Photography, Photoshop, Retouching – Phloshop LLC Photoshop Workshop

Certain photographers are of the view that, photographs like portraits that contain artistic and fine makeup do not necessarily require retouching. Some are also of the view that, retouching enhances the beauty of certain portraits and photographs in general.

There are artists and photographers who are particularly skilled in this expertise; photoshop and retouching. Ghanaian photographer and retoucher Joseph Carlyle Amoateng of Phloshop LLC brings to you a 1-day photography and photoshop workshop this September, captioned “PHOTOGRAPHY AND PHOTOSHOP WORKSHOP: The beginner’s guide to Retouching“.

Here is a look at the press release;

 It doesn’t matter how great a photographer you are, nearly every photograph can benefit from retouching, whether it’s to correct colour problems or make major changes to the subject or background.

Phloshop LLC is organizing a photography and retouching workshop for beginners and professionals. This workshop is a day’s immersion into Photography and Retouching designed specifically for photographers who are interested in learning the basics of lighting and executing beauty photo retouch for both commercial assignments or personal projects. As well as how to take their own photography to the next level with professional retouching techniques.

Photographers and designers will benefit from learning systematic professional routines taught in this workshop. You’ll also be challenged to identify retouching mistakes or faults, tackle makeup problems and dozens of photoshop correction features to help turn average portraits into stunners.

DO YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS WORKSHOP OR READY TO ENROLL?

•  Contact +233 268780780 (whatsapp only)
•  +233 207385899 (voice calls only)
•  Email: Phloshop.llc@gmail.com
•  Connect with Phloshop on Instagram @phloshop

NB: Date to be communicated soon.

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  Connect With Phloshop Instagram HERE!

• Connect with Phloshop on Facebook HERE!
  

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AFROTASTIC “BIG CHOP”

nfonin

AFROTASTIC 2015 (Natural hair and Beauty Expo) took place in Accra on 11th July ,2015. This year’s event discussed the theme “Good Hair, Bad Hair”  Focused on what characterizes good hair or bad hair in the Ghanaian society”. The event is the brain child of Naa Motsoo Allotey and Annette Akye. It was well attended and I witnessed one lady’s “BIG CHOP” as she transitioned from chemically processed hair to natural hair.

There was a breakout section for discussions.

BRIGHT ACKWERH treated guests to some live portraits sittings.

Other “Afrotastic 2015” photos and more on my page NII ODZENMA NFONINGRAPHY

Enjoy your week and stay positive 🙂

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Tales Of An Accra Taxi Driver (III) – The Night Rider

They call me ‘Night Rider’ because I work at night and I’m not afraid of anything! Sister, if I tell you the things I’ve seen and battled whiles driving at night, you will marvel. But I am not afraid of anything… Odeshi! Uhuh… that’s me, Night Rider.

Growing up, I watched African movies that involved drivers stumbling upon atrocious encounters with armed robbers and ghosts. Talk of superstition, it’s more alive than it was before. Whoever told you superstition is fading as a result of Western cultures, deceived you. I’d rather say it looks refined now.

Night Rider refused to tell me his actual name, but his nickname is cool enough, isn’t it?

As his name, he’s had quite unspeakable encounters, but he shared a few with me in the Twi language, of which I translated to English.

My friends praise me for my courageous acts, that’s how the name Night Rider got stuck on their tongues. It is no bragging matter, it is just who I am. I picked up one doctor from Kasoa to Teshie Tsui-Bleo one night. On our way, he started talking gibberish, so I asked him if he was okay, but he only told me to keep driving. About 10min later, he started speaking Ga, I stayed at La for over 15-years so I understand Ga quite well; he kept repeating these lines, “God, please forgive me, I can never give my mother to them… I can never give my mother to them… God please forgive me, I can never give my mother to them… I can never give my mother to them. She’d sacrificed too much, I can never give my mother to them”

All I could think of was ‘this man had gone in for Sakawa (blood money)’. I asked him again if he’s alright, and he told me he was going to tell his wife everything that night, but then could ‘never give his mother to them’. When I asked who he was referring to, he said, ‘I deserve to die, not my mother. But I am her only son, O! What have I done?! It was just once, they told me it was just once. O! What have I done?!’ So I asked him to confide in me since I was just a driver whom he’ll hardly see anyway. Just when he started to talk, he begun to cough. Sister, he coughed so hard we couldn’t calm it down. Hmph!  I parked to get some water from the nearest store, but anytime he drank some, he’d throw up with traces of blood. That was when I stopped to rush him home.

Long story short, his friend introduced him to a ‘Lodge’ when life hit him hard. He needed the money so he said, and had to ‘pay the price’ but this. This peculiar price demanded him to sacrifice his mother to reverse his impotence; same thing they took away from him on the first day. He left some documents with me and requested that I visited his house the day after to deliver them to his wife so they believe his story. The next day, I went there as agreed, and guess what, he was gone… dead!

Hmm…

A few days ago, at about 2am, I picked up a young woman who’s dressed like a prostitute, around Cantonments. She was a prostitute, actually. How did I know? She was on a call and I happen to eavesdrop. She talked about how smelly her client was and how she’d wasted her time pleasuring a pot-bellied man with a teeny-weeny thingy who passed out into sleep right after he’d ejaculated. She complained of how he’d drool and snore, and how she hated to deal with such uncertainties every weekend, but the money was good.

You cannot judge a book by its cover, they say, but you can by its prologue, obviously. Whatever the case, you’d have to look further than what you see, that is when you actually see.

For a man who saves lives everyday yet dying by the day, who would have thought he was killing aside saving? For the woman who’s selling her body, you’d never know her story till you ask. She wouldn’t be complaining if she loved her job, or would she?

We are all one,  so it makes no sense to point fingers and judge. Encourage someone when you can, and help if you can. My dear, what’s your name?

Akwele.

Ei! A true Ga woman. I like your hair. Natural lady eh? Nice. I’ll give you my number; call me anytime you need a taxi at night. Night Rider, don’t forget the name.

Who would?

 

 

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  Photography: Gerard Nartey

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Grey Greg

Grey eyes are uncommon among Ghanaians, so it’s fair to admire and celebrate one with it, especially when he’s got gifted hands and a remarkable self. Meet Greg, the younger brother of my friend, Gerard.

Social media has made it easier for an individual to feel special on their birthday; different write ups even by ghost friends on our walls, friends changing their Whatsapp DPs to our pictures, uploading photos on Instagram, Banks and Telecommunications Networks wishing us Happy Birthday via SMS… the physical celebration can get boring at times, but thanks to social media, we don’t complain, or do we?

Greg is nice, simply nice. The first time we met, we easily bonded. He understood the puns and sarcasm, he teasingly laughed at the grammatical errors and petty ignorance, we had fun, we always do, just like with his Gerard. I guess blood is thicker after all.

I admire the bond they share as brothers, Gerard and Greg. They’re like an unstoppable force when together, and I feel like the intruder in their midst… well, more often than not. On the average, a brother’s love deteriorates in time, because they each grow to become their own ‘man’, but with these two…

Apparently, well, perhaps unintentionally, Gerard edits most of Greg’s photos in Black & White. If that’s to draw less attention from Greg’s grey eyes, uhmm… I don’t know. Oops… I pray he doesn’t face me on this one. But coming to think of it, that could be it.. hah! Gotcha, Gerard! Hah! Gotcha.

I could write a poem, but that would be cliché. I could sing for him the Happy Birthday song, but one talented female friend would’ve stayed awake to rocked his world at exactly 12am.

JULY BORNS ROCK! They rock even harder when born on July 14, counting down 14 days to my birthday.

Hah! Cool, right?

Happy Birthday, Grey Greg.

Hey, take a look at some photos of Greg, taken by Gerard

 

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  Photography: Gerard Nartey

• Subject: Gregory Nartey (Grey Greg)
  

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The Beggar’s Style

I didn’t have enough cash on me anyway, so when he asked for 1-Ghana-Cedi, I’d wanted to find a more appropriate way of dealing with the issue, my money had to go to the right place for a good cause. He didn’t look like a beggar. He didn’t look needy.

He was in a neatly ironed blue shirt, and his black trousers weren’t oversized, they fitted perfectly with his handmade Kumasi slippers. His toenails looked clean and new. And his hair, he’d probably used some curl activator pomade because his those curls looked really dark and defined, with sharp edges.

“I just need GHC1 to buy some food, please, I’m hungry, I don’t do this but I really need to eat”.

“O! GHC1 can’t buy you food that will satisfy. If it’s food you need, I can get you some fruits instead”.

I was still on the pedestrian road walking towards the Nii Boi Station at Lapaz. I had an appointment and was running late. Right when we were approaching a fruit stand, I asked him which fruits he’d like.

“No! No! I don’t buy fruits from here”

Well, darn! A beggar with a choice. Alright!

Still walking ahead, I stop at a fried yam and potatoes seller and signal him.  He shook his head in disagreement and said, “I don’t like their food”

Ahh!!!

I noticed a man behind the yam seller trying to get my attention. He shook his head and pointed at the beggar walking away. Just then, I got the impression he knew the beggar.

I had to do this nicely.

“So, you do not have family to call for help? None at all?”

“They’ve all travelled outside the country”

“All? Ok, that’s fine. What of friends? You don’t have friends you can contact for help? Or have they travelled with your family?”

“Oh c’mon, I can’t ask friends for money, or food. What will they make of me?”

“Wow. Ok. So you can’t contact family or friends. Now, make me understand your situation and I’ll might even give you more than a cedi”

“Oh I can’t tell you”

“But…” [he interrupts]

“Look, are you going to give me the money or not?”

“Oh wow. Ok. No.”

Immediately, he walked away and I continued my journey.

Tales Of An Accra Taxi Driver (II) – Wofa Joe

 

I’ve been driving for 23-years and have never seen such reckless driving as that of this age. Trotro drivers used to carry canes in their vehicles to check the stubborn taxi drivers, so every driver was alert. Not today. No. O! Just look at that… Insanity!

We text and drive anyway, listen to music so loud that we’d have to lower the volume on the radio to see and figure out where exactly we are heading. Today’s driver is has a mind of his own.

Yes, my name is Joe but everybody calls me Wofa Joe. I’m old enough to be your Wofa, don’t you think so? Hahaha… wow nice teeth. You should smile more often. Back in the day, the dental gap was a mark of beauty because it was rare. My wife, of blessed memory, had one. Fortunately, she passed it on to our last daughter.

I like my teeth the way they are, I mean, they’re mine, whose else? I’ve had a couple of traditional African men praise its beauty, and a couple of young men who vocally told me that I’d looked better with the gap closed. But that’s alright. It’s alright.

Driver, that’s my stop. How much?

GHC1.80

Oh! But I just sat in the taxi. It’s even a walking distance.

Then you should have walked. It’s a station car, young lady, fixed fare for every passenger heading towards the last stop.

Mtchw!    [Bangs the door]

Young pretty lady, such indiscipline, it’s sad. She’ll grow. Tsk tsk tsk.

There was an awkward silence in the taxi, why not? We were 2 young passengers left.

Oush! Thank God my stop is the next. I don’t like awkward.

 

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  Photography: Gerard Nartey

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Tales Of An Accra Taxi Driver (I) – Yakubu

O! There’s no need for a photo, I have friends on Facebook and that Insta-something-something… eh heh!

All other passengers had alighted at their destinations and I was left with the driver, Yakubu, who decided not to pick up anymore passengers for the rest of the day. When I asked why he didn’t want to make more money, he said,

”sweetheart, I drove a couple all night throughout Osu, and see, I am a Muslim, I am fasting”.

Touched By An Angel – Some Memories Never Fade

There are some memories that will never fade, certain songs whose lyrics don’t matter, and some movies that will forever touch our hearts. Touched By An Angel touched my life.

I might have been too little to understand beyond the surface meanings of each episode, but there wasn’t a Sunday night when the lines ‘I am angel, sent by God’ didn’t give me goosebumps.

There was something about Monica’s voice, her demeanor, the look in her eyes… she was simply peaceful to behold. Apparently, she was the main protagonist of the series, and Tess was her supervisor. No wonder Tess would rebuke her in love when she delays peculiar activities.

Tess was amazing. She was firm yet loving. Her white hair blew me away. And her smile, angelic! There was a time I told my mother that if Tess was my grandmother, I bet my family would know no sin. Yeah, that was how flawlessly I perceived her leadership.

The scary part was when Andrew will show up in his white suit. Woah!! “Oh no bruh! Andrew please don’t take him, please…” And as if he was responding directly to me, he’d shake or nod his head in disagreement, and take the dying character away anyway. I mean, which Angel of Death wears white? He must be accompanying his subjects to heaven then. Pfft!

Touched By An Angel was the definition of drama. You’d think you’ve seen it all, guessing the storyline right till it gets emotional and the angels reveal themselves.

It was strategic on Ghana television, airing on Sunday evenings. It’s as if to say, “here is something for you to ponder over to live a God-fearing life for the coming week; if you went to church, here is a double dose”.

Then again, what is fiction if there’s no hint of reality in it? What is rumour if there’s no hint of truth? We meet kindhearted angels who encourage and help us everyday. They are the kind of angels whose heads don’t glow, neither do they look divine, yet we overlook their good gestures with no Thank You or a word of blessing.

Let us learn to appreciate the good little gestures. Whenever you feel touched, remain touched, show some appreciation, because that might go a long way to touching and changing another; the cycle will be unending.

 

 

Weekend Love [II]

Grandma [left], Grandpa [right]

“Even in my old age, he reprimands me! Look at my face, do you think he doesn’t see the wrinkles when rebuking me? But we only have each other to love”

Self Esteem Revealed

Let me tell you something little about the power of self esteem:

It’s one of the most powerful positions any individual can find themselves in. It either overwhelms you totally, else it doesn’t; that’s where it’s friendly, that’s where you have control over and can deal.