Other than an “experimental stage” as a photographer--which involved my trusty Kodak Instamatic while in college—the serious side of a lifelong interest in photography began in 1976 with a Nikon F2. It was a professional camera, with a black body and a Nikkor 50 mm 1.4 lens. (I also had a macro, a 135, a 300, and eventually added a 105.)
That first day, I carefully loaded a roll of Kodak 64 film, and spent the next half hour framing and shooting my first photo: a mushroom. (I still have the print of that around somewhere.) From there, my “eye” moved on to other “still life” scenes, expanded into nature photography, portraits, sports photography, and even underwater scenes. In the succeeding 37 or so years, I guess I’ve taken about a million photos, ranging in subject matter from art to zebras. In photography, learning and improving is a lifelong endeavor.
With a good job and about six months of vacation time each year, I had lots of time to “develop” the art. The bulk of my work was invested in illustrating a little running magazine that I published (roughly) from 1981-2003, and after some of the photos were published—from a dozen or so rolls each month—I distributed as many of the prints as I could to their human subjects. From the smiles and thank-yous, I definitely had the impression that I was making progress as a photographer. (I still shoot for a couple of on-line magazines, and still give away plenty of freebies.) In my lifetime, I’d guess I’ve passed out 50,000 people pictures…at least.
After my retirement (officially, in 2004), I expanded into the internet, and with that into digital photography. That was when the trouble started. You see, while I was using a 35mm film camera, I could control everything, from what went into the camera, to what came out, plus where it went. (Prints used to be difficult to reproduce without the negative.) With digital photography, however, images take on a life of their own.
Part of my downfall was a result of blind generosity. Instead of spending money on prints, I simply e-mailed the image to the recipient of my largesse. None of those first recipients, as far as I can tell, ever directly benefitted from the gesture. It was the result of subsequent transfers that verified the axiom, “No good deed goes unpunished.” In time, I began seeing my photos, literally, everywhere: in newspapers and magazines; on websites; in sports media guides; and even hanging upon the hallowed walls of some fine, otherwise well-respected universities. Rarely were they accompanied by any form of credit, but when they were, it was generally someone else’s name. (Some of my stories, which now number in the hundreds, suffered a similar fate.)
One has to ask himself, does not a photo fall under the category of “intellectual property,” as does, say, a scholarly paper or book? Apparently not, because whenever I followed said discovery with the simple request for acknowledgment of such a contribution to someone else’s economic welfare—from the “borrower,” through the “printer,” and all the way to the “distributor”--of said item, I was met with incredulity. “We had no idea….We got it from….We don’t have time to check every photo….etc.” But nothing in the way of an apology, and definitely not the humble gesture of a correctional photo credit. (To borrow from the playbook of football, it is safe to say “The best offense is a good defense.”)
Subsequently, along with each “gift,” I then took time to interject something like “If this photo is published in any form, please credit ‘Ralphotos,’” but with little, if any success. In fact, one response was (sic), “A gift should not be qualified.” (Tell that to the Carnegies, Mellons, Rockefellers, and Ben Hill Griffins.)
And so it goes. (credit: Kurt Vonnegut, a refrain from Slaughterhouse Five; and Charles J. Shields, a subtitle of Kurt Vonnegut: A Life. See how easy that is?)
This story has no happy ending, unless this sad tale of woe convinces the future artists who have read this to be possessive, greedy, and cutthroat when it comes to a lifetime investment in their craft…or we can all just stop “taking” pictures.
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