In a previous essay I was talking about the difficulty of going into unfamiliar venues, and working out how to know what lenses might be needed to reach a performer on stage over a great distance. This time, I wanted to look at the opposite issue—how to work with a large production, in a small space.

When there isn’t going to be room to back up very far—if the seating in the venue is right at the front edge of the stage, for example—an ultra-wide angle lens is what’s going to be needed to get the full scale of a very wide or tall set, which can be useful for both publicity/marketing of the production (especially if it’s a particularly ambitious show in terms of scale), and later on for designers’ portfolios as well.

But that can create other issues, even as it’s solving one problem…

One of the trickiest things as a performing arts photographer is going into a theatre or concert hall you haven’t worked in before, and trying to pick the right places to be, and which lenses to use, for a show.

In most situations, I have two camera bodies on the go at any time, so I can have different lenses mounted on each of them to cover a wider range of fields of view—and of course so that if one camera has a problem of some kind, I can immediately switch to the other one. (Fortunately that doesn’t happen very much!)

But going into a room I don’t know is a special challenge, especially if I’m photographing while there’s an audience watching. If I have to stay out of sight and not disturb anyone, then I probably need longer lenses than I would if I can be right up at the front of the room capturing tight portraits of the performers on stage, during a rehearsal.

So, how long is long enough? And how do I work that out ahead of time, so I know what to bring?

I had a chat recently with hosts Nate Edmondson and Suzy Wrong at the Closing Night: Theatre Therapy podcast, along with photographer Clare Hawley, about what’s involved in theatre photography - the business, as well as the art - and that episode has just been released over the weekend.

We talk about a lot of different elements of what we do, so I though I’d put together a few links here to some of my blog posts that overlap with the discussion, in case anyone wants to read more about a certain subject - or if I make more sense in writing than I do on the radio!

I’ve been working with director Dino Dimitriadis from Apocalypse Theatre for several years now, on shows around Sydney; in fact, I think Angels In America is our tenth production together! So it’s only natural that we’ve gotten to know each other’s methods of working, over that time.

It’s interesting to have an ongoing working relationship like ours; it’s not something that happens all that often, as a freelance photographer in the arts. Often we’re not contacted until quite close to production, with the result being that whoever’s available on the day is the person who does the work…

Theatre, dance, opera and music are some of the things I most enjoy working on as a photographer. But surprisingly often, I get a call or an email that starts off, 'I know this is short notice, but' - and it can be anything from 'we've just realised we need a photographer for next week' to 'our dress rehearsal is in an hour, can you make it?'

Often, this isn’t the production's fault - they had someone booked, something happened, they need to find another photographer on short notice. But it got me thinking recently, what's the best way to involve a photographer in a show? In an ideal world, how & when would I like to be contacted…?

I've never been entirely happy about referring to what I do as 'a photo shoot'. There's something over-simplistic about it, as if photography is merely a matter of being in the right place, and pointing something (a weapon?) in the right direction, and the results are whatever comes out of the camera when it goes off. So when I saw Eleanor Catton's tweet about military metaphors a little while ago, I understood what she meant right away.

Obviously there's a lot more to photography than just pointing and shooting, but nobody's come up with a better term for it; or at least, not one that has caught on. (Eleanor suggested photographers could 'flatter', 'immortalise' or 'seduce' the subject instead of 'shooting' them, but I haven't started using those - yet!)

I've talked before about how much happens after the shoot (for lack of a better term); but of course, there's what happens after the images are delivered to the client, as well. Who ultimately owns them?

As a photographer, my images are important to me; not just when I take them, but for years afterwards, whether it seems that they have any future use or not. I can't count the number of times I've had a call, years after an image was taken, to see if I still have the file anywhere - often because one of the people in it has passed on, but mentioned that this was their favourite photo of themselves at some point.

Or, as has happened, when someone I photographed has won a major award - say, the Man Booker Prize - and suddenly, the world's media needs an image I took.  And, of course, sometimes it's just a matter of wanting to find something for historical purposes: that time someone performed here before everyone knew who they were, and so on...

“It was a matter of the best you could do between now and Tuesday.” However, he was quick to add, “the best you could do between now and Tuesday is still a kind of best you can do...”

I first heard this quote from cinematographer Alex Funke, at the time a neighbour of mine in New Zealand - who worked for many years in the offices of Charles & Ray Eames - and it stuck with me as being something that applies to all creative work, especially in performing arts.

I wouldn’t describe myself as a massive fan of horror films, but I’ve seen my share. So when I was contacted about photographing Alice In Slasherland for Last One Standing, I was certainly interested - the idea of doing horror-comedy on stage is something that doesn’t get explored that often; apart from Evil Dead: The Musical I’d seen in Toronto years ago, I couldn’t think of another example off the top of my head.

Of course, theatre lighting is an interesting challenge at the best of times for a photographer; add in saturated colours, strobe lighting during action sequences, and fast movement in low light…well, it’s tricky!

In my previous essay on photographing the arts, I was talking about selecting images from a shoot; now, we're on to the conversion and correction of the files themselves, taking a RAW file and turning it into a beautiful, finished image.

RAW files are the original camera files, which contain far more image data than an in-camera .jpg, so as a result there's a lot you can do in the RAW conversion process - and, there are a lot of choices that need to be made for each image that gets worked on. Sometimes, it's possible to take settings and copy them from one image to the rest, and get consistent results that way - but that's rare in the performing arts, as the light usually changes from scene to scene, or from one part of the stage to another. Having been a lighting designer, I know how hard it is to get an even, smooth spread of light across a stage, if that's what the aim is - but often, it's not!

In all my photographic estimates, I include a short list of what happens after the actual photography takes place - it always surprises me that most people think images are finished the moment they're taken, so I want to outline how much more goes into making something better than just an in-camera .jpg.

Those are fine some of the time, don't get me wrong; but when you're working in the performing arts, most often you're working in low light, at the ragged edge of what cameras are capable of; and the images often need a little help to look their best, after the fact...

In a previous essay I was talking about the difficulty of going into unfamiliar venues, and working out how to know what lenses might be needed to reach a performer on stage over a great distance. This time, I wanted to look at the opposite issue—how to work with a large production, in a small space.

When there isn’t going to be room to back up very far—if the seating in the venue is right at the front edge of the stage, for example—an ultra-wide angle lens is what’s going to be needed to get the full scale of a very wide or tall set, which can be useful for both publicity/marketing of the production (especially if it’s a particularly ambitious show in terms of scale), and later on for designers’ portfolios as well.

But that can create other issues, even as it’s solving one problem…

One of the trickiest things as a performing arts photographer is going into a theatre or concert hall you haven’t worked in before, and trying to pick the right places to be, and which lenses to use, for a show.

In most situations, I have two camera bodies on the go at any time, so I can have different lenses mounted on each of them to cover a wider range of fields of view—and of course so that if one camera has a problem of some kind, I can immediately switch to the other one. (Fortunately that doesn’t happen very much!)

But going into a room I don’t know is a special challenge, especially if I’m photographing while there’s an audience watching. If I have to stay out of sight and not disturb anyone, then I probably need longer lenses than I would if I can be right up at the front of the room capturing tight portraits of the performers on stage, during a rehearsal.

So, how long is long enough? And how do I work that out ahead of time, so I know what to bring?

Once, early in my career, someone gave me wise advice about photographing events: 'remember, there are two sides to every story. There's what's happening on stage, and then there's the audience's reaction to it.'

Naturally, not every event I work on has an audience in attendance - often, I'm at a dress rehearsal, with only the director & crew - but also, most of the time, the audience (deliberately) isn't lit! So the opportunity to make use of this suggestion isn't always there; but once in a while, the chance comes along, and it's great to be able to take it...

When I was studying drama at university, I went for an interview to spend the summer at the Banff Centre For The Arts. I'd been focussing on the technical side of theatre at that point, including a bit of stage management, and thought this might be an interesting way to spend a few months between school terms.

The question was asked: did I read music? And frankly, it had never occurred to me that this might be a useful skill - our university programme was pure theatre, not even musicals, much less opera or dance; so it had never come up, and of course I didn't. So, I didn't go to Banff, and I didn't become a stage manager...