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Transcendence and Transformation


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<p>What are the ways in which a photographer (or you as photographer) and a viewer (perhaps you as a viewer) can transcend or transform the subject/s of a photograph? <em>Can</em> a photographer or a viewer transcend or transform the subject/s of a photograph? <em>Must</em> a photographer or a viewer transcend or transform the subject/s of a photograph? Is there necessarily or desirably a subject of a photograph? To what extent is the photograph itself the subject?</p>

<p>What, if any, can be some of the differences between a table and a photograph of a table, a landscape and a photograph of a landscape, a person and a photograph of a person? Why and when, if ever, might the picture of something be more intimate than a direct relationship with that thing?</p>

<p>Why do you photograph something in addition to or instead of sending others to see it "in person" themselves?</p>

<p>I experience, in making and viewing photographs, the significance of mediation and artificiality in tension with the simultaneous immediacy of very real relationships. My presentation of a subject as photographer and my response and reaction to a subject as viewer is wrapped up in the <em>picture</em> I present or see, what the camera and photographic process help create for me. Yet, as photographer, my relationship to my subjects and, as viewer, my relationship to the photograph is an immediate and often an intimate one.</p>

<p>Via a sometimes artificialized photographic look at something, I can experience very genuine emotional and intellectual responses and reactions. There can be a play between distance and intimacy. I like that interaction.</p>

We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!
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<p>"What, if any, can be some of the differences between a table and a photograph of a table" A retailer would much rather you come see the table.</p>

<p>To me, the answers to many of the questions starts with function. The photo of the table in some cases is to inform and entice. The retailers objective to get folks in the store and if he could do that without a photo he would.</p>

<p>Some photos are just a record and no more, but I think that is very rare. Even a simple snapshot can hold emotion, humor and history and the extent of each is in large part discovered by the viewer's own reaction.</p>

<p>A photographer can consciously or unconsciously use a subject to express something else and in so doing transform the object as can a viewer. However, the photographer's success may be individual to that specific viewer.</p>

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<p>As a start, to buy myself time to think about the rest, and knowing that this isn't what you are asking but believing it to be relevant anyway ... a photograph <em>always</em> transcends the object(s) photographed, and is <em>always</em> itself at least "a" and often "the" subject.</p>
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<p><em>Must</em> - no. <em>Can</em> - yes.<br>

Why not <em>must</em> - because there is nothing wrong with the attempt at very "objective" photography. Recording a place or event as you saw it (which terminates the objectivity immediately) without trying to add a whole lot into it. Closed frame, it is what it is and leaves little open ends to follow up upon.<br>

As a viewer, well... you see what's there. It can have aesthetic qualities, technical qualities or other skilled ways to elevate the work, but it is quite what it is. A photo of something.</p>

<p><em>Can</em> - yes, most certainly. But it's a different category of photos than above. A simple famous example: why does the man jump in <em>Behind the Gare St. Lazare</em>? What is he doing there in the first place? The imagination takes over, fills in a story that travels well beyond the frame of the photo, and might even be completely disconnected from what Cartier Bresson put there. As a viewer, if a work sparks imagination, touches you (emotionally, creatively), in my view you do transform it, to your own view of the work.</p>

<p>To what extent is the photograph itself the subject? - for me, the second case, the photo becomes the subject. Like most novels inspire to image the persons in it, paint their world and fill the gaps not described by the writer, the work becomes a chariot of what I want to see in it. The creator still guides me (by composition, included and excluded objects and so on), but I see it the way I see it.</p>

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<p >Fred – </p>

<p > </p>

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<p >“I can experience very genuine emotional and intellectual responses and reactions”</p>

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<p > </p>

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<p >Bear with me….hopefully these musings will make sense...your post really rang a bell for me.</p>

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<p >On numerous occasions, as both boy and man, I have experienced that drowsy semi-dreamlike state that sometimes occurs early in the morning, just before falling asleep, or while taking an afternoon catnap. For me, it can even occur late at night, in bed, when beginning to drowse with a book in my hands. Sometimes there is a sound in the distance. A muted piano…a train whistle…a radio…a lawnmower. Whatever the stimulus, and for whatever the reason, I suddenly find myself in another place, another world (in the psychological or cultural sense, not the astronomical). It’s a very pleasant feeling and very subtle. Quiet and commonplace rather than dramatic. It’s also very much beyond words. It’s a feeling of being at this other place and <em>of </em>this other place. It could be farmhouse in the Serbian countryside, an apartment in the Bronx, a stone cottage on a Scottish moor, or a tract home in a suburb of Des Moines. I feel, I have absorbed, I am at one with my existence as some Other in this Other place. I may or may not have a sense of living there. It is more as if I am a spirit there, insubstantial and unseen, yet still a part of the place. But there is also mystery as well, because I do not know anyone there nor do I “see” physical landmarks. It is all feeling. Somehow it is both a mystery and instinctively understood on some level…both at the same time. How do you adequately communicate such a feeling through words? We are all unique in many ways, but as human beings we also share a great deal. Although I may not have expressed it in a way that others will recognize, I seriously doubt that I am alone in experiencing it. </p>

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<blockquote>

<p >“When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse</p>

<p >Out of the corner of my eye</p>

<p >I turned to look but it was gone</p>

<p >I cannot put my finger on it now</p>

<p >The child is grown the dream is gone” </p>

</blockquote>

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<p >The Pink Floyd lyrics are melancholy, and the intended meaning of them are far from the pleasant and at-peace feelings I have when in this state. But it is somewhat akin to what those lyrics express…a fleeting glimpse that, upon awakening, I cannot quite put my finger on.</p>

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<p >The photographs I love the most are the ones that give me something approximating this feeling. And in that sense, the photo most definitely transcends the raw objective data of lines, dots, or pixels. And, when viewing photographs, the “at peace” feelings of the semi-dream state I described are not always there. There are unpleasant and uncomfortable photographs that give me a sense of place…of imagining another world or existence.</p>

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<p >There is no one type of photograph or subject matter which gives me this feeling, either. It might be color or black and white, sharp or blurred, famous or vernacular, a portrait, a landscape, a street shot, or someone’s long forgotten vacation snap.</p>

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<p >The work (photograph) that I often come back to is usually subtle, and retains this mystical sense of transcendent otherness for me. It is often work that I stumble across for one reason or another because it does not shout for attention…it whispers when I’m ready to hear it.</p>

<p > </p>

<p > </p>

<p >I speak of other people’s work, but this is one of the goals I work toward in my own photography. </p>

<p > </p>

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<p><strong>John A</strong>, when I asked, I was considering the question somewhat more visually and hadn't thought much about function and about the role of who was relating to the subject or photograph. I was thinking along the lines of what qualities might be added to or subtracted from a subject itself that would change it. But, of course, those changes in quality would change function as well. One's seeing it as a photograph certainly does change function which is significant. I agree that a photographer's success can be individual to the viewer (I assume you mean things like successful communication, expression, or representation) but I think more often a good photographer communicates a similar message to a variety of viewers or expresses something that moves people in generally similar ways. Not always, of course. A lot of emphasis is placed on the wide latitude of viewer reactions, even when initial gut responses that trigger those reactions can be quite similar. I think there's a constant tension between what the photographer is responsible for and what the viewer adds.<br /> <strong>Felix</strong>, it is (at least part of) what I'm asking and I agree with you.<br /> <strong>Wouter</strong>, yes, there is nothing wrong with objective photography (some forms of documentary, forensic, commercial) and some is a lot more objective than others. Even so, I've seen some very objective travel photographs and subsequently visited the places photographed. Lacking smell, sound, and breeze, the places can feel so different compared to their pictures. So much is gained and lost by photographing and I tend to see photographs in different terms than I see their subjects when those subjects are not mediated by framing (figuratively and literally) and a lens. <br /> <strong>Steve</strong>, I like how you've described the tension between mystery and understanding.<em> "I cannot quite put my finger on it,"</em> as you say . . . perhaps being shown something new that we feel we've known all along . . . perhaps the difference between showing (seeing) and knowing.</p>
We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!
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<p>Fred, agreed, a photo of something is still not something itself. Travel photgraphy is a very clear example indeed; some photos are so stellar the actual place is a disappointment, and vice versa.<br>

To me, such photos just rarely trigger the responses that make me draw a picture within and around the photo. As photos of something (and in that sense, the photo still is subject), they just do not give the affect Steve described - that plunge into another world. The something itself still may, and another photo of the same subject may, though.</p>

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<blockquote>

<p>What are the ways in which a photographer (or you as photographer) and a viewer (perhaps you as a viewer) can transcend or transform the subject/s of a photograph?</p>

</blockquote>

<p>We can capture the scene at a pivotal moment, from an unusual viewpoint, or in unique light. I've seen lighting conditions that happen once and never re-materialize; I've waited for years in some cases to no avail. An effective photograph freezes the unique experience of that moment.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>Why do you photograph something in addition to or instead of sending others to see it "in person" themselves?</p>

</blockquote>

<p>For two reasons. Firstly as discussed above, that moment will never repeat itself exactly. If the potential viewer isn't standing next to you when you make your exposure they'll never see that situation quite the way that you did. Granted, sometimes it will look very close to the way that it did the day or the week before, but there are always differences even if they are subtle (and sometimes they're extraordinary).</p>

<p>Secondly, no two people will look at the scene in the same way. Everyone will notice things that catch THEIR eye. My photograph documents what *I* saw in the way that *I* saw it. Not that what I saw was more important that what anyone else sees, just that we are all unique and we all look at the world in a very personal way. If I craft the photograph well, it will invite the viewer to share my perspective for a moment. In that moment we'll make a connection, as strong a connection as though we were having one of those conversations where you both have the same thought at the same moment. The image serves as my representative, the ambassador of my creative impulse. And being an ambassador, it is immune to parking violations. ;-)</p><div>00WRe6-243517584.jpg.08c445fbe9042c13eeea667dddb24eb8.jpg</div>

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<p><strong>Dan</strong>, these are very compelling points you make. Yes, the importance of the photographer's perspective, the photographer's vision, is profound. That's something that no one else will have.</p>

<p><em>"If the potential viewer isn't standing next to you when you make your exposure they'll never see that situation quite the way that you did."</em></p>

<p>This seems significant, and I'd like to add a couple of things.</p>

<p>I've been standing next to people who later see a photograph of mine and say they wouldn't have seen and didn't see what I was seeing even though they were right there with me. I've stood next to other photographers as they were photographing and was surprised and enlightened by the photographs they took.</p>

<p>I think showing someone a photograph of a situation is very different from them seeing the situation themselves, even if they could have adopted your exact perspective. A subject, scene or even a particular detail can be isolated in a photo in a manner very differently from how a subject or scene or detail stands out from its background, context, and periphery in the moment we see it. This changes the situation drastically. This means the photograph can at times become, for me, <em>primarily</em> a photograph and <em>secondarily</em> the situation.</p>

<p>Your example: Many would pass by that scene from the same angle and at the same time of day as you did and not notice the reflection because of the many other sights, sounds, and distractions facing them. Looking at the photograph, it becomes much harder to miss the reflections. You have framed and isolated something. You have brought <em>attention</em> to something in a visible and tangible way. And the attendant ambient noise is changed from the noise of the moment of the snap to the noise at the time of viewing the photograph.</p>

<p>Photographers can do things to allow into the photograph the influence of peripheral vision and even smells and sounds that won't actually be "seen" <em>verbatim</em> in the photograph but will be photographically and emotionally translated. Photographers can capture the effects of ambient "noise". That's when things can get even more interesting.</p>

We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!
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<p>Fred,<br>

I think that there are not straightforward answers to your questions.<br>

I believe that it is very personal. It has to do with our memories, our sentiments, our mental state when we are creating a photograph (from the capture to the final print).<br>

I think transcendence and transformation are insinspensable especially when there is a need to express strong emotions or to give a certain semiology to the photo. In rough terms when somebody is the need of making a true but allegorical photograph.<br>

What is the difference between a table and the photograph of the same table, you ask.<br>

The initial answer comes with a question; of what table? If it is about my parents' table I can say that the difference is tremendous. I loved my father very much and I 've lost him of a sudden death, for twenty three years now. On Sundays, on Christmas Day on Easter we were all around that table. My father used to sit at the head with his back to the balcony door from where the light still comes to that room.<br>

I was sitting just on the other end. My father was half in the dark and half in the light so to speak. My optical corner towards him covered only half of the beloved ones around that table. I could not easily see and talk to sombody next to me without turning my head.<br>

Now whenever I vist my mother I look at the that table standing still at the door of the dining room. To have the feeling of those gatherings; for my eyes to cover the whole space.<br>

If it is to photograph that table I will certainly use an ultra wide angle form the point I used to sit, or I think better use my fish eye lens. To distort and encapsulate that table within that room as a cocoon to keep the memories of those happy days in there.<br>

I just said the story behind a table, a simple dining room table. If it is to sell that table I will bring the potential buyers to take a look. I cannot give any photograph of that table to anyone. It is like giving something of my inner world to somebody that cannot understand it and there is no need for that somebody to do so.<br>

Dimitris V. Georgopoulos<br>

Athens, Greece</p>

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<p><strong>Dimitris</strong>, thanks so much for your very personal take on it. I think such personal thoughts add a lot to what otherwise often become very abstract musings. Your approach is in line with mine. Rarely do these types of questions suggest straightforward answers.</p>

<p>Though I don't think others experience my inner world as I do, I think making photographs (among other things) can aid in getting others to understand/feel/empathize. I've never believed that our private worlds are as <em>necessarily</em> private as some think they are, though there can often be a very genuine desire to keep them as private as we can and a lot of success in doing so.</p>

We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!
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<p>Fred, it's very true what you indicated about two people standing in the same place at the same time but seeing very different things. I've notice this effect whenever I review photos with a travel partner.</p>

<p>An images gives us the opportunity to share a perspective. Someone can go to that location and look for the shot that you made. They can try to stand in the same place and figure out which lens you used.</p>

<p>Imagine that you have a favorite spot in a great cathedral. There's one place that you like to stand or sit. One day you invite a friend to join you. You say "stand right here and look straight up" or "sit here for a minute and just listen." The friend now understands something about the cathedral that only you did a moment ago.</p>

<p>I have some ideas about "transformation," too, but I'll have to leave those for another day.</p>

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<blockquote>

<p>To what extent is the photograph itself the subject?</p>

</blockquote>

<p>I think that the photograph is always at least a secondary subject (and in some cases the primary). A photograph is a "package" of visual stimuli. A photograph is more than just the sum of its visual components just as a bouquet is more than the sum of its floral components and a symphony orchestra is more than a bunch of musicians in tuxedos.</p>

 

<blockquote>

<p>Why and when, if ever, might the picture of something be more intimate than a direct relationship with that thing?</p>

</blockquote>

<p>There are things that we can't easily see. We can't see a mother bear nursing cubs in a den. We can't see the inside of a beating heart. But a camera can delve stealthily into these foreboding places. In these instances the camera gives us a far more intimate view of the subject than our eyes ever could.</p>

<p>There are also things that we can't see because they're no longer available. If we never met Elvis or Marilyn, we're not going to have the chance to do so. Their photos give us an opportunity to know them to some small degree. We'll never hang out with John Lennon on the rooftop of an apartment building while he wears a 'New York City' T-shirt. But someone did. And luckily that someone snapped what would become not just a globally recognizable image but a clue to the essence of a complex and fascinating personality.</p>

<p> </p>

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<p >I think that he subject of a photograph is <em>always</em> transcended or transformed when viewed by another human being, who naturally adds his or her layers of meaning to what he or she sees in the photograph. It is also completely out of the control of the photographer, who has his or her own meanings for the photograph, but can be very different from what other people are seeing and interpreting. I am always amazed when other people tell me what they see in one of my photos, because it is often so different from what I see, and it reminds me that the personal meanings are so individual and personal for each person viewing an image. A photograph is not unlike the proverbial Rorschach Inkblot test: evoking responses that link up to conscious and even unconscious associations for the individual.</p>

<p >Why do I photograph something? Because I know that the resulting image will be transformed by each person viewing it, but it also fulfills a primary need I have to express myself creatively. I only print photos that mean something to me and stimulate me in some way. I suppose I could all print all my photos, knowing that even if I didn’t like some of them, other people would probably find something they liked about them. Perhaps, heheh. For me that wouldn’t be very interesting or stimulating, but it raises another question.</p>

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<p><strong>Steve</strong>, is there any relationship between what you express in your photographs and how a viewer responds?</p>

<p>What you describe as the viewer's response ("<em>completely</em> out of the control of the photographer) would feel very lonely and disappointing to me as photographer. With my own photographs, I feel a strong connection between my input and the responses of viewers. To an extent, I use the tools of photography to communicate. So, it's important that I be understood, at least to a baseline level. I think I do exert control. In addition to what I control, viewers' imaginations soar and wander and that's great as well. I control and I also let go. I find that on a significant level, my own meanings and the meanings and responses of viewers are often not quite as different as they might appear at first glance. First, I think, people "get it," they connect. Then they make of it what they will.</p>

We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!
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<p><strong>Dan</strong>, I like your points about photographs being able to connect to things we otherwise couldn't know. What I was thinking about, though, was when a photograph can make a more intimate connection to people or things even that we do know personally. Annie Leibovitz herself might feel the photograph of John and Yoko captures more intimacy than what she felt directly with them . . . of course only she, and perhaps, Yoko, could answer that. I know I've made some portraits where the portrait expresses more intimacy than the actual relationship I had with the subject of the portrait. In that way, the relationship is transcended and transformed photographically.</p>
We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!
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<p>Fred, I make photographs that give me a great deal of satisfaction. I still feel that what others see in them is out of my control. Since I have been told that I have "talent" I know that at least some people also find my photos stimulating and interesting. I don't feel any loneliness or disappointment if they don't, because I have satisfied myself first. My portraits are well received by the recipients, sometimes with tears, so I know I am doing something right--that what I thought was a particularly engaging image was also seen that way by the person that wanted the photograph. I guess I have a basic trust in my skill to express myself with the camera, that it is unique to me and that some people will like what I do and some won't. Most of the people who enjoy my work are also very good photographers or artists, so I take some satisfaction in that fact as well. <br>

To answer your question: "is there any relationship between what you express in your photographs and how a viewer responds?" I again have to answer that it is completely out of my control. Even what I am expressing at the time of taking the photo is often unknown to me! I shoot instinctively, before any "thinking" gets in the way, except of course for the basic f-stop and lighting sort of stuff. Whether shooting a landscape with a view camera or doing a candid portrait, I often feel that I have to switch to a sort of "trance" state in order for my visual brain to have full control. Conceptual thinking just gets in the way and becomes an impediment for me. I also find I am drawn more to other photographers who shoot this way rather than the ones who conceptualize and set up their shot with a certain idea in mind. Its the idea that you let things unfold on their own, and you are there to capture a certain sense of what is happening. That is what excites me and probably motivates me to take pictures in the first place. Its only one style or way of doing things, but that's what does it for me. I hope I've answered your question!</p>

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<p>Addendum: I was just thinking that for me a good analogy is that of playing jazz music. First, the musician has to have the necessary skills to express himself on his instrument. Then, in jazz, the main element is improvisation. Even while playing the improvising musician doesn't know exactly what he is going to do until he does it. You let your mind "flow" and "trust in the unconscious." Its knowing that your mind is bigger and more complicated than you will ever know or understand and you are tapping into this energy. Its exactly the same process for me when photographing.</p>
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<p><em>"I know that at least some people also find my photos stimulating and interesting. I don't feel any loneliness or disappointment if they don't, because I have satisfied myself first."</em></p>

<p><em>"some people will like what I do and some won't."</em></p>

<p>Steve, just to be clear, I am not talking about being disappointed if someone doesn't respond to my work or if someone doesn't like my work. I've had many people tell me they don't like my work and I accept that my work will not appeal to everyone and I think that's a good thing. I don't want to create the kinds of photographs, necessarily, that will appeal to all audiences.</p>

<p>What I'm saying is that, if I had made this photo . . .</p>

<p>http://www.photo.net/photo/9204049</p>

<p>. . . and a viewer said about it that it looks like the two women didn't trust the photographer and didn't trust each other, I'd think either the viewer was just not seeing straight or, if enough people said it to me, I'd wonder if I did something wrong. I don't doubt that you were "in the groove" and not distracting yourself with mental gyrations at the time you shot this. That's often how I work as well. But I would have doubts if you were to claim that there was no intention (even if fleeting and undistracting) of expression behind taking a photo such as this. Even if you didn't pose them this way, this is the photo YOU chose to take and I lay quite a bit of responsibility for its expression at the photographer's doorstep, even if you didn't over-think it at the time you took it. </p>

<p>Of course, there will be some ambiguity in the way people will react to this. Some will like it, some will not. Some will see their own memories in it, some will project, etc. But I think we can often count on a kind of baseline immediate reaction to many photos and I think that's because of what you chose to shoot and how you shot it.</p>

<p>I have also had a similar experience to you where I don't really know what I'm expressing at the time I shoot. For me, that doesn't change the fact that it is me who is expressing at the time, because of my experience and everything I bring to the table when I'm holding my camera. The instincts I have don't appear out of nowhere. They are in so many ways the result of my previous experience, my feelings (which I always have, even when I'm not thinking about them), and who I am. So, even when I am not exerting control and consciousness, even when I am lost in the moment, I am responsible and, at least for me, there is a connection between what I put into something (consciously or not) and what a viewer gets out of it.</p>

We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!
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<p> Paul, I just wanted to thank you for being so concerned about the sanity of the Wool-Pickin' PoP crew (all certain types, save for you and Cerberus), which is normally considered below impeachment. At least, you, unasked, unselfishly threw yourself on the Cross to try to redeem us.</p>

<p> Thank you for revealing our worthless nonsense unto us, Attention Starved Snappers (ASS). What would we ASSes do without you to keep us from reaching for something better? We are forever indebted and eternally graced by your efforts. Thank God you're an expert on bizarre, quackish, ego-fuelled internet cults to know one when you see one.</p>

<p> It's all so clear now...</p>

<p> </p>

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<p>Fred, you said: "So, even when I am not exerting control and consciousness, even when I am lost in the moment, I am responsible and, at least for me, there is a connection between what I put into something (consciously or not) and what a viewer gets out of it."<br>

I do feel "responsible" for every image I create. Do I feel a "connection" between what I put into it and what the viewer gets out of it? From the standpoint that its my creation, I take responsibility for its content. What the viewer gets out of it is more tenuous, in my estimation. Like I said before, a photo is more like a Rorschach inkblot: something that triggers associations, both conscious and unconscious in the viewer, and that this is largely out of the field of "connection" with the photographer. I have my own conscious and unconscious reasons for liking and presenting a particular image, but those are only mine. Because we are all human, there are certainly common themes where the viewer and myself may share similar impressions. Is that what you are referring too? I definitely do not try to make images that are un-relatable (sp) to most viewers. I am controlling the content to fit certain norms that I have in my head about portraits or landscapes or whatever. Those norms are part of my personal and individual aesthetic. We may be on different "tracks" here. </p>

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<p>Steve, I'm enjoying the different tracks! I'm thinking of more than common themes or cultural phenomena. For instance, Shakespeare knew that everyone would have individual associations with the death scenes in Romeo and Juliet. But I think he also relied on some amount of emotional empathy and predictability in his audience in crafting such scenes and creating his plays in general, even though I'm sure much of the writing took place in a somewhat transcendent frame of mind. I think Shakespeare was deeply and transcendently inspired and he was also a craftsman who knew what kind of action and dialogue would likely evoke what. I think there's a significant craft side of photography which informs the art. There is a photographic language, if you will, at play . . . constantly being updated and always evolving.</p>

<p>I try to be true to myself when making photographs, true to my own expression and what I want to put out there. At the same time, I am aware of the fact that there will be viewers and that viewers (myself included) respond in certain ways to certain things. If I want to make something haunting, I might give it a heavily shadowed feel. If I want to be brazen, I might up the contrast, etc. I know that eyes follow light a certain way and may want to suggest such movement in a photo. Some of these are very nuts-and-bolts concerns. I'd go crazy if I thought nothing I created had any level of predictability of response, at least within a ballpark.</p>

<p>Again, "liking" or "being liked" is not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about expressing and being heard, communicating and being understood. I can understand or be understood and still retain my own imaginings and wonderings beyond that understanding. I think there is a compelling and welcome tension in photography and other arts between what is shared (in almost universal terms) among presenter and audience and what is much more personal and individual.</p>

We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!
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<p>This post is not a response to any of the previous comments; rather it's just me mumbling to myself about why I haven't been able to come up with any response to the original post.</p>

<p>I've been thinking about Fred's questions since posted, and I was never able to find any solid "ground" from which to answer. It seemed to me that I would have to start from assumptions that I am not prepared to make; about the nature of what's out there and what's in a photograph. But just this minute, I've figured out why this has made the questions so squishy for me:</p>

<p>Imagine a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat (a good magician and we're all astounded by the illusion). To me, it's as if alll Fred's questions were asking me to meditate on the rabbit -- when I don't give a s*** about the rabbit. Sure, there is a rabbit and I'm prepared to say that it's real and not transcendent, etc. but that's not what makes the show. It's the conjuring. The wonder. The act.</p>

<p>Maybe it's because I'm a photographer, but the foundation attraction of photographs (for me) is that "someone" ... saw [and in that "saw" are all my original problems with answering the OP ...]. They pulled this photograph out of a hat and ... it's wonderful. Astonishing. They conjure up that possibility of "being-seen." The conjuring, not the rabbit.</p>

<p>None of this addresses Fred's questions (which are valid and which I don't mean in any way to suggest are not), but I feel better for figuring out why I can't seem to answer those questions. They almost don't matter to me. </p>

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