Adrian Scholes

Showcase Sunday – Joe Cornish

If I had to name one photographer who has taught me more about understanding and working the light, it would have to be British landscape photographer Joe Cornish. His landscapes and the books he writes about them are guaranteed to get me dreaming about setting my alarm, getting outside, and working to master the craft. It’s safe to say he’s been a huge influence on my photographic style. We also share a fascination with rocks and geology, which cannot help but creep into many of the images we create.

To quote from one of his books; “While landscape provides the subject matter, it is light we record and interpret. Light defines space, reveals texture, sculpts form, controls color, and above all ignites an emotional response. The sky is our studio, our theatre, and we must learn to act upon its gifts of light”.

Yes we must, and thanks to Joe Cornish I’ve been slowly learning to act upon it for the past decade. I was lucky enough to visit his studio gallery in North Yorkshire a few years back, and lost myself in the incredible light and almost spiritual level of detail he captures in every photograph. Take a look at his online portfolio, and I’m sure you’ll do the same.

(Practically) Foolproof Picture Taking

I’ve just finished reading an excellent little book; ‘A Definitive Study of Your Future in Photography’, by the late Victor Keppler. Published in 1965, it’s a fascinating read.

From the very beginning, Mr. Keppler draws a clear distinction between the camera as a piece of technology and the camera as a catalyst for art.  

“In the next decade” we are warned, “Cameras will be used as widely and casually as fountain pens” and, more ominously, “Continuing improvements in the design of low-cost automatic camera equipment will enable the average man and woman to take excellent pictures. Picture taking will be practically foolproof.” Frightening stuff!

He discusses what it will mean to be a photographer “in a world where the beginner can take images that compare favorably in technical quality with those of the skilled professional”, and predicts that “the coming technical marvels will make the demand for creativity in photography even greater than it is today.”

This theme is repeated throughout the book. We are continually reminded that an ability to see creatively, rather than mere technical proficiency, will be all that separates average photographers from great ones. The better we are at seeing, the more our pictures will stir the minds and emotions of others, and Mr. Keppler offers all kinds of wise advice on how to look for mood, detail, composition and message before clicking the shutter.

It’s a marvelous book, full of memorable quotes and anecdotes – some of which are naturally amusing when read from the perspective of 2010. Child photography, for example, should never be attempted “unless you have the patience to get what you want”. As the Father of a 7-year old, I can tell you that kind of patience does not exist :o)

Refreshingly, there isn’t a single discussion of camera equipment on any of the 150 pages. We learn how and what to teach ourselves, all about the different fields of photography, and some important rules to live by, but nowhere does he dictate to us the lenses we must own or why we need a camera with a certain ISO capability.

Take a moment to browse the photography books at your local Borders, and try to find something similar. Go on, I dare you. Nowadays, it’s almost impossible for a photographer to produce a book without explaining the equipment you need to emulate his or her fabulousness.

A Question (or Questions) of Style

A friend recently sent me a link to a gallery exhibit, with the comment “his work reminds me of yours”.  This got me thinking about my photographic ‘style’ and immediately raised three questions – Do I have one? Is my work really that specific? And, if so, is that a good thing?

In the book ‘Developing Vision & Style’, a few of my favorite landscape photographers – Joe Cornish, Charlie Waite and David Ward – suggest that vision and style are inextricably bound together. Vision is how we interpret what we see, and style naturally springs from this interpretation. In photography, the two cannot be separated.

So, is a consistent style a good thing?

I personally think that it is. It certainly didn’t do Ansel Adams any harm.  Looking at this another way, a lack of style has us floundering around, snapping away at everything we see, with no plan and no direction. Having a style means having a focus.

This has been brought home to me over the past 6-weeks, through my participation in an excellent photography course – ‘Portfolio Development’. Our instructor – the extremely talented William Neill - has us thinking in terms of themes. We’re learning to create and edit (add and remove) photographs in order to create a strong and consistent body of work; One that tells a story about a very specific subject or topic.

As I develop my own portfolios, I can easily see a number of common ‘subject’ themes throughout my work.  But I’m also discovering something more important. My strongest images share another common theme. They are all a product of being in places and conditions that I am passionate about and have a fascination with.  There is a truthfulness about those images that I don’t see elsewhere in my work. As a result, I know exactly where I’ll be spending my photographic time over the coming months and years.

So, to answer those three questions; Yes, I do have a style. My work really is that specific.  And, based on the pleasure I get from creating those particular photographs, having a style is most definitely a good thing.

On Writing

I recently finished and thoroughly enjoyed Stephen King’s 'On Writing'.  I’m not a writer (“No Shit” you say) but I was inspired to read it after listening to a podcast by Brooks Jenson, editor of Lenswork Magazine. In the podcast, he suggests replacing Mr. King’s terms related to ‘writing’ and ‘writer’ with photo-centric  terms such as ‘photography’ and  ‘photographer’. Do this and the book could easily be about conceiving, creating and communicating photographic images**. It’s an idea that works well and is rather fascinating.

But that’s not what struck me most. The truth is I’ve never read a Stephen King novel. Sure, I’ve seen a few movies, but I’ve never picked up any of his books.  After reading this book, especially his autobiographical observations on becoming a writer, I feel I know a little about the man; who he is, why he became a writer, and how he became a best-selling author.

How different this is to the usual sequence. Name any number of artists and we can probably reel off descriptions and personal critiques of their work. Ask us to talk about the artist – who they are, why they are, where they are – and we’ll probably be stumped. A good example for me is Ansel Adams. I’ve admired his work for at least 15 years, probably more. I can instantly recognize (and in many cases name) a large number of his photographs.  And yet, up until a short time ago I knew very little about the man, his background, his family, his childhood, and everything else that led his being the world’s best known photographer.  Finally, last year I read his autobiography and not only found it fascinating, but found myself studying his art in a new light.

So, with that simple thought, it’s time for me to start writing. You may not know my photographs. In fact, I can almost guarantee you don’t know my photographs. But little by little, through these ramblings I hope you’ll get to know a little about me.

_{**the idea actually came from a reader of Lenswork, Ken Jennings}