don't normally encounter. It's a real luxury to be able to enjoy something in a way that isn't often encountered in our day to day activities.

Either way, the point I am making today, is that for photography to work, we have to have an interesting mix of being able to be part of the scene we are photographing, while at the same time remain outside of it. Cameras allow us to do that, and I think that's one of the reasons why I was drawn to photography in the first place; It satisfies my need to be part of the world, while at the same time remain outside of it all, looking in.

Hokkaido 2nd time round

Just finishing up in Hokkaido tonight. Going home tomorrow. Wonderful trip. Can't wait to get the films processed :-)

Biei, Hokkaido December 2015.
Image © Bruce Percy 2015.

First time for everything!

With my friends in Hokkaido.

A crisis of abundance

When I started out making pictures a few decades ago, there was little thought on my part about how I would live with the work as time went on. I think that for many of us, the pursuit of the image is what consumes most of our time when we first start out.

It is only now several decades later, that I am aware of the mass of work I have created over many years. Not all of it is consistent and I've come to realise that although there are images which have stayed strong for me, some of it I am now embarrassed by. It seems that the passing of time invites objectivity.

There is clearly a skill to be mastered as one learns to live with their older work.

As part of my preparation for an exhibition I am doing this summer, I've been revisiting some of my older work and also reconsidering many of my more resent images. I've been thinking about how I should approach looking back at what I've done while also remaining in the present moment. I've also been asking myself the question 'how should I look towards the future without being tied down by what has gone before?' Because I do think that any body of work that has been amassed over time can become a weight, a burden to shoulder.

Learning to let go of who we were, of what we were trying to do, and what the work represented, is I feel,  the best way to go about moving forward. If I am able to also accept that the work itself is more a document of a moment, and does not strictly represent who I may be right now, then that allows me the freedom to grow.

It also allows me to view the work as open to re-interpretation. Why should work be cast in stone, to be one way just because that is how I felt at the time I first created it?

The nub of living a creative life, as I see it, is to recognise that the only thing that is constant in our lives is impermanence. The way we see the world now, and the way the world is, is always changing and just because we said or felt or believed something one day, does not imply that it is still true another day. We are entitled to change and in fact we are always changing.

By accepting that things come and they go, gives me great comfort to understand that what I do, is just a transient expression of who I was at a moment in time. Sometimes these expressions (images) become part of me - works that I am immensely proud of, and sometimes they are works that lose appeal over time. I do not judge myself harshly for what I have done, because that would lead to trying to obtain unreachable goals. By accepting that I am changing and that my work may vary in quality and quantity over time, allows me freedom to continue. The way I see it, it's the only way to prevent my older work (my history) from having more prominence than it should.