Best Western ~ Lancaster, PA • click to embiggenWay back when - seems like half a century ago - one of my first blog entries was about quiet photography in which a writer, Gary Badger, mentioned "the muralist syndrome" - the relatively recent preoccupation in the Art world, photography division, with BIG prints. That is, really BIG prints, which until quite recently were often referred to as "murals". I have never been a fan of "murals" but, over the past year or so, I have become increasingly appreciative of really BIG prints, that is, prints larger than "standard" bigness of 20-30 inches or so.

That said, I am still very suspicious / unappreciative of BIG just for the sake of bigness. Some pictures take on an added dimension when printed BIG. These pictures manage to avoid turning into "murals" - think corporate lobby "wallpaper" pictures - when presented as BIG prints but for a while now I have been struggling with trying to understand why this is so.

One thing I have noticed about good BIG pictures is that they also "work" when presented as small pictures. These pictures do not need to be BIG to "work". As I mentioned, they just seem to gain an added dimension when viewed BIG. Maybe the reason for this is simply that a good picture can "work" at any size but, when it is presented BIG, it just seems to demand more attention. After all, we humans seem to be genetically imprinted with a fascination with BIG - BIG cars, BIG houses, BIG cathedrals, BIG guns, BIG dicks/tits, BIG production numbers .... you know what I mean ...nothing exceeds like excess.

That said, what is surprising to me is that "quiet" pictures - pictures of the ordinary - can remain "quiet" and intimate even when printed BIG or at least it seems so to me.

Have any of you made a really BIG print of your work? If so, have you noticed a new "dimension" to the picture? Can a BIG print be "quiet" and intimate?

Specialty store of the year - Milford, PA • click to embiggenI'm back home and my brain is pretty much out of the press check from hell fog it was in for the past few days.

And, because of that fog, I re-read and re-read the article that I mentioned in the previous post. At first I thought that maybe I had missed or misunderstood something - surely someone wasn't seriously suggested that, in essence, you judge a color photograph's success / goodness / quality by converting it to BW and then judging it. But, no matter how many times I read the thing, that does indeed seem to be the point.

The idea that you judge what something is by turning it into something that it is not is, as I stated previously, rather daft. In fact, IMO, it is quite daft. The only reason that I can think of that someone would suggest this idea is that they simply do not understand the radical differences between the skills necessary to make successful color and/or BW pictures.

Each genre has its own distinct visual vernacular, its own way of seeing - both in the making and in the viewing. On a purely visual level (form), ignoring content, most successful BW pictures rely heavily on the expert use of tonal values and contrast. Color pictures, on the other hand, rely heavily on the expert use of ... well ... you guessed it - color.

Make no mistake, these are two very different skill sets. If you are to be successful in either genre, you need to understand what is required by each approach and work accordingly. This concept of knowing the difference has become more than a bit muddled in the age of digital capture wherein all pictures start out as color images. In order to edit and print in BW, one must convert the color values to bw values after the act of picturing.

This way of working has led many, if not most, picture makers to consider BW as an effect not as the unique way of seeing that it actually is - you need only witness the never ending stream of this comment found on so many photo forum sites - "I think this photo works better as a BW picture than it does as color picture.", or its inverse, "Do you think this photo works better as a BW picture than it does as a color picture?"

Simply stated, this comment(s) displays a complete ignorance of the BW genre, or, for that matter, one could argue, a rather significant misunderstanding of the how and the why of making a truly good body of work (color or BW) - rather than the occasional and "accidental" making of a single good picture (color or BW).

Again, simply stated, if you want to consistently make good BW or color pictures you must have, at the very least, a basic understanding of the visual vernacular of the genre of your choice. Otherwise, you are little more than an "accidental' photographer.

Any thoughts on this?

Best Margarita, NYC - click to embiggenI am posting this entry a bit early because I'll be driving home most of tomorrow and I wanted to float this topic so you can think about it for a bit.

On Friday AM, I'll post an entry about this bit of nonsense. This piece seems to be an excellent example of ignorance regarding medium specificity - in this case, the BW medium and the color medium, photography division.

The notion that one can/should determine if a color photograph is good by converting it to BW, then judging if it is 'good' as a BW photograph, and, if it is not good as a BW photograph, it certainly can not be good as a color photograph, is, quite simply, rather daft.

It seems to me to be like trying to determine if a blues riff is good by judging it as played on bagpipes.

Montral skyline #2 • click to embiggenWhile looking or info about a book, LS/L by Beate Gutschow, I came across a review of it by Jörg Colberg. The book is a photo book by a German photographer who is creating completely manufactured - in Photoshop, using bits and pieces of photos - landscape / cityscape pictures that look remarkably real.

Colberg likes the pictures in part because they are "... a prime and excellent example of the use of digital technologies in photography". He likes the use of digital technologies in photography because he thinks "... that digital technologies are least interesting where they are merely a different tool (and that's what most discussions still appear to be centered on) and most interesting where they enable doing something new."

Even though I tend to use digital technologies as a means to the same end - "traditional" pictures that are contingent upon the "real" world, I don't disagree with Colberg's statement. Despite what some think - that digital has "destroyed" photography's "truth", I think that digital technologies have opened up a new photo-genre, that is, expanded the possibilities of the medium.

But that is not why I bring up Colberg's review of the book. Rather, I am struck by the unveiled ferocity of his closing statement in defense of digital technologies;

Of course, you can stick with, say, street photography (ed. - or, in our case, nature / landscape photography) and say that there is just so much more out there to be seen than to be found in your own - limited - imagination. Beate Gütschow's LS/S very convincingly exposes the flaw in that thinking: There are no limits to photographic imagination.

IMO, this strikes directly at the heart of my recent unease(?) / dissatisfaction(?) / question mark (?) / something or other (?) with my "pure" ku picturing. Despite Mary Dennis' reminder that I am not "a very small insignificant piece of shit" photography-wise, I can't help but think that my ku are lacking in imagination - which is not, by any stretch, to say that they lack significant illustrative and illuminative properties and value. It's just that ... well ... as I mentioned ... um ... um .........

It's not that I don't really, really appreciate the work of photographers - to include me - who go out into the world and make pictures of the "real" thing. Far from it - some of my favorite work comes from that traditional genre. But, that said, it seems as though digital technologies, no matter if they are used as 'just another tool' or to make 'new' or altered realities, have upped the ante when it comes to using your imagination - that just adding your own "take" on what has already been done just doesn't seem to be enough anymore.

Any thoughts on the matter?

Montreal skyline # 1 • click to embiggenThe wife and I spent the weekend in Montreal with the avowed intent of indulging in the pleasures of the flesh with a touch of those of the mind and heart as well.

This was quite a sacrifice for me as on this weekend was: 1) a Hockey Night in Pittsburgh, and 2) The Masters. Normally such a combination has me glued to the tube (the plasma? the LCD?), even if the sky is failing. Nevertheless, we struck a fine balance and a good time was had by all.

Part of my good time was enhanced by a last minute pre-trip idea - one that could only have happened in this digital age - I decided, about 2 hours before our departure, that since we would be in a neighborhood (the Old City) with several art galleries, I should bring a portfolio of my photography to show around.

Now, I have several portfolios ready to go but not one of my recent Decay work. So, undeterred, I opened my Decay folder, selected 10 images, warmed up the printer, and less than 2 hours later I had a neatly trimmed set of 10 Decay prints with a cover / title sheet ready to go.

Try doing that in a wet darkroom.

This was my first attempt at printing a presentation of my Decay work. When I viewed the final prints as a set I was quite impressed. It was very apparent to me, in a manner that I had not fully realized before viewing the work as all of a piece, that a statement was emerging. It seems that, as a result of just following the urging of my inner un-thought known, I have "stumbled upon" something well worth pursuing in earnest.

This is not a big surprise for me. It has happened before and I am aware of this happening to others as well - artists just scratching an itch who end up finding what they didn't know they were looking for.

I mention this because I am also aware of quite a number of photographers who are struggling to find something to sink their photo-teeth into. IMO, their problem is simply that they are thinking about it too much. Instead, what they should be doing is clearing their head and then they should just do it. Pick up a camera with no preconceived intentions and just look around.

To paraphrase Brooks Jensen - forget about what you have been told is a good picture and simply start picturing what you "see". What Jensen failed to mention in his dictum is that it is very important to "forget" everything you "know" about pictures and picturing because then, and only then, can you hear what you feel. What you feel is the best "knowledge" that you can harness in the cause of making good pictures.

A question for you: Has anyone else out there "stumbled upon" what you didn't know you were looking for?

PS: As coincidence would have it, literally across the street from the back entrance to our hotel, there was a recently opened gallery - a branch of a very established gallery in Quebec (city). It specializes in Contemporary Art, to include photography. After a quick look at my portfolio, they requested that I submit a formal portfolio - to include a few exhibition sized prints (3×3 ft), bio, artist statement, etc.) - for a full review because they found it "very interesting".

Flying high • click to embiggenIn recent posts I have pictured the some of the colors and sounds of Spring.

However, I have not pictured one of the absolute joys of Spring - fresh air and the warmth of the sun. Because Winter seemed to drag on and on and on this year, most people 'round these here parts are expressing a particularly keen appreciation of that particular joy. It just flat out feels good. Before too long, it should also start to look good as well.

As an added bonus, although I have no way of picturing it, there are 2 other joys of Spring that we are enjoying - the Pens beat the Sens in their first Stanley Cup playoff game, and Notre Dame beat Michigan in the semis of the NCAA Frozen Four. And, who knows, maybe Tiger will prevail at The Masters. There's a big Spring weekend ahead.

The only thing unsettling my Spring Sports Revelry at the moment is the question of why video camera makers insist on putting really inferior still-picture capabilities in their camcorders. What the hell is the point of that?

On an evening walk • click to embiggenA few days ago, Mr. Big Shot Artist, Aaron (the Cinemascape-ist), made this comment; "Today I shot off 16 exposures of 120 film using the Bronica Medium format camera I borrowed from you. Not only do I have no clue if they were properly in focus and/or metered, I now have to wait to get to a lab for processing, then a day or two after that I can pick up the film and give you the neg's to scan, and perhaps by next Monday I will see the outcome."

In response, all I can say is, "Welcome to the world of photography as I knew it for most of my life."

This is one of the notions on my mind as I continue to contemplate a return to film-based picturing. However, the single most important notion on my mind is that of picture quality and, re: that notion, my mind is convinced, without doubt or question, that color negative film is superior to digital capture in every way but ease of use.

Nothing in the digital world can match the smooth tonal transitions, subtle color rendition, and dynamic range of color negative film. One obvious example of this is the fact that noise in a digital capture changes depending upon which part of the tone curve it falls - shadow areas tend to exhibit more noise than mid-tone and highlight areas. Whereas film has a totally consistent grain pattern (it's form of "noise") across the entire tone curve.

Add to that the fact that film is a mature medium / technology. Digital is not - it is in a nearly constant state of flux. Does it bother anyone of you that the digital capture pictures that you make today will be technically inferior to those you might make in as little as 6 months if you choose to picture with an upgraded sensor? A sensor with less noise, more resolution, less fringing, more mp, a new color engine - these are technical upgrades that will definitely impact how your pictures look.

While these issues of consistency are little concern for the amateur snap-shooter and, interestingly enough, the pro, they are for an Artist who is creating an extended body of work. For them, in the digital capture world, there is only one solution - make your best guess on sensor choice and stick with it. It might also be advisable to disconnect from the outside world or at least that part of it concerned with photo equipment.

In my consideration of a return to film, I am not limited by equipment availability. I have everything from 110 slrs, a Nikon system, a Bronica system, 2 4×5 Arca Swiss VCs, 1 4×5 Nagaoka wooden field camera, 1 8×10 Acra Swiss VC, an assortment of VC lens, a panoramic roll film camera, to a surprising number of toy cameras to work with. My issue is making a choice and sticking with it.

A question for you - how many of you, especially those of you under the age of 30, have pictured with film or, for that matter, have ever owned a film camera?

kodak cameras and film • click to embiggenThere is a wonderful article in Vanity Fair about Robert Frank. Like my recent viewing of the Ansel Adams film, I enjoyed the Frank piece because it's not really about photography per se. It's about Frank, the man.

Not that I ever doubted it, but the more I learn about photographers as persons, not as photographers, the more I am convinced that good/great photography comes from 'within'. Just about anyone can learn the craft of photography but only a relative handful (relative to the total number of photographers out there) can make good/great pictures. By the phrase, "good/great pictures", I mean those pictures that are rich with meaning for more than just the photographer him/herself. Pictures that will survive the test of time. Pictures that have power that does not necessarily reside in what they depict but, rather, communicate a vision that offers something to think about and maybe even an occasion for wonder.

Robert Frank is, quite obviously, one such person. A person who, when he pictured what it meant to be human in 1950s America, created a seminal work, The Americans, that changed the face of photography and laid bare the myth of America. When the book was first published in 1959, Frank's portrayal of the American landscape and street corners was so contrary to the prevailing American Myth that no American publisher would touch it - it was first published in France. The work was roundly panned by all manner of commentators including Popular Photography magazine which called the book a "meaningless blur, grain, muddy exposures, drunken horizons and general sloppiness" and then went on to label Frank as "a joyless man who hates the country of his adoption." - a consummate act of denial and killing the messenger.

50 years later, the work is currently being republished for the 5th time and it is now being considered as the groundbreaking work - both as social commentary and photographic innovation - the really is/was. I like the comment from the VF piece which states that "... the genius lay in editing them (28,000 photographs) down to 83 daggers which he plunged directly into the heart of the Myth."

And, "... Before Frank, the visual orientation of photographs had been straight, horizontal, vertical. The subject of the picture was always obvious. You knew what the picture was about and what it meant to say. Frank, the shadowy little man, came along and changed the angles, made graininess a virtue, obscure lighting a benefit. His pictures were messy; you weren’t sure what to feel, who or what to focus on ... Frank intellectually changed photography—that is, what a photographer was supposed to look at. If Ansel Adams chose to capture the mightiness of nature, how could you argue with that? Where’s the fault in stone and sky and snow? There is no fault. And therein lies its fault. Frank snatched photography from the landscapists and the fashion portraitists and concentrated his lens on battered transvestites, women in housedresses, and sunken mouths. Life is not boulders and snow and perfume and chiffon. Life is difficult and sad and ephemeral. Life is flesh, not stone ..."

All of that said, here's what really interested me about Frank, the man.

He is quoted as saying about his children, "I wish I would have given them something ... their Jewishness or something." because, as he and the author of the piece agreed that the fantastic and fatal blessing of the American life [is] One can choose to be whatever one wants in America without the constraints of societal mores ... In America you might throw away ... old structures and live however you choose. But if you do not replace the old structure with a new one, this freedom will explode in your face like a car battery."

It should be noted that Frank states that "There was no agenda" when he set out on 3 successive Guggenheim grant-funded cross country car trips in the mid-50s. I don't doubt his words but I can't help but think that in his heart and soul he knew (an unthought known) that the American Myth was just that - a Myth. That, for a great many in America life, was indeed "difficult and sad and ephemeral". That in America, old structures and social mores had been thrown away not replaced with "something new". That, in fact, our freedom to live a life of the cult individuality had begun to "explode in the American face like a car battery".

What Frank did was nothing more than the seemingly simple act of picturing what he knew (consciously or not) to be true. There was "no agenda". The Americans was, in his words, "... a book of such simplicity." In fact, agenda-wise, He states that "It really doesn't say anything. It's apolitical. There's nothing happening in these photos ... I just went out into the streets and looked for interesting people."

It seems perfectly obvious to me that Frank was just being himself and the pictures flowed from within.

But there is one more very telling anecdote about Frank. When asked, "Do you carry any photographs in your wallet?”, Frank answered:

“One maybe.”

He removed his billfold from his back pocket, flipped through some receipts and a medical-insurance card. There it was. The only picture the master carried was a business-card photograph of Niagara Falls with block lettering underneath it that read, Niagara Falls, in case its holder should forget what it was he was looking at.

“It must be very beautiful, very romantic,” he said somewhat hopefully. As it turned out Robert Frank had never been to Niagara Falls. “Is it? Romantic?”

“Yes, quite romantic,” I lied. Let the old man be happy.

Kinda makes you wonder, despite what he knew to be true back in the 50s - ant, most likely, for his entire life, what it was he was looking for when he made all those pictures.