Preconceived photographs

The thread about finding clouds got me to thinking...how many of us

landscape photographers start off the day with a clear idea of what

they're looking for? And if you do, are you still open to other

images not anticipated?

 

I expect to find some of both approaches. While I usually just wander

around, there are times when I'm going for something specific,

especially if revisiting something I've been to before.

 

My experience has been that going for preconceived images is fine as

long as I'm flexible, as in doing something else found along the way.

 

I was driving to work yesterday morning as a cold front was coming

through. The skies were quite interesting, black fragments, blue

strips, etc. I decided to skip work, grabbed my 4x5 and went

wandering in my car along a nearby mountain range. I passed the trail

head to one of the mountains...and an image came into my head.

Twisted trees and worn granite with wild storm clouds. So I decided

to climb the mountain.

 

The trail is only two miles to the summit. I took my time, making

photographs along the way. The rain in the valley was snow here,

sticking to leaves and trees but melting on the rocks. Eventually I

was within a few hundred feet of the top when I had to give up. I'm

too out of shape, and smoke too much. If I'd had more time (a lot of

time!)...plus my camera & tripod + bag were killing me. Need a

backpack for that kind of thing.

 

Anyway, I stopped to rest before turning back. Not only was I

exhausted, but it was apparent that the clouds were just getting

thicker. In fact, it was beginning to snow pretty hard. So my

glorious shot from the summit wouldn't work anyway. Great excuse to

go home.

 

That's when I noticed the sound of rushing water down below and to

the west. I went down, and lo and behold, the wildest ravine of

cascades, tumbled boulders, mossy ledges, etc...looked around quite a

bit, and one shot kept calling me back. I exposed several

negs...we'll see.

 

So...going after the preconceived image led to other images. Any

similar experiences out there?

I've always seen photography as 'picture-taking'. By that I mean that I've always viewed the idea of having preconceived images in one's mind useless and more akin to something a painter would pursue. I've always felt that taking photos is all about being somewhere and converting what one sees into an image. Whether we're shooting a concert or flowers, how can one know in advance what one will see? Sunlight changes intensity, angle, frequency etc. every day. One's mood changes constantly. So do dozens of other circumstances. All of these factors will influence any potential photo.

 

I think that it's often difficult for people to resist formulating ideas or preconceptions. To use these ideas as a guide in terms of what direction one wants to take one's work can be useful. However, to envision a photo and try and find it is almost always pointless in my opinion.

I don't know if this qualifies as 'pre-conceived' or not but I will often be prompted to go out with my camera in response to some particular condition I have noticed. For instance, cloud formations after a storm can often be very dramatic: I may see the clouds and give in to the impulse to make photographs under those conditions.

 

Or I may remember some particularly interesting object and notice a certain quality of light which impells me to go and photograph that object.

 

Often I will return to places I've photographed before, not looking for a particular picture but with the feeling that I haven't finished with it yet, that I haven't received all it has to give.

 

Of course, I have also had the experience of returning to a particular photograph I've made before, because of some technical flaw in the previous negative, or because in looking at a proof I've realized that there are more or better possibilities there.

 

I don't recall visualizing a particular photograph and then going out to look for it, outside of the above conditions.

 

Mike

Only in a few instances I had an image in mind and actively searched for it. This is one of them. As we were driving in Vermont, my girlfriend who knew about the image that I was looking yelled "stop the car, I saw it". And there it was.<div></div>

Well, you have subject matter in mind, or a place that seems intersting, and go there. Openness to the situation makes for more and better pictures. Occaisionally a picture can be predicted perfectly, and equally as often un-premeditated pictures made the same day are as good or better. Put yourself in a good place and be ready... pictures will happen.

I don't really preconceive much as such. But there are times when I'll find a great composition, but the light isn't right or the sun is in the wrong place etc. I'll make a mental note and then come back when conditions are right. This is particularly true for photos in my backyard where I'm there all the time.

What about the experience of packing the equipment to a spot and not taking the picture. It just wasn't the same thing you imagined when you actually saw it on the ground glass. <p>

<<It just wasn't the same thing you imagined when you actually saw it on the ground glass.>>

 

I find with LF I'm more likely to do that. With 35mm I'd just shoot away. With LF, at 5 bucks a pop, if I know it's not going to be a keeper I'll just pack up and move on. It does seem like in most cases I know before I pull out the camera, but then sometimes I'm having a hard time finding anything interesting that day so I'll just drag it out even if I know better, only to pack back up without having exposed a single sheet.

the problem I have with preconceived images is that they are usually derivative. We have an image in mind which we have seen before made by someone else and we sort of run with it. The prefect examples are the slot canyons, the lone standing tree, the rock in a pond, etc.

 

In my case I just load the cameras and drive, and see what I see. Of course like you sometimes I have an image in mind when I start out, but prefer the surprise element.

I do wish I had the ability to just stumble upon photogenic scenes with perfect light and ideal weather like Henri Cartier-Bresson. But it has never worked for me.

 

Any small success I have ever had was when I worked on a picture as if it was a commercial assignment with a layout or storyboard.

 

For example, my wife might ask for a picture of a covered bridge for the dining room wall. From the �net I can get a list with thumbnails of all the covered bridges (or lighthouses) within a day�s drive from here. Then check the map to see which way each one is facing. From the Navy (http://mach.usno.navy.mil/) I can get the sun�s azimuth and elevation for any time of day, to know when it will be properly lighted.

 

Then it�s just a matter of watching the weather maps for fall foliage progression to know when to pounce. On the first nice day in October, I drive up there and just blap it off.

 

Not very romantic, but it�s the only way I can seem to make it work.

I spent a week last summer making photographs in the upper penninsula of Michigan. I got a late start and as a result of driving for ten hours straight and getting distracted, had an accident that did over $8000 damage to my car, rendering it undriveable. After getting a hold of a local rent-a-wreck agent and renting a vehicle with 176,000 miles on it, was able to transfer my equipment and continue on my way to Silver City up in the Porcupine mountains. I arrived at 10:30pm, unloaded my car and hit the sack. For the next two days, it rained without let up. I drove around to about every one of the waterfalls I had hoped to photograph and found not a one worth the trouble. The spring had been so wet that everything was ugly. On the third day I made a trip to the Calumet area and drove through a pea soup fog that hung over the area for half the day. I couldn't see my own hand in front of me. Then, the rain let up, the fog got a little thinner and I made my first image of an old church in the fog. Everything got better after that. None of the photographs I made were anything like what I imagined I would bring back, but I did make 6 images I'm rather proud of from that trip and learned the most important lesson of my life as a photographer: Never give up and always remain open to where you will find images. Additionally, when the light or subject conditions are not conducive to photography, this is a good time to research the surrounding area and learn something about the history or geology of the area. This can only help you when planning to make a return trip. It also brings you in closer touch with the subject and can influence your interpretation of it in a positive way.

Well, I get ideas ... and then I go out and blast away. Then I pour over my light table and look at all my mistakes untill I see something that could have been there but wasn't. Then I go back out and bracket my way from ten minutes before sunset till about 30 after. Then I go home and pour over my light table some more. I've almost got one or two but the sky was too plain. I'll get a keeper one of these days.

Interesting - I've had the exact same experience, and when it first happened to me, I ended the day frustrated and disappointed in myself. I think the downside of preconceiving is that it locks you in to a certain thing you're "looking" for.

 

But if you can balance this with staying open to new possibilities, as you have, I tend to believe that this is a very valuable skill, even if you get skunked. While it won't help you much with landscape photography, think of the other applications - studio, portrait, etc.

 

In fact, I have a page on my desk filled with sketchs of some macro stuff I want to try (just as soon as I get some damned time!) - and all of those images came from my head. In fact, I find when I'm doing studio-type work, that it is better for me to think ahead of time. I think this also helps in continue to develop one's skill at the craft, the mechanics of lighting, exposure, DOF, etc.

 

I also think letting go in the moment and "feeling" your way through is very important. Some of my best landscape shots have come from exploring new angles, trying different things, just trying to soak in the "spirit" of the place I'm trying to express and avoiding conscious, deterministic thought. I've developed (and am developing) a kind of a - well, not a trance, but a blank state of mind - a state of mind that turns off the analytical side and as I walk around, I just put myself in scanning mode and wait for something to catch my attention.

 

At the end of the day, this is not my living, so for me, photography is more about what it gives my soul. To that end, I find that it's more about the process than the result (and I'm sure the pros would agree after looking at my photos - heh), and while it's frustrating to get skunked or not get that shot that's in your mind, now it just inspires me to go out again and look for it somewhere else.

My approach is to "make" photographs in the studio, and "take" them outdoors. While I may have a general theme or concept in mind when visiting a particular area, and I might research topo maps and sun angles for timing arrival at specific spots, I don't try to tightly preconceive specific images. My preference is to try to be "open" to what an area wants to reveal of itself to me, and shoot accordingly. (Sorry if that sounds too Zen-like or pretentious, but it's one description of "keeping your eyes open".) That said, being as someone mentioned HCB, a story about "decisive moments".

 

Several years ago I was planning to attend a trade show in Las Vegas, and decided to combine the trip with a few days in Yosemite on the way back. My son, a Marine, had never been to Yosemite, so I had him join me in Vegas, and after the trade show was over, we drove to Yosemite. Fairly early one morning, we set out and stopped to view the grove of Aspens in the valley. The early morning fog/clouds of Spring still hung close to the valley floor in a rather uninteresting way, but was starting to clear. I found a composition I liked, and started to set up the 4x5. My son said, "Dad! What are you doing?! You can't get anything interesting with this fog."

 

"See that little patch of sunlight over there?" I replied. "Let's watch it and see what it does." Several other cars came, and left in disgust with the fog. About 15 minutes later, the little patch of sunlight settled on the Aspens, and I got my shot. "Decisive moments" just take longer with large format. ;-)

Ed, here's an example of what we've been talking about in this thread and the one on clouds. I shot this a week ago and printed it

last night.

 

This scene is near my home. In fact, I work at the power plant from where the big transmission line originates. I first shot it three

years ago when I started photography again. That shot was made hand-held with a 35mm. No clouds in the sky, stood on the road in front (which is cropped off) and I lined up the towers so they were inline with each other. Purely a spontaneous, drive-by shot. I didn't have a darkroom at the time, so all the developing and printing was left to the graces of a Kodalux lab. The 8x10 that I received was nothing spectacular by photo.net standards but it placed in the company's photo contest. I was rewarded with a very nice professionally printed and framed 20"x30" enlargement that hung in the head office foyer for a year. That played a big part in hooking me on photography.

 

But, I had this pre-conceived notion that the scene would be more dramatic with big puffy clouds. Some of this was due to critiquers

saying it sucked because there were no clouds. So, I've returned several times, with several different cameras, films and filters, trying to do it better.

 

This was the latest attempt. The elusive clouds were abundant last Saturday! First time I've used the 4x5 on the shot (wanted to

eliminate convergence from previous trys). Also, it was the first time I had used the roll film back on the 4x5, and I wanted to do this with infrared film because of the new growth of short green grass and the dark sky effect. The short green grass comes a couple

weeks after the tall grass is burned off. The burning is done every few years to maintain a healthy eco system for the native prairie grass.

 

A red filter was mandatory for the IR film. I started setting up with the towers in line as usual, but then thought about using a slightly different composition for a change. I moved several feet left and came up with this view, which I was pleased with. Boy, the blood was up!!

 

This print was done totally by myself with my own choices of dodging/burning/cropping and printed on a paper of my choice.

 

Is this pre-conceived self-crafted shot with the 4x5 view camera better than the first shot with the hand-held 35mm? I think its a better composition. I like not having convergence on the big towers. I like the light values of the vegetation. What I don't like is the way the top of the foremost tower blends into the dark sky. Due to the orientation of everything, the towers are always backlit to some degree. I got better tonal separation between the tower top and sky with the 35mm and a polarizing filter (didn't know a thing about IR film, red filters, nor view cameras back then). Am I totally satisfied with this shot and print? No, I still think I could do better.

 

Like I said, this scene is a couple miles from the house and I drive by it every day I go to work. Here's what I have learned from my

experience with this scene and this wonderful forum. There are some scenes one can try numerous time trying to achieve one's perception of perfection. (Corollaries; St. Ansel litteraly LIVED in Yosemeti, and several examples cited in this thread.) There are others that one will see only once for a fleeting instant and one has to learn to make the best of the instant. (Corollaries; St Ansel's "Moonrise over Hernandez", Cartier-Bresson's work, and several examples cited in this thread).

 

Will I try this scene again? You bet I will. How will I do it next time? I haven't the foggiest notion.<div></div>

On going back and revisiting shots, such as Alex did...I always feel when looking at one of my prints that I could have done it better. Last night I was reading in Edward Weston's Daybooks, about his first show in Mexico, that he felt the same, and said, 'there is so much more of me which hasn't been released'. It's comforting to know he felt that way too. It's interesting that he used the term 'released'.

To quote myself, "It is how one sees, not what one sees, that

makes any photograph interesting."

 

I suggest that after you have photographed something specific

(with the right format and so on), that you do not photograph it

again. The thrill of discovery will no longer be there. The

important thing about photographing is in the making. To

photograph the same thing over (and over) is just to repeat an

experience instead of having a new one. Artists are interested in

making, not in things made.

 

So even if your photograph does not come out to your

satisfaction, figure out why and go on and apply the lesson to

your next genuine experience, rather the the repetition of one you

already had.

 

Michael A. Smith

Michael,

 

How did yoy know that was the other rut I was in? Oh, sorry. Its pretty evident isn't it?

 

Alex

Michael,

 

With all due respect, I think you�re all wet on this one. There's nothing wrong with working an image until your satisfied with it. There's discovery in that too. Much of what makes a photograph interesting and makes it stand out are in the small details. Details that might have been missed the first time around. Using your logic the musician would only play a piece of music once and stop before he discovered all the color and nuance that was within that piece of music.

Thanks, Ed. That's a good point. And I will agree that working

over and over until you get something right can indeed be helpful

and creative. I think of pepper # 30. Weston photographed that

very pepper a few times before he got it rigThanks, Ed. That's a

good point. And I will agree that working over and over until you

get something right can be helpful and creative. I think of pepper

# 30. Weston photographed that very pepper a few times before

he got it right. What I generally find, however, is that people

photograph the same thing over and over because they believe it

is that thing, that very subject, that is what will make the picture

wonderful--if only they can get it right. And so they do it again, and

again--only waiting for different light--not changing camera

position or lens or anything else, really. It is one thing to make,

more or less, the same picture on several occasions--it is quite

another to make variations. In fact, making variations is

something I strongly encourage people to do (and do myself),

but that is not the same thing as making the same picture over

and over.

 

It can also be useful to go back to a subject after a number of

years have passed. When you go back after that kind of time has

elapsed, you are a different person and could not possibly make

the same photograph. (Yes, of course the light will be different,

but that is not what I am talking about--I am talking about having

an entirely new visual experience.)

 

Generally, when people make more or less the same picture

over and over in the same time frame it is because they have in

their mind's eye an idea of what they want the picture to look

like--it is preconceived to the max. And, unless they are doing

that as a purely technical exercise (not at all a bad thing to do)--it

is usually creatively dead.

 

Part of the problem, and Paula and I have seen this many times

in our workshops, and I saw it thousands of time when I taught

photography back in the late 1960s and early 1970s, is that

people do not know what exactly is wrong with their photographs.

And so the next time they photograph the same thing, they make,

more or less, the same kind of visual errors. What those errors

are is impossible to explain here, but briefly, I will try to give a

direction.

 

All bad photographs have a common thread--not everything is

seen carefully. There are some areas of the photograph that are

overlooked. As a photographer, you are responsible for every

square millimeter of the picture space, the same way a

composer is responsible for every note, or a poet is responsible

for every word. Imagine a piece of music with some wrong notes.

It would be dreadful, a total failure. Since it is handy (more or

less), I'll use Alex's photograph of the towers in the thread on

clouds as an example. As I recall, (this is from memory of a very

quick look) more or less he got the placement of the towers right

(side to side), but the spaces between the clouds and the clouds

themselves are all wrong. Totally all wrong. They don't relate to

anything else in the picture. And the space between the top of the

tallest tower and the top edge of the picture is all wrong, too.

What he has there is a competent picture of the towers. He

photographed this thing. Art is about space; illustration is about

things.

 

That's probably enough for now. Alex (and anyone else), if you do

that exercise I suggested in the other thread--really do it

seriously, you will find that although it may not be fun, it will be

demanding and could possibly change your photography forever

(much for the better). If you do it, please let me know if the

experience was helpful to you. Thanks.

ht. What I generally find, however, is that people photograph the

same thing over and over becasue they believe it is that thing,

that very subject, that is what will make the picture wonderful--if

only they can get it right. And so they do it again, and again--only

waiting for different light--not changing camera position or lens

or anything else, really. It is one thing to make, more or less, the

same picture on several occasions--it is quite another to make

variations. In fact, making variations is something I strongly

encourage people to do (and do myself), but that is not the same

thing as making the same picture over and over.

 

It can also be useful to go back to a subject after a number of

years have passed. When you go back after that kind of time has

elapsed you are a different person and could not possibly make

the same photograph. (Yes, of course the light will be different,

but that is not what I am talking about--I am talking about having

a entirely new visual experience.)

 

Generally, when people make more or less the same picture

over and over in the same time frame it is because they have in

their mind's eye an idea of what they want the picture to look

like--it is preconceived to the max. And, unless they are doing

that as a purely technical exercise (not at all a bad thing to do)--it

is usually creatively dead.

 

Part of the problem, and Paula and I have seen this many times

in our workshops, and I saw it thousands of time when I taught

photography back in the late 1960s and early 1970s, is that

people do not know what exactly is wrong with their photographs.

And so the next time they photograph the same thing, they make,

more or less, the same kind of visual errors. What those errors

are is impossible to explain here, but briefly, I will try.

 

All bad photographs have a common thread--not everything is

seen carefully. There are some areas of the photograph that are

overlooked. As a photographer, you are responsible for every

square millimeter of the picture space, the same way a

composer is responsible for every note, or a poet is responsible

for every word. Imagine a piece of music with some wrong notes.

It would be dreadful, a total failure. Since it is handy (more or

less), I'll use Alex's photograph of the towers in the thread on

clouds as an example. As I recall, (this is from memory of a very

quick look) more or less he got the placement of the towers right

(side to side), but the spaces between the clouds and the clouds

themselves are all wrong. Totally all wrong. They don't relate to

anything else in the picture. And the space between the top of the

tallest tower and the top edge of the picture is all wrong, too.

What he has there is a competent picture of the towers. He

photographed this thing. Art is about space; illustration is about

things.

 

That's probably enough for now.

I'll wade in here and disagree with Micheal. I think going back to the same scene, object, thing is useful. It helps you see what it is you are after. It helps you see it differently. That may be why Edward did that pepper so many times. Different light, different emotions, different camera angle, different technical problems to be solved. And I feel that having a preconcieved idea of what you want can be beneficial to your vision. I go to an old ghost town (it used to be a real ghost town but is so crowded now I go in the winter) and shoot the same buildings and scenes I've shot for years. Why? Because I have different emotions each time and the scene changes because of it. The clouds change. The light changes. But mainly my emotions change. Still life is like that too. How many flowers have I photographed? Too many to say. But they are always different. And I have preconcieved ideas of what I want to shoot. How I want to shoot them. When I go out to shoot in the mountains, I am looking for certain scenes. I am always open to anything, but I am there to shoot certain things. When Paula was shooting old farms, she had certain things she wanted to get. She was "open" to many possibilities but she wasn't there to shoot mountains or high rises. There is a difference though in shooting with a strict idea in mind say like looking for a street person with a certain look or expression. But I think it can be very beneficial to have an idea of what you want and then go shoot it.

I agree with your assessment Michael. This is another point I struggle with. Could you point to an example where the cloud and sky space is managed more like you mentioned?

 

This brings up another dilemma. In my example, the clouds were moving fast. Of the six frames I shot (actually, I was experimenting with f-stop, shutter speed combinations for the IR film, that was my overiding goal)they all have different cloud arrangements. Even if I were concentrating strictly on the entire image, I still would have compromised on the overall image due to the constraints of time, sun angle, and illumination of the landscape.

 

Yet, overall, even with printing, I'm too fixated on the clouds. Back to the darkroom!

There seems to be some confusion about what is preconceived. If what you folks are saying is that your growth as an artist (substitute whatever you are comfortable with here - growth as a human being, life experiences etc) has a big impact on how you see, that is undoubtedly true. If that is what you are calling preconception, OK - we could argue the semantics, but I don't think that is what is being talked about here. I also don't think preconception would typically refer to the notion of setting yourself a difficult problem to work through for the learning experience - isn't that our equivalent of a musician practising scales or improvisation? Like I said, we could argue about the semantics, but I doubt that is what is being debated here. Preconception as a problem is probably when it refers to preconceptions about what you want to shoot (e.g., I want to take a picture of El Cap in the setting sun) to the point that it can exclude other experiences - the 'be at the Yellow Mounds overlook at sunrise, point your camera due west' etc. Sometimes, yes, that sort of thing takes planning and arduous hikes and logistics. I admire the tenacity of folks who do that, but to me (and this is just my subjective opinion) that seems sort of like climbing Mt Everest so you can say you were there too, rather than for the experience or learning. Its also something that has been unfulfilling in the long run (for me, at any rate). You get the short run satisfaction of 'getting the image you wanted' but in the longer haul, there is a sense of dissatisfaction about the lack of personal growth or progress. Yes, you have your image of 'Clearing Winter Storm' but I don't think it has helped you find your voice.

 

And I do question the validity of the going back till you 'nail the picture' mentality - it does pre-suppose that there are certain places/things that make good pictures and that is where one will strike gold. I think it was Minor White who said that if a fully sensitized photographer was walking down the block, s/he would never reach the end of the block. And isn't that the idea - to be able to 'see' better, to find pictures anywhere and everywhere? I can see the usefulness of something inspiring us to get the camera and get out there, but once you are there, surely personal growth comes more from new experiences, rather than working to an agenda. Taking preconceived pictures of things and places seems closer to trophy hunting.

 

Just my thoughts.....

Cheers, DJ

I wrote this before (my last posting), but somehow it got all

garbled and repetitious. here it is in the proper form for those

who want to read it as I wrote it.

 

Thanks, Ed. That's a good point. And I will agree that working

over and over until you get something right can indeed be helpful

and creative. I think of pepper # 30. Weston photographed that

very pepper a few times before he got it right. What I generally

find, however, is that people photograph the same thing over and

over because they believe it is that thing, that very subject, that is

what will make the picture wonderful--if only they can get it right.

And so they do it again, and again--only waiting for different

light--not changing camera position or lens or anything else,

really. It is one thing to make, more or less, the same picture on

several occasions--it is quite another to make variations. In fact,

making variations is something I strongly encourage people to

do (and do myself), but that is not the same thing as making the

same picture over and over.

 

It can also be useful to go back to a subject after a number of

years have passed. When you go back after that kind of time has

elapsed, you are a different person and could not possibly make

the same photograph. (Yes, of course the light will be different,

but that is not what I am talking about--I am talking about having

an entirely new visual experience.)

 

Generally, when people make more or less the same picture

over and over in the same time frame it is because they have in

their mind's eye an idea of what they want the picture to look

like--it is preconceived to the max. And, unless they are doing

that as a purely technical exercise (not at all a bad thing to do)--it

is usually creatively dead.

 

Part of the problem, and Paula and I have seen this many times

in our workshops, and I saw it thousands of time when I taught

photography back in the late 1960s and early 1970s, is that

people do not know what exactly is wrong with their photographs.

And so the next time they photograph the same thing, they

make, more or less, the same kind of visual errors. What those

errors are is impossible to explain here, but briefly, I will try to

give a direction.

 

All bad photographs have a common thread--not everything is

seen carefully. There are some areas of the photograph that are

overlooked. As a photographer, you are responsible for every

square millimeter of the picture space, the same way a

composer is responsible for every note, or a poet is responsible

for every word. Imagine a piece of music with some wrong notes.

It would be dreadful, a total failure. Since it is handy (more or

less), I'll use Alex's photograph of the towers in the thread on

clouds as an example. As I recall, (this is from memory of a very

quick look) more or less he got the placement of the towers right

(side to side), but the spaces between the clouds and the clouds

themselves are all wrong. Totally all wrong. They don't relate to

anything else in the picture. And the space between the top of the

tallest tower and the top edge of the picture is all wrong, too.

What he has there is a competent picture of the towers. He

photographed this thing. Art is about space; illustration is about

things.

 

That's probably enough for now. Alex (and anyone else), if you do

that exercise I suggested in the other thread--really do it

seriously, you will find that although it may not be fun, it will be

demanding and could possibly change your photography forever

(much for the better). If you do it, please let me know if the

experience was helpful to you. Thanks.

"Taking preconceived pictures of things and places seems

closer to trophy hunting." Great line, D.J. May I quote you?

 

Three paragraphs from Alex: "Could you point to an example

where the cloud and sky space is managed more like you

mentioned?"

 

"This brings up another dilemma. In my example, the clouds

were moving fast. Of the six frames I shot (actually, I was

experimenting with f-stop, shutter speed combinations for the IR

film, that was my overiding goal)they all have different cloud

arrangements. Even if I were concentrating strictly on the entire

image, I still would have compromised on the overall image due

to the constraints of time, sun angle, and illumination of the

landscape. "

 

"Yet, overall, even with printing, I'm too fixated on the clouds.

Back to the darkroom!"

 

Alex: At this point, don't worry about the darkroom. From the

picture of the towers I see that you print well enough for your

vision. It is an interesting thing about vision and technique. It

seems that one is always ahead of, or catching up with, the

other. For now, concentrate on vision.

 

If the clouds were moving too fast and there was no way to

photograph that scene without "compromising the image," then

let it go, Alex, let it go. There is no one photograph you will ever

make, nor will I, nor almost anyone else (except perhaps some

photojournalist who is truly at the right place at the right time

when there is a once-in-a-hundred-year event of earthshaking

importance), that will either change the world or change yourself.

If you cannot get it right due to external circumstances--clouds

moving too fast, sun not in the right place, etc., then just enjoy

looking at it and photographically speaking, let it go. If you have a

deep experience of looking at whatever it is, that experience will

stay with you and someday it will find its way into your pictures.

 

Good examples with clouds: there are lots--don't know what you

are familiar with in terms of the history of photography. I assume

you know Weston's photographs.

 

Plate 35 in Weston's Westons: California and the West (not the

oriiginal book, California and the West.) . A perfect resonance

between sky and land.

 

Same thing in "Near Moriarity" in California and the West.

 

Adams: Plate 30 Metamorphic Rocks, Sierra Foothills in AA at

100.

 

Adams: His famous Lake Tenaya photograph. (Cannot locate at

the moment.

 

In all photographs where the clouds "work" it is not only that the

clouds are in the right place, but that the spaces between the

clouds and the edge of the picture are exactly right, and set up a

rhythm with the rest of the photograph. They are not simply,

"there."

 

I could show you many of my own photographs, too, but they are

not all up on our web site yet. Paula and I will have about 4,000

up some day--hopefully before the end of the year.

 

In "California and the West" somewhere Charis wrote that it

seemed as if Edward willed the clouds and the animals to be in

exactly the right place. (It was not good enough that they were

just "there" and in the picture--they had to work visually to

enhance the rhythm of the picture)

 

If you are so fixated on photographing clouds (and there is

nothing wrong with that), why not photograph clouds without any

land at all. Stieglitz's photographs provide an excellent example

of what can be done with such a subject, and he did not exhaust

it by any means.