What looks to be an interesting documentary about Edward Weston and Charis Wilson and their unique relationship. I haven’t seen the entire documentary, but the clips that are on the website look very promising. Worth checking out for sure.
Lately I’ve been thinking about portraits. It’s something I do a lot, but it’s not often I try to actually express those thoughts anywhere but inside my own head. But now that I’ve got this blog thing going, I figure I might as well write those thoughts down on the figurative bathroom wall.
It’s funny, because I guess everyone has their own idea of what they think a good portrait should be. Ask most parents and to them a good portrait is picture that portrays their child in a flattering way and shows them smiling and happy. Ask a model and they’ll say a good portrait is one that makes them look both beautiful and sexy. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I think every parent wants to see their child smile and every model wants to be seen in a flattering light.
But ask most portrait photographers what makes a good portrait, and I think the answer you’ll get is entirely different. I think most photographers would define a good portrait as one that reveals something about the subject. But what are they really trying to reveal. From my point of view, when I look at the work of photographers who make this claim, their portraits are not so much about revealing character, as they are about forcing the subject to be viewed a certain way. It’s like somehow these photographers strive to force some predefined emotion on the viewer. And that forced emotion is somehow idealized as revealing something important about the subject. And somehow that forced emotion shows character.
As far as I’ve concerned that’s bull. If everyone looks at a picture and sees the exact same thing and feels the exact same way, what exactly is being revealed? What is there to really see? After all, if everybody sees it how revealing can it be?
With my portraits, the most common criticism I hear is that my pictures are cold and emotionless. And I suppose they are when compared to what most people expect a portrait to be. And that’s fine if that is what you see. I really don’t expect to please anyone except myself. I’m happy if I do, but I don’t mind the criticism if I don’t. In some ways I even see that criticism as a badge of honor.
But I like to think if you look at one of my photographs and find it cold and emotionless, either you’re not looking hard enough, or you’re expecting to see something that isn’t there. And I guess that’s sort of the point. I don’t want to tell the viewer what to think, or how they should see the subject. When it comes down to it, I could easily manipulate the subject and manufacture any emotion I wanted. But that kind of emotion is easy. It’s sentimental and doesn’t reveal anything. It’s a campaign slogan or a Victoria’s Secret ad.
With my portraits, I don’t want you to tell you what to see. I want you to look, and look deep, to see what you see. Not what I see, or what your wife sees, or even what the subject wants you to see. I want you to see what you alone see, and hopefully that is something that is personal and unique and complex. Just like the actual person in the picture is seen by a thousand different people in a thousand different ways, a portrait should be similarly complex, and not be about a single emotion or a single idea.
I want my portraits to be mysterious and ambiguous, and also to be rich and complex, yet apparently simple at the same time. I want to strip away the pretense and present a person as they really are. Not as how you think they should be, or how I think they should be, or even how they see themselves. I want to present them simply and plainly, open for everybody to see, in their own unique way. And I don’t think you can do that by forcing your own perception on the viewer.
So when I hear someone say my portraits are cold or emotionless, I say thank you. And then I say look again but try harder this time, and don’t look for what you expect to see, but look for what you can see. Look at the photograph and view it for what is, not what someone tells you it should be. You have to look closer and let the subject reveal itself, and know that what’s revealed, won’t be what’s be on the surface.
To be honest, I have no earthly idea if that is what I achieve with my portraits. I guess that’s better left for others to judge. All I know is that it’s what I try to achieve, and I do hope in some small way that I approach that ideal.
I think that’s why I admire photographers like Mapplethorpe and Avedon and Greenfield-Sanders, because I think they aspire to that ideal, and are largely successful in that pursuit. When I see a Mapplethorpe portrait or a picture from Avedon’s In The American West, or one of Greenfield-Sanders’ portraits of New York City artists, I instinctively want to look deeper. I’m drawn in and I think about the person I’m seeing, and I wonder about who they really are and what they really think. I wonder about how they feel and where they came from and where they’re going. I think about all of those things, and in the end, I draw my own conclusions and I see that person in the photograph in my own unique way. And to me that ambiguity and that mystery is so much more revealing than a dour grin or sexy pout could ever be. And that is what I think a portrait should really be.
While I don’t mean to pick on LensWork, as I do like the magazine despite the fact that it’s basically become a digital rag. But it seems that lately, every portfolio in the magazine features work that was either shot digitally, or that was shot on film, bastardized in Photoshop, and then printed digitally. I mean, that kind of stuff is fine for Popular Photography, but I thought LensWork was supposed to be better than that. At least Popular Photography stopped kidding themselves and is now Popular Photography & Imaging. But I always thought that photography was about both art and craft, and that art and craft extended beyond clicking the shutter. And no, I don’t think diddling with a mouse in Photoshop exactly qualifies as craft.
But I’m an old fuddy-duddy, who is stuck in the 18th century, so what do I know?
But I guess all that is beside the point. I come here today not to bury LensWork, but rather to talk about the one portfolio in Lenswork #74 that I shouldn’t have a problem with. And that happens to be the portfolio of one Josef Hoflehner, otherwise known as the Nature Photographer of the year.
It’s funny, because for all intents and purposes, this is the one portfolio I shouldn’t have a problem with. After all, the work was shot on film and printed traditionally on silver gelatin. Now don’t get me wrong, I really don’t have a problem with Hoflehner’s work. I think it’s quite good, although perhaps a bit derivative. It’s not necessarily inspiring to me, but I can certainly see how it might be to others. But it’s clear he’s an accomplished photographer and his recognition is well-deserved.
But there’s one thing that still bugs me. In the interview, Hoflehner states that he makes large prints, and that while he doesn’t do the printing himself, it is done under his supervision.
At first, I wasn’t quite sure why that bothered me so much, I just knew that it did. After all, some of the photographers I admire most, such as Robert Mapplethorpe and Richard Avedon, didn’t really bother to print their own work. And what about all the wonderful photographers who work primarily in color, where printing is less about artistic interpretation and craft, and more of a technical exercise? Obviously there work shouldn’t be dismissed.
But the question still has to be asked, just how involved does the photographer have to be throughout the photographic process and still have the work called entirely their own?
For now, let’s take color photography out of the equation, mainly because I think the established traditions in color photography are somewhat different from those involved in B&W photography.
But I find myself asking if the photographer’s job done as soon as the shutter is clicked, or if there’s a lot more to it than that?
What about actually printing the work? Doesn’t this play a huge role in the overall photographic process? With the infinite interpretations of the same negative that are possible, isn’t both art and craft involved in the printing stage as well? With some photographers it could even be argued that printing a negative is just as important as deciding where to put the camera. So is it still the photographer’s work if he sublets the printing to another individual? Does it matter if photographer supervises that individual and eventually has final say about the result?
If that is the case, isn’t the photographer simply a manager, and not a craftsman? In other words, how important is craftsmanship in the final product?
I you go by the famous statement of Ansel Adams, where he said the negative is the score, and the print is the performance, then I guess printing your own work is important, but not critical. After all, the orchestra that plays Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, still gives credit to Beethoven.
On the other hand, Brett Weston famously destroyed his negatives before dying just so no one else could print from them after he was gone. I guess you could say in Brett Weston’s world, printing was an integral part of the photographic process.
For me, I can’t help but go back to the statement about art and craft. Personally, I think photography is fundamentally about both. You can’t have one without the other. And while there is certainly craft in setting up the camera and snapping the shutter, there is also craft in making the fine print. Making a B&W print is not merely a technical exercise, and that is what makes it art. And that, just like any other art form, requires craft.
So how can any artist claim the work as entirely his own, when he’s not the one that actually produces it? Sure, they can supervise someone, and even stand other their shoulder and guide them, but when it comes down to it something is being produced in the artist’s name, that is not made with the artist’s own hands. And in photography, the person that actually doing the crafting is rarely even acknowledged.
I think that is ultimately what bothers me, a photographer taking credit for work he didn’t actually do. And while the vision itself may be theirs, the final product was wrought by someone else, and that someone else is invariably forgotten. It’s a fine line, and I think there is no doubt the lion’s share of the credit should go the visionary, but the craftsman executing that vision shouldn’t be ignored either.
And I do understand why some photographers may choose to leave the printing to others. After all, it’s an intensive and time consuming endeavor. But when they do, it’s not quite the same, at least to me. I think in my eyes, they lose a little respect. When I see a photograph and a signature next to it, I want to know it was made by the artist himself, and not by some assistant. To me, photography is about the whole process from start to finish. And maybe it’s not quite the right word, but anything else seems like a bit of a fraud.
You know, I repect Brooks Jensen and his magazine LensWork for doing a great deal to promote photography. I like the fact that he’s not afraid to write about more than camera equipment and Photoshop techniques, and actually discusses the creative process and everything that goes along with it. There are not a lot of publications that do this, and hats off to Brooks for his willingness to do so. But all that aside, more often than not, Brooks Jensen is full of crap.
I think he’s spent way too much time trying to make a living hawking magazines. He seems way too concerned with somehow making photography appeal to the masses. He’s touched on this a bit in the past, venting about his perception that photography as art is generally overpriced. But nowhere was his obsession with appealing to the masses more evident than in his essay, Photography and the Meaning of Life, in LensWork #74.
I won’t bore you with the details of the entire article, but he basically rails against photographers that have the gall to pursue photography that has no commercial appeal. Instead he seems to think photographers would be better served by sticking to themes with universal appeal, rather than photography that is personally meaningful. The whole article, along with Brooks’ ridiculous assumptions, made me want to retch.
One of his points deals with the fact that some photographer waste time on details that the average viewer would never even notice. He says:
If “civilians” – i.e., folks not trained with a photographer’s eye – can’t see the difference between and platinum and a silver gelatin print, then why, pray tell, are we darkroom mavens sweating bullets over the subtle difference between Zone III and Zone III½? Well, we do so for those individuals who can see the difference – for our peers, for collectors, for mavens, you might say. I suppose there is some solace in that; at least there is someone who appreciates the subtleties in our work. But, what about the general public? Are we to ignore that 99.999% of the population who are not fine art photographers? At what level of elitism have we crossed a line that makes our work meaningless?
What an idiotic thing to say. Just because 99.999% percent of the population doesn’t appreciate the work, that somehow makes it meaningless? That’s insulting to say the least. Do photographers really need to dumb everything down so their work has some appeal to the general public? I suppose that might be the case if your primary goal is to sell generic $20 prints.
But for me, I really don’t care if 100% of the public finds my work utterly meaningless, as long as I find meaning in it. And I could care less if no one but me can see the difference between Zone III and Zone III½ in one of my prints. Contrary to what Brooks blindly thinks is a given, I don’t make my photographs for my peers, or collectors, or some maven, whatever that is. And I sure as hell don’t make them for the general public. I make them for me, and only me. They’re personal. And when it comes down to it, I don’t really care if someone else likes my work or not, it only matters that I do, and that my work provides personal satisfaction and meaning for me.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want people to like my work, or appreciate it, or that I will turn down money someone if willing to pay for it. But I don’t spend hour after hour taking photographs or in the darkroom to satisfy Brooks Jensen or some fat cat collector or anybody else for that matter. I spend all that time trying to satisfy me, and trying to provide some meaning in my own life. That’s why I photograph.
So if Brooks Jensen wants to sell thousands of $20 digital prints to the general public, more power to him. Go ahead and do it. Just don’t blindly assume that I want the same thing. Quite frankly my photography is more important than that. And I fully realize that my work may mean nothing to Brooks Jensen or everyone else in the world, but it does to me, and in the end, that’s all that matters.
There’s a post that’s been picked at like a boil over on APUG. In fact I think it’s up to something like seventeen pages now.
The conversation has taken a bunch of twists and turns, but the basic premise has to do with Ansel Adams, and why he is so special. Or perhaps to put it a better way, why is he so popular with the public at large?
First of all, I think Ansel Adams deserves a lot of the admiration he receives in the photographic community (and probably some of the derision as well). But regardless of whether you like his work or not, he did a lot to promote photography and bring it to the forefront as a legitimate form of art. And on top of that, he spent a lot of time teaching, writing, and generally sharing his vast knowledge of photography with others. After all there is a technical side to photography, and while it may not be as important as the creative side, it is vital nonetheless.
I don’t think that many people would argue that Ansel Adams mastered the technical side of photography and was more than willing to share that knowledge with anyone who cared to listen. In my mind, that alone should be applauded, whether you’re a Zone System aficionado or not.
But all that is beside the point. The real question is why is Ansel Adams so popular with the general public. In my mind that’s simple. Ansel Adams is easy. There is nothing to dislike about his work. It’s undeniably beautiful. Only Rush Limbaugh could hate a glowing picture of the pristine and grand western landscape as presented by Adams. Who can’t admire the spectacle that is Yosemite or the Sierra Nevada or Denali or a hundred other places Adams has photographed. His photography is gorgeous, and everyone from my 3 year-old son to my dead grandmother can see that. Of course it’s popular. Why wouldn’t in be? After all, what’s not to like?
But in a way, it’s like Miss America. Who can say honestly say that Miss America is not beautiful? You can’t. Like an Ansel Adams photograph is the standard that defines the beauty that is the American West, Miss America practically defines female physical beauty. Like Moonrise Over Hernandez or Clearing Winter Storm, Miss America is seemingly perfect. There’s nothing to argue with or object to.
But that’s also the problem. Just like with Miss America, there is nothing about an Ansel Adams photograph that presents any kind of challenge. Both are undeniably beautiful, and that is the standard they both set.
But to me, both are ultimately boring. That’s not to say I don’t like or appreciate them for what they are. It’s just that I want more. I want to be challenged. It’s like the old say, nothing really worth doing is easy. So give me Angelina Jolie or Keira Knightly over Miss America any day of the week and twice each on Friday night. Obviously both have issues, and neither one could ever be Miss America. And while both have legions of dedicated worshippers, neither is universally popular. And that is because they are different, and offer something beyond the standard definition of female beauty.
And similarly, while Edward Weston is revered and appreciated in photographic circles, a contact print of the pipes under his sink could never be an Ansel Adams print. Nor could it be as universally popular.
But unlike Adams, Weston offers a challenge. He goes way beyond the standard definition of beauty and dares you to see more. He sticks it in your face and hits you in the mouth and either you like it or you don’t. But either way he challenges your expectations and offers up a different way of seeing the world, which to me is so much more affirming than simply photographing universal beauty. Which is also what inspires the loyalty of rabid fans, it just doesn’t inspire everyone.
But most people, for whatever reason don’t want to be challenged. They want what is simple. They want to see universal beauty, because it’s easy to see. Show my Mom a Pepper and she’ll wonder why anybody would bother, but show her a print of Half Dome and she’ll immediately understand.
Of course Ansel Adams is popular. It’s just too bad that nothing that’s hard ever is.
I realize I’m a bit late in commenting on this post by Jorge Gasteazoro at the Silver Vista Gallery. But hey, as they say, better late than never.
First, let me say that I have no problem whatsoever with what Jorge is doing. If he thinks it’s better to make only one print from a negative and that will make his photographs more valuable, more power to him. I just happen to disagree.
Again, Jorge somehow seems set on following the model set by other art forms such as painting. I still don’t understand this, because photography is not painting, and like it or not photography already has established traditions, just like painting and all other art forms do. I do admire the thought of trying to break new ground and take things in a different direction. But still, I just don’t get it.
Somehow Jorge thinks that photography in general is undervalued because photographers make multiple prints from the same negative. Fair enough. Of course if there is only one of something, that one thing is inherently more valuable than if there are ten. And I’m sure that does make a difference in the price of the rarest and oldest photographs that are sold. So maybe when Jorge is dead and long gone and he’s achieved fame and success beyond his wildest dreams, his single prints will be extremely valuable. But we’re not talking about prints at a Sotheby’s auction a 100 years from now we’re talking about selling prints on eBay today. That’s a huge difference.
I think photographic prints in general are undervalued (if that is even true) not because they are abundant, but because of the perception that anybody can do it. Jorge even touches on this in his post. While all photographers know this is the furthest thing from the truth, the general public’s perception is that all they need is a bitchin’ camera and they too can be like Ansel Adams. After all, like Jorge says most people think all they have to do is press a button and somehow a great photograph appears.
As long as that perception about photography exists, photographic prints will be undervalued. Whether you make one print one print or ten prints from a negative doesn’t matter. And I don’t see how making only one print from a negative does anything to change the perception that photography is nothing more than pressing a button.
In his post, even Jorge devalues photography (inadvertently I think) when he says “why not use the model artists use to promote photography as art?” This just stood out to me like a sore thumb. What? Photographers are not artists? We can’t use the model established already by photographic artists? We have to follow a model established by real artists? I know this isn’t what Jorge is saying, but it’s the way I think most people would read it, especially with the bias against photography that I think exists.
I think effort would be better spent promoting photography as its own unique and vital art form and not mimicking the traditions established by painters. Painting has been around for thousands of years and everyone knows it’s difficult to do well and takes unique talent and vision, not to mention incredible craft. The same is true of photography. It’s just that the average person doesn’t understand or appreciate that so they’re not willing to pay for it. Why would they? They can do it themselves by pressing a button.
Well everyone can do photography, but not everyone can do it well. That’s what we should be screaming from the top of our lungs. But I do agree with Jorge on one point, and that is digital photography has devalued photography. So with Photoshop and digital cameras and huge disk drives all around us, we’ll have to scream even louder. I’m certainly up for it.
But for now at least, I won’t be cutting up any of my negatives, at least not until I’m done screaming.
Sally Mann moves me. I love her work. I was completely overwhelmed with her book, Immediate Family. It seems so intense to me. So vital. So very intimate. And that intimacy has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that her children appear naked. Seeing her work makes me think about my own photography in ways I never imagined. And it also made me realize how cold and how shallow some of my own photographs were. Here I was striving for perfection in every way. And yet her photographs are anything but perfect. And they are so much better than mine.
While surfing around this evening I came across a post from the original blogger Jorn Barger that detailed the Top 10 Tips for New Bloggers. The post definitely offered a bit of insight into the netherworld of blogging. Granted, like just about every blog post on the internet, I found a lot of what he had to say either useless or ridiculous. But still, the post intrigued me enough to keep reading until the end. It was the second tip that especially caught my eye. To quote the self-proclaimed original blogger himself…
You can certainly include links to your original thoughts, posted elsewhere, but if you have more original posts than links, you probably need to learn some humility.
If nothing else, I like to think of myself as humble. I guess whether I really am or not is not something for me to decide. But that said, in the interest of humility and with a desire to keep my reputation intact, I figured it was best to post some links.
Of course, I could turn his suggestion on its head and post links to sites I hate, but again, in the spirit of humility, I figured for now I’d take the easy route at least for now, and post a few links to sites that I actually do like.
One thing I should mention though is that I can’t say I really know any of the people associated with the following links. They’re just sites that I generally like and admire. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Without further ado, one site that in my mind deserves special mention is APUG (Analog Photography Users Group). Yes, I already have this site included in my blogroll, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to mention it again. APUG is a site whose community is dedicated to the pursuit of analog photography. No digital photography allowed. Now that’s what I call a real photography site. I actually do more lurking than posting, but I can’t recommend the site highly enough. It’s a treasure trove of information, opinion, and images, all centered around the now quaint notion of actual film based photography. It’s an oasis in the vast, soulless digital photography desert.
Sort of an offshoot from APUG is the Contact Printers Guild. As far as I can tell, most of the people associated with the Contact Printers Guild are also frequent contributors to APUG. That said, the Contact Printers Guild is basically an association of large format photographers dedicated to the time-honored art of the contact print. The Contact Printers Guild is both a collaborative effort to promote contact printing, as well as a means to market and sell guild members work. In these dark days of the digital onslaught, I think this kind of traditional work needs all the support it can get.
And finally a shout out to a few photographers whose work I admire.
First off, is Ian Leake makes beautiful platinum prints of the nude form. Unlike the wannabe erotic schlock that seems to infest sites like photo.net and photosig.com, Ian’s work is simple, understated, and beautiful. I think he proves the human body in all forms is something to be admired.
Another photographer whose site I find myself visiting often is Domenico Foschi. Again, a unique vision, beautiful tones, and exquisite prints. And all so deceptively simple. If only it were really so easy.
And finally, perhaps a bit more of a straightforward, commercial photographer, but still a photographer I really like is Jeff Singer. Nothing fancy. Not too clever. Just simple. Straightforward. And elegant. And in my book there’s a lot to be said for that. And by the way, Jeff has a blog that’s well worth checking out.
I greatly admire Michael Kenna. I think he has an interesting perspective and is another photographer who makes elegant use of negative space. The prints of his I’ve seen firsthand are exquisite and seem to have some sort of inner glow. Unfortunately his style now seems less than unique after multitudes of landscape photographers stopped imitating Ansel Adams, and started imitating Kenna. I certainly understand that impulse. As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. But there’s definitely something to be said for getting there first.
Anyway, via a post on APUG discussing Kenna’s printing technique, I came across this short documentary where Kenna discusses his art and his vision. I always find it fascinating to hear directly from the artist themselves.
In anticipation of taking a Polaroid a day for 365 days, I figured I’d better at least get used to the film I’m going to use and find out more about it. And what better way to do so than to take a few pictures. So that’s exactly what I did today. As for the technical details, I plan on using Polaroid 669 film for the duration of the project. Supposedly it’s an ISO 80 film, but as best as I could tell it seemed as much as a stop slower. That will definitely make it difficult to shoot handheld in most situations. Assuming of course, that I care about things like focus and sharpness, which I like to think I do. I know some photographers don’t. How novel.
Anyway, some of the speed loss could certainly be due to the developing conditions. For the most part I let the pictures develop for about one minute. It could be I need to develop the film for a bit longer to get some more speed, or else make sure I develop inside where the temperature is a bit more stable. It was definitely a bit colder than room temperature in the garage where I was when I developed the pictures. So that could be a factor as well.
But finally, after about 3 shots, I did manage to get an acceptable image. Not that it’s much, but it’s certainly better than a black square. I assume within a few weeks of actual shooting I’ll have a much better handle on what to expect from the film.
So for now, here is the first test picture. Not much I know.
Part of me is embarrassed to post this, lacking as it is. But I think this is a good example of exactly why I’m doing this. I feel like I’m stuck in a rut and that somehow I need to expand my vision and my perspective. Admittedly I like simplicity, and uncluttered and straightforward images. I hate when photographers try to be too clever. I’m typically not interested in photographers trying to prove how clever they actually are. If I want clever, I’ll listen to Dennis Miller. Backwards.
But I think compositionally, one of the most difficult things to do is to use negative space effectively. It’s always something that has been a challenge for me. I guess if I’m going for anything with my photography, it would be elegant simplicity. I’m not exactly sure what I mean by that, but hopefully with this project I’ll be able to better define that, at least in my own mind.
I will say that I greatly admire Robert Mapplethorpe. Not necessarily the homoerotic, shock photography. To me, some of that is interesting, but for the most part I consider that the visual equivalent of Howard Stern. Of course, Mapplethorpe was around a decade or so before Howard stern came along, but still I can’t help but think that some of Mapplethorpe’s pictures were done for no reason other than pure shock value. Some of those pictures can be interesting in small doses, but to me on the whole, they tend to be boring. And I think it’s sad that most people tend to associate Mapplethorpe with those shock images, because he was so much more than that.
His compositions, especially of flowers and the human form, were both elegant and simple. The way he used negative space seemed effortless. For me, in my compositions, the use of negative space has always seems clumsy and awkward. Almost forced. I never get that feeling with Mapplethorpe’s pictures. Sure, he borrowed a lot from classical composition, but he added something else as well. Needless to say, Mapplethorpe is definitely one photographer I admire very much.
