- I hold my camera wrong
- My workflow is slow and antiquated
- Stop increments of 1/3rd confuse me
- I'm too critical of my own work
- I don't shoot enough

www.jasonpaulroberts.com
A worker removes the “Lance Armstrong” sign from a “24 Hour Fitness Lance Armstrong Sports Club” in Denver. Armstrong was a major fixture at this location, kicking off the grand opening in 2005, and giving lectures as recent as 2010. Inside the club, Lance Armstrong photographs and quotes decorated the walls. Olympic flags and bicycles hung from the ceiling. And accents were painted in Armstrong’s signature “Live Strong” yellow. When I approached the man removing the sign, he simply said, “I guess he got in a little trouble”. © Jason Paul Roberts

A worker removes the “Lance Armstrong” sign from a “24 Hour Fitness Lance Armstrong Sports Club” in Denver. Armstrong was a major fixture at this location, kicking off the grand opening in 2005, and giving lectures as recent as 2010. Inside the club, Lance Armstrong photographs and quotes decorated the walls. Olympic flags and bicycles hung from the ceiling. And accents were painted in Armstrong’s signature “Live Strong” yellow.

When I approached the man removing the sign, he simply said, “I guess he got in a little trouble”.

© Jason Paul Roberts

A couple of months ago I ordered a Leica Monochrom, which for me, will end my relationship with 35mm film. Once it arrives I plan on selling my Leica M6 TTL. While I wait for the Monochrom to arrive, I am aggressively hitting the streets to burn through a refrigerator full of film. So here’s the problem - shooting only film over the last few weeks has rekindled my affection for it. Not the quality so much (the Monochrom will blow away 35mm film IQ) but the process. No immediate LCD preview, thinking in black and white, loading the film spools, the smell of the darkroom, etc. There is something about the process that feels more relaxing – less like work, more like art. That said, my decision to sell my M6 stands. I’ve become more comfortable with the digital workflow, the flexibility of digital files suits my needs much more than film, and the cost of film is becoming prohibitive. But hey, I’ve still got lots of film to go through, so ya never know… Photo: “Homeless man washing cloths in Platte River”. Denver, Colorado. 2012 © Jason Paul Roberts

A couple of months ago I ordered a Leica Monochrom, which for me, will end my relationship with 35mm film. Once it arrives I plan on selling my Leica M6 TTL. While I wait for the Monochrom to arrive, I am aggressively hitting the streets to burn through a refrigerator full of film.

So here’s the problem - shooting only film over the last few weeks has rekindled my affection for it. Not the quality so much (the Monochrom will blow away 35mm film IQ) but the process. No immediate LCD preview, thinking in black and white, loading the film spools, the smell of the darkroom, etc. There is something about the process that feels more relaxing – less like work, more like art.

That said, my decision to sell my M6 stands. I’ve become more comfortable with the digital workflow, the flexibility of digital files suits my needs much more than film, and the cost of film is becoming prohibitive. But hey, I’ve still got lots of film to go through, so ya never know…

Photo: “Homeless man washing cloths in Platte River”. Denver, Colorado. 2012

© Jason Paul Roberts

A few days ago I stopped by the temporary memorial site for the victims of the Aurora Theater shooting, only to find that it had been taken down. We all knew it would eventually happen. With the weather taking its toll on the memorial, some of us wondered why it didn’t happen earlier. Still, it was a strange feeling seeing the empty plot of land after spending so much time photographing the site. For a month I visited the memorial almost every day. My intention was to document the strength and caring spirit of Aurora; I didn’t want my community to be defined by the actions of a lunatic. The first few days I spent most of my time photographing people. But as time went on, I found myself photographing the objects being left at the memorial, and not the people who left them. I realized that these pictures were far more intimate than the pictures of people I had made during the first few days. Although I have posted a few images from the initial days after the shooting, I avoided posting pictures of the objects left behind. The truth is, I even avoided looking at them. The memorial was very fluid, from day to day objects would move from one area of the site to another, people would sign pieces, sometimes add to them, and unfortunately pieces would disappear.  So I wanted to approach each day fresh, as if I hadn’t photographed the site the day before. Now that the memorial has been taken down, I feel as though I can start editing the photographs. I’m not exactly sure what I will do with them; my initial thought was to put them in a book. But what ever becomes of the photographs, my hope is that in some small way they can help the community. © Jason Paul Roberts

A few days ago I stopped by the temporary memorial site for the victims of the Aurora Theater shooting, only to find that it had been taken down. We all knew it would eventually happen. With the weather taking its toll on the memorial, some of us wondered why it didn’t happen earlier. Still, it was a strange feeling seeing the empty plot of land after spending so much time photographing the site.

For a month I visited the memorial almost every day. My intention was to document the strength and caring spirit of Aurora; I didn’t want my community to be defined by the actions of a lunatic. The first few days I spent most of my time photographing people. But as time went on, I found myself photographing the objects being left at the memorial, and not the people who left them. I realized that these pictures were far more intimate than the pictures of people I had made during the first few days.

Although I have posted a few images from the initial days after the shooting, I avoided posting pictures of the objects left behind. The truth is, I even avoided looking at them. The memorial was very fluid, from day to day objects would move from one area of the site to another, people would sign pieces, sometimes add to them, and unfortunately pieces would disappear.  So I wanted to approach each day fresh, as if I hadn’t photographed the site the day before.

Now that the memorial has been taken down, I feel as though I can start editing the photographs. I’m not exactly sure what I will do with them; my initial thought was to put them in a book. But what ever becomes of the photographs, my hope is that in some small way they can help the community.

© Jason Paul Roberts