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Details, photography and the power of less


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<p>Historically, photography has persuaded many of its value as an art form or form of communication in the works of photographers who have aptly brought to a two dimensional image the "big view", be it of grandiose natural landscapes (Ex. The "Half Dome" of Adams), impressive manufactured or human landscapes (Ex: those of Edward Burtinsky), cityscapes, panoramas and other images containing multiple objects or subjects.</p>

<p>At the other end of the scale, Ralph Gibson and Michael Kenna excel at images of restricted content, often preferring or concentrating on details from much larger scenes. On the weekend, the pioneering Canadian feature film producer, Gilles Carle, came to the end of his nearly two decade battle with Parkinson's disease (a State funeral is scheduled this week or next). This 80 year old cinematographic artist exploded with creative dreams, many realised, many unfinished. When it was suggested that he might have benefitted more from greater financial resources and the opportunity to make more epic films had he plyed his craft south of the border, he replied that his fascination was more with details than with the big scene, that his goal was to "see things that other people don't see". He echoed from a cinemaphotographer's point of view what Kenna and Gibson apparently attempt in their photography.</p>

<p>Carle's approach seems to me to be one of great appeal for photography as well as cinema. I took a photo I remade in October in Georgia and reframed it so as to concentrate on one of its aspects, a detail of the original image. The two photos appear at the end of this post. The reframed image is just one of many possible examples that I or another might offer based on a detail, of a fragment (we know that "fragmentation" is an approach loved by some contemporary painters) of an overall scene. My objective is to raise the question of the validity of my expression, "the power of less", in photography, and implicit in the approaches of Gibson, Kenna or others in seeking out fragments of a scene (Kenna often photographs expansive scenes, but reduces the elements by selective focus and other techniques including blur).</p>

<p>Do you think that "seeing things that others don't see", and concentrating on details, is of some importance in the evolution of photography and the art that sometimes accompanies that? Visually meaningful, or simply decorative? Is there a significant power of less? Does less interact better with the viewer?</p>

<p> </p><div>00V8oo-196369584.jpg.ec0c31a50b0e315c3270d01ce69978a3.jpg</div>

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<p>A) Yes. Less is often more, as in this instance.<br>

B) Someone quoted Gertrude Stein saying something like "artists notice important things that others may miss, such as grass growing through cracks in sidewalks." (I can't find that quote online... heard it on the radio of a 1972 Volkswagen, passing through Santa Rosa, CA in 1982 or so...remembered it, sort of).</p>

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<p>For me, it depends on the photo and what I'm wanting to capture or express. Sometimes less is more and sometimes more is more. When I first started photographing, I would often come in quite close to my subjects. As I mature photographically, I generally tend to prefer stepping back a bit to include a little more context in my portraits. I often find that gives them a bit of personality. But this is by no means a general tenet. I have some photos that I've cropped way down from their original because I find them much more effective that way.</p>

<p>I do find that many doing portraits come in very close, almost to where all they capture are the eyes, and often I don't find them compelling portraits. It's as if some photographers rely on the extreme closeup for expression instead of actually expressing something. A closeup of eyes is not necessarily proof of the adage that "the eyes are the mirror of the soul." Sometimes, you need more to go with eyes in order to make them speak, or at least you need to capture the eyes in a particularly compelling way. Sometimes that's accomplished in just a closeup head shot and is extremely moving.</p>

<p>In the case of the two photos you've posted, I prefer the second, tighter shot. I find it has more significance to me, is more personal, and reads somewhat more essentially. The woman's pose in the first one I just don't find that compelling. She just seems to be sitting and protecting her eyes from the sun while looking at something but I'm not particularly engaged with her as a subject nor do I have much wonder about what she's looking at. In this case, more information, depending on what it was, might help me. Seeing what she was looking at could possibly add a lot of dimension, depending on what it was or who it was. Your second version eliminates the woman and I do find the shadow with no source and the empty bench a more moving image. But it's not because I think closeup detail by nature is any more compelling. It's more about the comparison put before me. In another pair, I might very well choose the photo with more information.</p>

<p>I find it a stimulating concept for you to work with and think it might lead you to some interesting work. Again, that's not because I think there's anything inherently better or more interesting about shots with less information but because I think if it offers you a challenge, and so it is likely to move you and wind up feeling genuine.</p>

<p>I can as easily find myself responding emotionally to visual sparseness and visual lushness and visual excess. It will depend on a lot of accompanying factors. There's Mondrian and there's Kandinsky, both of whom I love. There's Antonioni (the sort of sparse Italian new wave cinema) and there's Von Sternberg (the German Expressionist filling the screen with a lot more information whenever he can). I wouldn't say I love the former's <em>The Passenger</em> any more or less than the latter's <em>The Blue Angel</em> or <em>The Devil is a Woman.</em></p>

We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!
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<p>Everything has the same amount of informaton. The eye fills, the mind fills. They don't half-fill.</p>

<p>A photograph of a ball bearing on a white background shares as much informaton as a Kandinsky.</p>

<p>To me, "less is more" has to do with expressiveness or coherence of the information rather than relative amount of information. Arthur's full frame image is cluttered with divergent stories, the tight image tells a more coherent, focused story.</p>

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<p>I certainly tend, myself, to respond more to less ... though I hesitate to build a general principle on that.<br>

What is important is the photographer's vision, and how that transfers to the image. Whether that image is small or large, or any number of other divisions, probably owes a great deal (not everything) to the context in which they learned to see?</p>

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<p> There's energy and access to the viewer's mind in simplifying and paring down. The process of art is mostly a reductive one, and this kind of image emphasizes that. An image stripped bare by its author has fewer elements to wade through, and less dead weight. It's a refuge from the apparent chaos and usual noises of the real world.</p>

<p> Gibson's strong graphic design, beautiful, inky blacks, and elegant geometries have a certain compelling, clear is-ness that is seductive and contemplative. I have had the pleasure of handling scores of Kenna prints. I don't see them nearly as simple as Gibson's. One thing about Kenna that is really different is the small size of the prints. Here's one of the top print-selling artists in the world and he's making 8x7.5 inch prints at a time when obsession with print size is rampant. For most, big is good, bigger is better, and biggest = best. Even Gursky has pulled away from the gigantic prints and has shown many smaller sizes, though not as small as Kenna's. In my opinion, the smaller prints are also a way of paring down. They also make the experience for the viewer intensely intimate, in the way that straight Polaroids are. But that's probably a subject best left for another post.</p>

<p> No matter what one thinks of Kenna or his work, his prints are exquisite. There's no sign of vacillation or timidity. They are extraordinary parables on feeling, intelligence, and decisiveness. A lot of his work reconciles things like well-known and oft-photographed specific locations with mystery, universality and transcendence. He is also a master at dislocating time from the thin slice produced by the shutter curtains towards the long, almost eternal view.</p>

<p> Complex images have their strengths, too. Photographers like Walker Evans, Lee Friedlander and William Eggleston are adept at handling a multitude of elements simultaneously. The viewer is confronted by a kind of horrovacuity that deals with multiple ideas and/or aspects thereof. It is facile to think of this type of image as being primarily about quantity. They're not. Contemporary viewers are used to dealing with complicated (if not cluttered) visual fields in their daily lives. These images provide access and energy in a familiar, natural way.</p>

<p> The eye integrates. It has no problem dealing with a stroll through dense brush in dappled afternoon light, and seeing through all that. In a dense fog, blinding ice, or bleak darkness, for that matter. A simplified image is neural relief from the usual torrents we deal with in our daily lives.</p>

<p> Historically, degrees of complexity tend to come and go. For the individual, this can be an ingrained way of seeing, or another dimension that can be creatively explored.</p>

<p> I respond to simplicity and complexity on a case-by-case basis.</p>

<p> </p>

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<blockquote>

<p>"The process of art is mostly a reductive one" <strong>--Luis</strong></p>

</blockquote>

<p><strong>Luis--</strong></p>

<p>Yes, in the sense that by framing something or by choosing what to paint or sculpt, we "leave out" a lot. We isolate. We do not photograph or paint or sculpt the whole world. Making that initial choice is, as you say, mostly reductive. In making that reductive choice, we may simultaneously be expanding what we've isolated. Calling attention to can be a very expansive act.</p>

<p>So this particular statement of yours, as I see it, may refer to the nature of art itself rather than to the handling of individual photographs, paintings, or sculptures. Baroque, to me, is not about reduction. Nor is Expressionism. Nor are the photographic examples you point out, like Friedlander and Eggleston. Except in that very fundamental way that describes all art. But once we get <em>inside</em> art, <em>inside</em> the frame, which is, I believe, where Arthur already is with his two examples, I am much more inclined to agree with your final thought and I, too, respond on a case-by-case basis.</p>

We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!
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<p> <strong>Fred - "</strong> Making that initial choice is, as you say, mostly reductive. In making that reductive choice, we may simultaneously be expanding what we've isolated. Calling attention to can be a very expansive act."</p>

<p> Of course. In no way was I implying that the reductive nature of a "less" picture makes it lesser. My comments on Kenna and Gibson show that, I hope.</p>

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<p>What does "more" mean? I'm reminded of the old question (that I am going to hash up) about how long should one's legs be? Long enough to reach the ground. Some songs are perfect when barely heard hummed under the breath; others require a full orchestra. What one wants is "enough." Not one bit more, nor one bit less. Whatever that means.</p>

<p>In spite of my unhelpful comments above, I do see a qualitative difference that I think relates to closer versus longer shot (taking the eyes at the height/range of a standing human as origin). For me, there is a zone of closeness in which I find things to be more ... familiar, comfortable, safe, easy, relaxing, simple. If those adjectives are appropriate to the subject matter or what I'm after in making a picture or to what I want to look at in a picture (one probably doesn't want <em>Guernica</em> in the dining room), then less = enough.</p>

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<p>No worries, Luis. I didn't think you were saying that the nature of a "less" picture makes it lesser. I think we both agree that "less" is more and "more" is more is a matter we take on a case-by-case basis.</p>

<p>I was more interested in honing the idea of art and reduction. I see the fundamental aspect of art, in choosing, framing, and isolating as reductive. But what we do inside the frame may be reductive or not, according to what we do. Some styles and genres minimize and others are more complex and more full of information, like Baroque and Expressionism.</p>

We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!
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<p><em><strong>"Visually meaningful, or simply decorative? " - Arthur P.</strong></em><br /><em></em><br /><strong>"Meaning" is an interpretive response.</strong> It doesn't reside in anything external to one's mind. A haiku or image of ball bearing may <em>stimulate </em>more or less meaning than a Kandinsky or philosophic essay, depending on the recipient mind.</p>

<p>The original, fuller-frame image seems a nice-enough back-of-head "street" shot, but Arthur's revisualization found almost all of its value reductively.</p>

<p><strong>Virtually all of the image's value sprang from reduction. </strong>The cropping organized and focused attention, removing distractions. Minds identify value through selective attention and organization.</p>

<p>An attempt to identify value seemed intended in the photo's "explanation" in its earlier thread...which didn't work for me. I saw a photo accompanied by words that tried to elevate it (in some galleries the curators attempt to add value with explanitory essays: usually competition between the mere photographer and the curator's ego).</p>

<p><strong></strong><br />Here, Arthur helped us (me, anyway) find value by eliminating distracting peripherals...first by loosely framing the original scene and rendering it in B&W, subsequently through butchery.</p>

<p>Arthur is a perceptive person...he can (and does, presumably without knowing it) create value everywhere...his mind crops snapshots, Kandinskys, traffic noise, bird chirps, Bach performances, advertisements, letters, films, dinner etc - 24/7. Actually, humans all do that....</p>

<p>The "power of less" to which Arthur refers is demonstrated by his perceptive decision to find value by harshly cropping a weaker image. <strong>That power is Arthurs, not the image's.</strong><br /><em></em></p>

<p> </p>

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<p>Julie, you mean an actual physical distance/range, right? In that sense, closer or more distant does not equal "less" or more <em>for me</em> , going back to John K's comments on information. I take "less" from Arthur's original examples of Gibson and Kenna, as having fewer elements/lower level of complexity, and this is relative. Kenna often uses telephoto lenses, but his sparse style remains the same (save for spatial compression) as it does when he uses normal or wide lenses.</p>

<p> Gibson has experimented deeply with some of the simplest visual elements that most take for granted, particularly the representation of space and volume in relation to the graphic. He creates finely tuned, perfect pitch tensions between all these things, often using for content things most of us walk by without a second glance.</p>

<p>"What one wants is "enough." Not one bit more, nor one bit less. Whatever that means."</p>

<p> To me it means a kind of parity between desire or expectation and outcome.It also implies a kind of null balance and control or extraordinary serendipity.</p>

<p> I don't like getting exactly what I want, either as a maker or a viewer. It's not 'enough' for me, it's a yawner. I like those missing bits, both greater and lesser ones. As a maker, I am open-minded enough to shift on the fly, absorb new ideas whether my own or from others, and embrace accidents or the unexpected when they serve the work or take it further. As a viewer, I love surprises.</p>

<p><strong>John -</strong> Not that I found either version of the picture that Arthur used to illustrate his point to be particularly strong, but the <em>before</em> version has its charms. The woman sitting on the bench with the gesture of looking in the direction of the sun, might be waiting for something, seemingly oblivious to the cemetery behind her, her shadow on the gravestone, literal mortality. Her condition in this reading is that of a huge percentage of humanity. Most look away, living in denial about their mortality, but eventually, it's door we all get to go through, often unexpectedly.</p>

<p><strong>Fred - </strong> Thanks.</p>

<p> </p>

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<p><strong>Luis</strong>, we all try to find/construct meanings. You've explained pretty much what Arthur (or somebody) also explained in the other thread..succeeding in bringing a little meaning to the image...not the meaning I draw (see below), and not nearly as well as the cropped image does on its own merits. Arthur's OT involved "power of less." I think he's demonstrated that.</p>

<p>I do accept and appreciate those long explanations, but the whole seems closer to painting by numbers (Fred's recent phrase) than its "art" aspirations. As it happens, I don't find those itemized symbols as relevant to the original larger view as its passive, quiet, sunlit character...which others seem to have ignored...though identifying those nearly-numbered-items is secondarily interesting. The tombstones are nearly irrelevant to the larger image, for me...could as readily be replaced with lawn.</p>

<p>The cropped version is another matter: it's resonant, seems vital...a good demonstration of one of Arthur's points.</p>

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<p>John- " The tombstones are nearly irrelevant to the larger image, for me...could as readily be replaced with lawn."</p>

<p> Then, why do you think Arthur included them? Was it a casual oversight?</p>

<p>John constructed meaning with: "The cropped version is another matter: it's resonant, seems vital.."</p>

<p> How so? <strong>Why</strong> is the 2nd version "resonant" and "vital" as opposed to the first?</p>

<p> </p>

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<p><strong>Luis, remember that I said <em>"for me."</em></strong> </p>

<p>I don't know "why" Arthur included the tombstones, except that he sometimes likes symbols. Ask him.</p>

<p><em>I</em> <em>think</em> he subsequently resolved a conflict between image and symbol by cropping tightly, creating an image that worked better with those symbols ...creating more resonance, vitality, punch, clarity. <strong>More mystery, as well: I love the new emphasis on the shadow.</strong> Editors and designers do that sort of thing, don't they? Some photographers enjoy and utilize that potential, some don't. Arthur evidently did enjoy it in this instance. Maybe this is the difference between a "street" orientation and some other kind of orientation?</p>

<p><em>For me</em>, the original photo is cluttered and has now become burdened by explanations. The cropped photo is less cluttered and doesn't require explanations. One makes its points on its own merit, the other has less merit than its explanations do..IMO of course :-)</p>

<p><em><strong>A verbal response to a non-verbal phenomenon will inherently be off base</strong></em> by a few degrees at the very least...the two redundant discourses on the uncropped image are <em>for me</em> quite a bit further off-base than my simple statement that the cropped image is more resonant or vital "to me." <strong>Do you prefer the uncropped image?</strong> Which is <em>better</em>? Or is it unfair to make value judgements? </p>

<p>Others are into symbols and interpretations, I rarely am. Arthur and Fred have both indicated a taste for them. </p>

 

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<p>Luis, by the way... Do you prefer one or the other of those images? Arthur asked a direct question. How about answering him. I tried to. Why replicate comments by others, and why rely on me to frame your ideas?</p>

 

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<p>John, Fred (the two G's), Luis, et al,</p>

<p>I am glad to read your pertinent insights on this topic, which are thoughtful, original and much related to the problems and opportunities of what to photograph, specifically whether photography is particularly suited to present "things that other people don't see" (that many consider a seminal artistic challenge), and if photographs of details can have an impact that is sometimes greater than that of the overall scene or subject (in a slightly related context, we know that B&W photography is often less and sometimes preferable to color, in order to simplify or better underline the image qualities).</p>

<p>Thanks for your comments on my example. While I enjoy the prospect of the revelation of a strong fragmented image, at the moment of photographing, or later, I admit that I am not usually conscious of that possibility during the making of the image, and succeed rarely. Like others, I am often attracted to a subject but I often act without fully understanding why. Perhaps that is as good an argument as any for the fact that we engage both conscious and unconscious personal approaches in our photography. I think John alluded well to that.</p>

<p>The photography of Gibson, Kenna and other "minimalist" photographers is worthy of comment and analysis, as Fred, Luis and others have begun ("minimalist" is probably inaccurate, or at best, incomplete, as I am considering by that only the physical restrictions imposed by some of their subjects).</p>

<p>I have to spend too many hours this week and the next on work for a client (alas, extraneous to the practice of photography), which is enough challenge for my brain and imagination, to be able to contribute much to the discussion. I look forward to catching up when I can. There is also a lot to re-read and ponder, in what you've contributed. Thanks.</p>

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<p>In taking a careful second look, I notice that Arthur hasn't employed the same angle and so doesn't have as dynamic a relationship to the second tombstone behind the main one in the original, wider shot. Had he simply cropped that shot down, this more moving (to me) relationship to the secondary tombstone would not be there. When he shot the detail shot, he actually added something significant (tension?), even as he was going for "less." For me, the way the second tombstone works, out of focus, behind but tangent to the main tombstone (in the detail shot), has a particular emotional effect which the photo would lack without that added relationship. So while "less" is busy being "more," "more" is very much helping it be "more" as well.</p>

<p>One could easily say, and I wouldn't argue, that this relationship gains power because it comes in a more sparse photo. I guess it gets back to Julie's question of what's "more" and what's "less."</p>

We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!
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<p> To me, the tighter version is stronger graphically, feels a little crammed, and has more immediate impact, yielding its meager secrets quickly. In a magazine or web page, and for the average viewer the "less" one would probably work better. If I had to live with either on my wall, it would be the full-frame one.</p>

<p> There are subtle differences in the shadow in the "less" picture. On the viewer's left, it edges uninterrupted into the edge and side of the tombstone. In the "more" version, there's a little sliver of light that lifts that shadow a bit. A similar thing happens with the base, too. That 2nd stone emerging OOF behind the main one doesn't add a thing, and is a little distracting.</p>

<p> </p>

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<p>I think what Luis's and my different reactions show (perhaps with a wink and a nod, perhaps not) is that it's not just on a case-by-case basis whether "less is more," but it's also a matter of that elusive thing called taste. It's less about whether "less is more" and more about what each of us is seeing and how it's striking us.</p>

<p>Visual elements seem to strike us visually and emotionally and seem also to mean something. It's almost as if these visual elements are acting as symbols. ;) Interpretive words like "quiet," "passive," "waiting," "mortality" have been used.</p>

We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!
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<p> I agree, Fred. I think one thing that lies at the bottom of it, is that each picture has a different <em>kind</em> of power. In terms of magnitude of overall strength, for me, the "less" slightly edges the "more" out. In terms of amplitude, it's the other way around, which is why I would rather live with the latter.</p>

<p> BTW, when re-reading my prior post I realized that this sounds bad: " In a magazine or web page, and for the average viewer the "less" one would probably work better."</p>

<p> By "average viewer" I meant a visual near-illiterate, and exclusively in that context, <em>not that anyone who likes the "less" picture is an average viewer. </em></p>

<p><strong><br /> </strong></p>

<p> </p>

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<p>Arthur, I find the 2 pictures actually totally different. They tell different stories, and ask different questions.<br>

The "wider" one makes me wonder what the woman on the bench is looking at, and partially which genius considered parking a bench straight in front of a tombstone. The second one makes me wonder what the shadow on the stone is exactly, and makes me focus far more on the tombstone: whose is it, how old etc.<br>

In a way, as I read through your opening, I had to think for the somewhat obsessive use of (extreme) wide angle lenses in many photos these days. For me, it makes many photos messy and somewhat lacking in direction. Yes, they have the ability to supply a lot of context to the subject (at the cost of focus on the subject itself), but they do lack in the intimacy and clarity that a long lens can bring (at the cost of context), or the calm balanced nature of a normal lens. Yet, all these have their uses. I do not feel it is "either/or" but all means to a goal.<br>

As to the ability to see what others would not see... Photography is learning me to see more, pay more attention to details, see "lines" between subjects and so on. But part of that is also seeing the oppurtunity of a wide grand overview. The power of less is real enough, but so is the ability to connect the dots between all the small stories and telling (or constructing) their grand story.</p>

<p>So, of the 2 posted pictures, which one is better? Depends on what you want to tell with the photo. To be honest, I can't tell. Graphically, the first posted works best for me, but that's surpassing the content of the photo.</p>

<p>Fred,</p>

<blockquote>

<p>Are we after the better picture (the one that appeals more) or the picture that best expresses what we want?</p>

</blockquote>

<p>As photographers, I think the picture that expresses what we want, will automatically appeal to us most ("yeah, nailed it"). But towards the viewer, it strongly depends what the viewer is expecting of the picture. A photo in an art-gallery will make me more comfortable with less appeal in favour of more intent, but for wedding photography it does not sound like a very good businessplan.</p>

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