"Familiar things offer excellent picture possibilities and a chance to exercise your imagination. A pile of boards behind my house reminded me of some sand dunes that i had photographed only three days earlier in an African desert. The similarities between the boards and the dunes helped me to remove the labels from both, and to realize that their expressive power was in their tones, shapes, lines, textures, and hues--the real subject matter . . . ."
p. 23
Monday, December 31, 2007
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Excerpt 8
"A small object in a large context often expresses the theme of a photograph more clearly than a single object that fills the frame. . . . [Imagine a] rural Quebec winter scene. . . . The effect of the photograph depends on keeping the centre of interest small and filling most of the picture area with large expanses of white space. [snow, here] Also, because the [large] foreground fence and the background line [of a small, distant fence running from center rear of the image over to the upper right edge of the image] do not join within the picture, but seem likely to meet eventually, movement is implied. The suggestion of movement is reinforced by the location and direction of the horse and sleigh. [on the left upper 1/3 of the image about 1/3 in, facing toward the farthest right edge of the upper fence] No other placement would be as effective."
p. 21
"When we see a situation we want to photograph, . . . ask some basic questions. [(ii)] What is the subject matter? Fallen leaves on the threshold, a swinging door, peeling paint. [(i)] What is the theme or subject? Abandonment, loneliness, a little sadness. [(iii)] How does the subject matter express the subject? Through muted tones caused by soft, indirect lighting, through the limited presence of colour, through the symbolic power of autumn leaves and old, decaying wood. Try asking these questions. . . . "
p. 22
p. 21
"When we see a situation we want to photograph, . . . ask some basic questions. [(ii)] What is the subject matter? Fallen leaves on the threshold, a swinging door, peeling paint. [(i)] What is the theme or subject? Abandonment, loneliness, a little sadness. [(iii)] How does the subject matter express the subject? Through muted tones caused by soft, indirect lighting, through the limited presence of colour, through the symbolic power of autumn leaves and old, decaying wood. Try asking these questions. . . . "
p. 22
Excerpt 7
"When you observe subject matter carefully, you may find that a story emerges. Your camera position and techniques should help to tell it. . . . [C]rucial to the story, it must occupy a major portion of the picture space. . . .
It's very important to be familiar with your equipment, so that when opportunities . . . arise, you don't have to fuss and worry, and lose precious time -- and enjoyment. . . .
Good visual design in your photographs comes with careful observation. . . . The virtual absence of colour [in a scene] is the most evocative element . . . . [he suggests looking to see if there is a repetitive element in the scene that can offer a static design which can be used to contrast with a nonstatic, nonrepetitive object shape]
Often the way we see is influenced by the symbolic power of the subject matter. Tombstones, of course, suggest death. But . . the warm light . . . symbolizes life and possible comfort. The result is a positive impression, rather than a negative one. For many people, the church also has symbolic value, suggesting emotional support and strength." [describing an image of a church building with two tall tombstones in front of the church, with the warm afternoon sun warming the scene]
pp. 15-20
It's very important to be familiar with your equipment, so that when opportunities . . . arise, you don't have to fuss and worry, and lose precious time -- and enjoyment. . . .
Good visual design in your photographs comes with careful observation. . . . The virtual absence of colour [in a scene] is the most evocative element . . . . [he suggests looking to see if there is a repetitive element in the scene that can offer a static design which can be used to contrast with a nonstatic, nonrepetitive object shape]
Often the way we see is influenced by the symbolic power of the subject matter. Tombstones, of course, suggest death. But . . the warm light . . . symbolizes life and possible comfort. The result is a positive impression, rather than a negative one. For many people, the church also has symbolic value, suggesting emotional support and strength." [describing an image of a church building with two tall tombstones in front of the church, with the warm afternoon sun warming the scene]
pp. 15-20
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Excerpt 6
"Seeing, in the finest and broadest sense, means using your senses, your intellect, and your emotions. It means encountering your subject matter with your whole being. . . .
Good seeing begins with careful observation of what's around you. . . .
Many nature subjects are most effective when you photograph them as they are, with special attention only to the camera position. It's seeing and evaluating the subject matter on its own merits that matters. . . .
When is a fern not a fern? Any time you remove its label! . . . [B]y continually changing camera position, focus, and depth of field, you will stop looking -- and begin to see -- shapes and patterns you hadn't thought possible. . . . [A]voiding preconceived ideas . . . by deliberately exploring. . . ."
pp. 12-14
Good seeing begins with careful observation of what's around you. . . .
Many nature subjects are most effective when you photograph them as they are, with special attention only to the camera position. It's seeing and evaluating the subject matter on its own merits that matters. . . .
When is a fern not a fern? Any time you remove its label! . . . [B]y continually changing camera position, focus, and depth of field, you will stop looking -- and begin to see -- shapes and patterns you hadn't thought possible. . . . [A]voiding preconceived ideas . . . by deliberately exploring. . . ."
pp. 12-14
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
Excerpt 5
"Even the camera itself can be a barrier to seeing, in at least two ways. Susan Sontag, in On Photography, describes the first one: 'A way of certifying experience, taking photographs is also a way of refusing it -- by limiting experience to a search for the photogenic, by converting experience into an image, a souvenir.' Making pictures can be a substitute for seeing and participating. The person who sees is involved, the person who looks is not.
The camera is also a sight barrier because it does not see as the human eye does. We see a scene or situation in terms of both our senses and our experience. . . . [S]ince a camera has no experience, it cannot select, so it records everything in its field of view. Its memory is perfect. . . . [A] person abstracts, a camera does not.
. . . [T]hey are often surprised to find that the scene the camera saw is not what they saw, or more precisely, not what they thought they saw. A major challenge in using a camera is learning to control it (and other tools and techniques) in order to produce a picture that shows what you perceived.
Except for the optical differences between the camera and the human eye, all barriers to seeing are related to the first one -- preoccupation with self. . . . . [W]ithout closing our eyes to the remarkable world around us."
p. 12
The camera is also a sight barrier because it does not see as the human eye does. We see a scene or situation in terms of both our senses and our experience. . . . [S]ince a camera has no experience, it cannot select, so it records everything in its field of view. Its memory is perfect. . . . [A] person abstracts, a camera does not.
. . . [T]hey are often surprised to find that the scene the camera saw is not what they saw, or more precisely, not what they thought they saw. A major challenge in using a camera is learning to control it (and other tools and techniques) in order to produce a picture that shows what you perceived.
Except for the optical differences between the camera and the human eye, all barriers to seeing are related to the first one -- preoccupation with self. . . . . [W]ithout closing our eyes to the remarkable world around us."
p. 12
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Excerpt 4
". . . Always try to understand the symbolic content of the photograph, or the meaning that the subject matter may have for the photographer.
. . .
How unfortunate it is that we don't respond with wonder every day to the magnificence of the English ivy. How sad that we don't see the light spilling across the little rug every evening. These sights are dismissed from mind and eye because they are so familiar, and their value as things-in-themselves goes unappreciated.
. . .
A photographer who wants to see, a photographer who wants to make fine images, must recognize the value of the familiar. Your ability to see is not increased by the distance you put between yourself and your home. If you do not see what is all around you every day, what will you see when you go to Tangiers? . . . [U]nless you can get to the essence of the subject matter through keen observation, and express it through your photographs, it doesn't matter . . . ."
pp. 11-12
. . .
How unfortunate it is that we don't respond with wonder every day to the magnificence of the English ivy. How sad that we don't see the light spilling across the little rug every evening. These sights are dismissed from mind and eye because they are so familiar, and their value as things-in-themselves goes unappreciated.
. . .
A photographer who wants to see, a photographer who wants to make fine images, must recognize the value of the familiar. Your ability to see is not increased by the distance you put between yourself and your home. If you do not see what is all around you every day, what will you see when you go to Tangiers? . . . [U]nless you can get to the essence of the subject matter through keen observation, and express it through your photographs, it doesn't matter . . . ."
pp. 11-12
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Excerpt 3
"Another barrier to seeing is the mass of stimuli surrounding us. . . . we must block out most of them in order to cope. . . . we select a few stimuli and organize these. . . . we stick with the realities we have established. We seldom try to rediscover the possible value of ignored stimuli. . . . a tunnel vision, which gives us a clear view of the rut ahead of us.
A third major sight barrier is the labelling that results from familiarity. It was Monety . . . who said that in order to see we must forget the name of the thing we are looking at. When we are children we think primarily in pictures, not in words. . . . The basic analytical skills (reading, writing, and arithmetic) are impressed upon us as being more important than the appreciation of direct sensory experience, so we come to depend less and less on the part of the brain that encourages visual thinking. . . . we stop visualizing things freely, and put word labels on them instead. . . . We rule out visual exploration, and seldom discover the myriad facets of each object. As Frederick Franck so aptly expresses it, "By these labels we recognize everything, and no longer see anything. We know the labels on the bottles, but never taste the wine."
If you look at a fern and merely say, "Yes, that's a fern," you may not be seeing past the old, familiar label of its name. But if you really see a fern, you will notice triangularity, individual leaf fibres, various shades of green, its sway and dance before the wind. If you put your eyes close to the fern, so close that you cannot focus on the plant at all, but only on the objects beyond it, the fern will become a nebulous green haze which drifts across the background scene. You will have found dimentsions and hidden beauty not included in the usual definition of a fern, while learning for yourself the difference between looking and seeing."
pp. 10-11
A third major sight barrier is the labelling that results from familiarity. It was Monety . . . who said that in order to see we must forget the name of the thing we are looking at. When we are children we think primarily in pictures, not in words. . . . The basic analytical skills (reading, writing, and arithmetic) are impressed upon us as being more important than the appreciation of direct sensory experience, so we come to depend less and less on the part of the brain that encourages visual thinking. . . . we stop visualizing things freely, and put word labels on them instead. . . . We rule out visual exploration, and seldom discover the myriad facets of each object. As Frederick Franck so aptly expresses it, "By these labels we recognize everything, and no longer see anything. We know the labels on the bottles, but never taste the wine."
If you look at a fern and merely say, "Yes, that's a fern," you may not be seeing past the old, familiar label of its name. But if you really see a fern, you will notice triangularity, individual leaf fibres, various shades of green, its sway and dance before the wind. If you put your eyes close to the fern, so close that you cannot focus on the plant at all, but only on the objects beyond it, the fern will become a nebulous green haze which drifts across the background scene. You will have found dimentsions and hidden beauty not included in the usual definition of a fern, while learning for yourself the difference between looking and seeing."
pp. 10-11
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Excerpt 2
Barriers to Seeing
". . . I quickly forget about me. I stop thinking about what i'll do with the photographs, or about self-fulfillment, and lose myself in the sheer magic of rainbows in the grass; in the multicoloured prisms of back-lighted crystals. I am lost in a world of glittering lights and dancing colours. I experience myself in what I see, and the result is a tremendous exuberance which helps me make the best use of my camera, and which lasts long after . . . .
. . . As long as you are worried about whether or not you will be able to make good picutres, or are concerned about enjoying yourself, you are unlikely either to make the best photographs you can or to experience the joy of photography to the fullest. But when you let go, new conceptions arise from your direct experience of the subject matter, and new ideas and feelings will guide you as you make pictures.
Preoccupation with self is the greatest barrier to seeing, and the hardest one to break. . . . There always seems to be something standing in the way of real freedom. Frederick Franck in The Zen of Seeing calls this the "Me cramp": too much self-concern blocks direct experience of things outside yourself. Sometimes the only way to overcome the cramp is through practice. You cannot relax your m ind and body separately -- they are too much a part of each other. In order to get the tightness and tenseness out of your body, you have to empty your mind. . . . Relaxing is the act of stopping the mental winds, so your body [like a body of water] will be still."
pp. 9-10
". . . I quickly forget about me. I stop thinking about what i'll do with the photographs, or about self-fulfillment, and lose myself in the sheer magic of rainbows in the grass; in the multicoloured prisms of back-lighted crystals. I am lost in a world of glittering lights and dancing colours. I experience myself in what I see, and the result is a tremendous exuberance which helps me make the best use of my camera, and which lasts long after . . . .
. . . As long as you are worried about whether or not you will be able to make good picutres, or are concerned about enjoying yourself, you are unlikely either to make the best photographs you can or to experience the joy of photography to the fullest. But when you let go, new conceptions arise from your direct experience of the subject matter, and new ideas and feelings will guide you as you make pictures.
Preoccupation with self is the greatest barrier to seeing, and the hardest one to break. . . . There always seems to be something standing in the way of real freedom. Frederick Franck in The Zen of Seeing calls this the "Me cramp": too much self-concern blocks direct experience of things outside yourself. Sometimes the only way to overcome the cramp is through practice. You cannot relax your m ind and body separately -- they are too much a part of each other. In order to get the tightness and tenseness out of your body, you have to empty your mind. . . . Relaxing is the act of stopping the mental winds, so your body [like a body of water] will be still."
pp. 9-10
Monday, December 17, 2007
Excerpt 1: "Photography and the Art of Seeing" by Freeman Patterson
First Section: Barriers to Seeing
"Seeing, in the finest and broadest sense, means using your senses, your intellect, and your emotions. It means encountering your subject matter with your whole being. It means looking beyond the labels of things and discovering the remarkable world around you. . . .
If we look at something that might seem mundane, such as a gravel pit, we are first aware of what it expresses in only the most general sense: destruction, desolation, loneliness, timelessness. This message or theme is expressed in the sum of the features of our subject matter. It is only later that we observe the details -- their shapes, textures, and colours that form their inherent design.
The photographer best expresses a theme by using good composition, or visual design, to support the inherent design of the subject matter. However, when the photographer tries to codify the principles of visual design, or merely follows rules of composition, he or she is likely to inhibit spontaneity and creativity.
The photographer who becomes familiar with the principles of visual design, and who puts expression before technique, will develop intuition for good design, sensing and responding to the expressive qualities of the subject matter. . . . relaxed attentiveness. . . . concentrate on clearing your mind and learning how to switch yourself off, so you can turn your subject matter on. Letting go of yourself is an essential precondition of real seeing. . . . thinking sideways . . . .
You may find yourself abandoning your normal premises and going on a search for new ones. You may forget about the pictures you have been making and start thinking about the hundreds you have yet to make. . . . to see familiar things in a whole variety of new ways . . . ."
Some examples he saw his students make: [paraphrased]
1. an 86 year old man abandoned himself to reflections in the chrome of his old toaster. by experimenting with exposures and techniques, he produced a remarkable slide sequence that transports the viewer through the galaxies of outer space.
2. underexposure transformed a weathered wooden ladder into a space ship sailing through the night sky; the highlights in the tall grass where the ladder lay became the stars guiding its way.
3. sheets tossed on a bed in a random fashion became dramatic images of deserts and mountain ranges.
"Good seeing doesn't ensure good photographs, but good photographic expression is impossible without it. The art of seeing is the art of photography."
pp. 7-8
"Seeing, in the finest and broadest sense, means using your senses, your intellect, and your emotions. It means encountering your subject matter with your whole being. It means looking beyond the labels of things and discovering the remarkable world around you. . . .
If we look at something that might seem mundane, such as a gravel pit, we are first aware of what it expresses in only the most general sense: destruction, desolation, loneliness, timelessness. This message or theme is expressed in the sum of the features of our subject matter. It is only later that we observe the details -- their shapes, textures, and colours that form their inherent design.
The photographer best expresses a theme by using good composition, or visual design, to support the inherent design of the subject matter. However, when the photographer tries to codify the principles of visual design, or merely follows rules of composition, he or she is likely to inhibit spontaneity and creativity.
The photographer who becomes familiar with the principles of visual design, and who puts expression before technique, will develop intuition for good design, sensing and responding to the expressive qualities of the subject matter. . . . relaxed attentiveness. . . . concentrate on clearing your mind and learning how to switch yourself off, so you can turn your subject matter on. Letting go of yourself is an essential precondition of real seeing. . . . thinking sideways . . . .
You may find yourself abandoning your normal premises and going on a search for new ones. You may forget about the pictures you have been making and start thinking about the hundreds you have yet to make. . . . to see familiar things in a whole variety of new ways . . . ."
Some examples he saw his students make: [paraphrased]
1. an 86 year old man abandoned himself to reflections in the chrome of his old toaster. by experimenting with exposures and techniques, he produced a remarkable slide sequence that transports the viewer through the galaxies of outer space.
2. underexposure transformed a weathered wooden ladder into a space ship sailing through the night sky; the highlights in the tall grass where the ladder lay became the stars guiding its way.
3. sheets tossed on a bed in a random fashion became dramatic images of deserts and mountain ranges.
"Good seeing doesn't ensure good photographs, but good photographic expression is impossible without it. The art of seeing is the art of photography."
pp. 7-8
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