"Just another frame?" Is it all just variations on a theme?

<p>Or is there something new to be mined out there?</p>

<p>Perhaps I should ask whether it is just variations on many themes. There are a lot of them, but sometimes they do indeed seem like the same old themes, with an infinitude of possible variations.</p>

<p>So, my real question is this:</p>

<p>Is there anything new left to be found (or done or created), or. . . is it in fact the case that, when one looks through the viewfinder, <em><strong><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iz7AS7wLBmI">"This old world still looks the same, another frame"?</a></strong></em><br>

<em><strong> </strong></em><br>

--Lannie</p>

<p>Same and different, tried or original, doesn't much matter to me when I'm photographing. It's not unlike the question that was asked in this same forum yesterday about iconoclasm in photography. What's important to me is that I imbue my work with something personal and meaningful to me and others. It's not just about what's out there to be photographed. </p>

<p>Yes, there is, but you probably won't recognize it by perceiving it and photographing in the same old way. It may not be necessary, as Fred suggests, for photographers seeking original communication to be iconoclasts, but it will certainly require well-conceived and different personal approaches to add value to what already exists. If you follow the parallel post on iconoclasm you may detect my feeling that it is sometimes better to break a familiar approach and rebuild a new one.</p>

<p>Lannie, you've wandered this planet even longer than I have. Doesn't anything look different to you? Sure, sunsets might be largely the same -- perhaps a bit less dramatic in cities where smog has been brought into check, e.g. LA. But people are different. Cultures are different. Social and political movements are different. Technology is different. Even the tools by which we record these changes (e.g. cameras) are different. You and I weren't even born on the same planet we live on today!</p>

>>> There are a lot of them, but sometimes they do indeed seem like the same old themes, with an

infinitude of possible variations.

 

Since you seem to be unhappy with the status quo, can you speak to how you are personally trying to

bring something new to photography? Taking any chances - lately or in the past? Exploring something that you feel hasn't been

revealed or previously explored? With a bit of curiosity, imagination, and a little drive, well, it's a

big world...

<p>Lannie, have a look through <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=eggleston&client=safari&rls=en&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=w91gVN_gII-oogS22oHwDQ&ved=0CAgQ_AUoAQ&biw=1440&bih=780">EGGLESTON'S</a> stuff. I'm sure, before seeing his photos, a lot of people would have said what you're saying about many of his subjects. [For anyone who doesn't like or appreciate Eggleston's work, there are other photographers we could use. Who'd have thunk of a green pepper?] No need to be Eggleston or Weston. Still, there's plenty more stuff and plenty more ways. And there are plenty of relatively invisible populations and communities that could be made more visible, even to themselves. That's been part of what my own photos are about.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>Since you seem to be unhappy. . .</p>

</blockquote>

<p>Brad, don't you ever get tired of being wrong? I would be blissfully happy chasing an infinitude of variations in the very finite chunk of time that I have left, but in fact a lot of it is new to me--and a lot of that is right under my nose.</p>

<p>Right under my nose. . . as with Eggleston, Fred. When I run dry, I just open one of the several Eggleston books lying around here, although in truth I was enjoying the love of the ordinary a long time before I heard of him. To me he is still the Master of the Mundane--and I am told that he is still out there kicking.</p>

<p>--Lannie</p>

<p>"Sure, sunsets might be largely the same. . ."</p>

<p>Sarah, the video I posted invoked for me the ultimate cliché regarding repetition: sunsets, as in "This has been done to death." Well, sunsets are not my thing, but I am known for <strong><em><a href="/photodb/folder?folder_id=1066759">doing some things to death</a></em></strong>--and loving every minute of it.</p>

<p>Am I really older than you?! [chuckle]</p>

<p>--Lannie</p>

<blockquote>

<p><em><strong><a href="/casual-conversations-forum/00cwUc">http://www.photo.net/casual-conversations-forum/00cwUc</a></strong></em></p>

</blockquote>

<p>Great thread, Arthur! I must have missed it while I was<em> <a href="/casual-conversations-forum/00cvIv">trying to pummel ETTR to death and eternal damnation.</a></em><br>

<em> </em><br>

--Lannie</p>

<p>Lannie, I recently got to see a show of Eggleston's at the Met. The name of the show came from a quote of his, "at war with the obvious." But what struck me was his use of color more so even than the subject matter or at least as the color was able to help express the subject matter and help present it in a determinedly photographic way. His prints were a far cry from most of what I've seen in books. Museum viewings of photos and art in itself can be inspiring when everything seems like it might be the same old same old. In my experience, it was how the mundane looked that struck me as much as the mundaneness itself. Many photographers still attempt photographing the mundane. Many fail because they don't bring something of themselves to it but rather think it's a cool thing to do and that its being a cool idea will carry enough weight to make it compelling. Very occasionally, just that coolness factor does. In any case, I don't think photographing mundane things is all used up, though photographing like Eggleston might be and photographing them with no personal risk or commitment might be. Often, it's said, "I don't choose the subject matter, the subject matter chooses me." Well and good. But there are personal and expressive choices or moves before and beyond that.</p>

<p>No moment has ever occurred before nor will ever occur again. Regardless, yes, there are scenes that 'everyone' has photographed and many look largely the same, but the joy I get is in doing it myself. To me, sunsets are like fingerprints, some may be very similar, but never are they exactly alike. I think you can usually find some subtle differences in most subjects.</p>

<p>Yes, Fred, color! As in<a href="http://www.jaredphillips.io/eggleston/img/main-page/5.jpg"><em><strong> this one.</strong></em></a> I would love to see the original.</p>

<p>I wish that I had seen what you saw. I have never been to the Met. Haven't been much of anyplace, really.</p>

<p>Unless something in the very ordinary really impassions me, I typically don't bother with it. The amazing thing is how passionate I often do get about very ordinary subjects--not to say that my treatments don't routinely bore other persons to death.</p>

<p>--Lannie<em><strong><br /></strong></em></p>

<p>Yes, seeing in person is often believing. Interestingly, and <em>apropos</em> of your OP, my sense is that Eggleston wasn't necessarily as passionate about the subjects as he was about making the photos.</p>

<blockquote>

<p><em>"I had this notion of what I called a democratic way of looking around, that nothing was more important or less important."</em> —William Eggleston</p>

</blockquote>

<blockquote>

<p>[M]y sense is that Eggleston wasn't necessarily as passionate about the subjects as he was about making the photos.</p>

 

</blockquote>

<p>Great observation, Fred! I never once thought of it that way, but you have got to be absolutely right. If one brings no passion to the making of the photo, then what? Then the truly banal appears, I suppose.</p>

<p>--Lannie</p>

<blockquote>

<p>No moment has ever occurred before nor will ever occur again.</p>

 

</blockquote>

<p>Yes, Bill, and that poignancy can sometimes give a certain bittersweetness to the making of a photo--much less to the looking at an old one. </p>

<p>"I was really here. This is actually the way it looked. That was a long time ago, but it seems like only yesterday, etc."</p>

<p>When we are out shooting, it is as if we feel the moment slipping away even as we are trying to seize it.</p>

<p>Snapping is such sweet sorrow</p>

<p>--Lannie</p>

<blockquote>

<p>Is there anything new left to be found (or done or created)...</p>

</blockquote>

<p>Yes, it's just that everyone's too busy copying what the other guy's doing because his/her work has gone viral in the media. Digital imaging especially shooting Raw allows a plethora of options to make an image look like nothing else, but all we get are retro color grading effects that are throwbacks to what came before from the film days. Don't these folks have an original thought or idea in their head?</p>

<p>On the other side of the coin is that there's still a tremendous amount of new content out there that's never been seen before if only I/we knew what and where to look in such a saturated market of copyists.</p>

<p>It's funny in the past most folks didn't like or want to spend too much time using the library and its dewey decimal search system, but now spend hours there to get free internet. Glancing at the screens in my local library I notice their interests continue to show they still aren't aware of the amount of other content now available even when it's made easy to search.</p>

<p>Why is that? My opinion is they still don't know what to look for. Can you make the unseen go viral?</p>

>>> Brad, don't you ever get tired of being wrong? I would be blissfully happy chasing an infinitude of

variations in the very finite chunk of time that I have left, but in fact a lot of it is new to me--and a lot of that

is right under my nose.

 

 

Well, if I'm indeed wrong about you being unhappy with the status quo, yet you would be *happy* chasing variations, what's holding you back exploring new ideas, putting your curiosity and imagination to good use?

<blockquote>

<p>Glancing at the screens in my local library I notice their interests continue to show they still aren't aware of the amount of other content now available even when it's made easy to search.</p>

</blockquote>

<p>Tim, it is curious that most persons seem to have such an aversion to books. Perhaps it is because it helps so much to have an idea as to what one is looking for before one searches in books. On the internet, one thing links to another so fast that no real thought is required. Perhaps there is also something strongly addictive about the instant gratification that the internet gives. Is there some general theory out there about instant feedback and addiction in general? For example, is crack cocaine more highly addictive because it gives such a strong impact--or simply because it is a very nearly instant impact? I wonder if crack gives a faster high than powered cocaine. Have I read that somewhere?</p>

<p>If that which is instantly gratifying is more addictive, perhaps that is part of the appeal (and addictive power) of picture-taking with digital compared to film as well--now made even easier and quicker with cellphone cameras.</p>

<p>--Lannie</p>

<p>I continue to find thing to photograph and ways to photograph them that I have not personally seen or done before. Have others seen these same things as taken these same photos? I don't know and don't care.</p>

Lannie, think of photographs as personal contributions to the ever changing movement of time. No subject stands still upon reflection. The subject itself may be boring to the lay person.

Think of those astrophysicists looking all days at the corona of the sun. Shoot, that would drive me bonkers but they see something we don't. For myself, only one I know best I think, the human face holds an irrepressible interest. John Ford was out at his famous well photographed Monument Valley which he never tired of in his movies with John Wayne. One day, the clouds moved in and then the rain and the cinematographer asked " Shall we wrap for the day?" " Heck no, we can still shoot the closeups of faces. Human face is always interesting. " Look at his closeups in Grapes of Wrath for examples. I can interpolate that to scenics. But is harder for me. Photos of galaxies never get tiring, even if I can't shoot them....no patience. No terrestial mounts on big pods. And cloudy skies. But I love them even in multiples. I am going back to a eucalyptus tree I saw the other day, with colorful bark. Got to get off my heinie....

<blockquote>

<p>I am going back to a eucalyptus tree I saw the other day, with colorful bark.</p>

 

</blockquote>

<p>Gerry, I'm not above going back to shoot the same subject any number of times--and they will always be different.</p>

<p>--Lannie</p>

<p>I find that, as I continue to feel more comfortable with the process of shooting and processing photographs, barriers that previously may have prevented me from dealing with certain areas of subject matter - especially, street work - at least have been lowered, if not demolished. I really don't worry about whether I'm shooting the same stuff as anyone else, because the moment I click the shutter, the image is my own. I own the responsibility to do the best I can with the material and tools I have, and I also own the results.</p>

It's the fascination, the spell if you wish, that makes us revisit themes we have visited many times before. Just as when you try to learn to, say, ride a bike you get up and on the bike again and again whenever you fall, until you finally mastered the trick, some things have a fascination that isn't broken until we understand what it is, even not until we mastered it.<br>Doesn't mean that all of those photos you take are worthwhile (that is: they are as part of the process, and as a record of that process, but not to show to others as a final outcome of the process). Probably only the very last will be.<br>When learning to ride a bicycle and you fall the firts time, you don't say you have fallen enough, 'been there, done that' and quit (though we of course wouldn't mind if that never happened or we would never fall again). Not until you have learned enough not to fall over anymore. So when you find you finally lost interest in that tree or sunset or whatever, stop coming back to it againa and again, maybe then you have learned something. And some things we may never get, never understand, never master.

<p>Every instant is unique. Nothing is ever the same as it was yesterday.</p>

<p>People change. Communities change. Vegetation and terrain change. Paint fades and chips. Roofs and bricks bleach out in the sunlight. Buildings are torn down and replaced with new development. My hometown looks completely different than it did when I was a boy. I wish that I had photographed it then.</p>

<p>Even if something looks identical to the way that it looked a day ago, the light will be different. Exterior light is unique every single day. Even when using studio lighting, I find it impossible to get exactly the same look session after session.</p>

<p>And then there are things that happen. A group of friends gets together for a dinner. Maybe it will only happen once. Even if they get together frequently, they'll never look the way that they do today, and their circumstances will be different each time they meet. One gets a promotion. Another is worried that his child is struggling in school. Another just returned from vacation. Their collective circumstances are unique in this moment and will never be repeated.</p>

<p>So, keep shooting. Even if you shoot the same subjects over and over again, you can never capture the same image twice.</p>

 

<blockquote>

<p>Every instant is unique. Nothing is ever the same as it was yesterday.</p>

</blockquote>

<p>So true, and well worth noting and living by.<br>

<br>

On the other hand, many photos, unlike the instants in which they were taken, are not at all unique and are very much the same as a lot of other photos, or at least similar enough. Sure, in an absolute way, they are not the same or identical. But in a perceivable way, a lot of photos look and feel "the same" as the term is commonly used. I find being aware of the difference between real live instants of time and the photos that capture and, more importantly, express those instants is helpful to my photography. A photo is a creation of mine, from the most representational to the most outrageously metaphoric. A photo can be anything from forensic to groundbreakingly esoteric (and sometimes there's even overlap between those two extremes). If I'm at all using photography as an expressive means, then I'm concerned about much more than just the fact that every single photo I make is something unique in that absolute sense in which every single thing is not identical to something else. I want it to express something and be in some way compelling to me and hopefully, in the spirit of sharing, to some viewers. That requires more, IMO, than just noting that the mountain is supposedly not "the same" today as it was yesterday.</p>