Handmade

Handmade

From the Book of Kells

In the world of marketing — especially when it comes to photography — one of the magic words that one sees over and over again is the term "handmade." I've always found this curious, if not downright misleading.

What is there in photography that is truly handmade — say, compared to in pottery, painting, sculpture, or even the performing arts like dance or music? My "handmade" prints are produced by a machine, i.e., an inkjet printer. Even in the days of wet darkroom work, what in the printing process of a gelatin silver print is handmade? Clearly not the paper or emulsion; not the chemistry; nor the various hardware equipment, like enlargers or lenses. I suppose my hand gestures in dodging and burning come to mind, but that hardly is the equivalent to the hand work of a potter. Perhaps the over-mat could be considered handmade, but perhaps hand-cut is a more accurate term.

If pressed, I'll be darned if I can think of a part of the process that is truly and accurately described with the term handmade. It seems demeaning to refer to our carefully crafted prints as "machine made" because that implies an inhuman sort of creation. No — machine made is definitely not right. As I think of it, the best term that most accurately describes what we all do would probably be mindmade.

Perhaps this is why I've always associated photography and writing in the creative process. Novelists have a lot more in common with photographers than painters do. Novelists and photographers make fiction from their observations of the real world. So do painters, I suppose, but the machines used by the novelist (typewriters, computers) and the photographer (cameras, printers) are more or less immaterial to the final result. The machine facilitates production, but it isn't the magic of the machine that makes the result sing as artwork.

Perhaps this is the root of that ever-present cloud that hangs over photography regarding its status as a true art medium. I don't think of a novel as a work of art — instead it is a work of literature. What would be so wrong about thinking of photography as a work of literature, too? Photography is, after all, a visual form of storytelling. We all know that, etymologically, photograph is light writing. Hmmm . . .

There is a lot of hullaballoo in photography about the original print and the magical visual properties contained therein. Undeniably true. But, an equivalent could be drawn between that and a handmade, hand-calligraphed, parchment and vellum book. The original, hand-written and hand-drawn Book of Kells is not the same thing as a commercially printed modern book of the same content. But if I want to read the Book of Kells, I don't need the original handmade manuscript to acquire the content of the message. The message is not the medium, although it does require some medium to be manifest.

Some of this gets so muddied because of a confusion of terms. The term "book," for example, refers both to a physical combination of molecules in the form of paper, ink, and glue, but it also is used to refer to the story content that is thoroughly independent of the molecules. Dickens wrote the "book" Oliver Twist when he penned the story, but he didn't manufacture the "book" Oliver Twist that was printed and bound by Chapman & Hall. Similarly, I "create a photograph" when I work on the image in Photoshop, but that is a different thing than when I print the photograph using molecules of paper and pigment.

So, where is the creative act located in the process? For the novelist, the creative act is in dreaming up the story and characters, in the process of constructing the string of words that comprise the story, and in the final editing and finishing of the manuscript before it is handed off to the book-maker. Let me re-write that last sentence for us photographers and see how it flies.

For the photographer, the creative act is in dreaming up the image and composition, in the process of constructing the array of tones that comprise the image, and in the final editing and finishing of the image before it is handed off to the print-maker/framer/publisher.

You know, I can live with that — in spite of the fact that the entire concept of handmade is nowhere in the neighborhood. Now, if I can just get the term mindmade accepted in the popular zeitgeist.

Brooks' books on photography and the creative process are available in print from Lulu.com, and as eBooks for Kindle or EPUB readers. As one of the membership benefits, these eBooks are available in their entirety to members of LensWork Online via download.

Comments

[David Blanchard]

When it comes to a print I made, I think of it as Artist or Photographer (depending on your preference) made. When I have a print made by a print service, I avoid the subject.

When it comes to "art", I think it is all "mindmade" and the product (print, statue, book) is just an imperfect attempt at reproduction.

[nicos]

Yes, yes this is all very well Brooks.

Handmade, mind made etc , etc it made makes no difference in the light of an unmovable economic force , which of course impacts creativity and inspiration ... for instance did you know :

The top 5 percent of households in Washington, D.C., made more than $500,000 on average last year, while the bottom 20 percent earned less than $9,500 - a ratio of 54 to 1.

[Tim Layton]

I find myself with a range of emotions when reflecting about this article. I think in one of your earlier articles from many years ago, you talk about all of our prints end up in a shoebox somewhere anyway. I think I have come to terms with my 35 year love affair with photography. I would never compare myself to a painter, because that would be silly. I also would not compare myself to a novelist or author. All of these talents are part of a larger creative process and this is what I believe is the common thread.

I get more out of the process and experience than viewers of my prints ever could. I will never be famous and if I had to rely on my fine art print sales to eat, I would have perished long ago. When I look at large format chromes on my light table that I did 20 or even 30 years ago, I am instantly taken back to that point in time. The viewing experience when looking at these magical pieces of film is unlike anything I have experienced in the digital realm.

I work with my hands in the darkroom when making gelatin silver prints or making ambrotypes or a vintage van dyke, salt, or albumen print on watercolor paper. I think this distinction of working with real objects and tools with my hands versus doing the same concepts on a computer is what is different for me. The experience is different and the output is different. I have no desire to claim if one is better than the other, nor do I care. I love developing black and white sheet film.... I love making proper proofs in the darkroom and then mapping out a strategy to dodge and burn the image until it meets my vision. I love the smell of the chemicals and touching the wet prints. I love flattening my fiber prints with my press and then mounting them on archival mat board. I love all of it to include my aching back from standing on my feet for hours when making prints. Comparing that experience to using my Nikon D800 and printing the exact same image on ink paper is like comparing an in person experience at the symphony versus listening to the exact same score on my iPod.

In the end, I am part of photography because of the joy that I receive from participating in the creative process. I simply define the process as most enjoyable for me when I am working optically, versus digitally. I am sure we can find many people that never want to set foot in the darkroom again, and that is okay too.

Thanks for the article.

Kind regards,

Tim Layton

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