It's good to be humbled--Wm. Albert Allard

[wogears]

<p>I know that I sometimes sound like a broken record, uh mistracking CD, uh corrupt MP3 file, but as an Official Geezer, I believe I’m entitled to a little mumbling. I’ve been picking up some nice used books lately, and one of them—<em>Five Decades</em> by William Albert Allard—set me to some serious thinking. I knew Allard’s work in the American West, with wonderful, unflinching photographs of cowboys and their world, but there was a lot I had not seen. Images of Italy and the Basque country, beautiful women caught in unguarded and revealing moments, and powerful views of the Untouchable caste in modern India. So many of the pictures in the book were gorgeous and emotionally dense that I recognized the thing that gets called ‘greatness’.</p>

<p>This led me to Allard’s <a href="http://www.williamalbertallard.com/blog/">blog</a>. It’s not very long—at seventy-five, he can be forgiven for being less than a prolific blogger—but its content is fascinating. He always talks about photography in context, discussing people, memories, feelings; he is a writer as well as a photographer, and merges the two better than just about anyone. As the title of this post implies, I felt honestly humbled. At sixty-one, I know I will <em>never</em> be that good. No whining, people, it’s just how it is. We go along, and the road before us seems to lead on forever, until we get to some signpost that tells us, in the immortal words of Porky Pig, “That’s all, folks.” Too late for ‘should’ve’. I’ve got a good while to go, and I’ll get better, but things grow out of reach for all our stretching. Still, we can all improve. As Allard says, “and one can’t ask for more than that and it’s to be appreciated, not soured by regret that it didn’t happen sooner.”</p>

<p>What makes Allard (or Adams, or McCurry, or whomever) better than me and, forgive this, most of my present readers? Partly luck. He started working in the golden age of photojournalism, when magazines thrived, and had money to spend and the willingness to trust their employees. Mostly I think it’s intensity, the will and desire to see things through. Intensity and involvement figure as well. One of Allard’s projects was to photograph the Hutterite colonies in Montana. In doing so, he became close personal friends with members of the sect, to the point where he shared the harshest moments of life with them. IMO, if you have the skills, this level of intimacy with your subjects <em>has</em> to lead to good photography.</p>

<p>Now my midnight confession. I am a recovering gearhead. Yes, it’s true. I once obsessed over ‘testing’, lines per millimeter, aberrations and all of that. I would probably have fretted about ‘bokeh’, if it had existed back then. (That’s a <em>joke</em> okay?) Here’s what Allard has to say on the subject. “I still think basically, a camera is a camera, is a camera. It’s the eye that has to improve and sometimes that’s a lot harder to do. I’m working on it, sometimes with more success than at other times.” He talks about his equipment a bit, praising a Panasonic mirrorless and noting that he used to carry too many lenses, but the word ‘upgrade’ just isn’t there. I know someone will rehash the usual arguments—bet you can’t photograph a horse race with an 8x10 Deardorff, or whatever. Most of the images in <em>Five Decades</em> were shot on film, and a lot of them are low-light shots that are simply beautiful. Maybe this is why some of us still shoot film from time to time. There is no urge, and no possibility to upgrade from an EOS 7 or an F4. I think we need to talk a lot more about people, experiences and emotions (me included), and more about photography. The cameras are all good. We are not.</p>

[Norma Desmond]

<p><<<<em>The cameras are all good. We are not.</em>>>></p>

<p>I don't think all cameras are equal or equally up to specific tasks. But I do think there can often be an over-emphasis on gear. A balanced approach seems often to recommend itself.</p>

<p>Agree with the second part. Most of us are developing. "We are not good" can be exciting or anxiety-producing if one doesn't have the patience to <em>become</em> good and, instead, simply wants to <em>be</em> good. It's not whether we're good or not so much as what it is we care about.</p>

<p><<<<em>Mostly I think it’s intensity, the will and desire to see things through.</em>>>></p>

<p>Understood. I usually refer to it as commitment. I think commitment can come with varying degrees of intensity, all of which can work depending on approach, content, and goals. But a commitment to what one is doing seems important.</p>

<p><<<<em>At sixty-one, I know I will </em>never<em> be that good.</em>>>></p>

<p>Maybe not. But so what? There will be few Picassos and few Westons. But I think making that the focus or aim is a trap. Smaller artists are significant. There are unheard of artists working in all corners of the world, producing amazing things. They may never be that "good," but they offer a lot and are important. The commitment or intensity talked about above doesn't have to be about being good and certainly doesn't have to be about being as good as someone else. It's a commitment to your own passion, what you are trying to show, say, convey, or express. That comes through. It's significant. A photographer can commit to his subject(s), to his style, to his vision, to trying to say something, to getting something off his chest, to making pretty pictures. Wanting to be good is laudable but not the full story . . . and it has led many astray from the task at hand.</p>

<p><<<<em>if you have the skills, this level of intimacy with your subjects </em>has<em> to lead to good photography.</em>>>></p>

<p>Not sure about this. It can still go awry. There are unknown quantities at play here. No particular formula or combination of things guarantees "good" photography or personal success or fulfillment. There is no magic sauce and one size does not fit all.</p>

[stp]

<blockquote>

<p>The commitment or intensity talked about above doesn't have to be about being good and certainly doesn't have to be about being as good as someone else. It's a commitment to your own passion, what you are trying to show, say, convey, or express.</p>

</blockquote>

<p>Agreed. I usually find more meaning and get more satisfaction out of rising early, being on the trail with a flashlight, and standing in solitude as the sun begins to hit the peak that I have come to photograph than I do when looking at the resulting photograph in my living room the next day. The photograph is important to the extent that I can share it with others, especially if it captures a sense of the experience I had the previous day, but for me it doesn't compare to the experience itself. That experience cares little about the camera and lens I've chosen to use, as long as they are appropriate for the image I have in my mind's eye. Still, I strive to get better, to produce images that more effectively recreate those experiences in my memory years later and that more strongly convey a sense of the experience when shared with others.</p>

[Norma Desmond]

<p>Stephen, I understand.</p>

<p>For me, part of the commitment and joy is very much involved with and to the photo itself. The process/experience and the results or goal of the experience are inseparable as I go about doing photography. My looking at and relationship to the photos are every bit as significant as the experience of taking them and making them and the photos seem inextricably linked to the experience of photographing.</p>

<p>Luis offered a nice quote from St. Catherine of Sienna in another thread where something similar is being discussed.</p>

<p><em>"All the way to heaven is heaven."</em></p>

[Wouter Willemse]

<p>I can live with the fact that I'll never be as good as William Albert Allard, Brassaï, or Cartier-Bresson, or ... (fill in name of whomever you value)... nor will I be near as good as some people who will read this. As long as I don't stop trying to be as good as I can be. As long as I do not stop learning from what others show me. Being humble, for me, is not a bad thing. It's being honest enough that things could maybe still be better. But it is *not* admitting that whatever you currently do is inferior. <br />There is a difference (and a balance to be found) between measuring yourself against others, or measuring yourself against your own hopes and wishes. Complacency can be deadly, but so can a lack of self-esteem.</p>

<p>(Part of quest of being as good as I hope to be, is selecting tools that work for me, and I can be a bit pre-occupied with my lens choices, absolutely ....yes, a bit a gearhead, but: the gear got to do what I want it to do - and not everything on the market fits the description equally well).</p>

[luis_g]

<p>There are many ways to approach and/or conceptualize photography, all of them valid. Some feel humbled by photographers they deem "better" than they are. Others use envy as a gauge. I don't do either, but that's neither better nor worse.</p>

<p>In spite of Allard's comment about cameras, he was very choosy about what he used, and in one of his books ennumerates the staggering number of cases of gear he took on assignment. </p>

<p>Thanks for the blog. I've enjoyed Allard's work over the years.</p>

[sarah_fox]

<blockquote>

<p>Partly luck.</p>

</blockquote>

<p>I feel most people with talent are never given the opportunity to contribute meaningfully. I don't know whether it's luck, schmoozing skills, magnetic personality, or what. However, there's some magic combination of something that, combined with persistence and hard work, gets the "greats" through the door. The rest, who might be equally great or even greater, are discarded by society and are doomed to obscurity, no matter how hard they might try.</p>