Canon EOS digital colour

Last summer I treated myself to my first digital single lens reflex camera (DSLR). (A Canon EOS 100D for those who are interested in such things.) It was somewhat of an impulse purchase, as the plan was to shop for a laptop -- so I think I must have got distracted...

As with my earlier rambling blog postings about (compact) digital camera colour, I was interested to see what the default colour of a DSLR would look straight out of the factory, so to speak. This first image shows the results of "right out of the box", on the Automatic ("A+") setting.

My assessment of this photo is that -- like the output of the compact camera previously -- it is contrasty, over-saturated and too blue. Look at the reflection in the window in the background, and those flowers beyond the wall should be more purple. (But I appreciate that there are those who will prefer it this way. Life would be dull and devoid of variety if we all liked the same thing!)

Predictably, I felt that the colour reproduction could be improved. As the settings on modern EOS DSLRs are a little different from what I was used to in PowerShot compacts, I referred to this article for some suggestions as to what I could change and how it would affect my images. If it isn't already obvious, I am a believer in Straight Out Of Camera (SOOC) -- getting the camera settings as close as I can, so I don't have to waste time in front of the computer fiddling with stuff later!

Having experimented with the Custom Color settings of the Canon PowerShot S95, I was surprised to find that EOS DSLRs only offer settings for Picture Style, Contrast, Sharpness, Saturation, and Skin Tone. (Plus the usual adjustments for Auto White Balance (AWB).) The RGB adjustments of the S95 are absent, but the EOS allows seven steps of adjustment compared to the S95's five.

Following the Digital Photography Review article, it looked as though either the Faithful or Neutral picture style was the one most suitable for me. Contrast and saturation needed to be reduced -- par for the course in all digital cameras, it seems! Therefore, after a little testing in Program mode, I set Neutral picture style, Sharpness to 5, Contrast to -3, Saturation to -1, and left Color Tone as it was. This is denoted by (N,5,-3,-1,0). I was quite pleased with the results when I went on holiday with the camera in September 2016. However, I did think that the contrast was a little higher than I wanted and the colours were still slightly too saturated.

I subsequently read elsewhere that setting Sharpness beyond 3 can cause sharpening artefacts on images, so I reduced this to 3. In late December (UK) 2016, I tried the Faithful picture style: (F,3,-4,-3,0). I decided that it did strange things to reds in particular, especially in winter low light conditions. Canon's documentation seems a little vague, but I think the idea is that this picture style needs to be used under a (controlled) light source of 5200K to reproduce faithful colour.

It seems that many DSLR photographers "shoot raw", and don't worry too much about camera settings -- preferring to spend time with photo-editing software. Fair enough. It is more of an issue for those who use DSLRs to shoot video. This is how I came across the Prolost Flat setting: (N,0,-4,-2,0). Apart from the sharpening, this was near enough what I had decided on, so it was reassuring that someone else is extolling its virtues.

The second image had the camera set to (N,3,-4,-2,0). I am still working on the Auto White Balance settings, but this photo used (A8, G2). (I was surprised that I had to set Amber compensation so high.) It may not "pop", but I feel this is a better representation of what I experienced at the time, and the colour balance and saturation does not jar.

Modelu figures

These are miniature figures -- in the British model railway scales of 4 mm to the foot (1:76.2) and 7 mm to the foot (1:43.5). The larger scale figure is on the right, with two more 4 mm scale examples in bags behind. What is interesting about them is that they are a result of current technology, and that the standing figures should be identical to each other apart from size.

Not so long ago, the quality and accuracy of a model/miniature figure was in large part down to the skill of the sculptor. Normally, a master figure would be painstakingly modelled, and from this would be produced a mould to cast a number of replicas -- traditionally in white metal or pewter. Skill and care is then needed in the casting process in order to avoid defects in the resulting figures, such as excess flash, pitting and heavy mould lines. Even the best cast figure will need some careful attention with a small file to get it ready for painting.

These Modelu (pronounced "Mo-Del-Ee", I understand) figures change the game. For a start they are not cast or injection-moulded. They are in fact 3D-printed in plastic. (Look at the near scale appearance of the brim of the bowler hat.) This means that mould lines and casting defects are a thing of the past. Hurrah! Painting should now require very little preparation. (Although having said that, I notice that the light has caught the tell-tale characteristic of 3D printing in the figure on the right: the contour marks on the chest and the ridging on the bowler hat.)

The other significant difference is that the hand-sculpting process has gone, for better or worse. The casting master is now a real person, so to speak. Laser scanning of someone dressed in character, generates some computer data, which can then be scaled for model use and printed on a 3D printer. This is, of course, a much quicker and less labour-intensive process than hand-sculpting. And it is relatively easy to produce figures in different scales from one set of data. In the traditional casting process, a new master is needed for each scale.

It doesn't take much thought to realise that it should now be possible to create a model figure of oneself! Indeed, if one is so inclined, the service is available...

Digital camera colour revisited

I have returned to the subject of digital camera colour as it troubled me that I wasn't giving a true representation of how I normally use and operate my digital camera(s). Custom White Balance is all well and good, but only useful when one is in no hurry to get that particular shot. I seldom go somewhere with the express purpose of taking photographs, so a camera has to fit in with my activities and not hold things up.

Here are two images taken a few minutes apart to illustrate the (subtle) differences in colour that can be achieved by changing just a few settings (if the camera has these capabilities). The first is made with the camera in full Auto mode; the second by taking more control of the exposure (reduced by 1/3 EV), the colour settings, and the Auto White Balance. Note how generally blue and contrasty the first picture is (windows and barge boards in the background), with a redder door (on the left) and brickwork (on the right). The second photo looks closer to true to life to me. (I say closer, because the grass actually has more yellower patches in reality. I put this down to the way the sensor interpolates pixels...)

My general criticism of digital camera colour is that it is "overcooked" by the manufacturers, as that is what they believe that most consumers prefer. (This may explain why some enthusiasts have returned to film.) Where I have the facility to adjust things on my cameras, I solve this by reducing the colour saturation and contrast to suit. As with sustained loud noise, over-saturated colour becomes tiring after a while -- like a badly-adjusted TV.

I follow Ken Rockwell's advice and usually set my camera to Program mode, which I use for the majority of my photos. This setting allows me to adjust the exposure and ISO if I need to, but most of the time I am happy to let the camera choose most of the parameters for me. This includes White Balance, which is normally set to Auto. (Note that Ken Rockwell is an artist, and likes his colour saturation set to bonkers for his images -- what works in sunny California may not have the same effect in the frequently overcast and more northerly UK!)

The trick then -- if necessary and the camera controls permit it -- is to adjust Auto White Balance (AWB) to give pleasing results in daylight. The correct White Balance (whether white objects are truly white) depends on the colour temperature of the light, and it can change according to the time of day and the weather. Digital cameras often have a number of fixed settings that can be used, but it is more convenient to get the camera to set this automatically. However, I have found that the AWB setting can often result in a slight colour cast, especially on older cameras.

Cameras with enthusiast features usually have a means of adjusting the colour bias in the Auto White Balance.  A blue cast can be corrected by increasing the amber level and a magenta cast can be corrected by increasing the green level. Conversely, amber can be reduced by increasing the blue level and green can be reduced by increasing the magenta level. Blue and amber are two ends of one setting, and magenta and green the other. The two settings can be used in combination.

To adjust the Auto White Balance, I choose a daylit subject and first use Custom White Balance to take a photo with what should be the correct balanced colours. I then change to AWB and take a similar photo. I now compare the two photos using a computer monitor and decide which AWB settings need to be changed, make the adjustment(s), and then repeat the photo-taking process until I cannot distinguish between the Custom and AWB images. I then make a note of the AWB correction, e.g., (A4, G2) for future reference. This can be a slow process, but I feel that the improvement in image colour is worth it.

For the record, in the second photograph my Canon PowerShot S95 was set to Custom Color with Contrast = -1, Saturation = -2, Sharpness = +1 and AWB (A5, G3).

Royal Mail commemorative stamps?

This month's posting shows a collection of Great Britain (GB) Christmas stamps -- both the modern self-adhesive types; and the bigger, older gummed types. (Proper Christmas stamps!) A couple of decades ago, I would have listed stamp collecting as one of my pastimes, but in the mid- to late-1990s I lost interest. I had been a collector of both Canadian and GB postage stamps. I suppose I had other things to fill my free time. I was also getting irritated by the more frequent issues, and the bigger sets of commemorative stamps. It felt as though Royal Mail in particular were exploiting the collectors.

Jump ahead to late 2016, and the postage stamp world looks a different place. Self-adhesive stamps for everyday use have replaced the ones that you had to lick, and any form of postage stamp on mail to the home is a fairly rare event. Except of course for Christmas, when people still trouble themselves to send cards and Season's Greetings. This is the only time of year that I receive stamps other than the usual definitives. Even then, they are mostly definitive-size Christmas stamps, so nothing really to catch the eye.

This got me thinking. Why does Royal Mail still apparently issue dozens of commemorative stamps if no-one, except for collectors, actually sees them? What is the point? (Apart from screwing more money out of collectors, of course, which the collectors themselves realise.) Why do these stamps never seem to be marketed to the general public? In the past, it was a way of drawing attention to notable events and people, or promoting something about (Great) Britain. Have the management decided that this publicity is an unnecessary cost?

It probably doesn't need an MBA to discover that stamp collecting as a hobby is not what it used to be, and the cash cow that it might be now is going to fade away in the next decade or two, as collectors drop off their perches. I get the feeling that little young blood is coming into the hobby -- I suspect that the likes of mobile phones and social media offer a more instant gratification.

While I am criticising Royal Mail, why is it that they cannot cancel a stamp and put a (legible) postmark on an envelope? Surely with modern technology it is easier than ever, but I receive a noticeable proportion of mail with uncancelled stamps. On the day of writing, I had a card delivered and the envelope was in pristine condition with no clue as to where it had come from or when it was posted.  What is the use of that! And yet, Royal Mail have developed devices on stamps to deter their re-use. (I appreciate the concerns about forgeries.) Wouldn't it be better to ensure that the stamps are properly cancelled (and postmarked) in the first place? Like it used to be done in days of yore?

Despite the criticisms, Royal Mail still do a good job of delivering post straight to my front door in all weathers -- and long may it continue. I will try to support the UK's postal system as best as I can, even though I probably only add to the woes at Christmastime...

Best Wishes for 2017 to everyone!

An Andre Fontaine original

This painting hangs in my living room, and invariably invites comments.  It has been a part of my life since the early 1980s, when it was a conversation piece in my parents' dining room in Sillery, Quebec, Canada.  My father was presented with it for conducting the marriage ceremony of the artist, Andre Fontaine, at Chalmers-Wesley United Church in Quebec City.

My father was told that use of a blacklight would bring out another dimension to the painting, but as far as I know this was never tried.

Andre Fontaine was certainly a character as I recall, and if my father was still alive he would surely have had a few entertaining anecdotes to relate.  I thought that an internet search would have turned up more examples of Andre Fontaine's distinctive work, but I found very few, so I am sharing it here.

I am especially intrigued by the texture and the techniques used in the painting.  I guess that an airbrush was used for the fluorescent colours?  Or spray cans?  The painting must now be around 35 years old and has mellowed a little with age (like me!) -- but it still evokes fond memories of good company and happy times.

Borders for paintings?

This probably dates me, but I remember when (Instamatic camera) colour photographic prints were square and came with narrow white borders on each side. Some time in the 1970s, this changed, and the default borders on snaps disappeared, to my delight. (I suspect this might in part have been due to a change in photographic paper, with the introduction of resin coating.) Even when I took to printing my own black and white prints for a few years in the 1980s, I would make them without borders in order to make full use of the photographic paper.

When I first started out with watercolours, it seemed natural to continue to avoid the use of borders and maximise the painted area, so my first three small efforts were effectively borderless. It did not help that none of the watercolour books in my possession dealt directly with the subject of a border (or margin) around one's painting, but made assumptions that this would happen anyway.

I subsequently realised that a border all around was a good thing, for a number of reasons.

First of all, the border is the favoured means to attach the paper to the work surface -- whether you use gummed tape, clips or even staples. It is an area outside the painting. Watercolour books tend to assume that you will, of course, stretch the paper in the traditional manner, and a natural border will result once you remove the tape. (Unless you cut out the painting to release it from the tape afterwards!)

The border is a good place to touch paintings with bare fingers. If you are blessed with oily skin as I am, then excessive handling will likely cause grubbiness and yellowing over time. A dirty finger print on the painted part of a picture would be bad news indeed, and most likely impossible to remove without damaging the painting.

If you use clips or staples, then the border strips -- if wide enough -- can be used to test your washes before committing them to the painting. This saves using a matching scrap piece of paper for testing, but is not so useful for larger swatches of colour.

And finally, the border comes into its own when the painting is framed for display. The conventional method is to use a glass picture frame with a framing mat -- a thick piece of card with a specially cut aperture (usually rectangular) -- and place this in the frame with the mat on top of the picture. The mat presses against the border, leaving an air gap in the aperture between glass and painting.

How wide you should make the border on your painting is up to you, but for framing purposes a minimum of 1/4 inch (six millimetres) is often mentioned on internet framing sites.

It is a little surprising that the few watercolour books I have encountered, aimed at all levels including beginners, fail to mention what is fairly basic information for anyone starting out. Hopefully this has been food for thought to someone...

Ken Bromley artists' watercolour paints

In common with many hobbies and pastimes, watercolour painting can prove to be expensive, especially for those on a limited budget. It is all too tempting to try new papers, paints and brushes in the quest to achieve that "look" -- and before you know it, the bank balance is considerably reduced!

While I would always recommend supporting a local business if you have one (use it or lose it!), one way of saving the pennies a little can be to shop on-line and buy in quantity to offset (or reduce) the delivery charge. I have heard good things about Jackson's Art Supplies, but I have been a repeat customer of artists' materials supplier Ken Bromley Art Supplies for a few years. In common with Jackson's, Ken Bromley market their own branded range of artists' watercolour paint, so I was curious to find out more about it.

The website says that the paints are made in the UK: this is printed on the tubes as well. The 14 ml size of the paint tube and shape of the cap looks remarkably like the packaging of Winsor and Newton Artists' watercolours up to 2012. However, the similarity ends there, as the paint colour numbers match neither W&N, nor Daler-Rowney for that matter.

The range is currently made up of 41 colours, all supplied in 14 ml tubes, most of which are priced as Series 1. (There are nine colours in Series 2.) Twenty-six colours are single pigment, eight are two pigments, four are three pigments, and three are made of four pigments. Catalogue prices for Series 1 is £4.32 per tube, and for Series 2 £4.73 per tube. (They usually go on offer at least once a year, so a further savings can be made.) To the experienced watercolour paint buyer, I suspect it sounds more like a student range in terms of number of paints, series and pricing.

Some of the pigment choices seem a little unusual, especially given recent findings about lightfastness. Both Alizarin Crimson (PR83:1) and Aureolin (PY40) are listed in the range. Alizarin Crimson is notorious for fading badly on exposure to light, and Handprint recommends that PY40 is best avoided. Fortunately, the Ken Bromley website lists pigment information with a mouse click, so it makes sense to do a little pigment research first before you buy.

In my examples, the tubes themselves were well-filled, and I had to be careful not to get paint everywhere! I had no difficulty in filling empty half-pans from the tubes. Once the paint in the half-pans had dried, it re-wetted easily and performed as well as it did fresh from the tube.

What are they like to paint with? Well, so far I have only made some small colour swatches and run a lightfastness test. I found that the paints compared favourably to Cotman colours in most cases, although I hoped the Burnt Umber (Dark) would have been at least as dark as the Cotman version -- which it wasn't in my sample. Permanent Rose (PV19) was redder than I expected, and not like the Cotman colour of the same name and pigment. But on the whole, the paints seemed at least as good as the Cotman equivalents.  (Another unscientific comparison, then!)

With some caveats, I would recommend these paints (to less-experienced painters like me), especially if bought on offer.