Photos on your screen are nice, but photos on your wall are better!
Framed, ready to hang prints, as well as licenses for reproduction in print and online, are available for order from my photography site — click here.
I find it harder to take new photographs in the bleak mid-winter months, so instead dig through my massive archives of unprocessed photos. I randomly click around in my Lightroom catalog, find a time that has lots of photos that I never really looked at, and often find some interesting images to work on.
Google Photos is now trialing a “monthly photo prints” subscription program.
Google will send you 10 prints that will be “automatically selected from your last 30 days of photos.” This subscription program is a way to “get your best memories delivered straight to your home every month.” For $7.99 per month, subscribers get 4×6 pictures printed on matte, white cardstock that features a 1/8-inch border.
While an automatic process leverages Google Photos’ smarts, you’ll be able to pick one of three themes for your monthly prints. Google touts the first “people and pets” option as being the “most popular.” Additionally, you can edit the photos before they’re printed.
Most people and pets: Relive your best moments of people and pets. Get prints featuring them and other great photos every month.
Mostly landscapes: Revisit your most memorable places. Get prints of your outdoor shots, city scapes, scenery pics, and more sent to you every month.
A little bit of everything: Mix it up! Get a mix of all your best moments! Photos of people, landscapes, and other photos delivered to you each month.
SmugMug/Flickr could emulate this, actually, and I’d probably consider it. I don’t use Google Photos, so unless there is an IFTTT recipe that automatically uploads Flickr images to Google Photos, this monthly scheme wouldn’t be viable for me.
Conceptually, I like the idea of having prints sent to me, selected by not-me. The 21st C.E. is buried in gazillions of photos, but most only exist in the digital realm, and aren’t physical objects that can be studied by future generations, or by our Robot Overlords, or whatever.
For a few months, I tried to capture my favorite images from the previous month in a gallery, but it is a hard project to sustain. Life happens, and that would get put to the back burner up until the next month’s batch was due.
Maybe I should try in 2020 to make an analog version of the Google algorithmic art selection, and make small prints every month from the previous month?
I took this photo February 2nd, 2020, and processed it in my digital darkroom a few hours later.
While I think this is a perfectly serviceable photograph, I’m not sure I’d add it to my portfolio. I enjoyed good light, I had the proper lens to capture a decent angle on a modestly interesting and historically significant building, but to me, this illustrates a flaw in letting an algorithm define what is an “excellent” image.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the pat on the back of being included in Flickr Explore, there is certainly a dopamine rush of pleasure when the positive attention of social media suddenly converges on my art.
But if I look at the photos I’ve worked on in the last year, this particular one would not be in my own selection of top ten images to hang in a gallery show or sell prints of.
Am I wrong?
18.0-200.0 mm f/3.5-5.6
A while ago, this photo was added to Flickr Explore ((August 30th, 2018, but I forgot to post it here))
Walking south on Halsted, about to cross Chicago Avenue.
I took this photo with my iPhone in May, 2018, and processed it in my digital darkroom August 29th, 2018. I actually made a mistake, and imported this photo as a Digital Negative in Lightroom, thus I opened it in Photoshop as if was taken with my Nikon. Ooops. It worked out ok though, but I don’t usually process iPhone snapshots in Photoshop.
I took this photo on May 29th, 2017, and processed it in my digital darkroom on January 27th, 2020.
I didn’t have to do much, just bring up light in the shadows a bit to show off the red dress on the mannequin, while keeping the green windows from over-exposing and thus maintaining the urban noirish feel.
I already forget where the title came from, but it meant something at the moment (and it is part of a longer poem).