civilized ku # 751 ~ Autumn color # 60 / on seeing
Friday, October 29, 2010 at 10:52AM 
Kitchen chairs ~ Long Lake, NY - in the Adirondack PARK • click to embiggenAs I move on to notions and ideas about how to make pictures of what you see, it is imperative to restate that, IMO, even though how a picture is "composed" is rather important, there are no rules of composition. And, furthermore, to repeat Edward Weston's dictum .... To compose a subject well means no more than to see and present it in the strongest manner possible.
Now, I am certain, beyond all doubt, that there are many who don't have a clue as to how to "compose in the strongest manner possible". I would go one step further and state that, for that matter, most don't even have a clue about what "the strongest manner possible" even means. And, in fact, many of those who not only know what it means but also how to do it, don't have a clue about to how explain how they do it.
That said, the best "explanation" of the process of composing in the strongest manner possible that I have come across is that offered by Henry Wessel:
You're suddenly seeing the coherence and the interconnectedness of everything, left to right, top to bottom, front to back. It's all connected, and, somehow, it's all in balance. And that's, of course, when you go, 'Yes!'.
Quite obviously, some of the key words in Wessel's statement are, "coherence", "interconnectedness", "balance", and (here's the kicker) "somehow". Yep, as fuzzy as it may sound, "somehow" it all comes together. Except that I don't think that the somehow of how all it comes together is really all that fuzzy ...
I think that the mechanics of how it all comes together is quite universal in the picture making world - while making pictures and looking through the camera's eye, a picture maker takes a step or two to the right, a step or two to the left, a step or two forward, a step or two backward, stands up straighter, slouches a little lower, or, for that matter, any combination of the preceding. Then, when it all "feels" right, you go, "yes", and then you press the shutter release.
IMO, to be perfectly clear - and this not too fine a point to understand - the real fuzzy part of Wessel's statement is in the word "balance" - one person's "balance" is another person's koyaanisqatsi. And, when it comes to making pictures that are good/interesting, the word balance is relative inasmuch as balance is attained when the balance helps sell the idea, noted and connoted, that is the picture maker's intent.
Have no doubt about it, intent is everything. Intent is the engine that drives the picturing endeavor. Intent determines not only what one pictures but also how one pictures. If a picture maker's intent is to sell "serenity/simplicity" then you can be reasonably certain that what and how he/she pictures will be quite different from what and how a picture maker intent on selling "chaos/complexity" goes about his/her picture making business. The "balance" exhibited in their respective pictures will undoubtedly be different.
Knowing, understanding, developing, and pursuing one's intent is what helps "composition" become (as Weston stated) "a personal thing, to be developed along with technique, as a personal way of seeing" (my emphasis).
gravitas et nugalis
As I progress in this on seeing endeavor, I know that it is disappointing to some that I do not "dissected" one aspect of my picturing MO or and another. I am deliberately avoiding doing so because, as this entry states and implies, the how of what I do is very idiosyncratic, aka: personal (not in the "private" sense of the word). Consequently, it is my belief that one should be much more concerned with developing their very own idiosyncrasy than they are in trying to understand mine.
Not to mention the fact that ....
It is not how I do my work, but what my work is when it is done, that should decide its claim to admiration and respect. - A. H. Wall
Reader Comments (5)
I find that discussions of this nature just keep going round and round in circles, without really being very useful. If the process of seeing and making pictures of things that we see are such personal issues that its both difficult and/or irrelevant to share this information with others, then I wonder what is the point of bringing up the topic. All I have gathered from this discussion so far is that there are no rules, one should be more aware of his/her environment at all times and when you see something that is worthy of photographing you'll both know it and you'll also know how to go about making the photographs that you want to. This is not really helpful in my opinion and pretty soon gets to be boring.
I typically don't care much about how photographs get made. I know a lot of people fuss of that but to me that extra bit of information is just trivia that I can most certainly do without. On the other hand, what really intrigues me is why were those photographs made in the way they were. And, this is why I think it is important for this dicussion that you share with us some of your thoughts behind the making of your pictures. I am sure that a lot of us would really appreciate this insight in your photography (which I have to admit I am quite fascinated with).
Following on from Anil's comment, I think it's clear that it is one thing to be a good photographer and another thing to be a good writer about photography.
I too am baffled by the direction of Mark's thoughts on this topic.
IMO, there is an excellent book which discusses composition, seeing, intent etc and that is "The Photographer's Eye" by Michael Freeman.
Here's the opening sentence from this book:
"Philosophical, lyrical, sometimes obscure commentaries on how photographs are made and what they mean are thick on the ground..."
Later:
"In shooting you can rely on natural ability or on a good knowledge of the principles of design."
"Knowing the principles of design and the experience that comes from taking photographs regularly ... combine to form a photographer's way of seeing."
The bulk of the book is photographs and explanation of many visual design principles.
Michael Freeman also recognises that many photographers are unreliable witnesses in regards to their own process.
Here's a quote from Edward Weston: "My way of working - I start with no preconceived idea - discovery excites me to focus -- " etc. Weston suggests (in this quote) he is reactive / intuitive but in fact he was notorious for spending hours on a single daylight photograph.
Try this for size from Andre Kertesz: "The very earliest thing I did was perfectly composed ... I was born this way".
What about Ansel "no rules" Adams? Ponder this quote from the book: "For photographic compositions I think in terms of creating order out of chaos, rather than following any conventional rules of composition."
At first I thought this was contradictory but perhaps Ansel is referring to a "painters" rules of composition when he says "conventional"?
Back to Mark's pictures -- I enjoy them! They are well constructed images that contain many visual elements / design principles. There's nothing overt or ham-fisted about their construction.
I went to graphic design school, years ago. My projects, from the beginning, were used as samples, by the instructors, as well designed pieces, meaning composed, balanced etc. I had no idea what they were talking about at first, until they were explaining to the class what they meant. Then I started to "TRY" to make well designed stuff, it started to go downhill. What I began to do, and still do to this day, is design till it "feels" right without consciously trying to design something well. The question is "Is having a good eye for composition a quality that one is born with?" In my opinion, no. It is, like everything, practice. You shoot and shoot, you draw and draw, you design and design, dribble and dribble, operate and operate until it becomes second nature to you. I also think that it is important to be your own worse/best critic. Once you admit to yourself that you are capable of producing crap, the less crap you produce.
For my money, when it comes to writing about how *in general* to make good photographs, less is more. Occasionally I come across short, beautiful, perceptive takes on what we're up to in photography, like that lovely passage from Robert Adams in the intro to Denver (the one about hoping to discover "a tension that is so exact that it is peace", or something along those lines--I don't have the exact words to hand). These little passages don't exactly tell me what to do, in a nuts-and-bolts kind of way; but they do sometimes help me make a bit of sense of what I'm doing and what I might aspire to do, and that's a very valuable thing. But beyond these little flashes of insight, I doubt there's much that is instructive to be said in general about how to make good photographs. (There are exceptions. I love Bill Jay's essay "The Thing Itself".)
The "in general" is an important qualification. I think we can often learn a lot from good photographic critique: from writing and talking and thinking about what works or doesn't work in particular photos or bodies of work. And personally, I also learn from (or maybe I just enjoy?) hearing photographers talk about their methods--including technical aspects of their photography, which can often tell you quite a bit about what they are trying to do with their pictures.
And of course, as we all know, one of the best ways of learning how to "see" better is to immerse yourself in good pictures. I just keep looking, and hope that something will sink in. So, keep the pictures coming Landscapist!
There are many kinds of strong photos - an extreme portrait close-up can be strong.
But if the chairs in the photo here relate to what you are talking about, then I think the strength in this kind of photo is about how well 3D gets translated into 2D.
That's what I see in Cartier-Bresson's photos - not all of them and that's not all I see, but I think he had the knack.
I am thinking of his photo of the two couples - the guy at the back nearest the camera has a trilby on and he is pouring wine. We kind of trickle down through the four people to the boat on the river - the two outer people are like guards that keep us threading our way down through the figures - particularly the man nearest the camera with the strong blacks in his hat and trousers.
And as we look down there is a little side-note that the woman on the right has taken her blouse off because she is relaxing - doing that and sitting showing her camisole because she is a certain kind of class - working class - they all are - they are having a day off work and making the best of it - drinking wine, watching the river, eating, enjoying each other - ballsy, no-nonsense people - all this is there in his photo.
So there is 3D to 2D and there is a story and there is graphic strength.
That's what I think, anyway.