Photoshop was conceived by the brothers, Thomas (a student) and John Knoll (an Industrial Light and Magic employee) in 1987 as part of a PhD thesis at the University of Michigan examining the processing of digital images. The first workable version of their project was named ImagePro (1988), before assuming the now ubiquitous title of Photoshop in 1989. Its humble commercial origins can be traced back to Barneyscan, a scanner manufacturer, which bundled the first 200 copies of Photoshop with one of their slide scanners. Adobe’s interest and subsequent purchase of the Knoll brothers’ dainty image editor resulted in the first incarnation of the application being released on the 10th of February 1990, a whole two decades ago.
Photoshop has grown into a colossus in the image editing landscape, cutting a swath through the many pretenders to the throne. Its native file format, the .PSD has become immortal; and the word “Photoshop” has entered the lexicon of contemporary language. “Shopping” or “to shop” has taken on a new meaning for 21st century digeratti. Photoshop 1.0 was a rudimentary digital darkroom but everything changed at a fundamental level with the introduction of Layers in Photoshop 3.0 (1994). The ability to create complex non-destructive artworks has been a hallmark of the application. It has changed the way creatives think, interact and create. In fact, one might argue that Layers single-handedly transformed the creative process at a conceptual and functional level, allowing for a kaleidoscope of solutions with minimal effort.
Photoshop 5.0 presented us with colour management, editable type, the ‘History Palette” and the mostly useless ImageReady. Once ImageReady had withered, Adobe acknowledged the World Wide Web ‘from within’ with its “Save for Web” feature in version 5.5. ‘Shoppers’ were delighted, and the new millennium release of version 6.0 marked the apogee of Photoshop. One question remains; have the subsequent additions, application enhancements and integration with other family members really changed the way we work? Certainly, but only to within a pixel’s width of the average users needs. Photoshop’s CS incarnations are slick, highly sophisticated and enjoy productive conversations with siblings, but most of us would be satisfied with version 6.0’s suite of features.
However, Photoshop has such an all encompassing cultish presence within creative territories that we all feel inextricably seduced by the need to embrace future developments, despite having no real requirement for many of the shiny new tools that glitter by the light of our LCDs. Competitors have employed excellent reconnaissance and have had many years to draw on a wealth of tried and tested Photoshop innovations. Interestingly, Photoshop presently faces increased pressure on both flanks, including usurpers from within such as the budget priced Photoshop Elements, and more user specific solutions such as Adobe Photoshop Lightroom.
64-Bit support and seamless Creative Suite integration are Adobe’s more recent gifts to the faithful, but version centric Camera Raw support is unforgivable. CS5 has just been launched and it will be a huge success. Yes, it will undoubtedly converse effortlessly with other Adobe apps and include a number of noteworthy but ultimately unnecessary enhancements. Photoshop is here to stay; but it’s no longer the passionate revolutionary of yore, but a somewhat more mature and sedate individual. An awesome individual nonetheless!
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Supersize my Waves!
Ah, those men who ride mountains, those intrepid neoprened warriors on fibreglass steeds, slaying 50 foot dragons that breathe salty mist and foamy death.
Ah, those merry few, that 'Band of Brothers' who epitomise the essence of a waterman's courage (served with a large dollop of insanity).
Words tend to wither when attempting to fathom those brave souls who paddle or are slingshot into tempestuous behemoths of unimaginable beauty and terror. Is big wave surfing a war by other means? Is it post-modern gladiatorial combat? Is it a way for iPad man to 'count coup' like the Plains Indians of North America did by specific acts of laudable bravery in battle?
There's no doubt that 21st century big wave surfing has changed the psyche of wave-riding. It has raised the bar to an insurmountable height for the average surfer. Just consider the obscene amounts of epinephrine that are released when those hell-men make the drop, or are caught inside. It's a parallel universe that few experience, and perhaps that's why we all secretly covet the "Way of the Big Wave Warrior".
Nonetheless, what irks me about the whole adventure is the media's obsession with big wave surfing to the point of asphyxiation. Sadly, articles about Johnny 'Big Wave' Utah scoring 250 feet waves at some mysto slab 122 and a quarter nautical miles off the coast has become passé; almost yawn-inducing. Yes, I can see puffs of flak ahead and tracer arcing towards my argument, but bear with me. I thumbed through a recent surf magazine only to be rag-dolled into my own dark depths by a clean-up procession of big wave articles. In isolation, they would have made for an otherwise pleasing afternoon skim. I could have got my breathe back. But all of them? Gasp.
Perhaps I read too many surf magazines, but I've reached saturation point when it comes to yarns about big wave expeditions, 30 second hold-downs and 146 hour swell-chasing flights. Sometimes even the Herculean exploits of über-surfers can be reduced to 2 foot onshore slop by excessive exposure. Those jaw-dropping photos, lovingly sharpened and stylishly cross-processed don't even raise a jaded eyebrow from me any more. I've hit my big wave article critical mass.
Image
About to discover his own personal point of asphyxiation. Johnny 'Big Wave' Utah in a place the media loves. Wipeout. Photo: Pierre Marqua
Whatever happened to Joe Average, the weekend warrior whose arms turn to banana flavoured jelly when a solid six foot set blots out the horizon? No doubt he's been relegated to the tepid shallows of local news columns and reader photo contests. Godzilla Waves equal big sales, and who am I to argue the merits of more website hits or better magazine sales?
It's just that the glut of big wave chronicles has become boring. I'm not interested in inked up Bra Boys air-dropping down an almost vertical staircase of water over a dry reef. Damn YouTube too; one can only watch so many hapless stick people turned to chum on a 40 foot close-out.
Having said that, there's no denying the almost indescribable feats of those watermen who ride mountain ranges. Laird Hamilton, Twiggy Baker and the rest of the big wave mob are up there surfing the jet stream with the likes of Federer, Slater and Els (sorry Tiger).
Perhaps my age has forced me slip behind the dreams and aspirations of the ‘Nu Skool’, and lose track of surfing's zeitgeist. The 'supersize' generation simply wants to gorge themselves on bigger waves, bigger moves, and bigger airs. Methinks it's time to cancel my magazine subscriptions and spend a lazy Sunday afternoon ambling through a dusty stack of surfing mags from the 70s and 80s.
I never thought I'd ever long for the allure of mediocre waves; broken wind swells ruffled by a light onshore and ridden by average surfers. All hoping the wind will switch and the swell will 'jack' by 2 and not 10 feet. There's something very seductive about those painfully ordinary vistas, and it's the promise of the perfect day. It’s not about a 20 foot colossus, just a lined-up offshore day that Joe Average can relate to.
I suppose it's time for me to seek out more forgiving wavescapes, read less contemporary surfing literature and invest in a Zimmer frame. Now where are my glasses?
Ah, those merry few, that 'Band of Brothers' who epitomise the essence of a waterman's courage (served with a large dollop of insanity).
Words tend to wither when attempting to fathom those brave souls who paddle or are slingshot into tempestuous behemoths of unimaginable beauty and terror. Is big wave surfing a war by other means? Is it post-modern gladiatorial combat? Is it a way for iPad man to 'count coup' like the Plains Indians of North America did by specific acts of laudable bravery in battle?
There's no doubt that 21st century big wave surfing has changed the psyche of wave-riding. It has raised the bar to an insurmountable height for the average surfer. Just consider the obscene amounts of epinephrine that are released when those hell-men make the drop, or are caught inside. It's a parallel universe that few experience, and perhaps that's why we all secretly covet the "Way of the Big Wave Warrior".
Nonetheless, what irks me about the whole adventure is the media's obsession with big wave surfing to the point of asphyxiation. Sadly, articles about Johnny 'Big Wave' Utah scoring 250 feet waves at some mysto slab 122 and a quarter nautical miles off the coast has become passé; almost yawn-inducing. Yes, I can see puffs of flak ahead and tracer arcing towards my argument, but bear with me. I thumbed through a recent surf magazine only to be rag-dolled into my own dark depths by a clean-up procession of big wave articles. In isolation, they would have made for an otherwise pleasing afternoon skim. I could have got my breathe back. But all of them? Gasp.
Perhaps I read too many surf magazines, but I've reached saturation point when it comes to yarns about big wave expeditions, 30 second hold-downs and 146 hour swell-chasing flights. Sometimes even the Herculean exploits of über-surfers can be reduced to 2 foot onshore slop by excessive exposure. Those jaw-dropping photos, lovingly sharpened and stylishly cross-processed don't even raise a jaded eyebrow from me any more. I've hit my big wave article critical mass.
Image
About to discover his own personal point of asphyxiation. Johnny 'Big Wave' Utah in a place the media loves. Wipeout. Photo: Pierre Marqua
Whatever happened to Joe Average, the weekend warrior whose arms turn to banana flavoured jelly when a solid six foot set blots out the horizon? No doubt he's been relegated to the tepid shallows of local news columns and reader photo contests. Godzilla Waves equal big sales, and who am I to argue the merits of more website hits or better magazine sales?
It's just that the glut of big wave chronicles has become boring. I'm not interested in inked up Bra Boys air-dropping down an almost vertical staircase of water over a dry reef. Damn YouTube too; one can only watch so many hapless stick people turned to chum on a 40 foot close-out.
Having said that, there's no denying the almost indescribable feats of those watermen who ride mountain ranges. Laird Hamilton, Twiggy Baker and the rest of the big wave mob are up there surfing the jet stream with the likes of Federer, Slater and Els (sorry Tiger).
Perhaps my age has forced me slip behind the dreams and aspirations of the ‘Nu Skool’, and lose track of surfing's zeitgeist. The 'supersize' generation simply wants to gorge themselves on bigger waves, bigger moves, and bigger airs. Methinks it's time to cancel my magazine subscriptions and spend a lazy Sunday afternoon ambling through a dusty stack of surfing mags from the 70s and 80s.
I never thought I'd ever long for the allure of mediocre waves; broken wind swells ruffled by a light onshore and ridden by average surfers. All hoping the wind will switch and the swell will 'jack' by 2 and not 10 feet. There's something very seductive about those painfully ordinary vistas, and it's the promise of the perfect day. It’s not about a 20 foot colossus, just a lined-up offshore day that Joe Average can relate to.
I suppose it's time for me to seek out more forgiving wavescapes, read less contemporary surfing literature and invest in a Zimmer frame. Now where are my glasses?
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