Photography as a reflex.
A while back I wrote an article for "Fixed & What", a British fixed gear publication. I figured I'd post it up on here now that the magazine's been out for a while:
"I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let… lets evolve, let the chips fall where they may." -Tyler Durden, Fight Club
When one thinks of artists as people, a wide variety of pictures comes to mind. Everything ranging from a struggling, socially awkward youth to the rich, gallery owning socialite elderly. When you picture these people honing their craft, wringing and squeezing every last ounce of who they are into a medium, we think of this as a process requiring much attention to detail. The writer must edit and reedit, going over each word time and time again. The painter must carefully apply each brush stroke with utmost care. The sculpture must exercise patience as they bring form the something shapeless. It's only natural that when we think of photography, we think this same formula holds true. Truthfully though, this is not the case.
Traditional, straight photography saw men such as Ansel Adams practicing extreme self discipline as he would spend hour after hour framing a shot just right to catch the right light, before spending days in the dark room crafting a precise print. However the formal gave way to the gestural, as street photographers such as Henri-Cartier Bresson snapped candid, on the fly photos of people caught off guard and unaware. Suddenly the accidental became the beautiful, and photography's true purpose as art became apparent: to duplicate what lay directly in front of the lens, then elevate it to a place that the human eye can never perceive on it's own.
For this reason, to understand photography one must practice extreme attention to detail while simultaneously allowing reflex, knee-jerk reactions to dictate the direction of art. It seems counter productive to try to practice two opposites at the same time, but is necessary for the progression of photography as art. I can recall being in art school, working on a body of work consisting of street photographs shot in downtown San Diego. Immediately I was influenced by street photographers of the past, shooting wide angle candid portraits of passerby I felt that revealed something more of themselves then the others trying to huddle past in their own bubble. However I was reprimanded in critiques, being told I had it in my head what I wanted to shoot and was attempting to make the same picture. I was so confused. Isn't that what a personal "style" is? Shouldn't I be visualizing the picture ahead of time and trying to find it? It wasn't until the end of the semester that I truly understood what my professor was hinting at. He called this style I had in my head "blinders", telling me that because I was only looking for one type of picture I was turning a blind eye to other possible photographs.
As photographers without studios and models who we cannot give direction to, it becomes our duty to shoot every slight detail around us, and attempt to understand the meaning later in the edit. We must scoop up with a giant net, shooting anything that might catch our eye no matter how mundane. There is a reason that we noticed that subject matter in the first place, but it is through photography that we can understand what it means to us as the camera duplicates what's in front of the lens, then elevates it to a place where we could not perceive it as when we were standing with it at the moment it was photographed.
When attempting to create a portrait of cycling, it's important to keep these notions in mind. It's impossible to direct riders during mid-alley cat to lift their chin slightly and to the left mid-sprint, or ask a friend mid run in a trick competition if they could go back and x-up over that box jump one more time. Moment of exposure and vantage point aside, even our attempts to shape the subject matter into something it truly isn't, is ultimately futile. When attempting to document a social scene such as cycling, one can not go into the project with a battle plan in mind. The people one may meet will not adhere to preconceived notions of how the photographer feels the photos will come out. Instead, we must document all that is around us, edit through what we've shot, and let the next round of pictures be built upon the images from the first edit. Pictures lead to pictures, and as such we let bodies of work develop along with a deeper understanding of the subject matter we gain through the heightened attention to detail we give it.
As photographers we have to stay flexible and open minded in the face of spontaneity, and understand the fact that we have very little control over the photograph. It's a difficult notion to come to terms with, that even though we watched this decisive moment unfold in front of us we truly can't appreciate it for what it was. Even in the most sterile studio setup, when working with people all we can hope to do is to coax a moment out of them and attempt to hit the shutter at the precise time. However, this is the reason why photography is so beautiful. We're given the wonderful gift of hindsight, and allowed to dissect moments as we build them into moving and emotional bodies of work. By giving up the human nature that attempts to control, we're giving life a chance to blossom in front of the lens.
"I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let… lets evolve, let the chips fall where they may." -Tyler Durden, Fight Club
When one thinks of artists as people, a wide variety of pictures comes to mind. Everything ranging from a struggling, socially awkward youth to the rich, gallery owning socialite elderly. When you picture these people honing their craft, wringing and squeezing every last ounce of who they are into a medium, we think of this as a process requiring much attention to detail. The writer must edit and reedit, going over each word time and time again. The painter must carefully apply each brush stroke with utmost care. The sculpture must exercise patience as they bring form the something shapeless. It's only natural that when we think of photography, we think this same formula holds true. Truthfully though, this is not the case.
Traditional, straight photography saw men such as Ansel Adams practicing extreme self discipline as he would spend hour after hour framing a shot just right to catch the right light, before spending days in the dark room crafting a precise print. However the formal gave way to the gestural, as street photographers such as Henri-Cartier Bresson snapped candid, on the fly photos of people caught off guard and unaware. Suddenly the accidental became the beautiful, and photography's true purpose as art became apparent: to duplicate what lay directly in front of the lens, then elevate it to a place that the human eye can never perceive on it's own.
For this reason, to understand photography one must practice extreme attention to detail while simultaneously allowing reflex, knee-jerk reactions to dictate the direction of art. It seems counter productive to try to practice two opposites at the same time, but is necessary for the progression of photography as art. I can recall being in art school, working on a body of work consisting of street photographs shot in downtown San Diego. Immediately I was influenced by street photographers of the past, shooting wide angle candid portraits of passerby I felt that revealed something more of themselves then the others trying to huddle past in their own bubble. However I was reprimanded in critiques, being told I had it in my head what I wanted to shoot and was attempting to make the same picture. I was so confused. Isn't that what a personal "style" is? Shouldn't I be visualizing the picture ahead of time and trying to find it? It wasn't until the end of the semester that I truly understood what my professor was hinting at. He called this style I had in my head "blinders", telling me that because I was only looking for one type of picture I was turning a blind eye to other possible photographs.
As photographers without studios and models who we cannot give direction to, it becomes our duty to shoot every slight detail around us, and attempt to understand the meaning later in the edit. We must scoop up with a giant net, shooting anything that might catch our eye no matter how mundane. There is a reason that we noticed that subject matter in the first place, but it is through photography that we can understand what it means to us as the camera duplicates what's in front of the lens, then elevates it to a place where we could not perceive it as when we were standing with it at the moment it was photographed.
When attempting to create a portrait of cycling, it's important to keep these notions in mind. It's impossible to direct riders during mid-alley cat to lift their chin slightly and to the left mid-sprint, or ask a friend mid run in a trick competition if they could go back and x-up over that box jump one more time. Moment of exposure and vantage point aside, even our attempts to shape the subject matter into something it truly isn't, is ultimately futile. When attempting to document a social scene such as cycling, one can not go into the project with a battle plan in mind. The people one may meet will not adhere to preconceived notions of how the photographer feels the photos will come out. Instead, we must document all that is around us, edit through what we've shot, and let the next round of pictures be built upon the images from the first edit. Pictures lead to pictures, and as such we let bodies of work develop along with a deeper understanding of the subject matter we gain through the heightened attention to detail we give it.
As photographers we have to stay flexible and open minded in the face of spontaneity, and understand the fact that we have very little control over the photograph. It's a difficult notion to come to terms with, that even though we watched this decisive moment unfold in front of us we truly can't appreciate it for what it was. Even in the most sterile studio setup, when working with people all we can hope to do is to coax a moment out of them and attempt to hit the shutter at the precise time. However, this is the reason why photography is so beautiful. We're given the wonderful gift of hindsight, and allowed to dissect moments as we build them into moving and emotional bodies of work. By giving up the human nature that attempts to control, we're giving life a chance to blossom in front of the lens.