More on this book
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Started reading
May 2, 2018
Why I go down this road at all is because I am in love with the photograph and all its astonishing capacity, as a tool, to tell stories, to spark the imagination, to leverage empathy in the human heart and create change. I believe more and more every day that the camera, working with time and light as its raw materials, can help us to see life with wider eyes, revel in moments we’d otherwise forget in the constant tide of incoming moments, and share those moments with others. The camera on its own is a wonder, but in the hands of the poet, the storyteller, the seeker of change, or the
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The camera on its own is a wonder, but in the hands of the poet, the storyteller, the seeker of change, or the frustrated artist, it can create something alive that touches our humanity.
the best photographs rely more on the fact that the photographer saw something the rest of us overlooked in the first place.
I have never asked, “Is it art?” Instead, I ask, “Does it have soul?” Is it alive? Do I see something of the artist within? Does it move me? Does it make me think? Does it challenge me? Does it enrich my human experience? That is enough for me.
It is not the sharpness of the image to which people will respond. They will not, one day in the distant future, speak about your stunning histograms.
Nice quote
It’s not what we look at, but the way in which we look. It’s not what we see, but what we perceive, and what we think about what we perceive.
our photographs won’t speak to anyone if we ourselves, the life and soul of the camera in our hands, have nothing to say.
It’s a photograph of something, to be sure, but not about something.
When we look at our photographs and find not the slightest reflection of ourselves, it’s a good sign that our images have lost their souls. You can’t put soul into your photographs if, reaching inside to access it, you find you don’t remember where you put it.
Writing forces me to bring enough clarity to my thoughts such that I can write them down succinctly. It trains my brain to be self-aware.
I ask a lot of questions. Why does this work? Why do I feel this way about the image or the subject of the image? Why did the photographer choose this angle, this line, this juxtaposition?
that are more compelling, you have to accept that every intentionally made photograph is an act of interpretation, and within our scene and with our choices it is we who are responsible to find the best expression of that interpretation. The camera can’t do it. We have to be willing to interpret. The scene in front of us might be meaningful to us, but we must find the best and strongest way to present that meaning. Creative photography is a deeply subjective pursuit. I would argue that even photojournalism and forensic photography are much more subjective than we’ve been led to believe. This
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want to do is say, “Here’s what this looks like,” rather than the much more subjective and personal, “Here’s how I see it, here’s what it feels like,” we can do better.
once suggested that painters “paint the flying spirit of the bird rather than its feathers.” What he’s calling on us to do is interpret. He knows that although mere illustration serves a purpose, it’s not the thing with which we most deeply resonate.
I believe he’s saying that a painting (photograph) that is about something is—or can be—much more powerful than a painting (photograph) that is only of something.
The harder we look at (or for) one thing, the more certain it is we will not see other things. That is what expectations do to photographers. The key is not to look harder, but to look more openly.
The word recognition means to “know again” or “recall to mind.”
Make pencil drawings of every composition you can
think of in a small notebook.
More photographs of beautiful moments have been lost by looking at our cameras than will ever be lost to missed focus or poor exposure.
you the silhouette you missed the first hundred times.
Patience is allowing your body of work to surprise you, to take unexpected turns, to become something you didn’t expect, and to allow your curiosity to lead you further down the rabbit hole.
Patience is allowing others who do not understand you or your work to grow into that understanding (after all, you did) and to not allow yourself to be sidetracked while that happens. To keep doing your work until others see it differently, or until you do.
It’s how we wait that matters, just like it’s how we make more photographs that is important.
If you find a great scene that only lacks a great moment, wait for it.
What matters in this discussion is that we recognize the importance of making these moments intentional. The moments matter all on their own, but which of them we choose and where we place them is what makes stronger photographs.
creativity is about two things: the way we think, and the way we turn those thoughts into reality.
The battle is not against the elements “out there” as we create, but inside, against what he so appropriately calls “Resistance”: that voice that tells us to stay in bed rather than rise at 4 a.m. to get out for sunrise; that voice that reminds us how nervous we are about approaching strangers on the street; that voice that tells us to put off the personal project, delay printing our work, or second-guess the book project. We need to strive against those voices. Those are battles we must wage.
Submission to what is is the first step in seeing what is. When we fight against life with our expectations and our hopes for a particular photograph, we become fundamentally unable to see what is as we instead expend all our effort in looking for what we hope to be. Photographically, this tunnel vision keeps us from being receptive and observant, the two traits a photographer must always possess whether with or without the camera.
In a bigger way, submission is not just going with the flow; it’s what allows us to experience flow in the first place. Flow is a state of being that is possible when the challenge of what we do and the skill level with which we do it are high and equal to each other. Flow doesn’t happen when the challenge is vastly too much for our skill: that’s struggle. Nor does it happen when our skill or craft is vastly more capable than our vision demands. That leads to repetition and boredom, as we have likely plateaued. Flow happens when our vision demands the fullness of our craft and pulls us into a
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“What’s it about?” is not the same as “What happened?”
The plot is merely the way we tell the story of the theme. “What’s it about?” is not the same as “What happened?”
The more elements there are within the frame, the less power each of them has and your story becomes diluted.
The choices you make about what to leave in and what to cut out of your image are editorial choices that determine how clearly the story is told.
possibility of an implied relationship between the two?
Every si for element in the photo is a choice. Whether you know it consciencely or not. Always look at your photographs after the fact. Print them as you used to do and try to explain the rationale, the mood, the feeling. Look at the elements, sometimes you see the big things in the picture but you didn’t notice some other elements, maybe you did notice them but you disregarded them and decided they were not important to the overall image. Give your photographs some context all the time. Get back to the analogue feel if your old notebook and sticking your pics in them and writing about them on the page.
One object larger than another implies something about the relationship of power between them. The space between two elements or characters within the frame tells something about their connectedness or how they relate to each other. Simply changing your point of view, camera angle, or choice of lens can dramatically change the feeling and implied relationship within a photograph.
The more we understand our audience, the better the chance that we’ll find ways to connect with them.
This is important for work at CP officr
When we communicate one on one in any form, there are two important and overarching questions to consider: what do I want to say, and how do I make myself understood by the one with whom I’m communicating?
This means two things. First, the importance of visual literacy can’t be understated, and that again has nothing to do with the camera. It has to do with what we include and exclude from the frame and how we compose the image. It has to do with the relationships between elements and the colours we choose. It has to do with perspective, tension, balance, and contrasts. The better we can wield those tools (essentially the grammar of photographic language), the better the chance our images will speak to our chosen audience.
For as much as we have in common as a human race, there are gaps in cultural understanding we will never bridge.
The moment I decide to create my work first for your approval, and not because it scratches some creative itch within me, I have lost.
Yes yes yes!
The idea of authenticity carries such value because we know how difficult it is to be fully ourselves.
Goethe suggested three principles of criticism, in the form of three questions: What was the artist trying to say? Was the artist successful? Was it worth doing? I think these questions are helpful not only in guiding our critique of others but also in our own self-critique.
I will try to keep trying to answer these questions on a regular basis when it comes to my work.
In the context of offering criticism, the question I ask is this: Does your photograph move me? Did it open my eyes to something new, remind me of a memory, give me goosebumps, make me laugh or cry? Or did I struggle for something nice to say, or just turn the page?
Reminds me of a few images I’ve captured that have went viral such as the peace pose picture
Writers tend to be better at articulating the creative process than photographers. I think that’s because most photographers have chosen a medium other than words.
Writers know what so many photographers have yet to discover: you don’t think of an idea, figure it all out, then write it down once you’ve got it all sorted. You write in order to think. The ideas come, not before you write, but as you write. One thing leads to another, which is the nature of creativity; unexpected things happen, and soon you have written things you didn’t know you knew. If we let fear of that uncertainty hold us back, we’ll never begin, and it is in the beginning where the magic is. Beginning is the hard part. It just takes courage.
Rules imply authority, and there is no such authority in art.
“It’s called artwork, not art-f*cking-around.”
