The next time you are photographing, think about your reaction to the subject. Are you trying to make a flattering portrait of someone you find unattractive or downright ugly? Unless you are taking a typical studio portrait (the “tilt your head and smile” type) you would do well to follow your own instincts. Does the subject strike you as cunning? If so, bring out that aspect. Is he or she sensitive and appealing to you? If so, try to show it in your portrait. Is the outdoor market colorful and carnival-like or is it filthy and disgusting? Emphasize the aspect that strikes you most strongly. Don’t try to bring out what others expect or want; emphasize your point of view! You may upset a few people initially, but soon they will begin to recognize the honesty as well as the strength and conviction of your imagery. But in order to do that, you first have to determine what your point of view actually is. It is not always easy to do so, because you may be struck by conflicting impressions, but it is essential to recognize such conflicts and choose the impression that is strongest.
A hypothetical example may be valuable. As I wander through the canyons of the Kings River in Kings Canyon National Park, I am awed by the towering granite cliffs and pounding cascades. Yet I am also struck by the softness and serenity of the grassy meadows and sun-streaked forests.
If I were to make just one photograph of the area, I would choose the aspect I wished to accentuate: its overall awesomeness or its more detailed serenity. I doubt that I could successfully convey both in one photograph. Am I more strongly drawn to the spectacular or the serene? I would study the cliffs and cascades to determine if they truly are as spectacular as I first perceived them to be. And are the forests and meadows as serene? Am I looking for the spectacular, let’s say, and straining to find an example when none actually exists? In other words, am I stretching too far for a photograph? I must make proper assessments of these questions in order to produce a meaningful image that can communicate my feelings.
As soon as I determine what I am responding to most strongly, and how I am responding, I must concentrate on emphasizing all the elements that strengthen that response, while eliminating (or minimizing) all those that weaken it. Basically, I am responding to the mood the scene evokes in me, and I must determine how I wish to convey that mood through my photography. The feeling my photograph evokes is my editorial comment on the scene. If the response is what I intended, I have communicated my thoughts successfully. If the response is the opposite of my intent, I may be disappointed but subsequently come to feel that the interpretation has some validity. It may even open up new insights to me. However, if my photograph evokes nothing in others, I have failed miserably.
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As soon as I determine what I am responding to most strongly, and how I am responding, I must concentrate on emphasizing all the elements that strengthen that response, while eliminating those that weaken it.
In the future, I may look at the same scene and work toward conveying a different thought. Why? Because of changes in my own perception as time goes by. My interpretation will change. My “seeing” will be different. My goals will be different.
You, too, will doubtless change over time, as will your approach to photography. But if you are like me, you will find that these changes will not invalidate your successful earlier efforts. A fine photograph will survive the test of time. Beethoven would not have written his first, second, or third symphonies in the same manner after completing the final six, but that does not invalidate the earlier scores.
Though your perceptions will change, it is of utmost importance to be in touch with them at all times. Your perceptions and your internal reactions set the direction for your photography, your visual commentary. Get yourself in tune with those reactions. In other words, get to know yourself. But one word of caution: don’t analyze yourself to death. There is a reasonable limit to introspection. Before getting hung up on it, start communicating by making some photographs.
Successful communication of your message is the essence of creative photography. Reporting the scene is shirking your responsibility; interpreting the scene is accepting the challenge. Though the scene may or may not be your creation, the photograph always is! So don’t just stop with the things you saw; add your comments, feelings, and opinions. Put them all into the photograph. Express your point of view. Argue for your position. Convince the viewer of the validity of your conclusions.
Understand what you want to say!
Understand how you want to say it!
Then say it without compromise!
Now you are thinking in terms of creative photography!
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Most artists are not so much searching for the truth, but searching for a proper method of expressing the truth as they see it.
Of course there are those who will say that an artist is searching for the truth, and it is foolish to be so adamantly positive about your approach. There is some validity to this objection, but in general, I think the idea of “searching for the truth” is a highly romanticized notion. I believe that each artist, like everyone else, has strong views about the world: what it is, what it should be, and how it could be improved. As such, I think that most artists are not so much searching for the truth, but searching for a proper method of expressing the truth as they see it. It should be manifestly obvious that Lewis Hine was not searching for the truth, but revealing the grim truth of conditions in factories employing child labor. Similarly, Ansel Adams was not searching for the truth in his nature photography, but expressing the truth about the beauty and grandeur of nature as he saw it.
The list can go on and on, but the point should be clear. Even if we go back in time long before the start of photography, we see similar examples of artists expressing the truth rather than searching for it. Michelangelo depicted prominent local officials as being cast into Hell in some of his famous murals, a bold comment for which he suffered mightily. Other prominent artists, composers, and writers have been equally bold in their truthful statements.
Beyond that, there is no such thing in our complex world as “the truth,” but rather many, many truths, some of which conflict with others, and some of which contradict others. Thus the truth is elusive at best, and nonexistent at worst. Each of the subjects I have photographed, for example, has revealed different aspects of the world that I have found worthy of commentary. If my photographs have not revealed the truth, at least they have attempted to express my point of view about each of those subjects. I can only hope they provide interest, meaning, and insight to others.
Blue grama grass, rarely more the five inches tall, grows on the near-desert soils of Utah, usually with a crescent-shaped tuft at the top. I found this one with a full ringlet. As high winds shook it wildly, I pulled it up for later photography. Within a few steps I found a small piece of juniper wood with a cleft, to serve as a pedestal for the grass. I knew exactly what I wanted to do with these objects. Two days later, when the wind died down, I stacked two ice chests in front of my truck where I was camping, put the grass in the wood cleft, placed it atop the ice chest, and focused my 4 × 5 camera. I then laid the black side of my focusing cloth on the hood of the truck, hanging down over the grill to serve as the background.