What you don't see at first in looking at a photograph

<p>I have not thought about this topic extensively, except for the following examples, and simply hope that it may take us on some fruitful and also unanticipated directions.</p>

<p>In preparing a little conference/workshop on the benefits of choosing photography as a hobby, given yesterday at a local library, I chose Nicéphore Niepce's 1927 photograph made from a rear window of his home in Saint-Loup-de-Varennes as one of the initial images. It didn't occur to me at first, but his photograph on a bitumen-of-Judea-covered tin sheet showed two opposing buildings at each side of the view with the face of each covered in sunlight. We are used to more instantaneous images in bright sunlight in which only one of the building faces would be sunlit. I finally realised that the 8-hour exposure used by Niepce caused this sunshine everywhere image (which can be seen today at the University of Texas at Austin for those so interested in seeing the first photograph). My perception of the (obviously rustic) image changed after that realisation.<br>

<em>(As did my understanding of Niepce, as his bio refers also to his early internal combustion engine, Napoleon's granting of a ten year patent, its disuse, and the eventual application of his basic idea in Rudolph Diesel's more highly developed and groundbreaking invention - but that is another story).</em></p>

<p>I have an artist student's copy of an S. Bough painting of an English rural scene, from a former 3rd cousin in the UK. It is a landscape scene with a lot going on in it, somewhat obscured by the nature (and beauty) of the brush marks of this oil painting. What appeared initially as only a farmer's field with surrounding trees and feeding geese changed with continued viewing and I was eventually able to discern the top of a farm cottage below the tree line and a haystack beside it. Even further looking and imagining led me to see a tall ladder at the side of the haystack and at the top of which is apparently an agricultural worker either pitching or conditioning the hay. These come down to individual brush strokes, which add another element to the bucolic landscape, and one that was only experienced in more concerted viewing of the overall painting.</p>

<p>These are but two different cases of the power of an image to convey things beyond first impressions. What are your thoughts, examples or attitudes about photographs that reveal something that is not evident at first? Is that an important quality for you?</p>

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<p>What are your thoughts, examples or attitudes about photographs that reveal something that is not evident at first? Is that an important quality for you?</p>

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<p>Yes. It is for me.</p>

<p>I find it's usually not a matter of a detail so much as a depth of understanding or feeling that I get over time. My eye is usually pretty good about noticing what's going on in the frame. But good photos and paintings, sculptures, movies, grow on me over time. One thing that helps with this, and it's come up a few times recently in these discussions, is body of work. I may see a photo and then get more from it once I am exposed to other photos by the same photographer, or even contemporaries, predecessors, and successors of that photographer which allow me to put the photo into a greater context. I may read stuff about the photographer which deepens my relationship to his photo. I may grow as a person which will change my understanding or feelings about the photo.</p>

<p>Significanctly, <em>my own experience</em> with making photos continually changes my relationship to the photos of others that I've known, even for quite some time.</p>

<p>Also, seeing a work of art in person will often provide me with new insights into and feelings about the work. That happened recently with the Renaissance paintings I saw, which are so much different -- more sensual, deeper, richer -- when seen live. The same happened when I recently saw a bunch of Rineke Dijkstra's prints in NY and happens with most stuff that I've only seen in books or on line.</p>

<p>The detail thing happens more often to me in movies. Every time I see a great movie I will notice certain details that I hadn't seen before. That is a thrill, especially when it happens with a film I've seen several times, like an old Hitchcock or John Ford.</p>

<p>http://xkcd.com/915/</p>

<p>I agree much with the comment by Fred about feeling and understanding as opposed to the question of details in an image. Sometimes the two are related, though, as sometimes we take in details that affect us more profoundly after repeated viewing, where our understanding of the whole, or other works, cause us to see the detail in a new light. Or it can be the nature of the photographer's approach or perceptions, which we gradually come to recognize and interpret in our own way. Re-reading some books and re-viewing some films does that, of course. I took away much more in my second viewing of "Polytechnique" than in the first, which I absorbed on a more event-emotional plane than on the psychological-visual plane of the second viewing. Another factor is how receptive we are to the work. I hadn't prepared myself for Saturday's HD direct to cinema version of Wagner's last opera in the Ring cycle, but I was somehow very attuned to receiving the visual and musical elements of the production, which allowed me a great experience. Some days we are more receptive than others, and this of course has something to do with the mind state of the viewer and perhaps why continued viewing is necessary for more complete understanding.</p>

<p>Kaa, yes, obviously some details are important, others are not so important. I guess they have to be shown to have a reasonably important effect in regard to the whole.</p>

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<p>Kaa, yes, obviously some details are important, others are not so important. I guess they have to be shown to have a reasonably important effect in regard to the whole.</p>

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<p>I don't think the point is in the relative importance of details. I think the point is in the alt-text:<em><strong> Our brains have just one scale, and we resize our experiences to fit.</strong></em></p>

<p>P.S. You may not know it, but all xkcd cartoons have a meta-comment that is "hidden" in the alt tag of the image of the cartoon. If, on the xkcd.com page, you put your cursor onto the cartoon and don't move it for a couple of seconds, the alt-text will pop up.<em><strong><br /></strong></em></p>

<p>Photography suffers compared with paintings and other traditional media because we have become used to limiting our view to an immediate response rather than contemplating the work for a while. Photos are regarded as good mainly on the basis that they "pop" and so dramatic over-saturated colours and extreme wide-angle perspectives are common in successful photos as are beautiful nude women and heavily "arty" post-processing. The actual content in terms of relating subjects, giving a personal insight and telling a story are generally more complex issues and take time to appreciate.</p>

<p>"Second look" features may be deliberately included by the artist as part of the visual message but often are the result of intuitive abstract composition at the moment of taking or in choice of cropping. As in your example they may also be an unintended effect of the technique or equipment used (eg the slanting wheels of moving cars because of vertical focal plane shutters in very old press cameras) and so give interesting clues about how the photographer worked.</p>

<p>The second look may also reveal the shallow and formulaic nature of the instant-favorite shot that rapidly loses its appeal. The image with depth continues to interest and becomes memorable.</p>

<p>In the end, quality counts.</p>

 

<p>Hmmm. Having read all the posts so far, it looks like most of the things I'd want to say, the differing perspectives on Arthur's post, have pretty much been said. But when has a little repetition ever stopped a participant in this forum, eh?</p>

<p>Like Fred, it is not so much initial details that I might miss on a first viewing so much as significance, context within a larger body of work, or context within a biographical framework. (Was it John Crowe Ransom who opined that we should consider an artist's work in and of itself, separate from the details of their life? Not that I agree entirely with that.)</p>

<p>And .Kaa's xkcd cartoon struck another chord -- given enough verbiage and analysis we can extol the virtues of damn near anything.</p>

<p>I would point out that the OP has a typographical error in the date of Niepce's photo, but that would be the type of anal retentive nit-picking you'd find in an equipment or casual discussion forum so I'm not going to point it out. </p>

<p>I do like Jonathan's take on the "shallow and formulaic nature of the instant favorite shot".</p>

<p>The discussion does bring to mind the problematic nature of critiques that seek to go beyond the technical. Composition, sharpness, point of view, exposure -- their existence, absence, or quality can be discussed, and don't normally require a second viewing. It's the less tangible stuff that might not hit us initially. Oddity, irony, and banality are nothing new. A banal shot by Eggleston, Frank or Shore may be displayed in a gallery, earnestly discussed, and have lengthy explications written about them. John Doe posts a banal shot on photo.net and elicits nothing. So we select John's banal photograph and, like the xkcd cartoon, give an in depth analysis as to why it is, in fact, exceptional. Is that analysis ridiculous, or valid? I have no answers…and not much of a point, to be honest. Just some further food for thought.</p>

The title brings to mind the the dog driving the car image(floating around the Internet).

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<p>Is that analysis ridiculous, or valid?</p>

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<p>Also, this isn't just about analysis. It's about relationship. Photos that I keep coming back to and grow on me keep looking differently at different times and show me different things in different viewings. They strike me in different ways. I tend to analyze more when I'm trying to learn from them.</p>

<p>_________________________</p>

 

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<p>Was it John Crowe Ransom who opined that we should consider an artist's work in and of itself, separate from the details of their life? Not that I agree entirely with that.</p>

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<p>An interesting point. There is certainly a sense in which significant photographs do stand on their own and it's simply in seeing them over the years that the experience of them deepens and grows. That isn't in competition with biography or history, context or presentation. All of these aspects, and the work on its own merits, are at play. Sometimes they can't be separated.</p>

<p>_________________________</p>

 

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<p>A banal shot by Eggleston, Frank or Shore may be displayed in a gallery, earnestly discussed, and have lengthy explications written about them. John Doe posts a banal shot on photo.net and elicits nothing.</p>

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<p>It may be because John Doe doesn't have a recognized or significant body of work. There's merit in Truffaut's <em>auteur theory</em>, which suggests that some filmmakers (transpose for photographers and other artists) have such a strong personal imprint on their work that even their lesser works merit consideration in terms of their overall artistic view.</p>

<p>John Doe's banal photograph, if he is serious about photography, is worth analysis by someone who cares. Sure, many shots are taken more as quick throwaways with little or no thought put into them. But many bad photos have been considered and cared about. Analysis of these is not ridiculous. People helped me out a great deal at the beginning, spending time talking about my work, not because it was more than merely banal but because they sensed I cared about what I was doing enough to want to help me proceed and grow. I try to do the same in my own critiques, often critiquing work I don't like and don't think is very good. Pay it forward.</p>

<p>_________________________</p>

 

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<p>I do like Jonathan's take on the "shallow and formulaic nature of the instant favorite shot".</p>

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<p>Me too. Though the Internet gives us reach and exposes us to a lot of great stuff, it tends to speed up the process. It's why I still like going to museums, local galleries, and looking at books. That slows me down and allows for the kind of appreciation that has more depth and more room to change and grow.</p>

<p> </p>

<p>Good point Steve, about 1927, which should of course read 1827 (he developed the technique in 1824, but made his first successful image later, perhaps spurred by the collaboration-competition with Daguerre). Perhaps my error is a bit serendipitous, as it may speak to how we may not immediately see everything we do.</p>

 

<p>Many works of art are mercurial, in the sense that they act as a barometer for a repeat viewer's state at the moment of viewing. Its elements are like an orchestra, where some do solos or come to the fore or retreat, with the viewer as (an often unwitting) conductor. In agreement, with Fred, Steve and others.<br>

________________________________</p>

 

<p>I would point out that the OP has a typographical error in the date of Niepce's photo...</p>

<p>I noticed that too.<br>

____________________________________</p>

 

"shallow and formulaic nature of the instant favorite shot".

<p>That extends to more than just photographs. People don't take much time with major paintings, either. Some of it seems to come from the inundation of images people find themselves under. Some from consumerism, and most people are visual illiterates in terms of going beyond like/dislike.<br>

_______________________________________</p>

<p>"The discussion does bring to mind the problematic nature of critiques that seek to go beyond the technical." </p>

<p>Not for me. I would not call it a problem, but the sweet, tantalizing, seductive, juicy, sensuous, mysterious, best part.<br>

__________________________________</p>

<p>" A banal shot by Eggleston, Frank or Shore may be displayed in a gallery, earnestly discussed, and have lengthy explications written about them. John Doe posts a banal shot on photo.net and elicits nothing."</p>

<p>...and there's reasons for that. First, the number of geniuses of Eggleston's or Shore's caliber in the '70s living today, or Frank back in the day probably number less than a few hundred alive and working, let alone being seen or published. All men are not created equal, or strive equally given an equal talent. The celebrated Mr. Doe may also shoot a few hoops in his daddy's driveway, but he's not in the same universe as a Michael Jordan. Nor is anyone else in his neighborhood or city, maybe not the entire state, either. One other reason is that lengthy explications worth their glowing LEDs are rare. Why should anyone of that caliber bother with the millions of John Does? How would you choose one to review? Worse, odds are it would mean next to zero to Mr. Doe, who perhaps would fare best by paying for a portfolio review at any of a number of events across the US.</p>

 

 

<p>Arthur, I think you're talking about two things that are, for me at least, diametrically opposed. One the one hand, you describe looking closely at the informational content of a picture; on the other, you talk about extended or repeated encounters with the experience of a picture. It's my feeling that the first damages the possibility of the second.</p>

<p>IF you are interested in photos as a source of information, you want to identify, name, containerize, historicize, locate, etc. etc. the content of the photo. Given that photos today are, with rare exceptions, SHARP, SHARP, SHARP !! and filled with perfect DETAIL, DETAIL, DETAIL !! down to the most microscipic level (not to mention having PERFECT color !!), it's my opinion that information-content is a monster that photo-art has to struggle to deal with. It's my opinion that art is not sharp. (<<< go ahead; take me literally -- see if I care)</p>

<p>IF you are intererested in photos as works of art, then what you hope to encounter, to experience is a whiff (at least) of strangeness, a difference. Once, if, when, that whiff is sensed, then, for me, I will keep coming back, passing by, exposing my eyes to this thing that causes that strange perfume. To borrow from Charles Taylor (who is borrowing from Gadamer who is borrowing from Hegel >> just to make this Serious Philosophy), "Experience is that wherein our previous sense of reality is undone, refuted, and shows itself as needing to be reconstituted. It occurs precisely in those moments where the object 'talks back.'"</p>

<p>In art, this kind of experience has nothing to do with information and everything to do with my (being willing to) let myself be worked on by the picture. For me, staring at a picture, straining after its content, dissecting its mechanics just gets in the way of letting the picture do what its capable of doing (or not). Aside from the initial move of being on the alert for any trace of strange perfume, I like to be almost "absent-minded" when looking at art photography.</p>

<p>(See Robert Irwin's bit about "forgetting the name of the thing one sees" -- the opposite of identifying it.)</p>

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<p>"I think you're talking about two things that are, for me at least, diametrically opposed. One <em>(On)</em> the one hand, you describe looking closely at the informational content of a picture; on the other, you talk about extended or repeated encounters with the experience of a picture. It's my feeling that the first damages the possibility of the second."</p>

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<p>Julie, I understand your point about someone having a concentrated will to see more detail in an image and the possibility of that inhibiting openness to sensing the perfume or strangeness of a good work of art (as in philosopher Taylor's example of experience being that of the object talking back). What I was saying in the OP is related to seeing more and not necessarily seeing more detail. I think some of the responses to date recognize that that is not necessarily a question of seeing more detail, but simply seeing more, or being open to what the work can deliver upon extended viewing (which can also relate I think to our being in a favorable state or not for those experiences). You are right in saying that it is not just a question of more detail or more such visual information.</p>

<p>I am not familiar enough with the art and philosophy of Irwin (and admittedly I should be), but I was struck by reports of his desire to remove the material from his works of art. I always look forward to your comments because you invariably introduce new directions of discussion. In regard to Irwin, artist and gallerist Arnold Glimcher described one of the installations he asked Irwin to create:</p>

 

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<p>The piece was titled "Soft Wall" and consisted of a length of scrim stretched floor to ceiling about 12 inches in front of the far wall of the gallery. Glimcher, who now calls Irwin "the most important influence on my esthetic," remembers it fondly. He says, "The room was lit in an even way, and the scrim only infinitesimally more. When you walked into the space and gave it the time required--the way an Ad Reinhardt requires time--suddenly you noticed one of the walls was out of focus, almost as if it were snowing in front of it. Irwin recalls that "ninety per cent of the people who walked in thought it was an empty room. But there was a presence there, nothing you could put your finger on, yet if you gave it enough time you could figure it out. In that way it could have been the definitive scrim, and it was done a long time ago."</p>

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<p>What is unusual about the 1827 Niepce image? The quality of being the first photograph, or the unintended surrealistic presence of direct sunlight in a non-directed manner? On repeated viewings, the latter may be discerned. Maybe this is not the best or even profound example of giving an image time and letting it speak to you, but it is one nonetheless.</p>

<p>Luis is right about John Doe not likely being able to provide a communicated artistic visual experience, although it may happen a little more often than a monkey arbitrarily typing out the text of "A long Day's Journey into Night". Qualifications of like and dislike are also essentially meaningless, unless supported. Those qualifications (i.e., statements) can also in turn be critiqued. I think that one deficiency of our present forum is that too many examples of great or poor images are thrust upon us without any specific and rational discussion of their merits or weaknesses (I am sure this will bring protests from some, and examples of exceptions, but it is perhaps (clearly?) an easy road to pray at an alter, rather than defending or describing why the alter is there). </p>

<p> </p>

<p>I expect to find unnoticed aspects of all pictures over time. I change so it seems reasonable that what I see changes. That is a condition of art. It renews. I agree that the initial attraction to a piece might obscure particular details. Once art has a history with the viewer it might gain or lose its original aura. Even more reductive by intent, decorative or illustrative photos can evolve. The best of those stay lively and compelling . Moving a picture can renew it. I've learned to hang art exhibits and design books from artists who had a superior sense of this. One picture informs another.<br /> This detail of Renoir's <em>Dance at Bougival </em>surely is significant. Who notices the floor? That's all I see when I look at the picture now.</p><div></div>

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<p>In art, this kind of experience has <strong>nothing </strong>to do with information and<strong> everything </strong>to do with my (being willing to) let myself be worked on by the picture. For me, staring at a picture, straining after its content, dissecting its mechanics just gets in the way of letting the picture do what its capable of doing (or not).</p>

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<p>I can't for the life of me understand why an exclusionary dichotomy has to be drawn. Poor Julie, can't walk and chew gum at the same time . . . or thinks she can't . . . which brings me to the next point.</p>

<p>For someone who reads as much as Julie -- which, on some level, is a gathering of this information that she deems so troubling to the experience of a photograph -- how could she not bring that information to the table when experiencing a work of art. If what she's claiming here is true, then she of all people couldn't possibly even get a whiff of the perfume. Perhaps Julie thinks that all this information which she has gathered about art, the opinions, the quotes, the dissection, etc. doesn't inform her viewing. If so, she would be in denial.</p>

<p>The beauty of us humans is that we can put it all together and exist. We can think and feel at the same time. We can attend to details and see the bigger picture. We can smell the perfume and recognize a face or a dress or a floor. Emphasis can certainly ebb and flow, but we just don't compartmentalize the way Julie thinks we do.</p>

<p>___________________________</p>

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<p>IF you are interested in photos as a source of information, you want to identify, name, containerize, historicize, locate, etc. etc. the <strong>content</strong> of the photo.</p>

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<p>The joy of art is the mingling of content and all of the abstract qualities that describe that content. That it's a picture of a farm or a mountain or a man (CONTENT) doesn't make it any less possible for me to pick up the strangeness or the scent. Appreciating the abstract qualities comes with a sense of the concrete as well. And it's just as likely that the smell will be sweeter with information gained as that it will get in the way. People don't read Weston's Day books or art criticism/theory or photographer's biographies so they can distance themselves from the experience of looking at their work. They are able to put all that stuff to use when they go sniffing around. They can refine their sense of smell, even while they're looking.</p>

<p> </p>

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<p>Not for me. I would not call it a problem, but the sweet, tantalizing, seductive, juicy, sensuous, mysterious, best part.</p>

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<p><br />Not for me either, I suppose, or I wouldn't be here. But as tantalizing, seductive, and mysterious as it is, it can also be damned hard work at times when I try to do it myself (seriously critique a photograph, in writing, or in my mind). Although, like bursts of creativity, sudden epiphanies of understanding or vision can come over me. <br>

<br />I will have to look at the Niepce photo again. I have never gazed at it long enough to notice what Arthur is talking about.</p>

<p> </p>

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<p>IF you are intererested in photos as works of art, then <strong>what you hope to encounter, to experience is a whiff (at least) of strangeness, a difference.</strong> Once, if, when, that whiff is sensed, then, for me, I will keep coming back, passing by, exposing my eyes to this thing that causes that strange perfume. To borrow from Charles Taylor (who is borrowing from Gadamer who is borrowing from Hegel >> just to make this Serious Philosophy), "<strong>Experience is that wherein our previous sense of reality is undone, refuted, and shows itself as needing to be reconstituted. It occurs precisely in those moments where the object 'talks back.'"</strong><br>

In art, this kind of experience has <strong>nothing to do with information and everything to do with my (being willing to) let myself be worked on by the picture. </strong>For me, staring at a picture, straining after its content, dissecting its mechanics just gets in the way of letting the picture do what its capable of doing (or not). Aside from the initial move of being on the alert for any trace of strange perfume, I like to be almost "absent-minded" when looking at art photography.</p>

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<p>Beautiful, Julie. Nothing more that I could possibly add to that.</p>

<p>And somebody remind me to never bring John Doe into these kinds of discussions. From now on, the poor bastard is on his own.</p>

<p><strong>Fred - "</strong>I can't for the life of me understand why an exclusionary dichotomy has to be drawn."</p>

<p>I can't either, though there's a certain attraction to redirecting polarity in a discussion.</p>

<p>______________________________________</p>

<p><strong>Steve - "</strong>And somebody remind me to never bring John Doe into these kinds of discussions. From now on, the poor bastard is on his own."</p>

<p>...and unaided, he shows up often. </p>

<p>One of the objectives of the OP is to gather some insight into the process, and your process, of viewing images. A common complaint of those submitting work for review or for a salon is that the critiquing or judging often seems to be at a very primary (preliminary) level of evaluation, whether that ultimately turns out to be of great value, or not. The time spent is often too short to enable a full communication between the photographer (that is, his or her image) and the viewer, somewhat like cutting someone off in conversation because it is felt that all has been said, and the listener feels free to jump onto only a partial exposé by the speaker. In one print club I belonged to, a sort of sissorhands type individual would immediately bring his two L shaped jigs into play and quickly suggest a reformatting (cropping) of the just placed image. One had to wait until he ran out of wind and more thoughtful (comprehensive minded) viewers would take up the critique.</p>

<p>Those wishing to do well in some competitions learn that the message has to pass quickly; some therefore attempt to provide images of a certain simplicity which favor a very immediate knock out punch. In other cases, the complexity of the image, its possible several layers, its strangeness or convoluting elements, require more time and perhaps a more open (wide band) viewer receiving mechanism, to couple to the viewer. Or it may represent a differing language that the viewer is not aware of, or is not interested in mastering. A sculptor friend impressed me with his slow and thoughtful analysis of photographs (but not all) that were placed before him. It seemed that in some cases he made up his mind about the image fairly quickly, but then took the time before critiquing to look at it from different angles, with different parameters or yardsticks, or simply to measure in his own mind the result of a longer acquaintance with the image. Perhaps St-Exupery's "Little Prince" may not be relevant here, but I think it was the fox that suggested to him that he needed to tame him before he could really know him well. In referring to the Little Prince’s difficulty in perceiving the rose garden and his rose therein, the fox suggests to the Little Prince that “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” Perhaps what passes between the image and the viewer when the former tames the latter is akin to what impinges on the mind and not by a process uniquely involving vision.</p>

 

<p>Well, lessee... I'll start with the trite observation that viewing a piece of art is a collaboration between the artist and the viewer. They both have their responsibilities and their roles to play. The artist must provide the substrate, the meat and the bones, and the viewer must personalize that substrate, make it his own, sync with it, so to say, and chew on the meat and maybe crack the bones if he's capable enough.</p>

<p>Both sides must participate, but each can bring a different amount to the table. Some art is ready-to-consume. All the viewer has to do is open his mouth and chew. The artist takes care of more or less explicitly pointing out the pieces to be consumed and how one is expected to go about it.</p>

<p>Some art, however, is less forthcoming. There are two basic variations, I think. One type is a puzzle -- there is an intended path there, but it's non-obvious and the viewer must decipher the artist's hints and signs as to where to go, what's tasty and what's poisonous, what to digest and what to discard. Puzzles make people feel clever and are conducive to long ramblings about symbolic meanings and such :-) The other basic variation is minimalist. The author does provide some hints and a general direction, but otherwise he invites the viewer to project himself into the image and run free in there. Different people tend to interpret such images in very different ways.</p>

<p>Note that non-obvious art requires the viewer to do some work. Many people are not too fond of exerting effort, and, importantly, many people do not <strong>expect</strong> they need to spend attention and energy when they are standing in front of an art piece. There's plenty of popular art which sweet, pleasant, and easy to swallow without having to do much of anything -- look how pretty this is! :-D</p>

<p>The fact that interesting art often requires work is a problem because we live in a world saturated with images. A couple of hundred years ago it was easier in the sense that if you saw a painting, it was a special occasion and worth the effort to understand it. Nowadays hundreds if not thousands of different images pass before our eyes each day. We cannot afford to treat each one seriously -- we need a pre-filter to decide which image is worthy of actual time and attention.</p>

<p>Now, what functions as such a pre-filter? I think two things. One is curation. If we know that Important People Who Understand Art Much Better Than We Do have selected this image for a museum or an exhibition, we would be inclined to spend effort understanding that image (see e.g. Fred). But the second thing is feeling, direct impact (see e.g. Julie). Some images reach out and grab you, stop you in your tracks and demand to be paid attention to. You look at them -- and often enough it's just a flash in the pan, all the image had was the energy for a single blast and once that dissipated there's nothing left. But occasionally there's a resonance between you and the image, it turns out the picture has both impact and depth for you. And that becomes something to treasure.</p>

<p>So, how do I view the images? :-) Well, first they have to pass the pre-filter. One of the disadvantages of the flood of images on the web is that they desensitize you and it's hard to focus on looking for pearls when there's an unending stream of brown stuff before your eyes. So, either impact or some kind of recommendation (which may be my own -- e.g. if I like a picture of some photographer, I'll go look at other pictures that he made). Past the pre-filter and it depends, of course. I'll repeat the term I used and say that I look for <strong>resonance</strong>, for something in the image to talk to me, personally, and for something inside me to answer back. That's the highest standard, of course, and rarely met. Usually I'd be satisfied with the image being "interesting" -- worthy of time and attention, but not reaching deep inside.</p>

<p>I am also an impatient creature and am rarely willing to continue looking for something if an image didn't trigger anything with the first, oh, 30 seconds or so. I know there are things I probably miss, but <em>vita breva</em> :-) Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late! Oh my dear paws! Oh my fur and whiskers!</p>

 

<p>Arthur,</p>

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<p>to gather some insight into the process, and your process, of viewing images</p>

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<p>While I think many previous posts made very solid points on the generic 'mechanism', many of whic apply to me too, I'll restrict to my own process. John Doe gets his rest ;-)<br>

The previously-unseen-but-there-on-second-look part to me plays a huge role in truely enjoying a photo. Unlike music, which can sway me at first 'ear', photos hardly ever do that. At first look, they either intrigue or not - invite for that second look, or not.<br>

This has much to do with what Jonathan said, and of course also has a lot to do with me. What Kaa says: it needs to resonate. This also goes back to things discussed in the '<a href="00ZvaJ">great photographer you don't like</a>' thread. The visual language of some lures me in, other visual languages (or dialects) don't.<br>

Also true, as you state, that many photos are designed to perform an immediate communication, and not necessarily one that goes two ways. While the viewer has to be willing and perceptive enough, the ability to set up a deeper 2-way communication between the photo and me, as viewer, is for me an inherent quality of the photo.<br>

However, the photo needs to leave a 'hook' on first view. Photos I do not really like, failed to leave that. Those who made me look more intently, more studying with wider open eyes - I may still grow to dislike them, but at least they moved me.</p>

<p>What I hope to find in that second look is a way in for my fantasy. A certain 'looseness' in the communication of the photo that allows me to interpret, fantasise, fill in gaps. Where I can project into the image. A dialogue, but a rather unstructured one. Something that has come up in many discussions here lately, which absolutely works for me, is ambigiuity.</p>

<p>That's also the main problem I have with "critiques"; well, they aren't. The best I can usually come up with is sharing what happened in that dialogue with the photo (while trying to avoid writing stuff like "you could burn a little there, add some selective sharpening there and all those hands-on tips). As a result, I also only tend to write up a critique on this site if a photo touched me, else there is little to share.</p>

<p>So, what Kaa has said about the direct impact versus the inclination to study, applies. But it's not "flash bang" versus "slowly drawn in". It's the middle of those two.<br>

I don't understand the need or want to pin this to either the viewer, or the photo; to either reasoned interpretation or emotional response; to either communication or a viewer's willingness to invest in an image. Those dichotomies may be nice to polarise discussion, but they don't clarify anything. It's about a subtle reciprocal relationship between what an image gives me, and what I take; what I can put back into it and how that completes the image.</p>

<p>Arthur, I've scanned for you three pictures from Richard Misrach's book, <em>Pictures of Paintings</em> that I think you may enjoy thinking about. In particular, what do you think remains of the visual experience of the painting that he's photographing? (This may sound like a really boring book, but Misrach has made fascinating work from his subject matter; these are <em>his</em> pictures.) He titles the photographs by where he found them:</p>

<p><em><a href="http://unrealnature.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/misrach_fishing.jpg">Phoenix, Arizona, 1993</a></em> [the underlying painting is <em>Evening Shower</em>, 1862 by Sanford Gifford]</p>

<p><em><a href="http://unrealnature.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/misrach_sailboat.jpg">Fort Worth, Texas, 1995</a></em> [the underying painting is <em>Thunderstorm</em>, 1869, by Martin Heade]</p>

<p><em><a href="http://unrealnature.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/misrach_face.jpg">Albuquerque,, New Mexicao, 1993</a></em> [the underlying painting is <em>Portrait of a Woman (Self-Portrait), </em>n.d.]</p>

<p>I don't know if you can see in my scans, but these are contact prints. The large-format negative edging ("Kodak") is visible on the edges.</p>

<p>I just saw a big Walker Evans show that blended all his work from FSA to Fortune magazine. He was clearly able to maintain his vision throughout his lifetime. The magazine work was an eye-opener for me for its art, and honesty. The oligarchy had more intellectual depth and class then! These kinds of details about him supplemented my already strong enthusiasm for his individual images. For display design purposes, some FSA images were repeated. There was the original silverprint, a somewhat larger inkjet, and a whopper-size 20 x 30ish print. The curators gave the viewer options and information to enhance their experience of Evans. On the other hand, much has been written about <em>Let us now praise famous men</em>. One doesn't need to read about these pictures to <em>get</em> them or the FSA pictures. To do so may even spoil them for you.<br>

I agree that the intimacy of a book compared to "sofa size" is bound to be imprinted on us. The viewer's experience is shaped by conventions of display that change over time. Think about "The Family of Man" and "The Americans" or even Macy's and MOMA. It is worth knowing how pictures are conceived to exist in the world by the artist. When the work was made must shape the way it looks. <br>

RE Richard Misrach and his paintings images - not sure of what he's up to with that. Books or big prints? His work doesn't usually hold up for me in museums or books. I shoot a lot in museums - thinking about looking and display of art. Misrach <strong>has </strong>to be seen on the wall. Otherwise they lose most of their meaning for me. A small look at my take on painting details and this PF topic is here: see page 1&2<br>

<a href="http://www.panoramacamera.us/WIP-UNCOOKED-1.html">http://www.panoramacamera.us/WIP-UNCOOKED-1.html</a></p>

<p>Familiarity plays a role for me. Over time, some photos, pieces of music, paintings, become like old friends. I can rely on them. I may not necessarily be getting more out of them as much as just wanting to be with them. I will be in a certain mood and gravitate toward a particular song I love or a certain book of photos. Very often my own mood will dictate what I want to look at though I may also gravitate to certain photos at times knowing they will change my mood.</p>

<p>__________________________</p>

<p>Jonathan brought up the difference between deliberately and intuitively making photos that may grow over time. Again, I'd say this is better not looked at as a dichotomy, because there isn't that much difference. What we do deliberately starts to become intuitive and what we do intuitively can be harnessed and become quite deliberate, to the point where they just seem to overlap and depend on each other. When I'm shooting, I may or may not have the time to think about what will give a photo the layering that may yield something that grows over time. More likely, I will consider such things when I'm washing dishes and taking a shower, in a more generic fashion. Then I will (intuitively/deliberately??) put that stuff to use when I'm shooting <em>and post processing.</em></p>

<p>In my own work, some things I know will "deepen" the experience of a photo over time are expressions (and, as Luis has referred to them, micro-expressions). The right expression seems to connect differently over time and seems to grow and deepen. Some element of mystery/ambiguity/enigma will often serve to re-attract me to an expression, even a simple one. The combination of light and a facial expression will often provide that extra bit. Or a complementary angle on an expression may just keep a viewer occupied that much longer. The same expression shot from a different angle will yield a very different photographic effect.</p>

<p>Juxtapositions and relationships will often provide the kind of layering that will keep me and a viewer interested over time. In a lot of instances a subject that doesn't have that strong an expression in and of itself is helped by its relationships to other things in the photo which will give it a kind of depth.</p>

<p>A very significant quality in this regard is something we've talked about before . . . texture. I use the word "texture" in relationship to photography as I would use color in music. A conductor is constantly working toward bringing out the color of an orchestra, precisely for the kind of resonance Kaa and Wouter are talking about. There is a visual counterpart to that. It's a matter of managing subjects and sub-plots, main and supporting rhythms, focal lighting and background lighting, the play of moment against narrative, conflicting and harmonizing mechanisms . . .</p>

<p>An ooops... to clarify my previous post:</p>

<blockquote>

<p>That's also the main problem I have with "critiques"; well, they aren't.</p>

</blockquote>

<p>I'm talking about my own critiques there only. The word "writing" went missing.<br>

As I'm going to be offline for a bit, I can't actively participate for a while, which I find a pity, as I'm always interested in reading how others perceive, digest, come to an opinion etc. And I like the approach Arthur has taken here to discuss such matters.</p>

<p>Wouter, I agree about the great way people are interacting in this forum and, happily also, on this particular topic. Come back soon. I owe you a response, as I do also to other recent and thoughtful contributors, in regard to their valuable comments and to a possible development of those ideas, but I have gotten tied up the latter part of this week on a short course (also web related) that is seriously reducing my PNet time for the moment. </p>