Kia ora tatou:
Icarus chasing his own shadow
The day I received this e-mail for a good friend who chooses to remain unnamed. Well, at least I think he does. From time to time I receive e-mails like this, and I simply cannot let them lie. On the one hand I feel an obligation to provide a considered response to what has obviously required a considerable amount of effort. On the other hand, I suspect, the e-mail is pushing my buttons and demanding a response of me.
This is a longish response, so you may want to curl up with a coffee and some time…
Hi Tony,
On your blog I get great enjoyment reading the advice, instructions and especially your musings. The former two are invaluable but the musings are thought provoking and challenging. Thank you for taking the time and effort to share your thoughts! It goes without saying (but I’ll say it never the less) that our different life experience and backgrounds affect the way we meet life’s challenges, and when it comes to pressing the button, how we see the world.
Far too frequently I find myself asking, as I look through the viewfinder “why am I bothering?” It’s quite an effort to suppress this thought and get on with producing an image that reflects how I see that particular piece of the world. Plenty of times the goal is merely to make an aid memoire – “a nice post card” was the expression you used. Looking at the image later reminds me of the pressure of the wind, the smell, the way I felt at the time, and so on – usually pleasant memories. It’s when the scene, conditions and mood all come together and kindle a desire to try and produce something “special”, that’s when the excitement and enjoyment of trying to create a memorable (for me) image becomes one of life’s great pleasures.
I’m still puzzled as what causes some images, no matter what the medium, to have a powerful emotional effect on me. Frequently the reason is barely skin deep and easily bought to the surface. Sometimes I remain puzzled. On my recent trip, we camped in Zion National Park. I visited a photography gallery of a man who has spent most of his life taking photographs of this utterly extraordinary landscape – with an 8″ x 10″ film camera. http://www.fatali.com/ He prints using Cibachrome and mounts his very large pictures in a way that they stand proud of the base board and appear to float just behind the covering glass – most effective. Very large prints are always seductive but one of his images blew me away. I felt tears sneaking into my eyes. It was a view deep in a canyon, no sky, the incredible red tinted rocks, sculpted into extraordinary shapes and bathed in reflected light and all bought together in a impeccably composed image. I sat there and thought “why am I being so strongly affected by this image?” Many of his other images where wonderful too, but this particular one was getting to me. I could only come to the conclusion that it was the total harmony of the image, my recent exposure to this country, my tiredness after a day clambering, and the lack of coffee – all had conspired to trigger off my reaction.
You frequently allude to your spiritual beliefs and how they colour your approach to life and picture making. I’ve worked my way through my inherited religious and cultural beliefs, and emerged out the other side with a view of the world that is probably quite alien to your model. In my more active sailing days there would be moments when a particular view would cause me to proclaim “Look at that – it’s balm for the soul!” yet my beliefs don’t have a place for the soul. Very slowly I’m coming to the conclusion that, just as in my reaction to Fatali’s picture, one’s response to a sensory experience is coloured by everything one’s experienced before and most importantly, it’s transient. Placed in front of that photograph today, would I have the same response? I doubt it.
Thank you again for your “essays”.
-Zealous of Zaire (name withheld by agreement)
Zealous:
Many thanks for what has obviously taken some effort to write. I deeply appreciate the thought and feelings that have gone into this e-mail. I also feel prompted to reply, in part out of respect for your friendship and what you have said in this e-mail, in part because it has prompted me to think about what I photograph ( again…still) and the thinking behind it.
For what it is worth, from time to time I wonder myself why I bother making photographs and whether there is any point to doing so. After all, the Creation, as we and our cameras perceive it, is perfect anyway. How can the act of photography in any way improve upon it? The immediate answer is that: it cannot. So why bother? Why not just sit there and enjoy what is before us, remembering of course that what we perceive is contained within the outer limits of our sensory organs. I know that the green spring foliage on the trees outside my window is pouring out vast quantities of infrared radiation. I know that while I sit here, gamma radiation is poring through me and it sitting out the other side of the planet. At least, that is what I have been taught. But I cannot perceive any of that, nor is it particularly important to help me get through my day, and in no way does it detract from my appreciation of the beauty around me. And yet I insist upon devoting my time and resources to making images of that beauty. Why would I bother? Am I some sort of photographic Prometheus, doomed to spend my life pushing a stone uphill, to have it roll back down again. I often wonder.
So you are not alone.
Let us get religion out of the way right at the beginning. I suspect that is a topic for an extended conversation between the two of us at some later date. And certainly not here. From what you have written, it would seem that in” emerging out the other side, ” you have taken a stance that does not involve a god. I, on the other hand, am firmly heading in the opposite direction. Spirituality and my relationship with my Creator is a core concern for me, and colours more and more of who I am and what I do, as I begin to get out of my own way and allow it. I might add that there is an enormous and significant difference between religion and spirituality. But let us move on.
So why then is that photography has the power to move us? Why is it that the photograph can cause us to stop, stare in wonderment and utterly engage with it. In this post I’m going to try to come up with a response to that.
I took the time to check out the website you mention. Frankly, the pictures, as displayed on the website, moved me only marginally, if at all. They led me to realise that I was looking at the work of an extremely competent photographer. How did I reach that conclusion? Well, the way in which he describes making photographs assist in that decision. Having shot with a large format camera (although never an 8 x 10), I know how hard it is and the degree of dedication required to simply make an image, let alone an excellent one. So I am impressed by his technical prowess.
I am also impressed (according to what I can tell from the website) by his composition and the way he presents his work. But moved I am not. I think the reason for that is that it is almost impossible for me to form any sort of emotional response without being present to the work, occupying the same space. In order for me to respond, I need to be standing in front of the work itself.
I remember when I first saw an Ansel Adams print. I think it was that one of late-afternoon sunlight on aspens. My jaw dropped open and I stood there captivated. It was as if the Great Man had taken the essence of that simple scene and translated it into silver. The photograph simply glowed. I was entranced. Here was the very soul of Nature exposed for any passing viewer. My respect for Adams went up 14,000 notches! All I wanted to do was reach into the photograph and touch those trees. A couple of years later, I saw a similar print by John Sexton which had the same effect on me. So the question becomes: was my response due to the emotion contained in the photograph, or the photographer’s technical mastery, along with a desire to achieve that myself, or (Libran moment here) all of the above?I’m going to go with the last option.
My feeling is that for us to make any work of significance, either for ourselves or for others, we have to be fully present to what it is we are photographing. If photography for us is an opportunity to get away from family, home, and daily commitments, then the picture we produce will say just that. We took a couple of hours off, packed the picnic basket and the Thermos, and headed out into the country. We stopped, had a nice cup of tea and made some photographs of something that amused us. We have allowed ourselves a couple of hours to make some photographs. With scone in one hand and shutter release on the other, we have produced a photograph. If the photograph fails to move anybody else, perhaps that is because it is clearly expressing the degree of our emotional involvement with the subject. Or not. It may also (and here I stand on dangerous ground) be clearly expressing the amount of our emotional involvement with both ourselves and our own lives. Remember: the camera points both ways.
So, if we are to make those photographs which talk to both our own and other people’s hearts, we need to do a couple of things. We need to really be present to our subject, we need to think about why we are passionate, and what it is that causes us to feel that way. In other words, we need to actively engage with our subject. This is not necessarily mean spending every minute of your life photographing, for photography without purpose really does beg the question: why bother? We do need to allow ourselves time to consider the back story behind our photographs and our reason for photographing.
I have a dear friend who is passionate about wedding and portrait photography, who in my humble opinion, is on her way to becoming one of the best in the business. Whenever I look at the portraits she makes or the tender moment she captures at a wedding, my jaw drops open and I look in wonder at her sensitivity and gentleness and presence to the moment. She is already standing clear of the rest of the herd, not because of her skills with off-camera flash or having 243 amazing Photoshop actions to dig her out of the mud, but because she simply loves what she does and is fully present and committed to it.
So often, we try to be all things in photography. I know that I am as guilty of us as anybody else. Over the years I have attempted my hand at portraiture, documentary, commercial, landscape, and even (on odd occasions) birds and fungi. The last 2 I have not done well. The reason is simple: I’m not particularly interested in photographing birds (although I can stand and watch them for hours) and spending hours cuddled up to a minuscule fungus on the forest floor while the rain pours down upon me simply has no attraction. I’m happy to wander through a forest and enjoy the Big Picture of nature. From time to time I get passionate about photographing the forest, but it isn’t a continual thing (although I am a forestry brat). Over the years however, the strands in the basket which is my photography have begun to simplify, to narrow down to 2 distinct threads which I return to time and time again. Allow me to share two images from one of theses threads with you.
I think one of my favourite ways of making photographs is simply to go out and make photographs. I know that sounds simplistic but bear with me. While I am passionate about photographing the landscape, I’m also fascinated by the human condition and its concrete expression through the lives I observe and the way in which Society orders itself. Landscape photography requires a quite different skillset to documenting Life. Because I am continually attempting to gain a greater understanding of Life, the Universe and Everything, of the Great Scheme and my place in it, I tend to look around me for postcards which will give me greater insight. And, of course, they are always there.
One way in which I do this is to simply walk. I will load my favourite street camera bag (I have many camera bags!) with a camera body, a short and medium zoom lens, plenty of memory cards and maybe a water bottle, plus wallet and phone.. I put on some comfortable clothing and good walking shoes. Then I let go, get out of my own way, and simply walk, observing and being present to whatever is before me. It may frighten me, or amuse me, or bore me or fascinate me. I may be drawn to the human activity, which will cause me to stop, observe and consider why I am drawn, or I may be attracted by the colours or symbolism of the moment. As I see it, everything around me is a metaphor for something else. The world is richly symbolic and life itself, as I observe it, alludes to a much deeper level of Meaning. I try to be at once detached from what I see, but completely present to it. Walking helps me to fully interact with it. If I walk through a crowd, then I’m part of that crowd and my interaction with it has an impact upon it. In that sense I am fully present. It is also great fun, walking, observing, and interacting.
I have a passion for the land, but somehow the photographer in me and a human being within me responds strongly to those moments where the Creation reveals itself, where the Creator reveals himself in the space between.
I made the header photograph a few weeks ago in Cape Town. I was drawn by the bright colours of the buildings in the lives of the essentially Moslem community who live there. Using my usual wander around and photograph-whatever-talks-to-me technique brought me up some back alleys to this place. Birds were swirling and turning in the mid-day light, but I was so entranced by the shapes and the patterns and the colours and the light that I paid them little mind. As so often happens, the surprise did not reveal itself until I was later editing my shoot. To my utter amazement, at the moment of capture a bird must have flown across the Sun and left it shadow on the wall of the house. The message had arrived in the 250th of a second while shutter was open and the viewfinder closed. Is the shadow on the wall the Icarus in me who seeks to fly ever closer to the Sun? I’m pondering that one.
Man and blue Toyota, Calitzdorp
The other photograph is a very simple one. We were stopping in Calitzdorp for something to eat. I got out and, for some reason, Intuition told me to take the camera with me. It happened to have the 24-70 Vario Sonnar lens on it. As we were walking to the cafe, I looked across the road and noticed the wonderful colouring of the buildings. The next thing I observed was the old blue Toyota Corona parked on the opposite side. Blue/yellow. Complimentary colours on an essentially formal geometric design. As so often happens with this type of photography, once you begin seeing it, the rest falls into place. The man with the hat walked out from the kerb, propped himself on the back of the car and rolled cigarette. I stopped, framed and began shooting, adjusting my framing with each shot. As I did so, he turned and looked up the street. Perfect. In that moment, it seemed to me, the whole point of life was neatly summed up.
I am.
In the time since my return to New Zealand, I’ve been working through the back catalogue of all the work shot in Africa, looking for trends and messages I may have overlooked. There is work which I was excited about when I shot it which no longer moves me. Excellent. That is as it should be. I have landscapes that will make beautiful wall prints when I put them on paper. But there are some seminal images that are really scratching at my soul, which are really asking all sorts of questions, and which are generating an intense emotional response. The two I have mentioned are just that.
Somewhere on my website I wrote: Why do I photograph?
Perhaps I hope to see God looking back at me from one of my images.
I realise now he has been looking at me all along in the postcards I have been writing to myself. I realise now I have been looking at me all along in the postcards I have been writing to myself.
As have you.
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