Today marks two months since the last time I was in the office, which is nearly even with the amount of time that I spent in the office from January to mid-March, settling into my new job.

Working from home has both its challenges and its benefits. One of the latter is the opportunity to take morning and evening walks each day. Yesterday, before settling into work, I randomly went on a route opposite from my usual direction. And lo and behold, on a bridge close to home, I found the baby hawks I had read about a few days prior. 

The trio of red-shouldered hawks is nesting just off a bridge, high up in the trees from the Klingle Valley but at eye level with bridge passersby. I actually saw mom or dad flying last weekend while on another walk, but didn't know that there were babies (or eyases, as they are technically known), until recently. I've discovered that they have their own twitter account; their names are Cleveland, Covid, and Dorothy; and their dad recently got caught in some fishing line but was rescued by the collective efforts of the good people who live in my community. 

Returning last night and again this morning and afternoon (where I arrived just in time for the first feed I've ever seen), I picked up my good camera for the first time a long time. With the preponderance of excellent birds in my neighborhood - since working from home, I've seen cardinals and blue jays; a tufted titmouse, a blue-grey gnatcatcher; a nuthatch; robins, starlings, and swifts; and was serenaded this past weekend by a Carolina wren - it feels good to be looking at the world through my lens again, and in recently moving towards a substantially better life, I can start researching and saving for the longtime dream of a good telephoto lens.

I'm so grateful to live here, in this place, working with incredible colleagues (despite being physically separated at the moment), and doing the work that we do. But it's also good to get out and see the bigger picture and explore my new surroundings, and so this time is also cherished as well.

Frequently I'm asked for advice on what kind of camera to buy in order to take photographs of artifacts in archaeology and in museums, and/or for use in the field.

The short answer is: it doesn't really matter.

The longer answer is: buy the best you can afford.

Within these two answers are a whole range of possibilities, but it is sufficient to say that in this day and age, most photographic equipment is pretty good, and pretty affordable.

I myself use a Nikon D5000, which I purchased before my Regular Year at the ASCSA in 2010-11. I liked it because it has a tilting screen that, as I discovered with an earlier point and shoot model, comes in handy when photographing objects in museums that are positioned overhead or at awkward angles. Of course, by now the D5000 might be considered "out of date" or an antiquity itself. But it still fulfills my purposes, and the beauty of a good DSLR body is that you can add to it over time: I now have, in addition to the standard 18-55 and 55-200 mm lenses that came with it, added a very good 18-105 mm lens to my repertoire of camera equipment.

So, here are a few short tips for choosing equipment, etc.:

1) In general, I've found that Canon is better for point and shoot cameras, whereas the colour quality of Nikon DSLRs is far superior to that of Canons (nb: I know little about other brands). If colour is important to you, keep this in mind. Ken Rockwell (whose site I highly recommend in general) provides a good comparison of the two brands.

2) I recommend a macro lens for small objects - you can buy one, or even DIY (some tips here).

3) Additionally, a fixed focal length lens is good for all-purpose photography; as opposed to a large zoom range, "prime" lenses are the best-made lenses you can buy. Check out this article for more info.

3) If photographing objects from excavations, you'll want a copy stand or a tripod with a reversible center post. You can even build your own copy stand; I also like this discussion of copy stands for more advice (a separate post is needed for archaeological photography, I think, but this is quite detailed and helpful).

4) When photographing archaeological sites, your best bet is a cloudy day. Too much sun washes out the landscape and destroys the fine features of walls and stratigraphy. Always shoot with your back toward the sun to avoid shadows, and be sure to remove extraneous "stuff" (backpacks, sweaters, etc.) from the area within your photo frame. A measuring stick is always a good idea, but be sure to choose one that's appropriate for the area you are photographing (ie, don't use a foot-long rod in a general area shot).

5) When photographing objects through glass (such as in museums), be careful of reflections! You'll often need to move to an angle in which the reflection is not visible. There's some good chat here about museum photography and here regarding photographing through/with glass.

Clearly, I could write far more on this subject, but this should provide a sufficient beginning for the documentation of sites and artifacts from antiquity. If you have further questions, feel free to drop me a line here!

I'm back in Baltimore after a long and productive summer in Athens. Even though I spent most of my time buried in the Blegen Library, I actually had a fair amount of travel time, and am grateful to have seen so many old and new places. This photo is one of my favorites from the summer. In May, I was in Santorini for all of a day. When we arrived, it was cloudy, moody skies that threatened to rain - but then the sun peaked through, and it cleared up. That ship in the distance is no small boat. The vastness of Greece continues to surprise and delight me everyday.

I'm editing photos from this summer and uploading them to flickr for safekeeping in between packing like mad. I'll move all of my things into storage in less than a week, and in less than two weeks, I'll move to Los Angeles for the year. Another peripatetic adventure awaits!

The summer has gone by far too quickly, and I've spent the majority of my time buried in the library. I just returned home from a long weekend in Delphi, however, where I not only took some amazing photographs, but also found some unexpected dissertation research. Of course, this means more work to both catch up on in the library as well as new work to undertake. I suppose that's a good sign. More to come; three weeks left here.

While in Chicago earlier this January for the Annual Meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America, I had the good fortune to travel up to the Chicago History Museum in Lincoln Park before the epic snowstorm hit. While I've long been interested in Chicago history - my family has long-time roots in the Windy City - I had an agenda at the CHM, to both visit my friend Ellen (who is the head research librarian there!) as well as see a special exhibition on the photographer Vivian Maier. 

Vivian Maier (1926-2009 was similar to another now-famous Chicagoan, the artist Henry Darger, in that she was little-known during her lifetime despite being extremely prolific, and only has become increasingly popular since her death. Born in NYC, raised in France, and settled in Chicago, she worked as a nanny in the North Shore area and in her spare time photographed the streets and people of Chicago, documenting its history as she went along. Though she traveled and photographed other parts of the world (as far away as Yemen and Thailand!), her Chicago work resonated particularly strongly for me, as it was in the 1960s, when she was most prolific, that my mother (who was then slightly younger than I am now) was living and working in Chicago. Maier witnessed - and photographed - many of the historical events in Chicago that had lasting effects on the city and our country. This was the same Chicago witnessed by my mother that I grew up hearing about, from the Race Riots to the 1968 Democratic National Convention - all of these events resonated in the simple everyday images of the people and neighborhoods that make up Chicago, documented by Vivian Maier.

I was also quite taken with the self-referencial quality of many of Maier's photographs. She included herself in many of her images, but as more than just a self-portrait:  often she chose to depict herself reflected in a mirror, or as a shadow. But always, she was an integral part of the composition and thus part of the narrative that she created through making images.

The exhibition at the CHM is small - just one room - but quite powerful and moving. Prints are arranged uniquely: rather than framed on the wall, large prints are suspended from the ceiling, so that one must weave in and out of the small space and is directly confronted with the images. In addition, a number of series of small prints line the walls , each image thematically relevant and often from the same roll or rolls of film. Through these, we can trace the production of her images. Since much of her work was not printed until after her death (over 700 rolls of film were undeveloped when historian John Maloof discovered her work in 2007), it seems appropriate to display sections of her photography in this manner, mimicking the way contact sheets are laid out in order for the photographer to make choices about which images to print.

I'm delighted to learn that the exhibition, which was scheduled to close the weekend after my visit, has now been extended to Summer 2014 - so there's plenty of time for you to check it out! Also in the works is a documentary film (see link to the trailer below), which also promises to open our eyes even more to this now-known artist.

Sources for further reading:
Vivian Maier Photographer (official website) (the above images are from this site)
Finding Vivian Maier (official documentary trailer)
Wikipedia entry, with references to exhibitions
Vivian Maier: The Unheralded Street Photographer (Smithsonian Magazine article)
flickr slideshow, from the Chicago History Museum

A few weeks ago, I went to the Benaki Museum's Pireos Street Annex to see an exhibit entitled "Greek Seas" (Ελληνικές Θάλασσες). This was my first time at the museum, and really, one of my first times wandering through the Athenian neighborhood of Gazi, which is a fascinating mixture of restaurants, clubs, and graffiti. Photographing its streets is on my "to-do" list for future photographic projects in Athens.

As for the exhibit itself, "Greek Seas" displays 350 photographs from a variety of photographers, both Greeks and foreigners. Besides being the usual crash-course in Modern Greek terminology (αργυροτυπία, anyone?), one can literally see the development of photography from as early as the mid-19th century all the way up to the present day. As such, there is also a change in feel throughout the exhibit: at the start, most of the images concentrate on the presence of ships and boats in Greek harbors. As time progresses, however, the focus shifts towards the people in environments surrounding the water, and the sea becomes a backdrop in many instances. Other themes include times of war, the development of tourism and the sea's role in it, and the relationships between the sea and such subjects as the economy, leisure, and historical events.

My only criticism of the exhibit was that I noticed that many of the photographs were produced as inkjet prints. The reasons for this were not clear - where are or were the original photos? And if only negatives were available, why were original prints not made from them? While recognizing the benefits of time and economy that are possible with inkjet prints and digital technology, there's no escaping the magic of the darkroom, of dodging and burning, of the chemical process of exposures and time and light...but this is a minor quibble, and one that should not distract from an otherwise well-displayed, thoughtful exhibition.

The exhibit is up until January 5, 2014, if you're in Athens and want to check it out (as a bonus, there's a chocolate factory across the street, and the entire area smells like the best hot chocolate on a cold day).