LensWork Daily

Calligraphic Abstracts

Calligraphic Abstracts

© 2012 Brooks Jensen. All rights reserved.
www.brooksjensenarts.com

Commentary
Here's another of the roughly 400 images of these calligraphic abstracts from the painted walls of Fort Worden near Port Townsend, Washington. What a dilemma I'm having with this work! What does one do with 400 images in a given project?

The obvious answer would be to edit, edit, and edit more until there's a comfortable 80 to 100 that could fit in a book. Do I then simply toss out the remaining 300 — out to the garbage can, never to be seen by mortal eyes again? I'd easily do that if I felt the 300 remaining images were inferior, but the dilemma deepens when I realize that the 300 remaining images from this project may be better than the top 10 images from any number of my other projects!

I'd never heard anybody talk about this issue until I started bringing it up with a few of my photographic friends. Much to my surprise, it's a common problem. A photographer discovers some interesting point of view and gets to work only to find that the potential for the project is far greater than anything they've ever done in previous projects. Before long, boxes of prints start to stack up. In a rich vision, variations are irresistible. Imagine the possible variations presented to Bruce Barnbaum when he first started photographing in the slit canyons; or the amazing possibilities presented to Frederick Evans as he photographed the cathedrals of England; or Eugene Atgét photographing the streets of Paris; or Edward Weston and all those little Mexican tchotchkes. What do we do with all of these? It's a serious question for which I have not a single suggestion, let alone a definitive answer.

So, like so many photographers before me, I continue to do the work because I can't imagine not doing the work. The pile of prints continues to grow, the problem deepens, and so far my only response is to play ostrich and keep producing them in the hopes that something will occur to me somewhere in the undefined future. In some regards, it's polar opposite — having no idea what to photograph — is a much simpler and easier problem to solve.

And, by the way, this says nothing of the variations available in any given abstract when the possibilities are endless. I can't decide which I toss out between the above and this variation, let alone all the other compositions I've photographed there.

Discussion
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December 2012 Alumni News

December 2012 Alumni News Now Available

The LensWork Alumni News is a distillation of news and events from photographers whose work you've seen in LensWork and LensWork Extended — people and work that we know you'll be interested in!

This free publication features news from:

• Jeff Alu
• Brigitte Carnochan
• Hal Kaye
• Stu Levy
• Wendy Sacks
• Huntington Witherill

Click here to download the December Alumni News pdf (1.4 mb)

Rock Work by Christian Fitze

Rock Work by Christian Fitze

From Rock Work by Christian Fitze
From LensWork and LensWork Extended #58
© 2005 Christian Fitze. All rights reserved.
Reproduced with the permission of the photographer.

Commentary
Perhaps I'm unusual in that I tend to appreciate photographs for a number of reasons — that is to say, I can appreciate a photograph for: its subject content; its ability to show me a moment/slice of life; its insight into the human condition; its technical accomplishment; or its simple delight of tonalities. This image falls in the last category. The sense of light off these wave-worn rocks is simply a delight to my eyes.

That said, it is also a great example of the limitations of the printed image compared to an original gelatin silver print. Here in the Internet age, we find ourselves engaged in photography in this new medium with enthusiasm, frequency, and depth. Hoorah. But let's not forget that the physical artifact of the print has characteristics that simply do not translate to the screen at all. Paper texture is an obvious one. Scale and size are another. The metallic glow of certain tonalities in certain prints (like this one) is one of the greatest losses. I wish all of you could see this in the original gelatin silver, but alas . . .

Worse, I fear that for some of the younger generation, the appreciation of such prints is being lost entirely. The best way to learn the appreciation of an original print is to see lots and lots of them. In my generation, we did this at galleries and perhaps even more importantly in workshops. I've said for years that the lion's share of the benefit of attending a workshop is not what you learn but rather what you see. Training our eye to appreciate the subtleties of a fine print is an important step in our artistic process.

Back to Fitze's image, this is again an ideal example to talk about tonal relationships and the phases of a photographer's career.

The pattern of predictable phases in the learning process when one engages black and white photography if fairly universal. First, all beginning students make gray prints — flat, gray, boring prints. Somewhere along the line, they learn about black. In the second phase, they crank the contrast through the roof in search of that deep black, typically resulting in a period where all their prints exhibit far too much contrast and hardly any of the dreaded gray. If they are lucky, they progress quickly through the "black-is-everything" phase and discover the third phase — the full tonal scale. Here is where lots and lots of photographers get into trouble. They get stuck here and never move beyond full tonal scale prints. Too bad because there are some great images that are all high-key or low-key tones. But there is yet another phase beyond these — where harmony of tones is the key.

A large part of the reason this particular image is so tantalizing is because of the tonal relationships. I think of this like chords in music. It's not the individual notes that count, but the combination of the notes that make the chord. Similarly, the chord of tonalities in this image is the magic in it. Notice the high-key tones of the smooth rock next to the gray tones, then the punctuation of the black shells with their specular highlights. It's a visual chord of tones that just sings — if you'll excuse the pun. The best photographers understand this property of the tonal relationships of a print and it is often the difference between a very nice print and a breath-taking, spectacular one.

The portfolio can be seen in its entirety in our back issues — print (while still available) and our PDFs for computer, iPad, Android, and other devices. Plus, bonus audio commentary about this image is available to members of LensWork Online.

Discussion
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LensWork Road Show 2013

Survey Says . . .

We're starting our LensWork 2013 Road Show plans to be officially announced in January. We're considering a number of potential 1/2-day seminar topics in each city we travel to. We'd love to hear which topics are the ones you are most interested in. Let us know! The link below will take you to a quick 10-item survey that will help us decide. Thanks!

Survey: Road Show 2013 Potential Seminar Topics

Aperture Magazine Anthology: The Minor White Years, 1952-1976

Aperture Magazine Anthology: The Minor White Years, 1952-1976

Shortly after Maureen and I were married, we were talking about photography magazines. Because we are both photographers, it was a natural topic for us, but we were both surprised that neither of us subscribed to any photography magazines — for exactly the same reason. We were both far more interested in photographs than in cameras. Maureen then asked me a fateful question: "What would the magazine look like that you would subscribe to?" It was an easy question to answer — I pulled out a single copy of Camera Work by Alfred Stieglitz and the dozen or so copies I own of early Aperture magazines from the late 1950s when Minor White was still editor and driving force behind each issue. To this day, I still re-read them from time to time. What a wonderful and creative vision White had! Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to disparage Aperture in today's iteration, but those early issues were something particularly special.

As Maureen and I talked more about the crop of photography magazines available then compared to Stieglitz' and White's ideas about photography publishing, the seeds of LensWork were born. Clearly, we didn't invent anything, but I do like to think that we might have picked up a torch that Stieglitz and White had lit and carried a long, long way.

Aperture has released a terrific new volume paying tribute to those early issues of theirs and celebrating the Minor White years. I think it is a must-have book for every photo library — especially because the original Aperture issues from those years are so rare and now expensive collectibles. In this single volume you won't find the entire contents from those years, but it is a substantial collection that does more than simply highlight a few high-water marks. It's beefy — 455 pages — and a fabulous resource with wonderful reproductions, articles, and historic content.

If you've never seen the early Aperture issues, you have a real treat ahead of you. Even if the current editorial direction of today's Aperture is not to your liking, anyone who is a fan of LensWork will find a great deal in these earlier issues of Aperture to learn from and enjoy. For less than $30 this is a wonderful volume that will provide you lots of inspiration and hours of enjoyment.

I know it's probably odd for us to recommend a book from a publisher some of you might think are our competitors, but I've always thought of Aperture more like a bigger brother than a rival. Even if we have some "sibling rivalry," anyone who champions images over gear deserves our respect and admiration.

Aperture Magazine Anthology: The Minor White Years, 1952-1976

A Thousand Forks in the Road

A Thousand Forks in the Road

There was a time in my life when making a photograph was a relatively simple thing in so much that I had only one option — I could make a black and white gelatin silver print. Period. I never did learn platinum/palladium printing; I never worked in color; multi-projector slide shows were considerably outside my budget; and audio and video were for broadcast professionals.

How far we've come in just a few years. Because of the technological advances available to all of us, I now commonly work in prints, multimedia PDFs, video, book publication, publications for iPads and other digital devices, and most recently in artist-made chapbooks. Hooray for the technology — but what complicated layer of decision-making this has added to my creative life.

I'm currently working on, roughly, a hundred different photographic projects. This is not an exaggeration. Some I am just beginning, a few I'm near the end, and a huge pile in the middle are stuck because I'm having a hard time deciding which medium I will use for its completion. This has grown into a thoroughly unexpected sticking point in my creative process.

For example, with any given project I can easily see it as a series of black and white prints. That's easy, I've done it my entire life. But I can also see it completed as one of these other, newer media. Anything that could become a stack of prints could just as easily become a PDF, a video, a slideshow, and iPad app — or all of the above! Essentially, the technology has made it easier to finish an image (dodging, burning, etc.), but far more difficult to finish a project.

I shouldn't complain. In spite of the fact that finishing the project is become more complicated, I have no doubt that I'm producing the best artwork of my life. I suspect what's missing is a solution for this decision-making process for which I am not prepared nor am I trained.

I don't ever remember the discussion of media options cropping up in a workshop in my youth. What I wouldn't give to trade a few of those long-lost Zone System tutorial hours for a little help in how to think through the forest of possibilities that are the beginnings of every project in today's world.

From Into the Light: Faces of Peru by David Fleurant

From Into the Light: Faces of Peru by David Fleurant

From Into the Light: Faces of Peru by David Fleurant
From LensWork Extended #64
© 2006 David Fleurant. All rights reserved.
Reproduced with the permission of the photographer.

Image Comments by David Fleurant
The light in Peru for some reason — I don't know if it's the dust that might be in the air from the deserts that are in the area — has a certain quality. This photograph was made in Puno towards the end of the day. The heat of the day has passed and in a very short time — when sunset arrives — it's going to get quite cold. At that altitude there are amazing extremes in temperature in the region. The lake does modify the temperature so that it is bearable. At 11,500 feet what typically happens is that during the day it will zoom up to about 85 degrees with zero humidity and at night it will freeze so that standing water in a gutter will actually crust over with ice. So you have this amazing extreme in temperature.

When I saw this young lady sitting there — she was pealing an orange and preparing to eat it — I got the feeling or the sense that she was just sitting where the light was coming or passing through that little alleyway to take on the last heat of the day before the cold of the night was going to arrive.

The portfolio can be seen in its entirety in our LensWork Extended back issues. Plus, bonus audio image comments by Photographer are available to members of LensWork Online.

Discussion
Add your comments and observations to the discussion by using the "Comments" link at the bottom of this post.

Huangshan by Michael Kenna

Huangshan by Michael Kenna

From Huangshan by Michael Kenna
From LensWork and LensWork Extended #92
© 2011 Michael Kenna. All rights reserved.
Reproduced with the permission of the photographer.

Commentary
Michael Kenna is internationally known for his photographs at the water's edge. His use of ultra-long exposures has defined a genre of photography that is — if our LensWork submissions are any indication — the single most copied photographic stylization in the history of photography. Or so it seems. Lots of people do it, but no one does it better than Kenna.

And therein lies one of the problems of photography.

It is so easy for a photographer to get pigeonholed. Kenna is known for those water photographs, but his creativity extends far beyond a single kind of photographic style. Pick up most any magazine that publishes Michael Kenna's work and you are very likely to find those water's edge images. This is precisely why we were motivated to publish something else.

In fact, almost as a policy, we go out of our way to demonstrate the breadth of creativity in those who are most easily stereotyped. We first published Michael Kenna in LensWork #50 with a body of work he'd done in a shuttered Calais lace factory. In LensWork #92, we publish his work from the Huangshan mountains in China. These two portfolios demonstrate clearly that it is a terrible disservice to think of a truly creative individual in terms of their most famous work. Kenna's water work is terrific, but his talent and vision are far greater than that.

Being pigeonholed is a problem that is not limited to well-known photographers. I would bet that every one of you reading this has a number of different projects that use different styles, different formats, different visions and completion — but that to your circle of friends and extended audience you're probably best known for a single body of work. Cherie Hiser once put succinctly when she said, "Photographers make thousands of exposures, produce a few hundred prints, have a couple dozen published, a few that sell well, and are famous for one." I suppose that's true, but I find it a shame that so much work is overlooked because it doesn't fit the narrow categorical definitions we assign as the photographer's "style."

I'm often asked by naïve, young photographers how to establish a style that will help them stand out above the crowd. I try to explain to them that nothing could be worse for their career than to succeed in their search for an identifiable style. Once you are well-known for a single kind of imagery, just try to convince a gallery to let you show something else, something new, something different. Mark Twain pointed this out in a related way when he advised that banks are only willing to lend you money when you can prove you don't need it. Similarly, galleries and publishers are often most willing to give you an exhibition or publication if they can ride your coattails of success — with the style of images you are already famous for. My advice is to push hard early in one's career to be sure you develop a reputation for creative vision and excellence rather than for a specific style that will easily become an albatross you drag around for the rest of your creative life. If you're lucky and talented, perhaps that albatross will be something wonderful like Kenna's water work, but there's no guarantee.

The portfolio can be seen in its entirety in our back issues — print (while still available) and our PDFs for computer, iPad, Android, and other devices. Plus, bonus audio commentary about this image is available to members of LensWork Online.

Discussion
Add your comments and observations to the discussion by using the "Comments" link at the bottom of this post.

La Fourchette (The Fork), 1928 by André Kertész

La Fourchette (The Fork), 1928 by André Kertész

We recommend this book as a worthy addition to any photographer's library.

Commentary
I've often used this photograph of an example of how one can make a successful image without involving some famous scenic viewpoint, famous beautiful woman, famous moment from history, or naked babe. It is graphic simplicity at its best.

There are three parts of this photograph that make it interesting, at least to me. First, there is the graphic line and shadow. Classic design stuff. Bauhaus all the way. Quintessential early 20th century European aesthetics.

Second is the metaphorical rising line of hope in contrast to the empty bowl. The shadows of the tines descend down the slope into that white nothingness. Screams symbolism from the heights.

But these characteristics pale in comparison to the simple power of the moment. The harsh light casting the delineated shadow plays against the metallic surface; the angular shadow and tonal inversion of the tines is so yin/yang; and that out-of-frame point where we know the fork touches the table and provides stability in the point of the handle — at least the illusion of stability in that we know will not last. Perhaps I place too much emphasis on the projection of my emotions, but in the light of history and what we now know was to unfold in the coming years after this photograph was made, how can we look at this image as anything else? If were dated 1955, I know I would think differently about it.

Kertész personal history influences how I see this image, too. He was in transition, moving from his native Hungary to Paris in 1925. At that time, Paris was the center of so much of European culture and art — and Hungary was, well, not. Kertész found himself in a world that both fascinated and alienated him. He was in but not of the scene. Have you ever been in some place where you felt you just didn't quite fit in? It's as though everyone there is staring at you, seeing the odd duck that you are, under the glare of an inescapable spotlight. Kertész is the fork — balanced, but just barely, holding up through the strength of spine and will, but nonetheless tilting.

Perhaps all of this is — as the old Zen saying goes — merely putting legs on a snake. Maybe it's just a fork and a shadow. But if it were only that, I suspect it would be a forgettable image. Something in this composition strikes a chord with viewers that has kept it in the public eye for decades. Surely that must be more than merely what we can see, but must extend to what this photograph makes us feel.

Discussion
Add your comments and observations to the discussion by using the "Comments" link at the bottom of this post.
Plus, bonus audio commentary about this image is available to members of LensWork Online.

Self-publishing Suggestions?

Self-publishing Suggestions?

About self-publishing, who do you recommend, and why? How about Blurb.com?

Myron Slabaugh

As you can imagine, this is a topic that comes up with some frequency, but I think there's a hidden question behind this question. The term "publishing" creates a lot of confusion and obfuscation. By that, I mean to clarify that publishing is an entirely different thing than "producing and printing."

Getting your work in print is far easier than getting your printed device distributed into the world. In the traditional sense of the word, publishing involved a number of tasks including: editorial work, layout and design, printing and binding, marketing and advertising, inventory storage, distribution and fulfillment, and remaindering. When photographers asked me about publishing their work, they typically are not thinking about all these disparate tasks.

More often, they're concerned about layout and design and printing only — and the eventual use of what to do with all those printed books never comes to mind. This is precisely why so many photographers have piles of commercially printed books in their basement or garage — and no idea how to get them into the hands of consumers. Anyone with a large enough checkbook can get a book of their work printed, but getting it distributed is an entirely different task.

So, to answer Myron's question with a bit more specificity, self-publishing is a difficult road unless you already have a market for your work — workshop students, a well-established website, etc. I don't recommend it for the faint of heart.

As to printing your work in a Blurb.com book, the general consensus is that they do a fine job if your standards are modest. The critical photographer with a keen eye will likely be disappointed when comparing a Blurb.com book to a commercially printed museum-quality art book. This is especially true with black-and-white work. Test it, but keep your expectations in check until you see the results. Even then, don't be surprised if a run of books exhibit variations and color shifts. It's the nature of the print-on-demand technology that produces these kinds of publications.