On My History with and Philosophy of Photography
I was in Winston-Salem, North Carolina when I first saw Aspens, New Mexico, 1958. I sat on the museum bench gazing into the complex tonality, the simple subject matter, the motionless majesty. Tears filled my eyes. I felt it pointless to ever click the shutter again. Yet after a few days of reflection, I concluded I must necessarily continue to photograph; it is what Saint Ansel would have wanted.
Around 2013 I had grown weary of what photography had become. YouTube and blogs had become an echo chamber of marketing hype.
megapixels? MORE!
sensor size? BIGGER!
AF speed? FASTER!
I was "less than" because I couldn't buy a new body, and disappointed my images lacked a depth that may have been there in the early 90’s - before the hype distracted me.
I learned photography on a mid-70’s Minolta and downgraded to the original Canon Rebel in high school. While in college I began to give my time and mental energy to people and ideas that held me back from becoming all I could be. My work became little more than snapshots, but photography’s siren call never silenced. No matter how dormant, the desire to capture my world lay within me, its root alive like a hearty perineal, waiting for spring. I was thrilled by the affordability of the Nikon D40 upon its release. I bought it; eventually purchasing two additional Nikon bodies and a wide variety of lenses. The rootstock of photography took little time pushing through the fallow soil of my creativity. I studied Photoshop and workflows. I invested in computers. I was determined to make a living doing the craft I had loved so long.
This was 2008. Everyone had the same idea.
While I had small success as a wedding photographer, it was difficult to carve out my niche. All the while I grew increasingly frustrated with my images. I couldn’t make them match the colors, texture, or tonality they once had. I spent too much time trying to match Portra or HP5.
I needed grain.
I needed imperfection.
I needed film.
By 2013 I had transitioned from wedding photography to commercial photography. While digital equipment was provided by my company, I traded my personal equipment for a Mamiya 645E and an Olympus E-PL5. I eventually added a Canon A-1, Nikkomat FTn, Polaroid SX-70, and a Rolliecord III to my collection. Each took their place in my pantheon of tools. The soft lenses of the Nikkomat produced beautiful portraits. The crisp lenses of the Canon loved the streets. The Mamiya was home anywhere I was willing to carry it. Bulky and heavy, it’s Brutalist architecture and silence-splitting mirror slap expressed authority. It handled almost as if it were frustrated to be the last born. It had a point to prove and offered more than I could contain. To this day I am not sure I have experienced the fullness of its capabilities.
The E-PL5 did not get much attention. It was unpopular and imperfect, but it was always there - waiting quietly, performing flawlessly when called upon.
Removing myself from the gear-game freed me to begin asking new questions about my work.
Why do I photograph?
Why do I photograph?
Why do I photograph?
The last question can often be answered with technical considerations. The first, with emotional or practical considerations.
It is the second question that confronted me as I sat before Aspens, New Mexico, 1958. I could not have captured Aspens - not because I lacked the equipment or the motivation; I lacked the soul.
By 2018 I had studied film, development, exposure. I had experimented with various types of photography. I had exposed myself to Klein, Winogrand, Minor White, Mapplethorpe, and W. Eugene Smith. I had learned a little about photography. I had learned a lot about myself.
Changes to my schedule required a change to my workflow (time moves far too quickly and is impervious to our attempts to slow it). I needed digital. I needed a camera that met me where I was, a camera that would not dictate my work but complement it. The Olympus PEN-F chose me.
I shoot the PEN-F like I shot film. The monochrome preset dial and in-camera tone curve allow me to create my own “emulsion.” The rear LCD screen can be closed. The EVF can set up as an OVF. The PEN-F can be limited enough that it becomes my tool. I am not at its mercy, it is at mine. As a result, I can enjoy the convenience of digital while practicing photography consistent with the lessons learned shooting film.
slow down.
Every space and every face has energy. When loading a roll of HP5 in my Mamiya I know I have only 15 shots with which to capture that energy. Before the shutter clicks, one must necessarily connect with and understand the space. This could take hours or years. I photographed a football field-sized area of the Neuse River in Raleigh, NC for three years. The area was beautiful but not photogenic, yet its energy spoke to me, calling me back time and time again:
See me.
Listen to me.
Find my majesty.
After three years I walked away with one image I feel adequately captured the sense of space. Having moved, I have not returned to that spot in over a year. I still miss the sound of water and rocks singing their healing song.
Digital affords us the freedom to go into a space, snap hundreds of images in a short time, and cull them later. Hopefully, we have something that works. While this process does produce beautiful images, one must ask if they truly capture the energy of the space.
Consider limiting yourself - 2 hours, 5 shots. Wait an hour before you press the shutter. Close your eyes. Feel the space. Listen to it. It has a story to tell. If you're lucky, it will surrender its story in beautiful light and gentle tones.
stay present.
Focus, click, chimp.
Focus, click, chimp.
Focus, click, chimp.
This is today's photography experience. After I traded my digital cameras for film, I was shocked to discover how much this digital process had rooted itself within me. I became well aquatinted with the black void that is the back of my Canon A-1. When shooting film one does not have the option to check their exposure after the fact or review their last few shots. We are stuck in the moment. As a result, you learn to see light, to set your exposure, to stay present. Christmas morning with film becomes a celebration centered around your family, not your camera. A protest march or Pride parade transitions from one hurried “Did I get it?” to the next and becomes a series of moments in which you are immersed. You see the event, occasionally bringing your camera to your eye to compose, focus, click - you never leave the moment.
When I realized I needed to shoot digitally if photography was going to be able to maintain a place in my schedule, my first priority was finding a camera with an LCD that could be closed. This may be what I love most about the PEN-F. I am free to stay present - not distracted by a screen calling for my attention.
Consider closing or covering your LCD. Learn to see the difference between ISO 400 f/8 light and ISO 800 f/5.6 light. Set your exposure; stay present.
Yes, you’ll miss shots.
Yes, you’ll figure out why.
Yes, you’ll get better.
All the while you’ll experience this chaos-party we call life.
surrender to the process.
Film is an arduous process. One shoots a roll. Loads the film into the development canister in the dark. Develops. Drys. Prints or scans. It takes hours - even days - before you’re able to see the images you captured. After a few years with film I found the process almost meditative - something I needed to do. It slowed me down and forced me to concentrate. It changed me.
Photography is magical. In 1972 Life magazine published Tomoko Uemura in Her Bath; it changed the world. I cannot help but suspect it changed Gene Smith also. Minor White’s surrender to the process was nothing short of spiritual. While digital workflows remove the tangible aspect of the photographic process, one must assume the magic is still there:
peaking through the pixels
clouded by the sharpness
shrouded by the software
One’s workflow may produce a good photograph, but I feel it pertinent to wonder if it is making a good photographer. Do we connect to the energy of space? Do we dance to the music of life? Do we see the story of light? Are we capturing our world in a way that changes the viewer and changes us?
There was once a day I dreamed of making a photograph as powerful as Aspens. Today, I simply want to be the type of person that could have photographed it.
Kind.
Open.
Patient.
… a person who truly sees a world so beautiful it gave us aspen groves. Until that day, I’ll celebrate small moments and I’ll keep these imperfect and unpopular cameras by my side - waiting patiently, performing flawlessly when called upon.