Pulling Focus
Looking past technique and technology to discover the drama of life.
By CHARLES WOOD
Earlier today I purchased a Canon 70–200mm f4.0 IS I stabilized telephoto lens™ for my Blackmagic Design Pocket Cinema Camera™.
Movie cameras have no autofocus — it’s all “pulled” by hand.
I hopped on the subway towards the waterfront — intent on mastering the art of pulling focus to create perfect images.
I set my focus on the Statue of Liberty.
Distant teenagers heading home.
Strangers…
…passing by…
…out of focus.
As I looked through the viewfinder, I spotted a young couple among the crowd walking towards me. I moved the focus ring millimeters at a time — squinting my eyes at the patterned walkway to pull them into focus.
Composition is a little off…
Exposure is a stop under…
Is my focus buzzed?
Wait.
In trying to create a technically perfect image — I almost missed a dramatically perfect moment.
In cinematography there is a saying;
Amateurs worry about equipment,
professionals worry about money,
masters worry about light,
I just take pictures.
Sometimes we hide behind the expensive tools of our pursuits in the comfort that their ownership automatically equals mastery of technique or skill. Because mastery feels so good.
“I have Miura™ clubs — so I can golf”
“I have an Apple Watch™— so I can run”
“I have a Les Paul™ — so I can ‘really’ shred”
But mastery is an end, not a beginning. What I learned today is that I am and will always be an amateur in some aspect of filmmaking. I was distracted by my camera and almost missed the drama unfolding before me.
But that is good. It’s good to have moments that knock me back into the beginner’s mind. Remind me of why I started down this path. Why I ran to the subway. Why I set up on the water’s edge. To capture a sun set.
A perfect moment —
— not a perfect image.
What happens in the scenes of our lives will always be more important than how we chose to frame them.
We often delay our passions waiting for the right lens, car, phone, gear, gadget or computer to help us realize some best moment in the future — but in doing so distract ourselves with megapixels, overdrawn credit cards, and midnight pre-orders in the present.
Appreciate what you already have in frame. Don’t let tools and technology delay or distract you from running your marathon, writing that novel, or getting back into photography. Remember what it was like to run in flip flops at camp, write stories in cursive, or squint through your great Uncle’s Korean War rangefinder as the last picture on the roll was about to be pulled into focus.
