A Michael Willson photo is instantly recognisable. He captures the aching pathos of sporting loss, and the simplicity and stillness in an inherently chaotic game. Many of his shots rank among the most iconic football photographs taken this century. He captured Tayla Harris at full extension, and in doing so triggered some of the more reptilian online brains. He was on hand for Lance Franklin’s 1,000th goal coronation – a shot he calls the perfect mix of due diligence and blind luck.

Whether it’s a long-sleeved Jack Silvagni celebrating in teeming rain, Trent Cotchin being hoisted off or Gary Ablett Jr bowing out – they all have Willson’s indelible stamp, and they all feature in his exhibition, Beyond the Boundary, which wraps up at the Swan Hill Regional Art Gallery on Sunday.

The key, he tells Guardian Australia, is the ability “to see a picture within a picture.” “You can teach someone the technical aspects of what we do, but the creativity is something you’re born with I think.”

Willson was a mad Collingwood supporter growing up in Swan Hill, and vividly recalls the 1990 grand final, recording it on the VCR and later taking photographs off the TV screen. “Even when I was 12 or so, I was fascinated with still images,” he says. He worked as a graphic designer for seven years, but photography was always his passion and dream. He backed his talent and honed his skills, shooting amateur games for free on weekends, and seized his opportunity at the highest level.

Being a sports photographer is physically demanding and requires technical prowess, unsocial hours, an innate news sense and soft eyes. The very nature of Australian rules football, he says, adds another layer to the challenge. “Footy is played on a massive field, it’s played at such a great speed, it’s so unpredictable and the players are so fit and fast now. Besides, there’s always a lot of obstacles in your way – umpires, water carriers, even pigeons.”

A grounding in amateur and country football has held Willson in good stead. He played in a premiership with Lake Boga exactly 20 years ago. He was a classic opportunist, the sort of player who could craft goals out of nothing. “The intrinsic nature of the game, the reading of the play, the bounce of the ball – it all helps to have played the game. I played it from the age of six until I was 30 and the feel of the game comes naturally to me. Most of all, it gave me a sense of what footy means to communities.”

Every fan has their favourite Willson photo. One of mine is of Nick Daicos being pursued by a trio of helpless Bulldogs. It’s all there – the proprioception, the effortless superiority, the futility of the chase. One of those Bulldogs is Marcus Bontempelli, arguably the best footballer in the country. But in that moment, the football world belongs to the young Magpie. “You definitely have a heightened awareness of the superstars,” Willson says. “But they can he harder to shoot. They do things that split second quicker than other players – a quick give, a change of direction. They can be more unpredictable, and you have to be particularly hyper-vigilant around the high-flyers.”

The architecture of Adelaide Oval and the SCG, he says, offers photographers all sorts of artistic possibilities. But many of his best and cherished photos have come on grand final day at the MCG. “A bright sunny afternoon at the MCG is just about my perfect shooting scenario, particularly later in the afternoon, just before the sun goes down, when you get these long shadows.”

His favourite spot is in the forward pocket, under the Shane Warne Stand, at the Punt Road end. That’s where Dom Sheed lined up in the dying minutes of the 2018 grand final. Willson was in his back pocket, and produced a series of iconic shots. “On grand final day there’s so much stuff and a lot of crap on the sidelines. Luckily, this shot was so clean. As a Collingwood supporter, it was a hard one to swallow. But I pride myself on not getting emotionally involved. I’ve got a job to do. If you’re riding every bump, you’ll miss something important and it’ll be gone for ever. At that moment, I had a front row seat to one of the most clutch shots in the history of football. And when the luck falls your way, you’ve got to take it. It’s so rewarding when it all falls into place.”

On grand final day, my eye is often drawn to the losers, to the desolation. In 2018, as the Collingwood players slumped to the turf, the photographers huddled around them like they were at a crime scene. But Willson’s shots never feel intrusive. A couple of years earlier, he captured a crestfallen Kieren Jack being consoled by his besuited bother, Brandon. The latter wrote a book about a career lived on the fringe, and devotes a passage to that moment. “I really wanted that one,” Kieren sobs. “It’s just football,” his brother tells him. He’s right. But at that moment, his words are hollow. And no one in football captures those moments better than Michael Willson.

His name is Charles Martin.
He send us these photographs along with this text.

Henri Cartier-Bresson often referred to geometry, so evident in his photos, as essential to visual art. People delight in form. Alfred Stieglitz, photographer and advocate of art, was famously appalled at the idea that the power of his photography came from its subject matter. Stieglitz wanted to show that photography could be more or less free of reference. Reformulated, the thought might be that sight, itself, can ultimately be the primary subject. What do people really see in a photo? A trustworthy explanation of the photographer’s relationship to subject matter? Or an image?! Quite a few of my photographs I call “Glass Constructions” – reflections not usually in mirrors, but in windows and other spaces of glass. Rather than being “mirror images,” they are transparent labyrinths drawn from surfaces, interiors and reflections.

Photography has come to me in starts and stops, a few leaps forward and an occasional step back. I methodically applied myself to it while in graduate school in Afro-American Studies before my first visit to Brazil, but the first photographers in my life were my parents. Mom used automatic cameras and Dad amused himself with a thirty-five mm Exacta and a Rolleiflex that I still have. He wanted a Hasselblad, too, but balked at the price. A few neighbors had such cameras. Mostly they did not use them, and family photos usually came from the automatics. My father, embarrassed at the site of my mother using so simple a tool, gave her a RolleiMagic, an auto exposure camera, essentially a point and shoot Rollei. Though she accepted the camera, she preferred and continued to use the simple Kodak, which is where I started, too. The Instamatic 404, with its wind-up, spring-loaded film advance, was for years my ready recorder.

My dad turned a corner of the basement into an occasional lab, a darkroom with faint yellow safelight that dimly showed the contours and objects of the room. Prominent also was a timer with luminescent hands, essential for observing the appropriate lengths of time. In the darkroom, Dad unspooled the film from the cameras and processed the negatives in canisters before hanging them to dry from overhead pipes. The next step, usually days later, was printing. People speak of the magic of seeing the image come up on the paper submerged in a chemical bath in the developing tray, but for me the interval was simply boredom, with the interesting part of the experience being watching my dad. Family photos—by any of us—sometimes went into the scrap books that my mother meticulously kept and labeled in her handwriting. My older brother, Henry, didn’t much get the photography bug, but his art connection was criticism and one of his first books was on the sculptor Arman (who I later photographed on occasion).

Portraits that I have taken are done by access and fortuitous chance, encounters with both friends and strangers, improvised and carried out quickly. Of many possible definitions, for me portraits primarily are records of moments of complicity: the person sees that the photographer is up to something, and the person allows the image to be. Portraits come through seeing people, not knowing them. Would you say that the portraits here tell which of the figures I knew and which I did not? Walking one evening in the Village, New York, I crossed paths with someone whose face I knew only from of his work. “Duane Michals!” I said in surprise. He stopped and questioned, “Do I owe you money?” I laughed and said “no.” I didn’t want to bother him, but I asked him if I could take his picture. “I will not take off my clothes,” he replied, again with humor. I asked him to move a few feet into better light and he did. Four or five snaps, and I thanked him, and we went on our ways. A few weeks later, this time with my wife, I ran into him again in about the same spot. I introduced my wife to him and have never happened upon him again.

At a gallery in New York, I asked a question about a photo I was looking at, and the receptionist answered by going into another room and bringing back with her the photographer, Frank Horvat. We chatted briefly and, at my asking if I could photograph him, he said he didn’t much like being photographed, but it was okay. I took two exposures – back when I was a Leica M2 user, no light meter, of course—one horizontal and one vertical. I got his address from the gallery and later sent him the horizontal. He wrote back, giving me a photo of his, and asking for more prints of the image I had sent, saying he liked it very much and would use it for publicity. Whether or not he did, I do not know. We did correspond a little, and I ended up, for “Entre Vues” on his Horvat Land website, translating into English three interviews that he had done with Edouard Boubat, Joseph Koudelka and Sarah Moon.

Ed Clark, abstract expressionist artist, was a great friend. Aside from my shows in New York, Ed saw two of them in Paris, which is where we met. Paris was special to him and he spent most summers painting there before returning to New York for the rest of the year. I had presented a paper, “Coloring Books: Black Ideas of Europe,” at the African-Americans and Europe International Conference, at the Sorbonne Nouvelle, February 5-9, 1992, organized by Michel Fabre, a professor who wrote a biography of author Richard Wright. About a year later, again in Paris, I showed photographs to Fabre, and one of them, taken in New York, was of poet Ted Joans. Fabre asked if Joans had seen it, and I said no. He told me that Joans was a regular at Café Le Rouquet, gave me the location, and suggested I go there to show Joans the photo. When I did, Joans was in the company of Ed Clark and some others. Ed and I became friends and, back in New York, after finishing a day of teaching Comparative Literature classes at Queens College-City University of New York, often I would drop by Ed’s place, around the corner from the Flatiron Building. Usually I would at some point have a look into the studio in the back to see what he had been painting. One day I asked him if anybody had ever done a movie about him. He replied that someone was always saying they were going to, but no one ever did. I told him I was going to do it, he said okay and suggested people who might be interviewed. I convinced a director, for whom I had once shot stills, to be the cinematographer for the project, and despite his initially finding it odd to be directed by his former set-photographer, the documentary was made: A Brush with Success.

Cameras have accompanied me since childhood and stay within reach, occasionally capturing a dream or a nightmare concocted from glass, metal, water, sky and light.

Charles Martin
[email protected]

In the ever-evolving world of photography, the decision by PhotoVogue to showcase AI-generated imagery alongside traditional photography in its upcoming festival is stirring debate. Curated around the theme of “Image in the Age of AI. What Makes Us Human,” the program has photographers (or should I say “image-makers”) divided. I’m old enough to remember the fierce “film vs. digital” debate, and while I think AI is more of a threat to some photographers’ livelihoods than digital cameras ever were, I can’t help but be reminded of that time. 

The festival, set to take place from November 16-19, 2023 in Milan, is a testament to the rapidly changing landscape of visual arts. Alessia Glaviano, Head of Global PhotoVogue and Director of PhotoVogue Festival asks us to consider the following: “How can one have a definitive stance on something as vast and novel as AI-generated content? This very uncertainty is why we’ve chosen to focus our festival on this theme. I believe that diving deep into every facet of this conversation is essential, and I hope our festival serves as a platform for enriching dialogue that advances our understanding.”  

I recommend checking out this post on Glaviano’s Instagram if you want to join the conversation, but here is a quick summary of the concerns traditional photographers have with the festival (and with AI’s impact on photography in general).

Authenticity and Originality

One of the primary concerns surrounding the inclusion of AI-generated content is the question of authenticity. Traditional photography is rooted in capturing moments, emotions, and stories through the lens. AI-generated imagery, on the other hand, is created through algorithms and data training.

Ethical Implications

The ethical concerns around AI-generated content are vast. From concerns about copyright to deepfakes, there’s a lot to consider. How do we ensure that AI-generated content is used responsibly and ethically, especially when showcased alongside traditional photography?

The Challenge of Curation

At this early stage, it seems that the festival has successfully distinguished AI-generated images from traditional photography in its exhibitions. However, the task of curating such a wide range of content comes with its own set of challenges. Most importantly, in my opinion, how do you ensure that the line between AI and traditional photography remains clear to the audience?

Audience Reception

While some may appreciate the innovative approach of merging AI and traditional photography in the same festival, others might find it disconcerting (and perhaps that’s part of the point). However, the challenge lies in ensuring that the festival remains a space for open dialogue and understanding rather than becoming a battleground for traditional purists vs. enthusiastic early adopters.

The Future of Photography

The inclusion of AI-generated imagery in such a prestigious festival raises overall questions about the future of photography. Presenting AI image-makers obviously takes up space that traditional photographers would have otherwise filled. Will AI eventually replace traditional photographers? Or will it simply become another tool in the photographer’s arsenal? Or will photographers and image-makers coexist harmoniously in the same world? Together, but separate.

We’ll find out soon enough.

As for the festival, Glaviano’s curation is always inspiring and thought-provoking, and we expect nothing less from PhotoVogue 2023.

Visit PhotoVogue’s website for the full lineup of exhibitions and more information.

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If you’re wondering how to take a picture of the moon with an iPhone or Android smartphone then it’s probably because you’re preparing for the rise of the “Harvest Supermoon” this week.

The truth is that taking a good picture of the moon with a phone is challenging not only because devices lack a zoom lens of any note, but also because the moon can quickly become too bright.

However, it is possible—and there are several ways to do it. Here’s everything you need to know about exactly how to photograph the full moon using a smartphone, according to an expert:

1. Fully Charge Your Phone

It goes without saying that you need to have some battery in your smartphone. However, that really does apply in the extreme to a long photography task such as capturing as moonrise. With the display on full brightness and a lot of the electronics working, photographing for a long period can quickly drain the battery. Consider bringing along a portable battery.

2. Download A Clever Camera App

Download a third-party app like Camera+ 2, VSCO or Yamera—or any app that lets you manually set the exposure settings. That’s because even when captured on the horizon as it rises, the full moon often outshines the scene around it—and native camera apps rarely cope. “Your phone will generally overexpose it in an effort to achieve what it thinks is a balanced shot,” said Tom Kerss astronomer and author of Moongazing: Beginners Guide to Exploring the Moon, in an email. “Naturally when you expose for the brightest regions of the moon’s fully lit surface, you’ll find that the rest of the image looks rather dark.” It’s best to stick with ISO 100.

3. Use Your Phone’s Highest Quality Image Mode

The moon shows a huge amount of dynamic range, or shades of brightness, which is why it’s so difficult to photograph. So shoot in the most data-intensive mode you can—something often offered by those third-party apps. “Capture raw images to ensure you don’t lose highlight or shadow detail,” said Kerss. “You can then process these photos extensively to get the most interesting and aesthetically pleasing balance.”

4. Be Facing East At Moonrise

This month the best time to image the full moon from North America will be at moonrise on Thursday, September 28, so find out the time of local moonrise where you are and be in place 10 minutes before. The reason moonrise is so important is that you can capture the full moon during civil twilight. “As the full moon brightens against the fading sky due east there’s an opportunity to capture it with relatively low contrast,” said Kerss. “At this time, your phone will be more likely to achieve a balanced exposure, where the landscape and lunar features are all visible—neither overexposed or underexposed.” Your smartphone should also be able to pick up the warm colours of the Earth’s atmosphere at a shallow angle, as demonstrated by the image at the top of this article, which was shot by Kerss using an iPhone 12 Pro Max.

5. Use Your Phone’s Longest Lens

Smartphones are super-slim so will never rival a telephoto lens—the most important item in a moon photographer’s arsenal. However, some smartphones do something to make things even worse. “In low-light scenes some phones default to a shorter lens to collect more light and then digitally crop the image to give the illusion of a zoom,” said Kerrs. All this means is lost detail and an unnecessarily soft image. So make sure you’re using the best optical zoom your smartphone has. “The moon will always appear small, but the high density sensors in recent models can nevertheless reveal a surprising amount of detail in its the dark lunar maria,” said Kerss, referring to its seas of ancient lava.

6. Use A Tripod

For the easiest and best upgrade to your photos of the moon get a tripod and a universal smartphone holder, which you can often purchase together. Even with the added stability it’s also worth using the timer delay feature, which will mean the photo is taken a few seconds after you press the virtual shutter button on the screen. A Bluetooth remote is also worth considering.

7. Use A Telescope

This might seem a bit far-fetched for most, but if you do happen to have a dusty old telescope—whatever size it is—you can use it as an awesome telephoto lens. “Capturing the moon through the eyepiece of your telescope is a challenging but rewarding way to take a spectacular mobile shot,” said Kerss, who advises using an eyepiece with a low magnification. This technique, called afocal photography, is simple—you just hold your smartphone lens over the eyepiece of a telescope and take a shot. “At higher magnifications it’s trickier to keep your phone’s camera lens in the perfect spot,” said Kerss. Smartphone adaptors are also available that effectively clamp your device in place.

Wishing you wide eyes and clear skies.

Corralitos artist Sylvia Valentine is gearing up to show her original nature photography in the annual Open Studios Art Tour.

Her photography stems from her travels with her husband around the United States, Bali, New Zealand, Thailand, Canada and Mexico. 

“Many of my favorite photos are from our own beautiful California coast, Santa Cruz, Carmel, Monterey, Big Sur and our own backyard in Corralitos,” she said.

For Open Studios, Valentine will show around 100 of her nature photographs, plus her new line of “HeartFelt & Found” floral art made from felt flowers, paper and wood flowers, found objects and vintage items.

Her nature and travel photographs are on canvas, metal and traditional matted glass frames. Valentine will also include “shelf standing photos.”

“I love the mystery of creating a hidden gem in something ordinary, and capturing the beauty of a moment, from a drive around town to an international adventure,” she said. “Some of my new photos were from a spring trip to Yosemite after the winter rains where flooding in the valley created rare reflections.” 

Other photos show this year’s spring superbloom with fields of wildflowers near Pinnacles National Park and Mori Point near San Francisco. 

Valentine says she has worked with Panasonic and Nikon cameras, but currently prefers one made by Canon. 

“Some of my best selling shots—and client favorites—were taken with my iPhone 11 Pro, which I always have with me,” she said. “I find it’s more about the eye, angle, light and feeling level, than the camera and settings.” 

Valentine added that her name, Sylvia, means “Maiden of the Woods.” 

“I feel at home in nature,” she said. “I love capturing the spirit of a place, experimenting with different angles and light to explore unique perspectives.”

She discovered photography on a trip to New Zealand in 2008 with her husband, Paul Henrichsen, a helicopter pilot at Specialized Aviation in Watsonville. After sharing her photos with friends and family, she was encouraged to share her work in local galleries, First Friday shows, retail stores and in a series of greeting cards. That exposure led to showing in Open Studios for eight years. 

Valentine was recently named a winner of the 2023 California Arts Council Fellowship Award. Out of 500 applicants, 40 emerging artists were chosen. 

“I am so honored with this prestigious award and the $5,000 scholarship to further my artistic endeavors,” she said. 

She was voted Best Photographer three years in a row in the Good Times Best Of category and her photo entries in the Santa Cruz County Fair have earned her numerous first place ribbons. 

Additionally, Valentine self-published a hardcover coffee table book, “Sanctuary: A Portal to Presence.” The book features her photography, poems and quotes by her favorite authors and others “to match the essence in each of my images.” 

The Open Studios Art Tour unfolds over three weekends between Oct. 7-22 throughout Santa Cruz County.

Valentine’s show dates are Oct. 7-8 and Oct. 21-22 from 11am-5pm at 33 Karen Drive in Watsonville.

Her work can be viewed at SylviaValentine.com and instagram.com/sylviavalentinephotography.

For information on Open Studios, visit santacruzopenstudios.com.