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A few years ago a fellow photog asked me if I had been to the “Container Show”.  I told him that over the years I had attended a few trade shows, but never one dealing with packaging, adding that I had also gone a few times to the Container Store (which is a store where you buy boxes of nothing).  He looked at me quizzically then said, “No, I’m talking about the photography container show called Photoville.”  I asked him what a photo show has to do with containers.  His told me that the exhibit was held in giant shipping containers…the ones that carry cargo; the very same ones you see on those enormous ships in all the major ports.  Now why anyone would want to exhibit their images in a big stuffy metal box was beyond me, but I asked him what port I had to visit to see the show.  I soon learned that Photoville is held in New York City and that it consists of several shipping containers all housing photo exhibitions mounted on the interior walls of the containers.  What a novel idea!  It was September at the time and the show was already in progress so my wife and I picked a date to go.  I eagerly awaited the day we were to head into the city to catch a glimpse of my first container show.

The day we had picked arrived and as I readied my camera and stuffed our water bottles into our bags, I stepped out of our house to do a last minute weather check.  As I opened the door, I was greeted by a blast of hot, I mean really hot, September air.  It was definitely end-of-summer shorts and tee shirt weather.  By the time we arrived in New York, the heat had intensified.  We saw that each container had a number and that the program we were given told us what exhibit we’d find in each of the containers.  Some showed portraits, others landscapes, and a few had the works of students who were studying photography in school.  As I said, it was blistering hot as we entered the first container.  But not nearly as hot as it was inside!  I tried my best to spend a little time looking at each piece between gulps of water from my bottle which, by now, was growing warmer by the minute.  As you know, warm water does not quench one’s thirst.  Meanwhile, my wife opted to remain outside the container, where at ninety degrees it was actually cooler than the one hundred plus temperature inside the “photo oven.”  After attempting to work my way through a couple more of the photo tombs, I joined my wife and we set out in search of a solution, the most obvious of which was to get back in our car and head home.  We spotted a large tent with people who were seated and watching some sort of lecture.  We found a couple of seats and noticed that the tent was being cooled to some extent by three large fans which were effective in circulating the stifling air.  The speaker was an Adobe rep who was demonstrating the power of the new Lightroom Mobile software.  A few audience members were actually awake while others appeared to be either sleeping or had passed out from the heat and were awaiting the arrival of EMS vehicles bringing medical help.  

I will spare you any further details.  That was our last Container Show experience.  However, several times since we have gone shopping in the Container Store near our home.  It’s fully air conditioned and it’s a real pleasure picking out containers which we lovingly pay for steeped in the knowledge that we have just purchased an item which contains nothing!

Do you remember some of the sounds we used to hear so often that we took them for granted? Some were from our childhood; others from more recent times. Let’s close our eyes and recall a few…

I remember the sound of chalk when it inadvertently screeched across the slate blackboard in my third grade classroom (a sound not heard on today’s whiteboards.) I fondly remember the corrosive crackling as the needle hit the scratch on a 33 rpm. Sinatra recording of “Come Fly With Me”. There was no avoiding the well-timed (and embarrassing) flourish of sound coming from the crotch of my corduroy pants as the legs rubbed together with my every stride. How I miss the drone of blades cutting through the air as a propeller-driven airplane flew over my house. And whatever happened to the methodically boring tock, tock, tock (minus the tick) of a wood and metal metronome sitting on the piano as we practiced scales? (a sound now relegated to an app on our smart phones). I’ll always recall fondly the fake, though convincing sound, of an engine, coming from the Queen of Hearts playing card attached by a clothespin to the front wheel of my Schwinn bike. Speaking of engines, in the not too distant future the sound of car engines will be replaced by the harmonious hum of an electric engine powering our vehicles down the road.

There are some sounds I miss. Others…not so much. One in this category is the disruptive clickity clack heard during televised news conferences. All of us photogs recognize this annoying noise. It’s the cacophony produced by the good ole’ mirror slap from our DSLR’s. The “mirrorless revolution” which was predicted to take the photo industry by storm didn’t. Everyone who takes pictures, whether for fun or professionally, did not race out and immediately sell or trade in their Nikon or Canon for a slick new mirrorless Sony. However, what does seem to be happening now is a slow turnover to these mirrorless models. Nowadays, if you listen carefully to a televised conference you can actually hear what the speakers are saying (which is not always a good thing!) Their words are no longer totally muffled by the roar of the Canons (wasn’t that a creative use of words?). The revolution has been slow to evolve, but it appears that the younger photographers are purchasing the mirrorless models, relegating the old DSLR’s to gather dust in an attic or on the shelves of the “Used” section in camera stores. I suspect that in years to come, they’ll be found en mass in the midst of other relics on antique store shelves right next to the Kodak Brownie’s and the 35mm film cameras.

I really don’t miss the mirror slap. But if, one day, I’m feeling nostalgic about long lost sounds, I can always get out my old Nikon and press the shutter button four or five hundred times just to hear that comforting sound. Better yet, I’ll wait till Sunday night, turn on Sixty Minutes and watch the show’s intro. What fun, just sitting back and listening to tick, tick, tick, tick…

During the Vietnam War I served as a US Air Force photojournalist. My job was to document the wide range of activities related to the war. My assignments were not, as you might imagine, always exciting and glamorous. Explosions, destruction and other war-related happenings often resulted in interesting and sometimes devastating images. However there were other photos I produced which were necessary to the mission, yet proved to be rather mundane and even boring. This was the case one evening…

After a really busy day, I crawled into my bunk savoring the the aroma of jet fuel gently wafting through the barracks. To a civilian it might have been an assault to their senses, resembling what it smells like when you first turn on a gas powered leaf blower. However to me and my fellow airmen it was the sweet smell of Air Force essential oils, sure to guarantee a good night’s sleep.

At about 2:00am, the black desk phone near my bed startled me with what I had hoped was a misdialed number. However, upon hearing the voice on the other end, I knew immediately that this was no mistake. “Berger, are you the “on-call photographer tonight?” “Yes, sir, I am.” “This is Sergeant Brown from the Air Police. I need you to come out and take some pictures of an airplane parked near the flight line.” “Is it an emergency?” I asked. My mind went racing to thoughts of one of my fellow airmen tangled up in the engine of a cargo plane. “No, no emergency.” “Then why must I get the shots now, at two in the morning?” I asked. “Well, it’s just that we have to document that the problem was discovered on this shift and that we immediately had photos taken.” Loving bureaucracy as I always have, I dragged my tired rear end out of bed, put on my uniform, grabbed my big gray hard-sided camera case and opened the latched lid to make sure it was loaded with my ungainly Speed Graphic camera, the gigantic flash, M5 flashbulbs, and a full supply of metal film holders loaded with 4×5 inch black and white film. I picked it up, and feeling the weight of the case, I instinctively knew I had all the supplies I needed. I trudged over to the location thinking of how much I missed my warm bed back in the barracks. There was little activity at this moment out on the flight line, so I felt grateful that at least I didn’t have to deal with the deafening sound of aircraft revving their engines prior to take off. This was a blessing since my camera had no meter, autofocus, or anything else that nowadays we find to be absolute necessities and I needed to concentrate on getting the settings right.

As I approached the aircraft, I was met by Sgt. Brown. He told me that I had to photograph a damaged bolt on the top of one of the wings. Wanna know how high it is up on the top of a giant military cargo plane? And how slippery it can get if there’s moisture on the wing? And how hard it is to see a damaged bolt in the dark at 2am? Anyway, after riding up in the cherry picker, and finding a safe place up there for me and my gear, I manually calculated the correct flash exposure in my foggy after hours brain. After doing several ballet moves I found the right position and got the shots…all angles, medium closeups, macro shots etc. Once back on the ground I turned to the sergeant who was now accompanied by a flight line mechanic. He told me the good news…I didn’t have to go back to the lab to develop the film and make prints; that could wait till tomorrow. At this point the airman mechanic asked us if he could now replace the damaged bolt. The sergeant gave him the okay. The airman then turned to me and said, “So this is your job in the Air Force? You just take pictures?” No longer half asleep, I replied, “So this is all you do…just fix airplanes?”

So what’s the point? All of you who pursue photography, spend hours traveling to locations, composing, focusing, shooting, editing, printing etc. know that this passion of ours requires work…both manual and mental. Some earn a living at it while for others it’s simply a labor of love. Whenever you’re out there shooting, whether on top of an airplane or in front of your dining room window always remember that there is real value in what you do. Don’t ever be dissuaded by someone who says, “So this is all you do… take pictures?”