MENU

Intro

Writing this newsletter took careful thought and several weeks. I wanted to share more than just the basics of photography and Japanese culture, which I often talk about. In this edition, I look more deeply into the realities of Japanese work culture and women's role in the workplace. I also explain why I now vet new clients more closely, and I discuss a difficult but rarely discussed topic in business: dealing with a truly challenging client. Throughout my career, I have worked with thousands of clients, and I can count on one hand how many have been truly difficult and cruel. 

The Artist 

To me, a camera is more than a device—it is an extension of the creative spirit, like a brush for the painter or a wrench for the mechanic. Similarly, as a visual arts educator and photographer, I teach photography classes and lead Japan photo workshops for university students and clients, helping them approach photography with mindfulness and openness. I introduce them to Shinrin Yoku (forest bathing) and encourage them to adopt a Beginner’s Mindset—embracing curiosity, humility, and a willingness to explore. Drawing on the wisdom of Zen teacher Shunryū Suzuki, I remind them: "In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities; in the expert’s, few."

My photography workshops, held exclusively in Japan, welcome participants of all levels, from absolute beginners to seasoned professionals. Everyone is encouraged to join, learn, and grow together in a supportive environment. I welcome clients using everything from a smartphone to the latest pro gear. Before you run out or feel pressured to buy the latest pro gear, think about this: in today's tech-savvy world, how many people print? Printing is an art, but most people show and share their images on computer, tablet, and smartphone screens; only a small percentage print, and some print coffee-table books. For the photographer, our camera is our medium/media, just a tool. And every visual artist needs the right tool to capture their goal. I photograph 50 weeks a year and print big and often, so the higher the sensor's megapixel count, the better; I use 50- to 100-megapixel cameras, and I need and use the best weatherproofing gear available. If you only photograph a few weeks a year, in mild climates, and share on a computer screen/smartphone/tablet or print small, a lighter camera and a smaller 24-megapixel sensor may be enough, espeicaly for street photography and landscapes; wildlife photography is different, story, but you still might not need the pro gear; renting might just be enough.  

 

 

The Camera and lens

99%+ of new camera & lens owners unbox it, check it out, learn what each button does, and tweak the buttons and menu (digital-age camera and some lenses), and learn the basics; especially important is how to attach the lens so you can take a picture. And that is what I and over 99% + of photographers, from the beginners to the pros, have done, ME from the FM2 in the 1980s to the Z9 in 2021. 

Despite remarkable advances in technology, a camera's three core elements remain unchanged. These fundamentals are:

1. Aperture (F-stop): This determines how wide the lens opens. A lower f-number (like f/2.8) creates a larger opening, resulting in a beautifully blurred background, while a higher f-number (like f/22) creates a smaller opening, keeping more of the scene in sharp focus.

2. Shutter Speed: This controls how long the shutter stays open. Fast shutter speeds (such as 1/2500s) freeze motion, while slower speeds (such as 1/15s) let in more light but may introduce blur if the camera isn't steady.

3. ISO: This measures the sensor’s sensitivity to light. A lower ISO (such as 100) yields crisp, clean images in bright conditions, whereas a higher ISO (like 8000) helps in low light but can introduce noticeable grain or digital noise.

Tripod

I use a tripod for 90% of my photography. Landscape photographers will always have a tripod. 

Tripods stabilize your shots by keeping your camera steady—even in challenging conditions like sunrise or sunset—preventing unwanted blur and letting you capture crisp, clear images without raising the ISO and risking noise. Tripods unlock creative long exposures; they let you experiment with slow shutter speeds to capture the smooth flow of rivers, waterfalls, or the dramatic movement of clouds across the sky. They also let you experiment with filters. And you can Enable Advanced Photography Techniques: A tripod ensures consistent framing, which is essential for techniques like HDR blending, focus stacking, and panoramic stitching—methods that require multiple exposures to align perfectly. Enhances Compositional Skill: Working with a tripod encourages a more thoughtful approach to photography. It invites you to slow down, meticulously refine your composition, and engage more deeply with the scene before you press the shutter.

Wildlife Photography: When working with heavy super-telephoto lenses, use a high-quality, stable tripod—especially during long waits or when photographing largely stationary wildlife, such as porcupine caribou, Ezo Sika Deer, wildebeest, or flocks of Red-crowned cranes. Likewise, when anticipating elusive species like owls or flying squirrels, a sturdy tripod provides necessary support. Holding heavy equipment for long periods can cause cumulative musculoskeletal strain or injury. Additionally, after standing for extended periods with your camera resting on a sling or the ground, abruptly lifting and swinging the gear to follow sudden wildlife movement can cause muscle pulls or tears. Prioritizing proper support not only safeguards your health but also enables steadier, higher-quality images.

However, handholding becomes essential in some circumstances—particularly when photographing fast-moving wildlife or other objects from boats, where instability renders tripods or monopods largely ineffective. This is especially true for capturing subjects like raptors in flight or during rapid dives. In my annual Hokkaido photo workshop, we use a charter boat and often rely on handheld techniques, bracing our arms on railings for support. While some participants successfully use a tripod with a gimbal on the upper decks, I personally find handheld shooting offers greater flexibility and responsiveness for photographing raptors.

I have tested most tripod companies out there, and for my own equipment, I rely on Gitzo’s heavy-duty tripods and favour the Gitzo Ball Head Series 4 GH4383LR (lever version) with a quick-release mechanism. The quick release is indispensable, letting me detach my camera quickly—especially when an opportunity arises behind or above me. This lets me switch quickly to handheld shooting with my 400mm or 600mm lens, capture the decisive moment, then place my equipment back on the tripod.

A little about me 

I have been an explorer for as long as I can remember. Born in the remote Canadian North into a lineage of adventurers, I first encountered a polar bear at age three. My family devoted two months each summer to canoeing the waterways of the Canadian wilderness. I was raised beneath the ever-shifting Aurora Borealis, whose ethereal lights danced across the sky in all seasons. In summer, the sun would linger until nearly 11 p.m.; in winter, daylight was brief, but the Northern Lights were at their most resplendent. My closest friends in Canada, both in my youth and now, are Cree and Inuit; apart from family, I have few other friends in Canada, and my sister remains among my dearest companions.

For most of my adult life, I have orchestrated expeditionary adventures across the globe and been deeply engaged in photographic education. I understand the dedication and expertise required to produce images worthy of gallery exhibition. The pursuit of optimal light and the elusive "perfect shot" demands stamina, often requiring sleepless nights and long hours—particularly during my tenure in Tokyo's competitive photography industry. Today, as I lead my own workshops in Japan, my top priority is my group's well-being. I strive to maintain a harmonious balance within our demanding itineraries, while staying ever-vigilant for those singular, gallery-calibre moments.

Scouting 

Scouting is my passion; I dedicate at least five years to thoroughly exploring a region in all seasons before hosting a workshop there. This exhaustive approach stems from my unwavering commitment to safety and to possessing an intimate understanding of the locale. When I hear others proclaim that they are prepared to accept bookings after merely a week or two of international or even local reconnaissance/scouting, I am invariably astonished. (My immediate thought is always: Donner Party.)

This summer, I spent 8 weeks camping, scouting, and leading private photo workshops for returning birding clients in the Northern Japan Alps, with one main species in mind: the Ruddy Kingfisher. I have been chasing this bird and others in the region for over ten years. This year, I felt confident enough with my route to start leading private workshops, and I am open for booking from late May to early July 2028 to track the Ruddy Kingfisher and other species, and I can’t wait. 

I've called Japan home for thirty years, and I've never stopped scouting, which is why my Hokkaido photo workshop, my cherry blossom photo workshop, my Essence of Autumn Workshop, and my private Japan photo workshops are booked a year to three years in advance. 

The Japan-only photography workshops I lead are more on the luxury side than others, especially when it comes to travel, food, lodings (I always pick the best hotels in a region, but some regions only have photographer hotels). We don’t waste our clients' time. I refuse to hold day one of my workshops in a Tokyo City hotel so everyone can gather for a meet-and-greet and get over jet lag. My meet-and-greets are about 10 min, and we hit the road chasing the light. But let's not forget: I offer mainly Japan photo workshops, and my all-Japanese group support team and I have worked together for over 20 years; we are all Japan locals, like family, always there for each other, and our clients' needs and safety always come first. Today, if you go out and try to find similar group photo workshops that  I lead in Japan, you will be very hard-pressed to; most are more interested in monetary gain than in having the best team, vehicles, lodgings, and food and chasing the light and capturing that perfect moment. Monetarily, I could make five- or ten-fold more easily, but I was raised to take from this world only what I need, and leave the rest for others. 

 

Japanese Culture and My Team

During my tenure in Japan, I held a senior position at a prominent Japanese camera company. While I faced only minor challenges within my department, especially as head, and adapted readily to the rigorous work hours customary in Japan, I was troubled by how employees—particularly women—were treated in other divisions. Despite gradual progress, women continue to face significant underrepresentation and wage disparities, especially in leadership roles, with only about 8 percent occupying senior positions in private enterprises. Japan's work culture is characterized by long hours, frequent overtime, and obligatory after-hours social gatherings (nomikai), a regimen that can lead to serious health concerns. The pervasive culture of presenteeism discourages employees from taking leave, worsening the difficulties working parents face in balancing professional and personal life. Japanese women, in particular, shoulder a pronounced dual burden rooted in entrenched cultural expectations: even as increasing numbers participate in the workforce, they are still primarily responsible for domestic chores and childcare. More than 60 percent of Japanese women exit their employment upon the birth of their first child, a statistic driven by the formidable challenge of reconciling career demands with domestic responsibilities. The scarcity of flexible work arrangements and affordable childcare further compounds this issue. Japanese children are raised in a cultural and educational framework that strongly emphasizes empathy, collective harmony, and social consideration. While these values resonate with aspects of my own upbringing, the Japanese educational system elevates group harmony to an unparalleled degree, with schools and community organizations promoting cooperation, shared responsibility, and subtle social pressure to align with communal expectations. Opportunities for children to engage with non-Japanese peers are limited because the nation’s demographic composition is largely homogeneous, and a preference for social conformity over individual assertiveness persists into adulthood. This fundamental cultural distinction sets Japan apart from Western societies and leads to frequent misunderstandings on both sides. Many Western expatriates initially embrace Japan during a so-called "honeymoon phase," but a significant proportion leave within five or six years because of burnout or difficulty integrating long-term. Although English language instruction is compulsory from a young age through high school, Japanese students seldom achieve fluency or confidence in conversational English, as education is heavily oriented toward reading, grammar, and exam performance, with limited opportunities to interact with native speakers. Consequently, visitors should not assume English conversations go unnoticed—many Japanese may understand more than they appear to.

 

The Japanese Apology

Mistakes are an inescapable aspect of human experience, but seeking an explanation or apology in Japan requires cultural sensitivity and patience. Expressing contrition in Japanese society is a nuanced, complex process, markedly distinct from Western norms.

In Japan, providing an explanation or offering an apology can rise to the level of ritual, most notably through ojigi—deep bowing—accompanied by a profound sense of meiwaku, or the desire to avoid imposing trouble or inconvenience on others. Apologies are taken very seriously, serving as demonstrations of respect and mechanisms to restore social equilibrium. This practice is deeply rooted in a collective emphasis on competence, social harmony, and avoiding embarrassment. Rarely will one hear raised voices in public or professional contexts; instead, people consciously avoid mistakes and refrain from burdening others. When errors do occur, a formal apology is obligatory and often delivered with a discomfort that may seem extraordinary to outsiders. SO I CHOOSE THE CANADIAN APPROACH. Canadians are renowned for their frequent use of apologies, often blending contrition, gratitude, and acknowledgment into a single gesture. In Japan, the phrase "sumimasen" (excuse me) operates as a multifaceted social tool to restore harmony—similar to, but distinct from, the Canadian tendency to apologize. For Canadians and many Westerners, "losing face" is typically a transient, personal embarrassment that can be quickly overcome. In contrast, for the Japanese, losing face carries profound social consequences, potentially resulting in lasting ostracism that affects not only the individual but also their entire group or family.
So when I find someone in the wrong and I reprimand them in Japan, and that person says “sumimasen” (excuse me), I quickly acknowledge this and drop the issue, unless the person’s action is unacceptable or they are relentless. Only then will I include their superior and/or, if the law is required.  
Thus, while apologies in Japan may appear commonplace, they are, in reality, significant and often humiliating events for individuals or organizations. It took me several years to appreciate why public apologies by CEOs, entertainers, and public figures receive such extensive coverage and societal attention.
Conflict resolution in Japanese society is anchored in indirect communication, preserving group harmony, and careful emotional regulation. This approach contrasts sharply with the more direct and confrontational styles commonly observed in Western cultures.
In Canada and other Western societies, direct communication is typically valued; people are encouraged to voice their needs, questions, and concerns openly, and they generally offer apologies promptly when warranted. In contrast, Japanese communication relies on subtle nonverbal cues, intentional silences, and indirect language rather than direct verbal statements or confrontation. Disagreements occur in every cultural context, but to outsiders, my disputes with colleagues or support team members in Japan may seem as though I am at fault because of these differing norms. Even after decades in Japan, I find the art of "silent argument"—a method employed to preserve harmony—challenging to master. My directness, shaped by Western upbringing and years spent abroad, is sometimes perceived as a dry sense of humour, though I am not cynical. My perspective is further shaped by my detachment from contemporary media and politics: I have not owned a television since adolescence and rarely engage with the news, which occasionally leaves me out of step with certain Western cultural nuances.

My Team: Dedication and Cultural Nuance

The most indispensable member of my team, aside from myself, is my principal assistant and confidante; our professional partnership has spanned more than two decades and blossomed into a lifelong friendship. Her diligence and commitment are truly exemplary, though her tendency toward self-sacrifice often compels me to intervene for her well-being. Despite my repeated cautions about the dangers of overwork, she rarely heeds my advice. About ten years ago, after she fell ill during consecutive workshops from excessive exertion, I insisted on a regimen of rest—requiring her to retire after dinner during fieldwork and, while in the office, adhere to an eight-hour workday. Securing vacations for her or any of my team members is a formidable challenge; at times, I have surreptitiously booked paid retreats at onsen resorts to ensure they have an opportunity to relax. When this initially caused familial friction, I addressed it directly with their spouses and families to clarify the need for such restorative breaks, and family members quickly understood and helped with household chores while their families were away on vacation.

In the office environment, I sought to curtail excessive overtime by installing an automated timer to cut the electricity and prompt departures at a designated hour—a solution that achieved moderate success. Left unchecked, my support team, many of whom were raised during the Showa era, would exhaust themselves in service of others. The same ethos extends to my professional guides and drivers, who also struggle to establish healthy boundaries. Not long ago, one of my guides confided: “It’s sometimes hard to know how much we should do for our clients. I was also concerned that these issues might affect your photography session or workshop this autumn.”

This conduct reflects Japanese work culture—prioritizing others’ needs, especially when they worry about my well-being or professional relationships. I advised my guide to pause, rest, and establish clear boundaries with clients, which was met with gratitude: “Thank you. I feel much better now.” While such dynamics are rare in Western contexts, they are commonplace in Japan. Managing my support team often feels more like supporting family than overseeing employees.

New Client Vetting

Recently, my team encouraged me to adopt a more rigorous client screening process. Now, new participants must complete a detailed registration form instead of simply submitting a deposit. This adjustment arose after several unusual encounters with first-time clients. For instance, over a two-year period, two clients arrived at workshops with brand-new, unopened cameras and lenses—one even asked en route to our first shoot whether batteries come fully charged from the factory. Remarkably, neither client knew how to attach a lens, despite professing to be experienced photographers. Another participant arrived with both Canon and Sony camera systems, yet lacked fundamental knowledge of shutter speed, aperture, ISO, and camera ergonomics—astonishingly, this individual claimed to be a professional photographer. On another occasion, a client became frustrated that I was not intimately familiar with the menu systems and ergonomics of their particular camera—an unreasonable expectation by any standard, as few, if any, professionals possess encyclopedic knowledge of every camera model. Some clients, despite being informed about the necessity of tripods for nighttime photography—such as at illuminated cherry blossom and autumn foliage events or at historic sites—neglected to bring theirs, insisting they were unnecessary. In these instances, I provided my own tripod to ensure they could participate fully. All clients visiting Japan inevitably encounter cultural differences in communication; while some adapt with ease, others may perceive leadership as overbearing because cultural expectations differ. Ultimately, photo workshops run on tight schedules, and everyone will get tired and have an off day; this is natural. As the workshop leader, I'm responsible for ensuring smooth operations, with particular emphasis on safety, comfort, and adequate rest for both clients and team members. Before each workshop, I give clients detailed recommendations on clothing and camera equipment, and nearly all arrive appropriately prepared.

Most clients are naturally happy & Kind. Koi Ponds Niigata, Japan.

A Once-in-a-Lifetime Client

In all my years, I never expected to encounter a new client I would ultimately blacklist. Although this participant had virtually no knowledge of photography—which isn't problematic, as I welcome both novices and professionals—she kept telling my personal assistant I wasn't supporting her enough. By the third day, my assistant, exasperated, remarked, "How can Blain help you when you are constantly with me?" When the client finally engaged with me, we began to communicate, and she recounted her experiences with five previous workshops, consistently casting the leaders—two of whom are highly respected photographers worldwide and friends of mine—in an unfavourable light. It was clear I would soon face the same treatment. The following day, this client informed my personal assistant—my trusted colleague of over twenty years—that she should resign, citing my supposedly overly direct communication style. Naturally, my assistant was incredulous and responded, “Then who will assist you with all your needs?” The client replied, "You can quit after the workshop ends." This individual was exceedingly demanding, expecting my assistant to serve as a personal concierge at hotels and restaurants, repeatedly asking about room amenities, and requiring multiple reminders about meal times, despite having been informed several times. At our third hotel, when I saw my assistant tirelessly helping everyone, I cautioned her that she risked compromising her health from stress and fatigue. Unbeknownst to me, two other clients overheard our conversation and assured me on the spot that my assistant was simply showing them around the hotel. Had I known they were there, I would have reserved my remarks for a private discussion with my assistant the following morning. I clarified to our clients from Tennessee that it is entirely customary for my assistant to familiarize participants with the hotel, and I emphasized that my assistant had been going nonstop all day, and even after dinner she had spent two hours caring for other clients’ needs, and that the late hour and her relentless dedication warranted concern. Their understanding and compassion were evident—consistently considerate and never burdensome. On the fourth morning of my 2026 Cherry Blossoms Photo Workshop, I met with my team and proposed sending this problematic client back to Tokyo because of repeated rudeness and a marked lack of empathy toward others. My assistant, however, advocated for the client to continue participating. In hindsight, I recognize that this individual transgressed boundaries numerous times within just three days, and my team meticulously documented each infraction in accordance with our terms and conditions. I even possess dashcam footage documenting this client’s refusal to allow another participant to exit our Toyota Alphard via the side door for refreshments after an extended day of shooting at a Samurai castle during peak cherry blossom season. At the time, one client re-entered the vehicle from the rear, and when I inquired about the unusual choice, he dismissed it as inconsequential. Only later, after returning to our accommodations, did my assistant apprise me of the incident. She had intentionally withheld the information, anticipating that I would intervene. In retrospect, I realized my initial observation—that the client’s behaviour was peculiar—warranted greater scrutiny, though I refrained from comment out of respect, as everyone has an off day. The following day, I offered my sincerest apologies to the affected client and chose not to address the incident with the problematic participant out of deference to my assistant. It is apparent that this individual struggled with personal challenges that manifested in disruptive behaviour. Despite the difficulties, I harbour no animosity and sincerely hope she finds peace and fulfillment. I share this account not to disparage, but to provide closure. Confidentiality is paramount—I would never disclose her identity—and I trust that, should she encounter this narrative, it might inspire self-reflection and positive change. For illustrative purposes, here are some of the most notable instances involving this once-in-a-lifetime client:*Walking in front of others when they were photographing a scene!

*Speaking disparagingly of others when they were not present, to the point that fellow participants would collectively sigh or physically distance themselves upon her approach. She also frequently made unsolicited negative political remarks about others.

*Repeatedly voicing dissatisfaction with both the cuisine and the scheduling throughout the workshop.

*Persistently criticizing Japanese urban regions, insisting they should emulate Californian attitudes and lifestyles.

*Yelling at me because I didn't tell this client lunch would be late a couple of times; even though I informed everyone in a group, and on both occasions, this troubled client said, " Oh, I must have had my headphones on! Then she continued, stating she suffers from hypoglycemia. I quickly asked for her blood count and if she used insulin. No, she said, but she stated she needs to eat at a certain time. In this group were 4 doctors, and one doctor said, “Why did you not tell Blain about your condition before? The client replied he never asked, and the doctor replied 100%Blain asked, as it was in your registration form, but you never filled it in, and one doctor commented Give her a Tic Tac. So, that very day, out of concern, we stopped at a store, and I filled the vehicle with Japanese rice crackers, nuts, chocolate and other Japanese snacks, just in case. Then this client complained about the junk food in the vehicle. But when we stopped for lunch, she ordered junk food. When we went to a store, she bought bags of chips and Coke multiple times, along with other junk food I never eat or drink.

I could elaborate further about this individual, but it would serve little purpose. Again, I harbour no resentment toward this troubled person; rather, I genuinely hope she finds equilibrium and happiness. However, for me and many colleagues in the photographic community, such a participant represents an archetype we should avoid to protect everyone involved. Consequently, I have implemented a more rigorous vetting process: prospective clients must now complete a registration form and share samples of their photographic work via websites, social media, or direct submission; engage in conversation via email, FaceTime or WhatsApp; so I can assess their expectations and social behaviour. Through this process, I assess their grasp of photographic fundamentals as outlined at the outset of this newsletter. Moving forward, I will require all clients to demonstrate a basic understanding of their camera’s ergonomics and menu systems. My workshops remain open to all—from beginners to professionals, and even those accompanying spouses—yet the core ethos remains unchanged: every Blain in Japan photography workshop is a heartfelt journey, thoughtfully crafted for photographers of all levels who wish to experience the true soul of Japan. My photography workshops/tours are more than just an opportunity to capture stunning images—they are a warm invitation to immerse yourself in the culture, form genuine connections with locals and fellow travellers, and create memories that last a lifetime. I am deeply committed to fostering an inclusive, supportive environment where every participant feels valued and inspired. My greatest hope is that you not only leave with extraordinary photographs, but also with cherished friendships and unforgettable stories. Join us, and let’s discover Japan's magic together.

 

 
Hokkaido 2028: Book now. Steller’s Sea Eagle - Red-crowned cranes.
Previous Post Next Post

Archive

Go
CLOSE