je ne regrette rien

And still there are so many people drawing a precise confine between what is art and what not. It’s exactly that porousness that makes it so hard. A picture by Jeff Wall comes to my mind (Untitled (Overpass), 2001), or the “Audience” series by Thomas Struth. Unquestionably art. But how many pictures taken in the unknown tourist in the Vatican Museum in Rome, in the Pergamon Museum in Berlin or the MoMA in New York City are there? Where do we draw our porous line? Who draws the porous line?

Would you help me with photographical metaphor?

I love metaphors. But was literal when referring to empathy …

In fact, the photographer’s intent is making the photo, which then is offered the viewer. Who (the viewers) may see the intent or not, or infer their own perception of the intent. Whatever comes up.

Maybe a bit far fetched, since here we are considering a musical effect and a visual one (not considering the possible similarity of sound waves and light waves). I was talking about emotional, interpersonal empathy.

I understand that the term "control" may have a kind of negative flavour and I am willing to refer to "surrendering the intent". Also didacticism sounds quite negative, close to "instruct". What I think empathy is one of my favourite talents. It is crucial to establish relationships, and photographic relationships; teaching, in the sense of making other people grow through the interaction with the scholar. Not treating pupils like vessels to fill, but subjects to grow with; in photography, empathy is possible and desirable with the subject, much more difficult with the viewers. The photographer may know them or, in most cases, not know them. How can an empathic relationship be established with an unknown viewer? on didacticism: how can I be "didactic" towards a viewer that might be, or most likely is much more knowledgeable than myself? Between a photographer and their viewers there may be no connection and no interaction at all. There may be an didactic intent, but due to the means it needs to be surrendered. My reflection on "surrendering the intent" has come up when I saw the publications of the 2022 Leica Oscar Barnack Award. The winner, with an outstanding project on women in Afghanistan by Iranian-Canadian Kiana Hayeri, has surpassed Lynsey Addario, certainly one of the most accomplished reporters of our times. Addario "surrendered her intent", ending up in the shortlist.

Sure. A relationship. But the relationship is in most cases mediated by the photographic work and generally little chance there is to initiate an iterative exchange between the author and the viewer. In some way, once the photographic work is "handed over" to the viewer, the message passed, the relationship is established and the level of complexity is set: only a level of complexity as high as the viewer can perceive it (One sees what one knows. B. Munari). There are certainly avenues to acquire a deeper meaning, but realistically, how can the author actually "lead" the viewer, or viewers, to the originally intended message. If there is any. We may discuss the concept of control here, it may mean to me something - significantly or minimally - different than it means to you. To me, it means being able to determine the outcomes of a communication, a relationship, an action.

There definitely are! There maybe symbolism and metaphor even in the picture of your cheeseburger with fries (or Coquilles Saint Jacques for that matter), but the photographer needs to know how to do that. I used to consider books as nearly-sacred objects. No more. Now I think that I have the right to do with them whatever I want, read them, not read them, give them a special place or even give them, or throw them away. If I perceive a deeper intent, I try to understand how I see it and make it my own. But it's never a MUST. And certainly the photographer, or the author at large, looses any control over their work when I handle, absorb it, and use it. That depends on what they know and which connections they are able to make. As I said (also above), we see what we know. That may mean that knowing little leads to seeing little. There are several subjectivities: the photographer's, the viewer's. There may be connections, there may be not. The photographer may manipulate elements of common awareness to artificially create connections, to just pursue praise. Exercises, which are genuine, are better. For that matter, the avenues of manipulation are infinite.

I tend to choose authors and their works that have a narrative intent and do not privilege monographs, even though also monographs normally have a structure and rhythm. That is correct. As I tried to say, I perceive an intrinsic limitation of the language of photography in presenting a narrative structure. Yes. I think that "art" is exactly balancing the border between the clarity of the 'message' and its ambiguity, the latter in fact makes it attractive. Reality is actually boring if presented 'as it is'. Exactly, that's what I do. As I must have said a couple of times, photography as a visual expression and as a medium for interaction is based on intent (of the photographer) and understanding (of the viewer). They may match, they may not, the unsaid is what makes the interaction interesting. In the end, one photographs what one is, and one sees what one knows (and one is).

After a time when I thought photography meant 'photographic equipment' and I used to talk - not always appropriately - about photographers I didn't really know, I discovered photo books. I have always been very attracted to literature, and it seems to me that reading a book of words is less complex than reading a book of photographs. We are all used to the meaning of single words, syntax, rules and verb forms. The author/writer defines the structure of the text, names the characters; nouns, adjectives, verbs and the other linguistic elements give the possibility to describe the essence and evolution, define and describe the main action and the various, parallel narrative flows. All this, words and word combinations, sentences, structures, are used by the author to realise and transfer the narrative to the reader. The 'written language' is a traditionally codified instrument and thus transmissible and comprehensible. The arrangement of the text, the length, the articulation into chapters, the greater or lesser structuring all contribute to the composition of this narrative. A photographic book does the same, but the language is different, the expression is different, the elements are different. First of all it has to be emphasised that a photographic book must be considered as conceived as a unitary work, even if oftentimes we are tempted to look at the single pictures, rather than at the entire photo book. The author of the book, the photographer, the editor, assemble the work by choosing photographs, editing them, sequencing them, arranging them according to their own intention, just like the writer or poet. The 'language of photography' is less codified, perhaps simply less known to most. The captions, the introductory texts may or may not be there and the result less unambiguous, the links between the images are more tenuous, the message of each individual photo potentially ambiguous, very ambiguous and open to inferences and interpretations. These reflections arise from observing my photographic books, united in my interests but so different from each other: Paolo Pellegrin different from Roger Ballen, Joel Meyerowitz, Valentina Tamborra, Pail Graham, Alec Soth, Davide Monteleone, Raymond Depardon and Evelyn Hofer, Koudelka, Stephen Shore, Martin Parr, Eugene Richards, and many others. I often leaf through them, some more willingly, others have disappointed me and I am tempted to give them up. I am struck by this or that photograph on the page, but it is not enough, I realise that I have to look further, deeper. Inside a photo book there is more than the single photograph that jumps off the page, there is what the author wanted to include, and transfer, to the viewer. Beyond the individual photographs there is a thread, but this thread is often not clear: there is more, there are more possibilities, more layers, more ramifications. What I see fits into a multidimensional space that can be very rich, and not only because of what the author puts into it. It is equally important what I put into it as the viewer. Leafing through a photographic book probably starts with the visible and the impressions and associations it arouses, and then ranges through the suggestions of everything that the author has put into the book, and that the 'reader' tries to put in contact with her own sensations and what she knows and is aware of, weaving a web that appears ineffable.

I have the feeling, as if I was looking at the yeti. A large brown nose among thick fur to hide in the snow and ice.

I can share my own experience, but I’m not an eye surgeon or physician, so it should be taken as such. The only one who can give you advice is your eye surgeon. My eye specialist suggested to implant a lens to correct my major myopia, so that I could work at the computer and do generic chores without spectacles. The final adjustment he would make with light eyeglasses for driving, etc. After the first operation I realised there was big difference between the two eyes: the unoperated eyesight was brownish, the operated one was clear. The operation itself lasts about 20 minutes, for me it was quite unpleasant but one gets over it. My myopia is now down to 1.5 diopters, I can photograph with glasses or correct it in the viewfinder and focusing is really smooth and precise. The multi focal lens implant was not considered, probably because of the mentioned correction issues, so I can’t say anything about it.

I come late. In this picture I see the combination of mistery and practicality and realism. If to an extent this photo conveys a feeling of compassion and remembrance, on the other hand it is a very concrete instruction for visitors. I find it compelling as I perceive it.

here I claim SamStevens' statement: Accordingly, I see the technical merits of this photo, the success of its execution. And still find that the subject is cute. ;)

Sam, ... you know it's my photo. You are right, a picture may raise questions that do not necessarily need answers and I will not tell the when and what and how of this one. I can just say that I am very familiar with this place and just happened to capture this fleeting moment by chance, and still just in the "right" way, the right frame, the right depth of field, the right moment. A photographer I hold in highest esteem for her artistic path suggests "that there are not just the photographs that we think are 'right': they must be the ones we ultimately 'choose'". I have chosen this photo and possibly give it a frame. My comment came from my perspective as the author of this image, with no control over the observer's perception. I agree with your idea of "feeling" from the perspective of the beholder.

I think this photo is executed in an excellent way, the subject is very well placed, focused and lit. I find the in-focus foreground well thought-out and the out-of-focus background just right. And the subject is cute, definitely.

It is very interesting how a photo, which most of the time is an arbitrary depiction of reality, or an arbitrary depiction of imagined reality, based on many, or few, real elements, can raise such different reactions, associations or questions. The author probably hasn’t imagined any of those when choosing the picture. Once again I see the confirmation of a saying by Bruno Munari, an Italian graphic designer: "Everyone sees what they know" . This means that all of us observe the world, and a photograph, and are aware of it on the basis of the background of culture, knowledge and experience we have accumulated in our lives. On this background we form our opinions, make judgements, and shape our lives. There are appreciations which appear subjective, such as Leslie Reid’s, who voices very nice remarks, including his smile. Michael Linder associates the picture with a drive-in movie theater. Alan brings up the idea of museum, which brings us closer to the essence of this picture, as well as Barry Fisher, mentioning the “monumental head” and the past or dystopian future. I think this is very appropriate to scratch the surface of this photo. Sanford mentions the sacred, which is part of the story. This is definitely part of the story, as we will see. Supriyo’s reading is also very interesting, he mentions quirkiness, as well as an interesting reference to a “sphere of indoctrination”, just like the description of the Big Brother on the screens of Orwell’s 1984. Ricochetrider declares he has fun and is unwilling to constrain his imagination. Ludmilla’s comment rather addresses technique adopted to convey the visual message, the out-of-focus foreground, which she believes is not appropriate. She recognises that there is a story told, communicated by the upper part of the photograph, while “the phrases spoken in the lower part are just a jumble of words”. In this respect placing the focus on the head or statue and keeping the foreground out of focus seems absolutely essential to separate the different planes in the picture and establishing a differentiated relationship between these two parts. The questions raised by this picture are probably of two kinds: What is this picture as such? What are the elements in the frame communicating? More of graphic, metaphoric message. If this is a document of something real, what does it document? What kind of message about reality does this message want to convey? More of a document. The comments provided mainly concern questions of the first kind. It is exciting to read the different ideas, which come up. Here there are no limits to imagination, also because this place and situation is unknown. If the intent is a graphic, metaphoric message, your reactions say that it may succeed. Concerning questions of the second kind, this single picture is rather insufficient. in fact, per se it documents nothing. To document, it would need a narrative, which is not visible in the photo presented. It does not provide any additional information. If it documents a slice of real life, it is just not enough to accomplish this task. If the intent is documenting, this photo may be considered a failure. Ludmilla, who mentions an “intriguing story” may want to tell us more about this story she perceives.

mjensen, would it be possible to have some guide line to use and work with the new test site? My Take is that testing means posting, and this should either be serious and accurate, ore deletable at some point, since it is just test junk, at least for me.

Also my UserID/Password combination does not work and my account was locked temporarily.

The photo "needs" the shoe. Less so the details of the door. It also "needs" the colours, as a way to show depth and differentiation of the different areas of the photo. Conveys the feeling of a much wider context.

There is an important film on William Eggleston and his "banal photography" by Alan Yentob. It shows the aesthetics of the banal. What clearly emerges is that it is not only subjects, it is certainly how Eggleston handles colour. First he used the dye-transfer printing process, a sophisticated method yielding highly brilliant colours. Looking carefully, his compositions are never banal. They always base on a highly sophisticated composition, which clearly highlights the subject and the story behind it. The pictures that come to mind are the orange trash bin the shoes under the bed the lady on the driveway the drink next to the window plane the oven the red ceiling the car in the backyard the set dinner the clouded sky eating the sandwich against the red stripes etc, etc. All outstanding. Stephen Shore has a different kind of aesthetics, even if "banal" may be associated with it as well.

Sure, but our relationship with the world is a) not astatic one (the world changes, we change); b) it depends on our effort to move our perception from receptive to creative, translating it into visual genesis. And to make sure that there is an ever-evolving connection between a) and b). Since we are in the mood of quoting: I wouldn't see it in a binary way. Seeing is also a matter of experiencing and learning to see. Of course one may hit the limits of capability. If we go beyond subjectivity there is a whole world behind the statement "well seen". As Bruno Munari said:

I don't think my initial intention is to get a "good" shot. The mysterious alchemic combination of gut feeling, experience, skill, emotion, intention makes me try to use what I see to communicate something. And the result may be staying or leaving the charted paths we normally tend to walk, but probably this needs to be decided well ahead of starting to photograph.

Thinking in practical terms I have my camera in my hands, the settings are normally set, as I expect uniform lighting. The lens cap is off (in my pocket). Since I never change camera, I know the direction of rotation of the aperture ring, the speed dial and the focus position by instinct. By now I also approximately know the frame of each focal length. When I spot something everything is quite fast, sometimes too fast and I force myself to slow down, a few seconds more won't change anything. The real issue I have, at least at the moment, is being in a photographic state of mind, which means thinking photographically without really realising it. It doesn't help if I just look around recording what I see around me without a photographic intent, which should be there and should be subliminal.