Expanding Visual Storytelling Beyond Photography: Remove Friction And Resist The GAS
Let's get the gear talk behind us, shall we?
Notes from the Lab is a newsletter that delves deep into the creative process, rituals, and thought process behind being a photographer and filmmaker.
This project is a journal of my projects and experiments. A logbook of everything I learn, a record of inspirations and takeaways from my journey as a parent and artist. I want to share my creative and technical progress relentlessly — because gatekeeping sucks. It’s published (almost-) weekly.
You probably know that feeling. You take your first steps in any creative medium with much unspoiled curiosity and enthusiasm that only an amateur can feel. Everything feels new and fresh; you feel inspired and ecstatic and learn fast, exponentially almost.
Pictures, stories, and connections are everywhere you look. You are working and playing frantically because everything feels so novel, unknown, and exciting.
But after a while, there is a feeling of slower progress, a plateau in your development. Your view narrows to a point where it feels hard to maintain that original feeling of eagerness.
This is where things get serious.
Serious to the point where you fall into the trap of looking too much for outside influence, seeking seemingly guidance in the work of others in pursuit of a shortcut in the hope of more profound work. Overthinking to a point where your work gets shaped not by your intrinsic motivation anymore but rather washed down in a sea of self-doubt and conformity, devoid of the original playfulness you felt when starting with a fresh eye and no knowledge of the medium.
Even worse, you might fall into the trap of attempting to enhance your craft by desiring to buy better or more tools as they seemingly promise progress and new possibilities. This phenomenon is called GAS, or Gear Acquisition Syndrome.
Originally derived from the music scene, the Gear Acquisition Syndrome is commonly understood as the musicians' urge to buy and own equipment as an anticipated catalyst of creative energy. The compulsion to spend money one does not have on gear perhaps not even needed, directed by the belief that acquiring another instrument will make one a better player. Or worse, in search of being validated as “professional.”
I’ve been slipping into this trap. Maybe too often. Painfully often to the point where I made some severely stupid decisions. Back in 2015, I first felt the need to take my moving image ambitions to the next level and make it a big part of my creative and commercial practice; I spent a big chunk of money on a full-blown, cinema-ready camera and I was shivering from excitement when it arrived. Unwrapping with joy and proudly showing off on social media.
The nerd-math was simple: With a substantial investment comes the imminent necessity to improve my craft and knowledge, no excuses. At the same time, I could play the whole game of fake it till you make it with a massive toy on my shoulders, proudly waving the flag of professionalism for anyone who didn’t notice that I lack a better understanding of what THAT means in the first place.
All for the looks.
To a certain extent, this even, to my surprise, worked and led to my first big job as a director, and I can’t tell you how much imposter syndrome kicked at this gig. And rightfully so, as everybody in the team noticed when I sat there, director’s monitor in one hand, without any clue what directing a commercial meant. It was certainly not one of my brightest moments, but at the same time, one of the most valuable lessons in my life to be told someplace else.
Out of the many things I didn’t factor into, this substantial purchase of a shiny new camera was all the burden to weigh me down, quite literally. First and foremost, that thing was HEAVY. And for sure, it's not intended to be used as a team of one if you want to do it right, especially not as a skinny and spaghetti-armed single operator. So, of course, I didn’t count on the secondary cost of getting a tripod, batteries, media, and monitors — all that before even considering talking about light and sound.
After making many more substantial investments, I found myself in a position where I spent a good chunk of my time researching gear instead of going out there to shoot, practice, think, write, and play. And even if I wanted, owning and needing all that gear required a substantial amount of planning; every little project required at least a half-assed sheet of pre-production, and I caught myself more often than I wanted to admit lusting for a more miniature, more versatile, much more single-operator-friendly camera that frees me from this weight in my hands. Shiny toys aside, it was a pain.
It severely affected my motivation, and I had to admit I wasn’t wasn't ready. Instead of investing my time in learning, playing, and taking the steps necessary, waging my way through the medium, I fell into the trap of wanting to take a shortcut by buying stuff to look legit.
And it added too much friction, both physically as well as financially, to my work.
After a year of owning the gear, I sold it and went for a significantly smaller system. A smaller, lighter system means more space and motivation for experimentation and play. And it also means that the tools to execute your ideas are a lot more affordable and accessible in the first place.
As a beginner or seasoned pro, I think removing as much friction and physical restraints as possible in any learning and experimentation phase is crucial to making space for creativity and trial and error. Proceeding fast, from ideation to execution, also means a motivation boost. Failure only means that you are learning.
I’m not going to endorse a specific camera system to get you started. I think that almost all of the brands out there deliver great-looking images and a good usability experience in a small package, but I will give you an example of what I’m currently using as a reference.
The golden rule for myself: Own small and versatile gear to experiment, play, and execute smaller budget projects. Rent gear and hire professionals don'tore extensive jobs and assignments.
Here’s a set of parameters that my home kit needs to fulfill:
Image Quality and Flexibility in Post - A good and robust Codec with a workable dynamic range is the base for me to work with. Almost all of the modern smaller non-hybrid cameras are able to deliver decent image quality not even remotely possible a few years ago. I am using a Blackmagic Pocket 6k Pro right now, as it gives me the best flexibility in post. And all of this at a banger price point, so it doesn’t break the bank when something goes wrong. All the obvious problems aside, this is the camera I decided to stick with right now.
Single operator friendly and small enough to get a range of camera movements and positions - This is one of the main reasons I wanted to opt for a smaller camera that doesn’t need a lot of prep and crew to rig. I want to have the possibility to set up a variety of shooting positions even when I’m solo without the need for heavy infrastructure. Right now, again, all Cons aside, it’s easy for me to go from tripod to gimbal, from slider to top shot to handheld in a breeze. This removes the friction of having to decide on camera position and movement beforehand and being as flexible as possible on set. The basic package fits into my backpack, and it is possible to get to any place or travel with a good set and a range of movements not achievable with a full-fledged cinema rig. This means that I can plan and execute whatever idea comes to mind without all the hustle.
Lens choices - I already own a set of EF lenses that I kept from back in the day, so the 6K Pro was an easy choice in that regard. The choice might be different if you are invested in Sony, for example, but this was a good match without switching systems. Most importantly, I own the Laowa 12mm Zero-D that I used on other cameras and for photos, which gives me a good FOV on the 6K Pro. Getting wide enough lenses for Super 35 is usually a struggle, but with this, I’m covered without investing in lenses again for now.
Although I’m writing mostly about the moving-images sphere, pretty much all of these principles also apply to photography. The basic rule of thumbs is as easy as the following: Don’t get distracted by gear research, use whatever works for you, and shoot as much as possible.
And this begins and ends the gear talk in this newsletter. I wanted to get this out of the way as quickly as possible. In the next issues, we’re going to focus on specific projects and concepts of expanding visual storytelling beyond photography.
Talk to you soon, and don’t hesitate to write if you have questions. As always.
— Ramon
01 — THINGS WORTH SHARING
Lighting The Creator
The Creator was one of my biggest surprises in cinema this year, and it’s baffling how hands-on this film was produced, using fairly low budget gear and an indie approach to filmmaking on scale. It is a great example of a disruption in the industry that doesn’t stop from big Hollywood productions.