Seeing without Looking

I've noticed lately that my eyes have been doing most of the heavy lifting in the discovery of new photographs.  While that might seem reasonable or even expected I'd estimate it only accounts for half of my best images over the last 25 years.

Beyond looking for photographs visually, I frequently find them by following my feelings.  This involves a contradictory sounding process I think of as seeing without looking.  While I came upon the practice naturally, I found my way to a better understanding of it through the writings of photographer Mark Citret and the Taoist teachings of Lao Tzu.

Mark writes, "there is something irrevocably illogical about searching for something by 'not looking' for it. But experience has taught me that when I allow myself to drift in 'autopilot,' divorced from all my preferences, expectations, and judgments, my eye will eventually settle on some familiar scene, never quite seen before."

Students of Taoism will quickly recognize the idea of "effortless or actionless action." It's often referenced in Eastern Philosophy as the Paradox of Wu Wei or the mental state of Wu Xin and there are all manner of practitioners in sports, arts, politics, and everyday life.

My typical approach is to explore a place as calmly and openly as possible while paying close attention to my feelings as I move through the space.  When I'm inspired by something, even if (or maybe especially if) I can't put my finger on why, then I know it's time to get out a camera and start looking around.  In my large format days this meant spending time under the dark cloth panning the camera around until I settled on a composition that felt right.  These days it means exploring through the EVF of one of my Fujifilm bodies but the idea is the same.

I frequently find that the images I create in this way have far greater meaning and deeper connections than I recognize at the time of exposure.  Through talking with the photographer Paula Chamlee I came to think of these photographs as manifestations of that which I am unable to express any other way.  I believe most artists working sincerely experience something similar; even Edward Weston mused in his daybooks that "my work is always a few jumps ahead of what I write about it."

So it is my intention to get back to this way of seeing without looking more often. If experience is any indication it might take some time for me to recognize the deeper connections I uncover but it will surely be worth the effort or, non-effort.

A Most Comfortable Field of View

For a number of years I had settled into a routine with my large and medium format equipment.  One wide angle lens, one normal lens, and one or two longer lenses.  All of fixed focal lengths as I've never gotten on with zoom lenses despite their obvious appeal and several attempts.  After transitioning to an all digital workflow in 2016 I assumed I would simply duplicate those lens choices and be on my way.

I'm not sure if it was the aspect ratio change from 4x5 to the longer 3x2 or simply a change of taste after nearly 20 years of photography but I was never quite happy with those lenses after the switch.  In "full frame" speak, which is what I use, a normal lens has a 50mm focal length or a 47 degree angle of view (on the diagonal).  My wide angle has a 24mm focal length or an 84 degree angle of view. And of course the longer focal length lenses have a much narrower angle of view which makes distant objects appear closer and the scene look more compressed.

I came to realize that there's quite a large gap between my 50mm and 24mm lenses. So I picked up an old Minolta 35mm lens which seemed to fit nicely in between them and my photography has not been the same since.  Suddenly the 50mm felt like a long lens and the 24mm looked rather wide.  I still use them both but that 35mm focal length felt just right to me.  Maybe not exactly what my eyes see but how they see.

My best description of the 35mm focal length with its 63 degree angle of view would be this: a telephoto wide angle. An oxymoron for sure yet precisely how it feels.  From longer distances it allows me to capture what appears to be a wide field of view without much distortion.  From middle distances the 35mm lets me pick out the most important details of a scene while still feeling natural.  And up close I'm able to include a bit of context while highlighting a specific subject.  A long wide angle or a wide long lens... Either way I approach it the lens simply provides a most comfortable field of view and lets me focus on visual relationships and light in a decidedly natural way.

I still have and use my other focal lengths but the 35mm is responsible for at least fifty percent of my keepers now.  And when I go out with only one camera and one lens, it's almost always one of my 35s.  That's right, I love it so much I have two; a small f2.8 pancake model, and a much larger f1.4 version for low light and shallow depth of field situations.  Part of me wishes I had found this goldilocks perspective earlier in my photography but finding it now has been quite exciting and reinvigorated my work in a way. So, I'll just be grateful for discovering it when I did.  Of course 35mm is one of the most popular lenses around so maybe "discovering" isn't quite accurate, but again, that's how it feels.

Snapshots to Art and Back Again

I began taking pictures during high school, I did so as a way of recording my experiences, memories, friends and family. I always enjoyed looking through the innumerable photographs that filled the albums my mother had made over the years. These pictures had a way of bringing back past times in a visceral manner that was not otherwise possible. Sometimes a smell or a song comes close, seems to place you back in a moment of time long past but it's rare and not something you can count on.

Somewhere along the way I become more interested in using the medium of photography to express myself and my feelings about the world around me than I was in recording my life. Early in 2004, when I began to dedicate myself to producing art, I ceased making snapshots altogether. It wasn't anything I though about, it was just something that happened. Maybe it was because I had begun to use a view camera, maybe it was because I was spending so much time in the darkroom and in the field that I didn't feel like taking a camera with me while relaxing or maybe it was because I was learning to work in a more thoughtful and methodical manner that I wasn't able to apply in social situations. Most likely it was some combination of all those things.

Whatever the cause my well kept personal albums had come to an abrupt end, relegated to the bottom of a bookcase, underneath my folders of new negatives and fine art prints. A couple of years went buy before I even thought about the change. What brought it to my attention was a purging of edited negatives last summer. As I went through my work deciding what would stay and what would go I found myself flooded with memories. Memories of early mornings in Moraine State Park, late nights at the Shenango Dam and noonlight blazing off the borax of Twenty Mule Team Canyon. Each of these exposures, whether they resulted in a successful print or not, brought back the intensity of my feelings as I worked with the camera, they brought back the heat of the days and the chill of the nights, the lunches with friends as we rested and talked.

I've realized that while I no longer take pictures in an attempt to record a memory, the photographs I work so hard to make and present as art are far better records of my experiences than any snapshot I made in the past. They're better because they not only record what was in front of the camera but also chronicle my thoughts and emotions in a way not otherwise possible.

Assigning Value to Beauty

As we move about our daily lives we interact with the world around us based entirely on information provided by our senses. We evaluate, consider and retain this information on both conscious and unconcious levels. We then use it to make decisions. All of our decisions. If I feel a raindrop while I'm getting out of my car I may grab the umbrella out of my trunk. If I open a gallon of milk and smell an unpleasant odor I pour it out and buy more. While not every response is as directly reactionary all conscious decisions are based on information gathered by observing something or someone in some way. Even if we recieve complex verbal or written advice it must pass through the filter that starts with our senses and ends with our thoughts.

Consider the following: "We deal with the universe abstractly, as images and concepts created by our mind. We organize our lives around ideas, words, and other abstractions that never equate with reality. Because abstractions are about the world but not of it, they are always subject to interpretation, a process unavoidably dependent upon how our subjective mind has organized its accumulated experiences." Butler Shaffer

This idea can lead anywhere from simply reevaluating perspective to the fictionalized tale of The Matrix, where control of our senses is used to determine our perception of reality. Once this realization has occured it seems to beg the question: If everthing in our lives is based entirely on our senses why is it so many take them for granted? Sure, we use them to navigate our way through life but what about appreciation for the act of observing in and of itself? Who really stops to smell the flowers and how often? When was the last time you reveled in a warm summer rain? Where were you the last time you stopped everything just to sit back and admire the view or closed your eyes and just enjoyed the sound around you? Maybe the most important question is how much time each day have you alloted for such things? Or more succinctly, what value have you assigned them? As humans it's natural for us to identify something we value so what name do we ascribe the vivid sensations and emotions brought about by direct observation? At their best, I think of them as beauty.

Being a photographer and someone who is enamored with light, I revere visual beauty in all it's manifestations. While I spend considerable time photographing, crafting and viewing art I also travel the back way home from work more often than not. It takes less than 5 minutes longer but leads me through residential and rural areas as opposed to business and commercial zones and their ubiquitous American franchises. I know several people who travel to and from the same general areas and none of them take my route. Why? Because it takes 5 extra minutes and measures a couple of extra miles.

What is done with those extra minutes that makes the less pleasant course worth driving? People like to talk about how that time adds up and you can save hours or days by traveling the most direct route. While saving hours or days over time sounds exciting and romantic the reality is, unlike milage on an automobile, those minutes are not cumulative. They cannot be saved and added together for future use. You must live each moment as it comes and 5 minutes isn't very long... Hell, you just spent 5 minutes reading this.

Composition: The Subject

As most modern Americans, I've been taking pictures the majority of my life, though I began photographing seriously when I was 19. Of all the pictures made since then very few have survived my editorial process, hardly any from before my 25th year. Those early photographs simply lacked that intangible something which makes a photograph more than a photograph. There are several reasons for this: Age and experience have played a part, though at 28 I'm neither old nor experienced... My tastes have changed over time, as tastes will... I have also worked during that time to reexamine and change the way I see. As significant as all that has been the real catalyst for growth in my photography has come from the way I view subject matter. More precisely, what I view as subject matter.

Years ago my pictures were driven almost entirely by the things I was photographing. I'd take pictures of buildings and trees, people and places. The subjects needn't be bombastic, even then I was visually taken with the everyday. The resulting photographs, however, never seemed to reflect the initial excitement I felt in the field. I was close, but I hadn't arrived.

The solution seemed obvious enough, I needed to get closer, literally, so I moved in and cut out what felt extraneous. Again, the resulting pictures seemed cold and lacked the emotion I had initially felt. I waited for the best light and weather, bought different lenses, different cameras and even different media. Nothing seemed to help.

At this point I felt as though I needed a fresh start. I did the best I could to cast aside my preconceptions about what were the proper subjects, the ideal light, the best conditions and even the right equipment. I set aside my ideas about what a good picture was supposed to be and simply went out photographing. Free from dogma and formula I moved easily through my surroundings and worked when I felt compelled to do so. With no specific subject to render and no context necessary to include I was left with only myself, the camera and my environment. Working in such a manner I was able to concentrate on the relationships between shape and line, texture and tone and at last began producing photographs that seemed to capture the essence and intensity of my feelings.

But what made these photographs different? The pictures still included buildings and trees, people and places... The things in my photographs hadn't changed but my pictures had. It was then that I realised those things weren't subjects at all, only building blocks. The real subjects of my photographs were the way objects related to each other. Visual relationships themselves were the subjects and they were everywhere. Better still, they were constantly changing with the light.

My new found sensibilities brought about other realizations. While light was naturally paramount the type of light was not. After all, it's always the best light to photograph something. My routine was changing as well. Instead of pre-visualizing images and trying to fit them onto the ground glass I was using the camera to explore in a way that's not otherwise possible. I learned to set up when I felt a connection to a place and allow my instincts to guide the composition. I had finally found a way to extract from the world a moment of discovered beauty. The next step was presentation...

Life's Little Explosions

As children we are filled with a certain sense of wonderment while navigating through our surrondings. So many things, on a daily basis, are competely new experiences for us. Even the mundane, when unfamiliar, carries with it some degree of excitement. As we age we experience more and more and begin taking things for granted. This is certainly not a new idea, in fact it is an idea that is almost universally recognized. Even the most hardend among us can see a bit of ourselves in the wide eyes of a curious child.

What divides us beyond this recognition is our commitment, and possibly our capacity, to resist the complacency which goes hand in hand with familiarity. No sense is more affected than vision. Most people continue to relish sounds in many forms; music, birds, insects on a summer night, even the still quiet of a snowy afternoon. Who among us doesn't delight in the soft touch of a lover, the comfort of a hot fire or cool relief of the swimming pool? As modern Americans our love of food and it's smells are evident by our collective waistline. Our vision, however, often requires a remarkable expanse of ocean, our contries grand vistas or Hollywood's special effects to ellicit the same types of response. Or, at the very least, something new.

The best comparison I've drawn is the process of reading. As we learn, it's all syllables and sounds, words relating to each other in rhyme and tone, in measure and meaning. The more comfortable we become with the written language the more automatic the action and suddenly we're reading by mere assimilation.

In this way I parallel photographer and poet. Neither seem to tire of the building blocks of thier trade, of vision and words. As a teenager it was a writer and friend that opened my conscious mind to that with which I was struggling on a more subconcious level. She wrote the following in a letter.

"Today was slow; normal system of wake, work and home - perfectly unremarkable if not for some stolen glimpses of beauty - like when Dad pulled the car under a sprinkler and the water just glowed on the windshield and suddenly everything was beautiful. I love it when life just explodes like that!"

Those words struck a chord with me, aroused something that was struggling to stay significant, to stay awake. It was at this time that my battle for control, quite literally, of my vision began. What a meaningful and rewarding endevour it has been. In the words of Edward Weston, I was learning to see "through one's eyes and not with them", to open my mind to the subtle and transient beauty made manifest by the perpetual play of light and shadow in the everyday.

While rewarding in itself, learning (or perhaps re-learning) this manner of seeing is only the first step in becoming a photographer. Much like the poet, recognition of the potentiality is only the beginning, next comes the composition and the presentation...

Why BLOG?

I've choosen to start a web log for a few different reasons.

Firstly, whenever I show prints or scans I'm asked questions about why I choose to photograph many of the things people percieve as my subjects, how I go about the act of photographing with a view camera or with the small camera at night, and of course what drives me to photograph in the first place. I hope over time this blog will help to answer those questions in a way I cannot with a few spoken words.

Secondly, I already keep a journal but haven't written as much or as often as I would like. I hope the act of writing this public version of a journal will keep me motivated to write more for myself.

Thirdly, I enjoy reading the ideas and musings of those artists whose work I admire and wish to offer a similar window into my own thoughts about photography... And of course give people a reason to return to and become involved in my website (and perhaps buy a print!).

Finally, I find the process of organizing my thoughts into words to be extremely cathardic and equally valuable in finding creative direction.