I am in love with my new camera.

It's compact, light, has a built in meter, and a fixed 80mm lens -- my all time favorite. It has been so nice to rediscover the feeling of loading 120 film, the slower pace of shooting, and the eager anticipation of getting film back from the lab. I don't know why I waited so long.

I haven't shot Black & White 120 film since the summer of 2004, when I was living in a VW camper in Europe. Even then I shot mostly color chrome and only dabbled in B&W. I shot the above image in Zermatt -- 4 pieces of film stitched together. It was a pretty special time -- shooting every day, driving from Amsterdam to Portugal and over to Switzerland, with a stop at the Tour de France. Of course there were some major mechanical issues in Spain, but that's another story.

This reconnection with my old 120 friend has made me much more aware of the overall acceleration of photography. The shoots I am doing these days are moving faster than ever before. We stand around monitors as the camera feeds it in real time. Sometimes we don't even look through the camera. We are doing more shots per day with less time per shot, and everything is turned around and delivered, then spread across more media than ever before in less and less time. Shoots that used to take 2 weeks are now done in 2 days or 2 hours. My digital cameras are now used for video. I own audio equipment that I don't really want to own, and have more image based applications on my computer than I'd care to admit.

As a belated 40th birthday present to myself, I am going back to Switzerland for a weeklong backcountry ski tour with my new medium format obsession in order to shoot big, quiet, black and white landscapes of the Alps. I'll have that old conversation with TSA about hand checking my film. I'll get up before sunrise and watch the light go down at sunset. I'll take as long as I can to explore, compose, meter, shoot, think, and repeat. I'll drop the film at the lab when I get back and worry for days that the film is blown out or clogged up or something went wrong somewhere.

I'll tear open that box from the lab and regardless of what's inside, it will be the best birthday present ever.

I'm back from 5 days of shooting the Tim Johnson Ride on Washington. It was an amazing event to be a part of -- professional cyclists and bicycle advocates came together for 5 days and 500 miles of extremely challenging route finding and riding in order to raise awareness about cycling.

I wasn't quite sure what to expect, as this is a pretty unique event. So I brought a wide range of gear, and kept an open mind. The first day was rainy, so I shot my 5D from the support vehicle. The next 4 days were sunny, so I put my camera in my jersey pocket and got on my bike.

The group was moving much faster than I'd anticipated -- often hitting 25mph on the flats, and 40mph on the descents. We had to stay close together in order to maintain our pace and arrive at our destination on time. Between riding in a speeding peloton for 100+ miles each day, capturing moments on video, simultaneously looking for and shooting still images (often riding with no hands), and trying to eat and drink enough to physically get through the day, my mind and body were running on all cylinders.

One of my favorite moments from the ride:

Volkswagen CEO Jonathan Browning joined us for the final leg of the ride, from downtown Baltimore to the Capitol in DC. He and Richard were taking a turn at the front of the peloton, and we were barreling down the road, drafting behind them. I turned to Tim and said that I should get a shot of the CEO pulling our group of 25 people towards DC. Tim agreed, and says to me "ok, let's attack, follow me."

Tim Johnson has been racing his whole life, and Tim is FAST. So he led out, and I tucked in behind him, and we raced up the road ahead of the already speeding peloton. I didn't have much time, as Browning could only last at the front for a few minutes. My heart rate was off the charts and I couldn't breathe. I pulled off the road, jumped off my bike, grabbed my camera, steadied myself, and set up for the shot.

I watched through the viewfinder as the group approached. They were flying along, 2x2, and there would only be time for one shot. At the exact moment when JB and the entire peloton entered the frame, a car pulled in from the opposite direction, covering him up and totally blowing the shot:


This image is now my reminder of the 5 days of intense physical and creative output. It captures the tension between bikes and cars, the unpredictable nature of documentary work, and like any sentimental photo, has a story concealed within.

On March 15th, i will join a group of dedicated bicycle advocates as they ride from Boston to Washington DC. We'll be stopping along the way in Hartford, NYC, and Baltimore. The ride was created last year by professional cyclist Tim Johnson as a way for him to give back to the cycling community.

Our big, hairy, audacious goal for the trip is to convince the Federal government to commit as many dollars as possible to the creation of a bigger, better, safer future for bikes and the people that ride them.

Our photographic goal for the trip is to create a story that will inspire people to get back on their bikes. I'll be shooting as much of the trip as I can from my bike, while trying to hang with a group of 25+ extremely fit professional and non-professional cyclists. At least I have an extremely comfy Moots on which to suffer:


This particular shoot is loaded with unknowns. Weather, road conditions, route finding, and people in cars that don't like bikes, are sure to present challenges. Riding 100-150 miles per day for five days in a row is hard. For me specifically, shifting between stills and video presents its own set of creative challenges.

I'm especially excited about this job because it combines two things that I love -- cycling and photography -- and uses them for a great cause that I believe in. The opportunity for a wild adventure that is sure to create unique experiences and images is just icing on the cake.

Apparently Joerg Colberg has had enough of the social media thing.

I don't blame him. It can be totally overwhelming and distracting. Ultimately, screen time is time away from making pictures. Photographers are already spending more hours in front of computers than ever before, and it's hard to justify more.

Thus far, I've mostly avoided social media. I haven't spent much time on Facebook, composed a tweet, or checked in. I still have no clear idea what a hashtag is. Most of what I share is right here on this page -- which I stopped calling a "blog" because the word "blog" bugs me. It has a fast-food sloppiness to it, as if the person that created the word couldn't be bothered with more than one syllable.

I think of this as a journal, and I'm writing this for me, as a way to get thoughts out of my head in order to make room for other stuff. It's also for my girls to read someday when they want to know more about what their dad does (or did) for work. And if an AB, AD or PE wants to learn a bit more about me before sending me out on a shoot, then this is for them too.

With respect to social media, I think I've finally found something that works for me. While in Chicago a few weeks ago, my friend and techincal consultant Matthew turned me onto Instagram, which I like for several reasons: I love shooting with my phone, because it's hard to make light look really good on a phone. I love the square format, it reconnects me to my Hassy days. It shares to everything at once. It's an ongoing visual journal of moments I want to remember. It's easy.

Furthermore, it connects me with my visual people, and does so on a level playing field that everyone uses and pushes in their own unique way. I feel like I am reconnecting with photography again, where I am more consistently aware of my surroundings, which is what photography is all about.

Instagram also reaffirms that while it's easier than ever to take pictures, it's still as hard as it has always been to make beautiful pictures.

I agree with Mr. Colberg that we should be taking pictures instead of building social networks. I also think it's possible to do both at the same time.

My recent recurring dream:

I am at a Black Sabbath concert somewhere / sometime in the 1970's. There are 100,000 shaggy, scary looking fans. Everyone is shitfaced, and the music is incredibly loud. A beefy roadie appears from backstage with a rad looking electric guitar, walks up to me and says, "Jamie! We need you to get up on stage and play guitar! Now!"

The first few times I had this dream, it totally baffled me. Now that it has recurred several times, I think it's probably because Sabbath's lead guitarist Tony Iommi and I have many similarities:

1. We are both left handed.
2. His moustache is exactly the moustache I would have if I could actually grow one.

Ok that's about where the similarities stop. But there is an interesting story about Tony Iommi's mangled fingers that relates to creativity.


At 17, Iommi lost the tips of two of his fingers while working in a sheet metal factory. Dejected, and figuring that his guitar playing days were over, "a friend connected him with guitarist Django Reinhardt who lost use of two fingers in a gypsy caravan campfire accident, inspiring Iommi to give the six-string another go, with soft plastic tips attached to the ends of his fingers."

Iommi continued to play left handed, but was forced to use thinner strings and detune his guitar. This necessary compensation is credited as the birth of Iommi's dark, heavy, doomy sound, which eventually became Black Sabbath's signature. Some would say it was the sound that gave birth to metal.


Ozzy & Tony, 1969 © Ellen Poppinga

The best kind of creativity and innovation seems to take place at the random intersection of two unexpected elements -- in this case, an errant piece of sheet metal and a left handed guitar player with an awesome moustache.

So there I am, standing at the Sabbath show, deciding whether or not to get onstage and attempt to play along with Ozzy and crew. And I'm thinking to myself that there are two possible outcomes here:

1. Pass. Spend remainder of life wondering what if.
2. Get up there. Fail spectacularly. Have story. Sleep well.

There are few intersections more random and unexpected than that of a fingerless metal guitarist from 1974 and a Jewish, musically deficient photographer from Toledo, Ohio.

So I grab the guitar and head toward the stage. As the crowd amplifies its roar, and I get my first glimpse of the sea of sweaty, longhaired faces, I wake up.