DOGTOWN PHOTOGRAPHY 2hr Workshop

DOGTOWN: RAW STYLE, RAW TRUTH

A 2-Hour Photography Workshop on Skate Culture, Documentation, and Style

Inspired by the work of Glen E. Friedman and C.R. Stecyk III
Location: SK8 Charleston
Instructor: Sonny Green at www.sonny.photos

General Information

Workshop — Feb 11, 2026: Wed 5pm to 8pm Presentation from — Sonny Green @ www.sonny.photos. Meeting place — SK8 Charleston. If you are late text, 843-843-6542 to find us.

Price: $50 per-person

READ FIRST: How to Use The Guide

This is a group workshop, not a private lesson. That means we will move together, learn together, and grow together as a class. If we’re all on the same page and similar in skill level, this guide will help us move smoothly (but it is not mandatory to follow this guide). If someone needs more help than others, we will support—but please make sure you know how to operate your own camera before joining this group setting. This guide is designed to walk us through ideas, exercises, and shooting techniques step-by-step. Nothing here is fixed—it’s a shared plan we’ll follow if we all agree. The more open, curious, and respectful we are as a group, the more we’ll get out of the workshop. Every section includes not just the concept, but an explanation of what it means, how it works, and why we’re doing it. Last, the amount of information in this syllabus is way more than what we can cover in two hours. This outline is meant for you to take home to continue your growth. Thank you for joining the

WORKSHOP PURPOSE

This workshop is not about learning how to take “better” photographs.
It is about learning how to see culture, record truth, and work inside a scene without sanitizing it.

Dogtown photography—when studied years later—revealed something rare:
a visual language formed accidentally, under pressure, with limited tools, and without concern for approval.

This workshop teaches students how to:

• Understand the historical logic behind Dogtown imagery
• Apply that logic using modern digital tools and smartphones
• Develop a raw, documentary-driven photographic voice
• Create a zine-style body of work rooted in authenticity, not performance

This is photography as evidence, participation, and cultural memory.

SECTION I — DOGTOWN AS A VISUAL LANGUAGE (Approx. 25 minutes)

What Dogtown Was (After We Studied It)

Dogtown was not a movement that announced itself.
It did not arrive with a manifesto, a logo, or a strategy. There was no brand language, no mission statement, no outward-facing intention to be remembered. What later came to be called Dogtown existed first as a set of overlapping conditions—geographic, economic, social, and emotional—long before it was ever understood as a cultural force.

Only years later did photographers, writers, and historians begin to recognize that the images produced there shared a recognizable visual language. What makes this important is why that language existed. It did not come from rules, technique manuals, or artistic goals. It came from constraint.

Dogtown was shaped by absence:
absence of money, absence of institutional support, absence of safety nets, absence of spectators who mattered. These absences forced a kind of visual honesty that could not be reverse-engineered later.

Unplanned, Unbranded, Uncurated

Nothing in Dogtown was designed to be seen from the outside. The skateboarding that happened there was not trying to attract attention; it was trying to survive boredom, frustration, and neglect. The photography followed the same logic. Cameras were present not to elevate the scene, but because someone inside it happened to have one.

There was no separation between life and documentation. The act of photographing was simply another way of being present.

No one asked:
Is this good?
Is this marketable?
Will this age well?

Those questions only appear once an audience exists. Dogtown didn’t have one.

Conditions, Not Choices

Dogtown reminds us that photography’s deepest power is not how it looks—but what it preserves when no one is watching.

Key conditions:

• Harsh, unfiltered daylight
• Broken architecture and empty spaces
• No permission-based photography
• No commercial expectation
• Limited film stocks and cheap cameras
• Cultural isolation from mainstream approval

When later scholars examined Dogtown photography, they noticed consistent traits—not stylistic decisions, but environmental consequences.

Harsh, unfiltered daylight wasn’t an aesthetic preference. It was simply what existed. There were no studios, no strobes, no reflectors, no soft boxes. The sun hit concrete, and concrete threw that light back upward. Shadows were sharp because the world was sharp.

Broken architecture and empty spaces were not chosen as backdrops. They were the result of economic neglect. Abandoned buildings, drained pools, cracked pavement, and rusted fences weren’t metaphors—they were the environment. The camera did not beautify them because no one had reason to.

Photography was not permission-based. There was no audience to appease and no subjects to perform for. People didn’t pose because there was nothing to pose for. This absence of performance is one of the most important elements of Dogtown imagery. The camera did not interrupt the scene; it moved within it.

There was no commercial expectation. No one thought these images would be published, archived, or sold. Without a future market in mind, the photographs remained rooted in the present moment. This is why they feel grounded rather than aspirational.

Film stocks were limited. Cameras were cheap. Mistakes were expensive. A roll of film meant commitment. Missed focus, blown highlights, and motion blur weren’t corrected—they were accepted. Over time, these “flaws” became visual signatures.

Perhaps most importantly, Dogtown existed in cultural isolation. It was not seeking validation from the mainstream, and the mainstream wasn’t paying attention. This removed the pressure to explain, soften, or translate the culture for outsiders. The images did not need to be legible to everyone—only truthful to those inside.

The Resulting Look

Out of these conditions came a visual language that felt:

Aggressive—not because it was violent, but because it did not apologize.
Immediate—because it was not filtered through distance or reflection.
Unpolished—because polish would have required resources that did not exist.
Honest—because there was no incentive to lie.

These images were not trying to be timeless. That is a crucial distinction. Timelessness usually comes from careful construction, restraint, and refinement. Dogtown imagery did the opposite. It refused refinement. And paradoxically, that refusal is exactly what allowed the images to endure.

They survived because they were specific. They belonged so completely to their moment that they escaped trend cycles altogether.

What This Means for Modern Photographers

Modern photographers operate in a radically different environment. The problem is no longer scarcity—it is excess.

Today’s cameras, especially smartphones, offer:

• Automatic correction
• AI enhancement
• HDR smoothing
• Noise reduction
• Face optimization
• Perfect stabilization
• Instant review
• Infinite storage

These tools are not inherently bad. But they quietly reshape intention. They remove consequence. They encourage safety. They reward polish over presence.

The danger is not that modern images look too clean.
The danger is that they stop meaning anything.

Dogtown teaches us a counter-lesson:

Meaning emerges when tools are limited and intention is exposed.

When every mistake can be fixed, mistakes stop teaching us. When every image can be perfected, perfection loses its value.

Removing Tools to Reveal Intent

The Dogtown lesson is not “shoot badly.”
It is remove layers until only intent remains.

This is why the workshop intentionally limits:

• Editing — because editing too early becomes avoidance
• Perfection — because perfection flattens experience
• Review habits — because constant checking interrupts presence
• Overthinking — because analysis kills immediacy

These limits are not punishments. They are restraints, and restraint is what creates style.

In Dogtown, style emerged because people had no choice. In the modern era, restraint must be chosen deliberately.

That is the work.

Why This Still Matters

Dogtown photography endures not because it looks vintage, but because it answers a question that still matters:

What does it feel like to be there?

Not:
What does this look like online?
How will this perform?
How can this be optimized?

But:
Who was present?
What was at stake?
What was ignored?
What happened between the moments?

This workshop does not ask students to imitate the past. It asks them to adopt the ethics of Dogtown—ethics practiced by figures like Glen E. Friedman and C.R. Stecyk III—and translate those ethics into the present.

The goal is not nostalgia.
The goal is honest documentation in a world addicted to performance.

These images weren’t trying to be timeless.
They became timeless because they refused polish.

Assignments — Section I

Assignment 1: The Limitation Exercise
Students choose one constraint for the entire workshop:

• No zoom
• No reviewing images
• Only vertical or horizontal
• Only wide angle
• Only shooting while moving
  The constraint cannot be changed.

Assignment 2: Cultural Observation Notes
Before shooting, students write down:

• Who belongs here?
• Who doesn’t?
• What behaviors repeat?
• What spaces feel ignored?
  This list informs what they photograph later.

Assignment 3: Anti-Highlight Rule
Students are instructed:
Do not photograph the best trick.
Photograph everything around it.

SECTION II — GLEN E. FRIEDMAN: PROXIMITY & LOYALTY (Approx. 25 minutes)

Glen E. Friedman — Who He Was in Context

Glen E. Friedman was not an observer looking in. He did not arrive with credentials, institutional backing, or an external agenda. He was not documenting youth culture as a subject to be analyzed. He was youth culture—embedded inside it, shaped by it, and accountable to it.

This distinction is critical.

Most photography that claims to document subcultures is produced by outsiders. Even well-intentioned photographers often stand at a distance—physically, socially, or psychologically. That distance inevitably shows up in the work. The images feel explanatory. They feel observational. They feel like someone trying to understand something they are not fully part of.

Friedman’s photographs feel different because they were never meant to explain anything. They were made from inside a shared reality. He photographed skateboarding, punk, and hip-hop not as separate genres, but as interconnected expressions of youth identity, resistance, and self-definition. The same ethics governed all of it.

He didn’t switch styles because the culture changed. The culture was the constant.

Inside, Not Above

Friedman rejected hierarchy—not as a theory, but as a lived position. There was no elevated vantage point. No visual authority imposed from above. The camera did not dominate the scene; it moved within it.

Close physical distance was not a stylistic trick. It was a social fact. He stood where everyone else stood. He got close because that was where he belonged. This proximity created images that feel intimate without being invasive.

Emotional neutrality is another misunderstood aspect of his work. Friedman did not dramatize his subjects, but he also did not flatten them. He allowed moments to exist without commentary. This neutrality communicates trust. It tells the viewer: nothing here is being exaggerated for effect.

There is no beautification in his images because beautification implies a judgment—that something needs improvement to be worthy of attention. Friedman never assumed that. What existed was enough.

Most importantly, there was no hierarchy between subject and photographer. The camera was not a tool of extraction. It was part of the scene. This is why people did not perform for it. Performance only appears when power dynamics exist.

Why His Images Feel Trusted

Trust is visible. It cannot be faked.

Friedman’s images feel trusted because the people in them do not look like they are being watched. They look like they are being lived with. The camera is not an interruption; it is another body in the room.

This trust was earned over time. He didn’t show up for moments—he stayed for years. He didn’t chase events—he shared routines. He didn’t take images and disappear—he remained accountable to the people he photographed.

This long-term presence created something rare: photographs that do not feel transactional.

Style Breakdown — What the Work Actually Teaches

Friedman’s work is often described in terms of subject matter, but its real lessons are ethical and behavioral.

Distance Kills Honesty
Physical distance creates emotional distance. Telephoto lenses, long observation, and hidden vantage points all introduce separation. Friedman avoided this instinctively. He worked close because closeness forces responsibility. You cannot misrepresent someone you are standing next to.
Distance allows photographers to aestheticize struggle. Closeness demands truth.

Sharpness Is Secondary
Sharpness suggests control. Friedman prioritized presence over control. Motion blur, missed focus, and imperfect framing are not failures in his work—they are evidence of being inside unstable moments.
The image does not say, “Look how well this was captured.”
It says, “This happened.”

Access Comes From Respect
Access is not granted by credentials or gear. It is granted by behavior. Friedman earned access by not exploiting moments, not interrupting scenes, and not prioritizing images over people.
This is why his photographs do not feel opportunistic. They feel shared.

Being Present Matters More Than Timing
Many photographers wait for moments. Friedman stayed for them.
Waiting implies anticipation of something better. Staying implies acceptance of what exists. The truth often appears between moments, not at their peak. Friedman’s work is full of these in-between states—rest, boredom, aftermath, anticipation.
He did not wait for perfection. He waited for honesty.

What Students Should Learn Here

This section is not about copying Friedman’s look. It is about adopting his position.

How to Earn Proximity
Proximity is not physical closeness alone—it is social permission. Students must learn that proximity is earned by:

• Showing up consistently
• Not interrupting scenes
• Not directing behavior
• Not photographing everything
• Knowing when not to shoot
  The camera should never arrive before trust.

How to Disappear Socially
Disappearing does not mean hiding. It means becoming non-disruptive. When people stop noticing the camera, documentation begins.
This requires:

• Quiet movement
• Predictable presence
• Emotional neutrality
• Patience
  The photographer becomes background.

How to Shoot Without Directing
Direction introduces performance. Friedman allowed moments to unfold without interference. Students must learn to resist the urge to improve reality.
If something feels awkward, let it stay awkward.
If a moment feels unresolved, let it remain unresolved.
Reality does not need help.

How to Accept Imperfection as Evidence
Imperfection is not a flaw—it is proof. Proof that the moment was unstable. Proof that the photographer was present. Proof that the image was not rehearsed.
Students must learn to recognize when fixing an image erases its meaning.
The question is not:
Is this technically good?
The question is:
Is this honest?

Why Friedman Still Matters

In an era of constant performance, Friedman’s work reminds us that photography does not need to entertain, impress, or convert. It needs to remember.

His images last because they were made without an audience in mind. They were made for the people inside them. That is why they still speak clearly decades later.

This section teaches students that style is not a look—it is a consequence of behavior. And behavior, once learned, can be carried into any tool, including a smartphone.

Friedman didn’t teach us how to photograph youth culture.
He taught us how to belong long enough to document it honestly.

Assignments — Section II

Assignment 1: One-Arm Distance Rule
Students must shoot all images within one arm’s length of the subject.
No telephoto.
No sneaking shots from afar.

Assignment 2: The Uncool Frame
Students must intentionally keep:

• Awkward expressions
• Blocked views
• Crooked horizons
  No image may be “clean.”

Assignment 3: Loyalty Check
Before shooting a person, students ask themselves:
Would I show this image to them afterward?
If not, they don’t take the photo.

SECTION III — C.R. STECYK III: MYTH, CONTEXT, & STORY (Approx. 25 minutes)

C.R. Stecyk III — Who He Was in Context

C.R. Stecyk III did not approach Dogtown as a photographer alone. He moved through it as a hybrid figure—part anthropologist, part artist, part storyteller, part archivist. Where others recorded what they saw, Stecyk asked a deeper question: How will this be understood later?

This distinction matters.

Dogtown existed before it was named. Skateboarding happened there before it was mythologized. What Stecyk recognized—often while the culture was still unfolding—was that documentation without interpretation risks disappearance. Moments vanish. Images scatter. Meaning dissolves unless someone assembles the fragments into a structure that can survive time.

Stecyk’s work sits at that intersection between lived experience and historical memory. He was not satisfied with collecting images. He wanted to build a framework that allowed those images to carry identity, attitude, and cultural weight long after the original moment had passed.

The Anthropologist’s Eye

Stecyk’s anthropological approach did not come from academia; it came from observation and immersion. Like an ethnographer embedded in a living culture, he paid attention to patterns rather than highlights. He watched how people dressed, how they spoke, how they marked territory, how symbols repeated across spaces and bodies.

Anthropology, at its core, is about understanding meaning from within a system—not imposing it from outside. Stecyk applied this logic intuitively. He did not treat Dogtown skateboarding as sport or spectacle. He treated it as a social structure, shaped by geography, economics, exclusion, and shared codes.

This is why his work feels layered. It does not isolate moments; it connects them.

The Myth-Builder’s Role

Myth is often misunderstood as exaggeration or fiction. In cultural terms, myth is something else entirely. Myth is how a group explains itself—how it remembers, how it passes values forward, how it draws boundaries around identity.

Stecyk understood that Dogtown needed a myth not to inflate it, but to protect it from erasure. Without narrative, subcultures are flattened into trends. Without symbols, they are absorbed and neutralized.

By naming Dogtown, by writing about it, by repeating its imagery and language, Stecyk helped fix it in cultural memory. He did not invent the culture; he gave it coherence.

The Cultural Archivist

Archives are not neutral. Someone always decides what is worth saving.

Stecyk acted as an archivist at a time when no institution was interested in preserving this world. Skateboarding was not considered culturally valuable. Youth rebellion was disposable. The spaces themselves were literally being erased through redevelopment.

By pairing photographs with writing, graphics, and recurring symbols, Stecyk created an archive that resisted disappearance. His work insists: this mattered, even if no one was watching.

Images Without Context Lose Power

This is Stecyk’s most important lesson.

A photograph on its own is fragile. It can be misread, aestheticized, or stripped of meaning. Context anchors images to lived reality. It explains why something looks the way it does without reducing it to explanation.

Stecyk did not rely on captions to describe what was visible. Instead, he added layers that expanded meaning:

• Writing that hinted at attitude rather than explanation
• Symbols that repeated across images
• Visual motifs that created continuity
• Tone that communicated resistance and pride

He understood that photographs gain power when they exist inside a system.

Writing, Symbols, Attitude, Repetition

Writing as Amplification
Stecyk’s writing does not explain images—it reframes them. His words act as signals, not instructions. They invite the viewer to read the photograph differently, to feel its weight, its aggression, its isolation.
For students, this teaches a crucial lesson: writing should not compete with images. It should deepen them.

Symbols as Identity
The Dogtown Cross is not just a graphic—it is a declaration. Symbols condense complex histories into simple forms. They allow a culture to recognize itself instantly.
Stecyk understood that identity needs visual shorthand. Repeated symbols create belonging. They tell insiders, this is ours.

Attitude as Structure
Attitude is often dismissed as style. In Stecyk’s work, attitude is structure. It shapes how images are selected, how text is written, how sequences unfold. There is no neutrality here—only clarity of position.
Stecyk’s attitude was unapologetic. It did not seek approval or translation. That refusal is part of the archive.

Repetition as Cultural Memory
Culture does not live in single images. It lives in repetition.
Stecyk repeated motifs intentionally:
Similar locations
Similar gestures
Similar symbols
Similar language
Repetition builds rhythm. Rhythm builds recognition. Recognition builds memory.
This is how Dogtown survived beyond its physical existence.

Style Breakdown — What Stecyk Teaches Photographers

Stecyk’s influence reaches beyond photography into how culture itself is documented.

Photography Is Part of a Larger System
Images alone are not enough. They must be sequenced, framed, and contextualized. Students must learn to think beyond single frames and toward bodies of work.

Words Can Amplify Images
Language can sharpen meaning without explaining it away. A single sentence can shift how an image is read forever.

Symbols Create Identity
Symbols allow cultures to see themselves reflected. Students should look for repeating visual elements that define a place or scene.

Culture Lives in Repetition
One image is a moment. Many images, repeating patterns, become history.

What Students Should Take From Stecyk

Stecyk teaches students to think like archivists, not content creators. The goal is not to post—it is to preserve.

Students should learn to ask:
What patterns keep repeating?
What symbols define this place?
What words belong to this scene?
How will this be misunderstood without context?

Stecyk reminds us that documentation is not passive. Every archive carries intention. Every sequence makes an argument.

He did not just show us what Dogtown looked like.
He showed us how to remember it.

In a digital age where images are endless and memory is short, that lesson may be more important than ever.

Assignments — Section III

Assignment 1: Image + Sentence Pairing
Students write one sentence for each image—but cannot explain the image directly.
The sentence must:
Add mood
Add attitude
Add context
Never describe what’s visible

Assignment 2: Symbol Hunt
Students photograph symbols, not actions:
Stickers
Scars
Tape
Shoes
Cracks
Logos
Markings

Assignment 3: Naming the Scene
Students invent a name for the skate environment they’re in (like “Dogtown”).
The name must reflect:
Attitude
History
Energy

SECTION IV — THE EXPOSURE TRIANGLE (FILM LOGIC → DIGITAL TRANSLATION) (Approx. 30 minutes)

Section IV — The Exposure Triangle

Film Logic → Digital Translation

To understand Dogtown photography, exposure must be understood not as a technical choice, but as a behavioral consequence. The way those images look is inseparable from how photographers worked, what tools they had, and what those tools allowed—or refused to allow.

Exposure in Dogtown was not controlled in pursuit of perfection. It was controlled just enough to function. Everything else was left to chance, light, and motion. That balance—between intention and surrender—is what gave the images their force.

Original Film Reality

The typical Dogtown-era exposure was shaped by limitation. Film stocks were slow by today’s standards, cameras were mechanical, and feedback was delayed. You did not know if an image worked until long after the moment had passed. This created a different relationship to risk.

Most photographers were working with ISO 400 film, often pushed to 800 or 1600. Pushing film was not done for aesthetic reasons—it was done because there wasn’t enough light, or because shutter speeds needed to be fast enough to freeze motion. The result was increased grain, harsher contrast, and reduced tonal subtlety.

Apertures often lived around f/8 to f/16 in daylight, not because of compositional preference, but because sunlight on concrete was unforgiving. Smaller apertures helped maintain usable exposure, but they also deepened depth of field, keeping more of the chaotic environment visible. Nothing was isolated. Everything mattered.

Shutter speeds were fast, because skateboarding is fast. Motion happened unpredictably. Missing the moment was worse than missing focus. Sharpness became secondary to timing and proximity.

On-camera flash was used aggressively, often in ways that would be considered “wrong” today. Flash was direct, harsh, and unapologetic. It flattened subjects, blew out highlights, and created hard-edged shadows. But it also froze motion and cut through darkness. There was no softening the result.

Missed focus was accepted because focus was manual, depth of field was limited, and the moment did not wait. Photographers were moving, skaters were moving, and the environment was unstable. Blur was not a flaw—it was evidence of speed.

Highlights were blown out regularly. Film does not forgive overexposure gracefully. Once highlights were gone, they were gone forever. There was no recovery slider, no histogram check, no safety net.

Film responded harshly to mistakes—and that harshness became style.

Why It Looked the Way It Did

Film punished highlights because of its chemical nature. Light physically altered the emulsion. Too much light destroyed detail permanently. This forced photographers to accept loss as part of the process.

Grain replaced smoothness. Pushed film amplified texture, noise, and imperfection. Skin looked rough. Surfaces looked abrasive. This grain mirrored the physical reality of the environment—concrete, asphalt, rust, sweat.

Motion blur implied speed. Rather than freezing everything into clinical clarity, blur suggested energy and instability. It made the viewer feel movement instead of merely seeing it.

Shadows stayed deep because film could not lift them cleanly. Darkness remained dark. This created contrast and weight. Images felt grounded rather than evenly lit.

Most importantly, no rescue tools existed. Once the shutter was pressed, the image was fixed. This finality encouraged decisiveness. Photographers learned to commit.

Exposure was not optimized. It was survived.

Digital Translation for Smartphones

Smartphones invert nearly every aspect of this process. They are designed to protect images from failure. They smooth highlights, lift shadows, reduce noise, stabilize motion, and correct mistakes automatically. While these tools are useful, they fundamentally change the emotional character of an image.

To translate Dogtown exposure logic into a smartphone environment, students must learn to work against assistance, not with it.

Phone Settings as Behavioral Choices

Turning off HDR is not a technical preference—it is a philosophical one. HDR attempts to equalize light, smoothing extremes and preserving detail everywhere. Dogtown imagery depended on extremes. Bright areas stayed bright. Dark areas stayed dark.

Turning off beauty filters removes automatic smoothing that erases texture and age. Dogtown photography did not soften reality. It recorded it.

Using manual control or exposure lock reintroduces commitment. Once exposure is locked, the photographer must live with the consequences. This mirrors the finality of film.

Slight underexposure protects highlights while allowing shadows to fall naturally. Students must learn to accept shadow loss rather than rescue it.

Allowing highlight clipping restores the feeling of light as force. Blown highlights are not mistakes—they are records of intensity.

Burst mode replaces motor drive cameras. It allows students to stay present rather than constantly re-aiming and rethinking.

Accepting motion blur requires letting go of perfection. Blur indicates movement, proximity, and risk.

The Required Mindset Shift

Digital photography encourages endless revision. Dogtown photography demands restraint.

Students must be taught:
Do not fix later. If the image fails, learn from it.
Do not over-edit. Editing should clarify intent, not rescue uncertainty.
Do not crop heavily. Cropping changes perspective after the fact. Dogtown photographers committed in-camera.
Let images stay raw. Raw does not mean unfinished—it means unprotected.

This mindset is difficult for modern photographers because it removes control. But control is not where meaning comes from. Meaning comes from presence.

Why This Matters Now

Exposure is often taught as a technical triangle—ISO, aperture, shutter speed. In this workshop, exposure is taught as a relationship to risk.

Dogtown photographers accepted loss as part of the process. They understood that not every image would work. This acceptance freed them from perfection and allowed them to stay engaged with the moment.

Smartphone photographers must relearn this lesson intentionally. The goal is not to mimic film aesthetics, but to adopt film ethics: commitment, restraint, and acceptance.

Exposure is not about making images look right.
It is about allowing images to tell the truth—even when the truth is imperfect.

In a world where technology constantly corrects us, choosing not to correct becomes a powerful creative act.

Simple breakdown…

Original Film Reality

Typical Dogtown-era exposure:
ISO 400 film pushed to 800–1600
Aperture f/8–f/16 (sunlight)
Fast shutter speeds
On-camera flash used aggressively
Missed focus accepted
Highlights blown out regularly
Film responded harshly to mistakes—and that harshness became style.

Why It Looked the Way It Did

Film punished highlights
Grain replaced smoothness
Motion blur implied speed
Shadows stayed deep
No rescue tools existed.

Digital Translation for Smartphones

Phone Settings
Turn OFF HDR
Turn OFF beauty filters
Use manual or exposure lock
Slight underexposure
Allow highlight clipping
Use burst mode
Accept motion blur

Mindset Shift
Do not fix later
Do not over-edit
Do not crop heavily
Let images stay raw

Assignments — Section IV

Assignment 1: One Exposure Only
Students lock exposure and do not adjust it for 15 minutes.

Assignment 2: Blur Acceptance Drill
Students intentionally shoot:
While moving
While turning
While crouching
No reshoots allowed.

Assignment 3: No Edit Rule
Students select one image they are not allowed to edit at all.

SECTION V — GEAR THEN VS NOW (Approx. 20 minutes)

Then and Now — Gear as Context, Not Identity

When Dogtown photography is discussed, it is often reduced to a list of tools: cheap cameras, grainy film, harsh flash. This reduction misses the point. The equipment used in Dogtown did not create the style—it simply reflected the conditions under which the work was made.

Gear, in this context, is not about preference. It is about what was available, what was affordable, and what could survive abuse. Understanding this distinction is essential for modern photographers who often mistake aesthetic imitation for historical understanding.

Then (Context Only)

The cameras used in Dogtown were not chosen because they were ideal. They were chosen because they existed.

Cheap 35mm cameras were common because they were accessible. They could be bought secondhand, borrowed, or broken without consequence. Reliability mattered more than refinement. If a camera survived dust, concrete, salt air, and constant movement, it was good enough.

Fixed lenses were not a stylistic decision—they were standard. Zoom lenses were expensive and often inferior. A fixed focal length forced photographers to move their bodies instead of their optics. This physical movement shaped perspective, proximity, and intimacy. The camera did not come to the subject; the photographer did.

Disposable and on-camera flashes were crude tools. They were harsh, unpredictable, and unforgiving. They flattened scenes and destroyed subtlety. But they also froze motion and cut through darkness. There was no expectation that flash should look natural. It simply needed to work.

Film choices were limited. Kodak Tri-X, early color stocks, whatever could be found or afforded. Pushing film was common, not because it was fashionable, but because light was insufficient and moments moved fast. Grain was not a texture added later—it was baked into the image.

Most importantly, there was no review. No screen. No instant feedback. The image existed only as a memory until it was developed. This delayed feedback fundamentally altered how photographers worked. They learned to trust instinct. They learned to commit. They learned to live with uncertainty.

This absence of review created a different kind of confidence—one rooted in presence rather than validation.

What This Meant Behaviorally

Because gear was limited:
Photographers moved more
They stayed closer
They shot less but with more commitment
They accepted failure as part of the process
They did not interrupt moments to check results
The equipment enforced discipline without asking permission.

Now (Accessible Options)

Modern photographers operate in a radically different landscape. Tools are abundant, affordable, and astonishingly powerful. This abundance is not inherently negative—but it changes behavior.

Smartphones are now the most common cameras in the world. They are always present, fast, and socially accepted. They remove barriers to entry and allow immediate participation. In many ways, they are closer to Dogtown’s ethos than expensive modern cameras—if used correctly.

Entry-level digital cameras provide manual control, interchangeable lenses, and strong image quality at low cost. They can be treated roughly and replaced easily. They offer a bridge between analog logic and digital convenience.

Cheap LED lights and phone flashes function much like early on-camera flash. They are harsh, direct, and imperfect. Used without diffusion or refinement, they can recreate the aggressive lighting that defined much of Dogtown imagery—not as imitation, but as functional necessity.

Manual control apps restore decision-making. Locking exposure, disabling computational features, and committing to settings reintroduce consequence. The image stops being endlessly adjustable and starts being intentional.

The key difference is not capability—it is choice. Modern tools allow restraint, but they do not enforce it.

The Modern Danger

Modern gear is designed to protect users from mistakes. It smooths, stabilizes, corrects, and optimizes. This protection slowly removes risk, and with it, urgency.

Without deliberate limitation:
Photographers overshoot
They rely on fixing later
They disengage from the moment
They substitute tools for intent
The result is images that are technically successful but emotionally hollow.

The Rule That Still Applies

Across both eras, one rule remains constant:
Speed, access, and intent matter more than equipment.

Speed matters because moments do not wait. Dogtown photography succeeded because photographers could react instantly, without setup or hesitation. Today, speed means resisting over-configuration and endless adjustment.

Access matters because proximity creates honesty. Cameras that allow photographers to move freely, blend in, and stay present will always outperform gear that creates distance—socially or physically.

Intent matters because tools do not decide meaning. The same camera can produce empty images or lasting ones. What changes is the photographer’s position, patience, and purpose.

Bad Gear Used Honestly

The phrase “bad gear used honestly beats good gear used safely” is not an insult to technology. It is a warning about comfort.

Bad gear forces engagement. It demands problem-solving. It exposes mistakes. It makes the photographer responsible.

Good gear, when used safely, absorbs responsibility. It fixes, smooths, and rescues. Over time, this can weaken the photographer’s relationship to the moment.

Dogtown photographers did not make powerful images because their gear was bad. They made powerful images because they were present, embedded, and accountable.

Modern students must learn to recreate those conditions intentionally—not by downgrading technology, but by downgrading dependence.

What Students Should Take From This Section

This section is not about choosing the right camera. It is about choosing the right relationship to the camera.

Students should learn:
Gear should disappear, not impress
The best camera is the one that lets you stay close
Limitations create decisions
Decisions create style

The goal is not to look like the past.
The goal is to work with the same seriousness, urgency, and honesty.

Dogtown reminds us that equipment does not make images meaningful.
Commitment does.
And commitment, unlike gear, cannot be upgraded.
afely.

Assignments — Section V

Assignment 1: Worst Gear Wins
Students choose the worst camera option available and use it exclusively.

Assignment 2: One Lens Mindset
Even on phones, students commit to:
Wide only
No zooming

Assignment 3: Flash Misuse (Optional)
If flash is used:
No diffusion
No bounce
Embrace harshness

SECTION VI — SHOOTING SKATERS (Approx. 30 minutes)

Section VI — Shooting Skaters

Presence, Movement, and What Actually Matters

(Approx. 30 minutes)

Photographing skaters is often misunderstood as photographing tricks. This misunderstanding is one of the fastest ways to produce shallow work. Tricks are visible, loud, and easy to recognize—but they are not where culture lives. Culture lives in what surrounds the trick: the anticipation, the failure, the repetition, the recovery, and the social energy that holds the space together.

Dogtown photography understood this instinctively. The images that endure are not the ones that show peak action, but the ones that reveal what it feels like to be there when nothing special is happening.

This section teaches students how to shift from spectacle to observation.

What to Photograph (And Why)

Waiting
Waiting is the dominant state in skateboarding. Skaters wait for turns, for light, for courage, for pain to subside, for someone else to land something first. Waiting carries tension. It is where anticipation accumulates.
Photographing waiting reveals:
Hierarchy
Patience
Frustration
Focus
Belonging
A person waiting is still inside the culture. They are not inactive—they are preparing.

Sitting
Sitting breaks the illusion of constant motion. It shows fatigue, injury, reflection, boredom, and recovery. Sitting reminds us that skateboarding is physical labor, not just performance.
These moments humanize the scene. They ground the action in bodies that tire, hurt, and persist.

Missing
Failure is central to skateboarding, but it is rarely celebrated visually. Missing a trick, slipping out, stepping off early—these moments carry more truth than success.
Photographing missed moments shows:
Risk
Repetition
Consequence
Resilience
Failure is where effort becomes visible.

Talking
Conversation reveals social structure. Who talks to whom. Who listens. Who instructs. Who jokes. Who stays silent.
Talking moments expose:
Mentorship
Peer relationships
Power dynamics
Humor
Tension
These interactions explain the culture more clearly than any landed trick.

Looking Away
Looking away breaks the performance loop. It shows disinterest, exhaustion, distraction, or emotional withdrawal. These moments feel private—and that is exactly why they matter.
A skater looking away is not performing. They are existing.

Adjusting Gear
Tightening trucks, changing shoes, taping injuries, checking phones—these acts are ritualistic. They repeat. They define rhythm.
Gear adjustment is culture maintenance.

Resting
Resting is the aftermath of effort. Heavy breathing, lying down, stretching, leaning—these moments show the physical cost of participation.
Rest is proof that something real is happening.

Why the Trick Is Secondary

The trick is the punctuation, not the sentence.
It is the exclamation point at the end of a much longer paragraph.

If you only photograph tricks, you photograph outcome without context. Dogtown photography survives because it recorded process.

How to Move Inside a Skate Park

Movement is not just physical—it is social. How a photographer moves determines whether they are accepted, tolerated, or ignored.

Stay Low
Staying low changes perspective and reduces dominance. It aligns the camera with the ground, the board, the body in motion. It also signals humility.
A low camera feels like it belongs.

Move With Skaters
Do not stand still while everyone else moves. Skate parks have flow. Respect it. Move in the same direction as skaters. Pause when they pause. Shift when they shift.
This synchronization reduces disruption and increases access.

Shoot Through People
Clear sightlines create spectacle. Obstructed views create honesty.
Shooting through bodies, boards, railings, helmets, arms, or shadows places the viewer inside the scene instead of outside it. It accepts imperfection as truth.
Blocked frames feel lived-in.

Let Frames Be Blocked
Blocked frames are not mistakes—they are information. They show proximity. They show chaos. They show participation.
When a frame is blocked, the photographer is too close to curate. That closeness matters.

Behavioral Rules for Shooting Skaters

This section is about ethics as much as technique.

Do not interrupt runs.
Do not ask for repeats.
Do not direct movement.
Do not correct posture.
Do not “get one more.”

The photographer adapts. The skaters do not.

Learning to Be Invisible (Without Hiding)

Invisibility is not about camouflage. It is about predictability.

When people know how you move, where you stand, and how you behave, they stop reacting to you. This is when documentation begins.

Invisibility is earned by:
Consistent presence
Non-intrusive movement
Respect for space
Knowing when not to shoot

If people notice the camera, something has gone wrong.

What Students Are Really Learning Here

This section teaches students to:
Observe without extracting
Participate without performing
Record without dominating
Move without controlling

These skills matter far beyond skate photography. They are foundational to any honest documentary practice.

Why This Works at Any Skate Park

Every skate park—regardless of location, size, or scene—shares the same underlying rhythms:
Anticipation
Repetition
Failure
Recovery
Community

The surfaces change. The tricks change. The culture remains.

By focusing on waiting, missing, talking, and resting, students learn to see what persists across locations. This turns skate parks into field sites, not stages.

Final Thought for This Section

If your photographs only show what skateboarding looks like, they will age quickly.
If they show what skateboarding feels like, they will last.

Your job is not to capture moments that impress strangers.
Your job is to remain present long enough for truth to surface.

That is how Dogtown survived the camera.

Assignments — Section VI

Assignment 1: The In-Between Set
Students capture 10 moments where nothing happens.

Assignment 2: No Faces Rule
Students photograph people without showing full faces.

Assignment 3: Ground-Level Only
All shots taken below waist height.

SECTION VII — The Strengths and Limits of the Dogtown Approach

The Dogtown style is often celebrated as raw, authentic, and powerful. These descriptions are accurate—but incomplete. Like any approach rooted in strong ethics and specific conditions, Dogtown photography carries both strengths and limitations. Understanding both is essential. Without this balance, students risk turning a living practice into an empty aesthetic.

This section is not about choosing sides. It is about choosing awareness.

The Strengths

Cultural Honesty
Dogtown photography operates without translation. It does not soften edges or explain itself for comfort. This honesty is not aggressive for the sake of aggression—it is accurate.
Cultural honesty emerges when photographers:
Do not sanitize environments
Do not improve behavior
Do not remove context
Do not prioritize audience comfort
This kind of honesty gives images weight. The photographs feel grounded because they are not asking for approval. They simply exist.
For students, this teaches a vital lesson: truth does not need decoration.

Timeless Relevance
Dogtown images have outlived trends because they were never built on trends. They were built on observation.
Timelessness often comes from specificity. The more precisely an image belongs to its moment, the less it depends on contemporary taste. Dogtown photographs feel historical without feeling dated because they document conditions, not fashion cycles.
This is a reminder that chasing relevance usually shortens lifespan. Recording reality extends it.

Emotional Weight
Dogtown imagery carries emotional weight not because it dramatizes, but because it refuses to resolve. Moments are incomplete. Expressions are ambiguous. Outcomes are uncertain.
This emotional openness invites viewers to project their own understanding. The images stay active over time.
Students learn here that emotion does not need to be manufactured. It already exists in tension, effort, fatigue, and repetition.

Documentary Value
Dogtown photography functions as evidence. It preserves gestures, spaces, rituals, and relationships that might otherwise disappear.
This documentary value increases over time. What once felt ordinary becomes historically significant as environments change and cultures evolve.
Students should understand that their work may matter more later than it does now. Documentation is an investment in memory.

Resistance to Trends
Because Dogtown imagery was never designed for visibility or approval, it resists trend cycles naturally. It does not rely on fashionable color palettes, poses, or editing styles.
This resistance protects the work from rapid obsolescence. It also shields it from algorithmic influence.
For students, this is a lesson in independence. Photography does not need to keep up. It needs to stay true.

The Limitations

Not Commercially Clean
Dogtown photography is not designed for commercial use. It does not sell easily. It does not conform to brand safety, visual clarity, or aspirational narratives.
This limits where the work can live. Commercial spaces often demand polish, predictability, and control—qualities that run counter to Dogtown ethics.
Students must understand that choosing this approach may close certain doors. That is not failure—it is alignment.

Technically Imperfect
The same qualities that give Dogtown photography its power—blur, grain, blown highlights—are often read as mistakes in technical contexts.
This can be frustrating for students trained to equate skill with control. Dogtown photography requires unlearning that reflex.
Imperfection is not a substitute for care. It must emerge from presence, not negligence.

Easy to Fake
This is one of the most important warnings.
Dogtown aesthetics can be imitated superficially: grain added, blur introduced, contrast exaggerated. But without embedded experience, the images ring hollow.
Fake rawness is worse than polish. It signals performance rather than participation.
Students must learn that authenticity cannot be applied in post-production.

Requires Trust and Access
Dogtown photography depends on proximity. Proximity depends on trust. Trust takes time.
This makes the approach difficult to execute quickly or casually. It cannot be rushed. It cannot be outsourced. It requires consistency, respect, and patience.
Students must understand that access is not a right. It is earned.

Misunderstood by Mainstream Audiences
Mainstream audiences often expect clarity, spectacle, and resolution. Dogtown photography offers ambiguity, restraint, and incompleteness.
As a result, the work may be misread as careless, unfinished, or “bad.” This misunderstanding can be discouraging for students seeking validation.
This section teaches an essential resilience: not all meaningful work is immediately understood.

Holding the Tension

The Dogtown style is not a formula. It is a position.

Its strengths and limitations are inseparable. To remove the limitations would also remove the power. The challenge for students is not to overcome the drawbacks, but to decide whether they are willing to live with them.

This decision is not aesthetic—it is ethical.

The Question This Section Leaves Students With

Am I willing to make work that prioritizes truth over approval?

Dogtown photography endures because its makers answered yes—often without realizing the consequences.

Understanding both the power and the cost of this approach allows students to engage with it honestly, rather than romantically.

That honesty is what keeps the work alive.

TEN DEEP PRACTICE EXERCISES

Working in the Dogtown Ethic

These exercises are not about results.
They are about training attention, restraint, and embedded presence.

You will know they are working when the photographs begin to feel less impressive—and more true.

1. THE WAITING PRACTICE

Learning to Stay Without Producing

Objective:
To understand how much of skate culture exists before and between action.

Practice:
Spend a minimum of 30 minutes at a skate park without photographing a single trick. You may photograph only:
Waiting
Standing
Sitting
Watching
Leaning
Stretching
If someone lands a trick, you are not allowed to photograph it.

Constraint:
No zooming. One focal length or one phone camera.

Reflection:
Afterward, write one paragraph answering:
What did I notice only because nothing “important” was happening?

Why This Matters:
Dogtown photography learned that culture accumulates in idle time. This exercise trains patience and removes performance pressure.

2. THE MISSED MOMENT STUDY

Failure as Primary Evidence

Objective:
To reframe failure as central, not secondary.

Practice:
Photograph only missed tricks, aborted runs, slips, bails, and incomplete moments. No successful landings allowed.
You must stay close enough that failure feels uncomfortable to photograph.

Constraint:
No burst mode. One frame per moment.

Reflection:
Select three images and ask:
What does effort look like without success?

Why This Matters:
Dogtown imagery survives because it recorded effort, not achievement.

3. THE PROXIMITY DRILL

Distance as an Ethical Choice

Objective:
To feel how physical distance changes emotional truth.

Practice:
Photograph everything from within one arm’s length. If you cannot get that close respectfully, you do not take the photo.
No telephoto. No sneaking.

Constraint:
If someone acknowledges the camera, pause shooting until attention returns to skating.

Reflection:
Ask:
Did closeness change what I was willing to photograph?

Why This Matters:
Dogtown photographers worked close because distance creates hierarchy.

4. THE NO-REVIEW DAY

Relearning Commitment

Objective:
To break dependence on feedback.

Practice:
Shoot for an entire session without reviewing images. No checking. No deleting. No adjusting based on results.
If using a phone, turn the screen away immediately after capture.

Constraint:
You must select final images only after the session is fully over.

Reflection:
Notice:
Did I shoot differently without reassurance?

Why This Matters:
Dogtown photography depended on trust, not confirmation.

5. THE SYMBOL HARVEST

Learning What Repeats

Objective:
To train the eye to recognize cultural markers.

Practice:
Photograph only symbols:
Shoes
Tape
Stickers
Scars
Board graphics
Ground wear
Marks on walls
Repeated gestures
No people’s faces allowed.

Constraint:
You must find at least five repeating motifs.

Reflection:
Write a list titled:
“This place is made of…”

Why This Matters:
This exercise comes directly from the logic of C.R. Stecyk III—culture lives in repetition.

6. THE BLOCKED FRAME PRACTICE

Letting Go of Control

Objective:
To stop composing for clarity.

Practice:
Intentionally allow:
Bodies to block the frame
Objects to cut across the image
Partial views
Obstructions
Do not move to “fix” the frame.

Constraint:
At least half of your images must feel incomplete.

Reflection:
Ask:
Does this image feel inside the moment or outside it?

Why This Matters:
Dogtown imagery feels immersive because it refuses clean sightlines.

7. THE SILENT DOCUMENT

Photography Without Explanation

Objective:
To trust images without justification.

Practice:
Create a small sequence (5–7 images) with no captions, no text, no explanation.
Sequence them only by feeling, not logic.

Constraint:
If you feel the urge to explain, remove the image instead.

Reflection:
Notice:
Which images stand on their own?

Why This Matters:
Dogtown images were never explained. They were allowed to exist.

8. THE ONE-SETTING COMMITMENT

Exposure as Discipline

Objective:
To accept consequence.

Practice:
Lock exposure (or choose one ISO/aperture/shutter combination) and do not change it for at least 20 minutes.
If light changes, let the image fail.

Constraint:
No corrections in post.

Reflection:
Ask:
What did commitment reveal that adjustment hides?

Why This Matters:
Film logic forced decisions. This recreates that pressure digitally.

9. THE SOCIAL DISAPPEARANCE STUDY

Becoming Background

Objective:
To document without disrupting.

Practice:
Remain in one area long enough that skaters stop reacting to your presence.
Photograph only after the environment forgets you.

Constraint:
If people pose or perform, stop shooting.

Reflection:
Ask:
When did the camera stop mattering?

Why This Matters:
This is the ethical core of the work of Glen E. Friedman.

10. THE DOGTOWN ZINE FIELD PROJECT

From Fragments to Memory

Objective:
To synthesize everything into a lasting artifact.

Practice:
Create a digital or physical zine (8–12 pages) that documents one skate environment honestly.

Required Elements:
1 waiting image
1 missed moment
1 symbol page
1 blocked frame
1 text fragment (not a caption)
1 quiet ending image

Rules:
No filters
Minimal editing
No performance images
Sequence matters more than quality

Final Question (Must Be Answered):
Does this feel like evidence—or content?
If it feels like content, remove something.

Why This Matters:
Dogtown survived because someone assembled fragments into memory.

CLOSING NOTE — What You Are Really Being Asked to Practice

These exercises are uncomfortable by design. That discomfort is not accidental, and it is not a test of toughness. It exists because most modern image-making systems are built to eliminate discomfort entirely. They offer speed, certainty, reassurance, and approval at every step. They smooth out hesitation. They protect you from failure. They reward polish over presence.

Documentary honesty begins where those protections are removed.

When safety disappears, you are forced to pay attention.
When speed slows, you are forced to stay.
When validation is absent, you are forced to decide why you are photographing at all.

Dogtown photography emerged from exactly this kind of pressure—not as a creative strategy, but as a lived condition.

Dogtown Was Not a Style

This is the most important idea in the entire workshop.

Dogtown was not a visual aesthetic that someone designed. It was not a look that could be chosen or applied. It was a condition shaped by limitation, isolation, commitment, and proximity. The photographers working there—figures like Glen E. Friedman and C.R. Stecyk III—did not set out to define a movement. They responded seriously to the world directly in front of them.

The seriousness came first.
The look came later.

When Dogtown imagery is misunderstood, it is usually because people try to copy the surface without carrying the weight underneath it. Grain is added. Blur is introduced. Frames are roughened. But without commitment, those gestures collapse into performance.

Your task is not to make images that look raw.
Your task is to work in a way that requires honesty.

What Seriousness Actually Means

Seriousness does not mean solemnity or intensity for its own sake. It means taking the act of witnessing seriously. It means understanding that photography can record things that will not exist forever—spaces, habits, relationships, bodies, and ways of being that disappear quietly.

Seriousness looks like:
Showing up repeatedly, even when nothing happens
Staying present when boredom sets in
Photographing what is easy to ignore
Letting moments end without resolution
Resisting the urge to improve reality
Accepting that not every image will work

This seriousness is rare today, not because people don’t care, but because systems are designed to distract us from sustained attention.

Dogtown photography survived because it was made by people who stayed.

How This Extends Beyond the Skate Park

The Dogtown ethic does not belong only to skateboarding. It applies anywhere people gather, wait, repeat themselves, fail, recover, and exist together.

Once you learn to see:
Waiting
Missed moments
Small rituals
Repetition
Fatigue
Quiet connection

…you begin to see culture everywhere.

This way of working trains you to notice what most people rush past. It sharpens patience. It builds respect. It slows judgment. Over time, it changes how you move through the world.

You stop asking:
How can I capture this?
And start asking:
What is actually happening here?

That shift matters far beyond photography.

Why Your Photographs Will Change

If you practice these exercises fully, your photographs will change—but not in the way most people expect.

They may not become cleaner.
They may not become more impressive.
They may not perform better online.

What will change is your position.

You will move differently.
You will wait longer.
You will interrupt less.
You will trust moments to unfold.
You will stop fixing what does not need fixing.

Your images will carry more weight because they are connected to lived experience, not extracted from it.

The Real Work

The real work is not learning how to photograph Dogtown.
The real work is learning how to stay—in moments, in places, in relationships—long enough for truth to surface.

Photography, at its best, is not about seeing more.
It is about staying with what is already there.

Dogtown reminds us that images do not last because they are perfected.
They last because someone cared enough to be present without knowing whether it would matter.

If you carry that ethic into your everyday life—into how you listen, how you observe, how you wait—you will already be doing the work this workshop is trying to teach.

Everything else is just technique.

THE DOGTOWN ZINE ASSIGNMENT (Homework!)

A Documentation Object, Not a Portfolio

Inspired by the working methods and ethics of Glen E. Friedman and C.R. Stecyk III

READ THIS FIRST — WHAT THIS PROJECT IS

This final project asks you to create a zine, not a portfolio, not a highlight reel, and not content for social media.

Dogtown photography survived because someone stayed long enough to assemble fragments into memory. This assignment asks you to do the same—using either old-school film logic or modern smartphone tools, guided by the same philosophy.

This is not about making skateboarding look cool.
This is about remembering it honestly.

OBJECTIVE

Create an 8–12 page zine that documents a skate environment truthfully and without performance.

The zine should feel like:

• Evidence
• A record
• A lived document

Not:

• A social carousel
• A TikTok edit
• A portfolio PDF
• A highlight reel

Ask yourself throughout the process:
If this phone disappeared tomorrow, would this still make sense?

CORE IDEA — OLD SCHOOL & NEW SCHOOL SHARE THE SAME LOGIC

A smartphone is not a limitation.
It is simply a different kind of cheap camera.

Dogtown photographers did not choose imperfection—they worked inside it. Film was slow, harsh, and unforgiving. Mistakes were permanent. Feedback was delayed. Commitment mattered.

Your phone already behaves in similar ways:

• It shoots fast
• It misses focus
• It clips highlights
• It overprocesses reality

The goal is not to fix these behaviors.
The goal is to control them just enough to keep the image honest.

TWO TRACKS, ONE PHILOSOPHY

This project supports two parallel realities:

Track A — Film / Analog (Context & Reference)

• Film logic
• Exposure discipline
• Acceptance of loss
• Delayed feedback

Track B — Smartphone / Digital (Primary Student Track)

• Immediate capture
• Intentional restraint
• Minimal editing
• Fast sequencing

Digital students are not doing a lesser version.
They are doing a modern translation of the same seriousness.

NON-NEGOTIABLE RULES

Camera Rules

• Smartphone or cheap digital camera only
• No heavy editing
• No AI enhancement
• No staged images

Mindset Rules

• Do not chase best tricks
• Do not reshoot for polish
• Do not fix later

If the phone tries to help, say no.

REQUIRED CONTENT (MINIMUM)

Your zine must include:

• 1 missed moment
• 1 symbol
• 1 in-between moment
• 1 image paired with writing

Additional required elements:

• Invented place name (title)
• Short written fragments (not captions)
• A consistent visual attitude
• Imperfect sequencing is allowed

DOGTOWN EXPOSURE LOGIC → SMARTPHONE TRANSLATION

Original Film Reality (Context)

• ISO 400 pushed higher
• Harsh daylight
• Missed focus
• Motion blur
• On-camera flash abuse
• No rescue tools

Mistakes were permanent.
Exposure was survived, not optimized.

Smartphone Translation

• Slight underexposure
• Accept highlight clipping
• Fast movement encouraged
• Burst mode allowed
• Blur accepted
• Grain accepted

Rule:
Sharpness is optional.
Presence is not.

SMARTPHONE CAMERA SETUP (LOCK THIS IN BEFORE SHOOTING)

Before shooting, you must:

• Turn OFF HDR
• Turn OFF beauty modes
• Turn OFF scene optimization
• Turn OFF AI enhancement (if possible)
• Use exposure lock
• Use native camera or one manual camera app

If the phone smooths reality, disable it.

WHAT TO EMBRACE / WHAT TO AVOID

Embrace

• Crooked frames
• Blocked views
• Partial bodies
• Cut-off subjects
• Blur from movement
• Harsh overhead light

Avoid

• Portrait mode
• Fake depth
• Clean edges
• Heavy color grading
• Cinematic LUTs
• Instagram polish

WHAT THIS ZINE IS — AND ISN’T

This is not:

• A social media carousel
• A highlight reel
• A TikTok edit
• A portfolio PDF

This is:

• A linear document
• A sequence
• A record
• A digital or physical artifact

Think:
A document someone finds later and understands.

DIGITAL ZINE FORMAT (SMARTPHONE-FRIENDLY)

Recommended Specs

• Vertical format (phone-native)
• 8–12 pages
• Single-image pages preferred
• White or black background only

Acceptable Tools (Phone Only)

• Notes app
• Apple Pages / Google Docs
• Canva (used minimally)
• Adobe Express
• Any basic PDF creator

Rule:
Use what’s already on the phone.

DIGITAL PAGE TEMPLATES

TEMPLATE 1 — FULL IMAGE

• One image per page
• No caption
• No explanation
• Image may bleed edge to edge

Use for:

• Motion
• Missed tricks
• Chaos
• Presence

TEMPLATE 2 — IMAGE + TEXT FRAGMENT

• Image fills most of the page
• One sentence only

Text Rules

• 5–12 words
• Not descriptive
• Mood over meaning

Example:
Everyone was waiting for something that never happened.

TEMPLATE 3 — TEXT-ONLY BREAK

• No image
• Short paragraph or list
• Reads like a note

Purpose:

• Reset rhythm
• Add context
• Create tension

TEMPLATE 4 — CONTACT STRIP

• 4–6 small images
• Uneven spacing
• No hierarchy
• No captions

Purpose:

• Show repetition
• Show process
• Show obsession

SEQUENCING (VERY IMPORTANT)

Do not sequence by:

• Best to worst
• Clean to messy
• Trick difficulty

Instead:

• Start strong
• Drift
• Interrupt
• End quietly

One bad photo is better than one impressive photo.

REQUIRED ZINE STRUCTURE (STUDENT VERSION)

• Cover
• Title page or statement page
• Image (action or presence)
• Image + sentence
• Contact strip page
• Symbol / detail image
• Text-only reflection
• Final image (quiet, not climactic)

Optional pages may be inserted anywhere.

IMAGE RULES (NON-NEGOTIABLE)

Allowed:

• Motion blur
• Highlight clipping
• Grain
• Focus errors

Not allowed:

• Heavy filters
• AI upscaling
• Fake film presets
• Over-sharpening
• Over-explaining captions

PRINTING & ASSEMBLY (OPTIONAL BUT ENCOURAGED)

Best approach:

• Print at home or copy shop
• Fold by hand
• Staple yourself

Acceptable imperfections:

• Misaligned pages
• Ink streaks
• Crooked staples

Do not fix these.

BACK PAGE — COLOPHON

Must include:

• Name
• Location
• Year
• Camera used (optional)
• One-sentence statement

Example:
Made during a two-hour workshop. No one asked for permission.

FINAL QUESTION (THIS IS THE TEST)

Does this zine feel like evidence—or performance?

If it feels like performance, remove something.

CLOSING THOUGHT

Dogtown photography reminds us that:

• Culture happens without permission
• Style comes from limitation
• Truth outlives technique

Your job is not to make skateboarding look cool.
Your job is to remember it honestly.