"Webs are so beautiful in their own right that they had kept me from examining them carefully, and especially from photographing them in a personal way. This can happen if you become so captivated by the first impressions of your favourite subject matter that you photograph only its surface appearance. . . . [Y]ou become bored and may drop it altogether. Remember to explore the subject matter and your response to it.
[Y]ou will find new ways to see your subject matter, and you will stumble upon discoveries and happy accidents. Abandon your normal premises, and go on a search for new ones. . . .
[C]onsider approaches and techniques you've never tried. . . .
Most people reason deductively much of the time and most photographers see that way. We have a premise or dominant idea, whether or not it is consciously determined, and we proceed along a line of thought that develops logically the implications of that idea. Eventually, we reach a conclusion. It's a closed process. . . . We avoid introducing new factors, technical or emotional, into our photography for fear that we won't be able to control them.
A good way to break the grip of an idea that controls the way you see and photograph is to pretend it doesn't exist. You must break the rules."
pp. 28-29
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Excerpt 10
Thinking sideways:
"I had always thought of spiders' webs covered with dewdrops as celestial jewelry, although until a few years ago I photographed them only as if they were architectural forms. I would position my tripod and camera at an appropriate distance, usually filling the picture space with a web in order to show its lines and shape, and use maximum depth of field to ensure sharpness of linear detail. I guess I thought this was the way I should do it, or, perhaps, the way viewers wanted to see it. I had accepted this way of seeing webs as my own.
One autumn morning, when webs were hanging thick in the wet bushes and grasses behind my house, I awakened to the realization that all my photographs of spiders' webs looked the same. They were entirely documentary. Beautiful, yes! Expressive of how webs make me feel, no! There was nothing wrong with what I was doing, but a lot wrong with what I was not doing; so I decided to look at webs in ways that I had never considered before. I didn't know what I was going to do, but simply decided to follow each new idea that occurred to me.
To begin, I placed my camera to one side of a web and focused on the nearest edge. I also switched from maximum to minimum depth of field. Instead of architecture, I saw jewels -- at last I was seeing a web the way I felt about it. This was the beginning of a significant change.
. . .
Next, I crawled underneath a web and shot up at it (no easy matter, I discovered, after destroying sevewral webs!) Later, I hauled my close-up equipment out of the closet -- extension tubes, close-up lenses, and what-have-you, and started using them in combinations that I'd never tried before. I made no effort to preconceive the kind of pictures I could make as I selected, for example, an 80-200 zoom lens to be used with an extension tube behind it and a close-up lens in front. I simply put the equipment together, went out, and started crawling through the grass. I overexposed and underexposed. I put everything in focus, then threw everything out of focus. The fact that many of the photographs might be visual disasters didn't concern me. I wasn't after masterpieces; I was looking for new starting points. I wasn't seeking solutions to old problems, but welcoming new ones."
pp. 27-28
"I had always thought of spiders' webs covered with dewdrops as celestial jewelry, although until a few years ago I photographed them only as if they were architectural forms. I would position my tripod and camera at an appropriate distance, usually filling the picture space with a web in order to show its lines and shape, and use maximum depth of field to ensure sharpness of linear detail. I guess I thought this was the way I should do it, or, perhaps, the way viewers wanted to see it. I had accepted this way of seeing webs as my own.
One autumn morning, when webs were hanging thick in the wet bushes and grasses behind my house, I awakened to the realization that all my photographs of spiders' webs looked the same. They were entirely documentary. Beautiful, yes! Expressive of how webs make me feel, no! There was nothing wrong with what I was doing, but a lot wrong with what I was not doing; so I decided to look at webs in ways that I had never considered before. I didn't know what I was going to do, but simply decided to follow each new idea that occurred to me.
To begin, I placed my camera to one side of a web and focused on the nearest edge. I also switched from maximum to minimum depth of field. Instead of architecture, I saw jewels -- at last I was seeing a web the way I felt about it. This was the beginning of a significant change.
. . .
Next, I crawled underneath a web and shot up at it (no easy matter, I discovered, after destroying sevewral webs!) Later, I hauled my close-up equipment out of the closet -- extension tubes, close-up lenses, and what-have-you, and started using them in combinations that I'd never tried before. I made no effort to preconceive the kind of pictures I could make as I selected, for example, an 80-200 zoom lens to be used with an extension tube behind it and a close-up lens in front. I simply put the equipment together, went out, and started crawling through the grass. I overexposed and underexposed. I put everything in focus, then threw everything out of focus. The fact that many of the photographs might be visual disasters didn't concern me. I wasn't after masterpieces; I was looking for new starting points. I wasn't seeking solutions to old problems, but welcoming new ones."
pp. 27-28
Friday, January 4, 2008
Excerpt 9
New Section: "Learning to observe"
"People think with different kinds of symbols, such as words, sounds, and pictures. . . . [V]isual images. When a runner begins a race, he visualizes the distance he has to cover to reach his goal. . . . When a photographer observes objects, scenes, and events, he or she tries to visualize how best to record them on film.
We think with three kinds of visual images -- the kind we observe (physical objects), the kind we imagine (visual ideas and dreams), and the kind we create (a sketch, a painting, or photograph). . . . [T]he best visual thinkers are able to move easily between these modes, and even to use all of them at the same time.
The purpose of this book is to help you improve your visual thinking in all three ways -- to observe more accurately, to develop your imagination, and to express a theme or subject more effectively with pictures.
Let's start with observing. It can be either casual or "focused." Focused observation . . . means simply examining things in detail and believing they are important in their own right. Here are two different approaches to assist you in developing your powers of focused observation.
The first one, "thinking sideways," is especially useful to photographers who want to break out of old habits. It is simply a matter of building up a mass of visual information about your subject matter by observing it from many points of view. Photographic exercises in thinking sideways are a serious, but entertaining, business.
The second approach, "relaxed attentiveness," helps you to observe things more exactly by concentrating on clearing your mind. As your powers of observation grow, so will your imagination, . . . making pictures that effectively express the subject and your response to it."
p. 26
"People think with different kinds of symbols, such as words, sounds, and pictures. . . . [V]isual images. When a runner begins a race, he visualizes the distance he has to cover to reach his goal. . . . When a photographer observes objects, scenes, and events, he or she tries to visualize how best to record them on film.
We think with three kinds of visual images -- the kind we observe (physical objects), the kind we imagine (visual ideas and dreams), and the kind we create (a sketch, a painting, or photograph). . . . [T]he best visual thinkers are able to move easily between these modes, and even to use all of them at the same time.
The purpose of this book is to help you improve your visual thinking in all three ways -- to observe more accurately, to develop your imagination, and to express a theme or subject more effectively with pictures.
Let's start with observing. It can be either casual or "focused." Focused observation . . . means simply examining things in detail and believing they are important in their own right. Here are two different approaches to assist you in developing your powers of focused observation.
The first one, "thinking sideways," is especially useful to photographers who want to break out of old habits. It is simply a matter of building up a mass of visual information about your subject matter by observing it from many points of view. Photographic exercises in thinking sideways are a serious, but entertaining, business.
The second approach, "relaxed attentiveness," helps you to observe things more exactly by concentrating on clearing your mind. As your powers of observation grow, so will your imagination, . . . making pictures that effectively express the subject and your response to it."
p. 26
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