Photographic meanderings

Guy Tal and I have been having a truncated conversation on Twitter about learning the art of photography, and it started with this comment by him: “Learning to operate the camera is both a skill and a hurdle. Once overcome, photographers should move on to explore more meaningful topics.”

I think this glosses over how complex it is to learn how to operate a camera, both in the specific and general sense. I’m of the mind that for photography artists, learning how to set ƒ stop, shutter speed, ISO, white balance is only the beginning. Learning *why* is important–because you need to know how all of the above interact, and what effects they have on the image. Sure, any muggle with a camera can get lucky and make a good image by accident. Learning how to control your camera means learning how to control the final image. The goal is to consistently take good pictures–for a rather nebulous definition of “good pictures”. I’m not sure you can “overcome” learning how to operate a camera–because you’re going to have to keep going back to basic information for each new camera you use, and for each type of image you want to capture. Whether it’s how to turn on the camera, or what ƒ stop to use to get that whole flower and bee in focus with a 50mm lens, you’re going to be learning and re-learning.

But in the main, Guy is right–don’t get hung up on one thing. Don’t stop learning once you have figured out how ƒ stop influences depth of field, or how shutter speed affects how silky or blurred a waterfall looks, or how ISO affects noise or grain. STart putting that knowledge to work for you, start taking good pictures on purpose, under your control. This is what separates a muggle with a camera from a photographic artist.

What started me on my journey as an artist was a good friend who kept saying “you have a good eye”. But I soon learned that having a good eye wasn’t enough. I had to learn so much–and as an autodidact, I have to really search for what’s missing in my knowledge bank.

Most photography courses start you out in black and white, for example; I started in color, then have cycled back around to black and white to really help me understand not only hue, but tonality. I like to think that when I’m long gone, art historians will refer to the “black and white period of her career”, and how my color photographs were so much better afterwards.

All too often I see people packing it in far too early around here; Tonight was a prime example. This sequence (straight from the camera, no post processing) shows the light fading and then returning.

Or, “If you don’t like it now, wait a year or two and you might.”

My colleague Dan Mitchell often presents lovely images long after the fact; I suspect he too will reconsider an image for presentation after time removes the photographer from the situation.

Periodically go over your work, and you’ll see images in a new light, sort of like your audience does, with a fresh and removed perspective.

I can blame G. Dan Mitchell for this one. He’s famous for sleeping in his car in places such as the Race Track in Death Valley. Normally I sleep in the Little Red Tent, out on the trail. Sometimes you can’t do that, though, and let’s face it, there’s NOTHING like morning and sunset light for high-drama landscapes.

OK, ok, so this is *really* about when to be there. Be willing to spend the night, be in place for sunrise. This may mean backpacking to the location, or it may mean driving all night, and getting a catnap until the sun rises.

Do the legwork, be in place for the best light.

Sunrise, Grove of the Patriarchs, Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest

Know your camera. Know what it can do, what it can’t, how to find options, what its quirks are. If you’re shooting film, well, getting to know your camera might be expensive. For us digital folks, there’s no excuse. Get out there and take pictures. When it’s too dark, go home and RTFM.

RTFM, you ask?

Read. The. FINE. Manual.

But you don’t have one? You’d be amazed at what you can find online if you have a modicum of Google-fu.

No excuses. Know your camera.

Rule number one: ƒ/8 and be there.
At this stage, we’re going to use the ƒ/8 part as a pun; “fate”. While you can expect interesting clouds at the end of a thunderstorm, you’re not going to get rainbows on a cloudless day in the desert. Work with what fate hands you, but you have to be in place with a camera to get the shot.

Know your light, know your subject. Know which way is east, know where the sun will set and rise. Interesting mountains to the west of you aren’t going to be all that pretty in the afternoon. Morning light will make them special.

Spend time in the area if you can, get to know the local sites and the best time of day to shoot them. It’s a crap shoot, a gamble, you drive the miles and hike the trails and you take your chances. No trip is wasted–you have more knowledge of the place than you did before.

Alexander Pope wrote to a friend about planting a garden to consult the spirit of a place (genius loci). His words ring true for digital photographers of the 21st century

Consult the genius of the place in all;
That tells the waters or to rise, or fall;
Or helps th’ ambitious hill the heav’ns to scale,
Or scoops in circling theatres the vale;
Calls in the country, catches opening glades,
Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades,
Now breaks, or now directs, th’ intending lines;
Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs.

Sometimes the genius loci hand you something special. You have to be there to accept it.

To learn more about the creative genius as a separate entity from the artist, and about “being there”, I recommend this wonderful TED video featuring Elizabeth Gilbert. Creative Genius

I’m using the concept of the genius loci as a metaphor for the inspiration to take good pictures. Are there menehunes or leprechauns running around a landscape? I’ve never seen one. But every place has a rhythm, diurnal and nocturnal, seasonal and annual. It helps me to embody this rhythm as a persona, an entity. Get to know it. Feel it in your bones. The longer you stay in one place, the chance increases of weather and land to combine for something special. Learn to wait in place for the light.