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.

Looking Through the Camera

I’ve been lucky enough to get out and photograph on a regular basis these past few weeks, and I’ve noticed an interesting development in the way I photograph; or, more specifically, in the way I use my camera.

I’ve known for a while that I never produce my best work in the first few minutes of photographing a location. I need to give myself time to settle down and think about the images I want to capture. That doesn’t mean I ignore the camera. Quite the contrary. I tend to snap away, knowing I’ll almost certainly disappointed with those first photos, but also knowing it’s essential for me to get into a rhythm.

Now that I’m photographing a few times a week, I’ve noticed this ‘settling down’ process is getting shorter, and this morning I realized why this is happening.

There’s a lot to think about with a digital SLR; from setting the right aperture to making sure the ISO is appropriate, and a bunch of other decisions in between. When I haven’t picked up the camera in a while, I find myself thinking through these decisions. I have to get comfortable with the ‘tools’ again, and remind myself where things are. I’m looking at the camera not through the camera. It’s a subtle distinction that makes a big difference.

I’ve read of photographers who regularly practice at home, so they can ensure success in the field. I used to think that was taking things a little too far, but I now appreciate the benefits this can bring.

For now, though, I’ll be using these regular photography trips to practice looking through the camera.

Top 10 Memory Lapses for a Landscape Photographer

Yesterday, my quest for photographing Fall color began with a 3:30am alarm. Like most people, my brain isn’t fully (ok, is not at all) operating on all cylinders at that time. Over the years, I’ve developed a habit of preparing the night before. I need to be able to jump out of bed, into the car, and get going. It’s not a perfect system. This time, I forgot my rain jacket. Guess what the weather was doing when I arrived at my first destination.

This preparation doesn’t just stop with photography and personal ‘gear’. To illustrate, here’s a list of ten other memory lapses that have gotten me into trouble. There are many more, but I’ve forgotten what they are. :)

10 - Forgetting to change the ISO setting, after shooting indoors at ISO 1600 or higher, and returning from a fabulous hike with a card full of grainy and unusable images

09 - Leaving the camera on 10 second self-timer, and realizing the moment a moose spends exactly 9 seconds crossing the path in front of me

08 - Forgetting my tripod; the second most important piece of equipment I carry

07 - Leaving the books or maps of my planned route at the side of my bed, where I was reading them the night before

06 - Forgetting to charge my camera battery

05 - Charging my battery, and leaving it in the charger

04 - Not packing toilet paper for a long hike into the great outdoors. ‘Nuff said

03 - Not keeping a firm enough hold on my camera and backpack during a walk through Barcelona, and watching it all get whisked away by a couple of professional criminals

02 - Forgetting to set or change my alarm, and rendering everything else moot

And the number one memory lapse that has gotten me into trouble?

01 - Brewing a cup of tea and leaving it sitting on the counter. Maybe I should add some perspective here. One of the first questions my daughter often asks when she gets up in the morning is “Daddy, have you had your tea yet?”.

So, that’s my list. It’s Interesting to see how many of these have crept in due to the digital age.  What about you? Did I miss anything?

Full circle with the iPad...

I have one final thought on the topic I’ve been exploring in the past couple of posts; the idea of favorite photographs being a representation of our vision, rather than a literal recreation of the scene we see through the lens.

In the pre-digital world, this vision was brought to life in the darkroom. Masters such as Ansel Adams and Edward Weston would labor for hours, dodging, burning and using a multitude of other methods to recreate the image they saw in their mind’s eye. The end result was a paper print; often a single image that was shared with the world by exhibiting in a gallery. This crucial final step meant that every viewer got to see exactly what the photographer wanted us to see; the exact combination of tones, shadows, and highlights that the creator worked so hard to produce.

Digital photography changed all of that. I can also spend, should I choose, to dwell on a single photograph, using the power of Photoshop or Lightroom to emulate the tools of the darkroom and create the image I envisioned when I clicked the shutter. The moment I display it, however, my efforts immediately become superfluous. Each viewer of my photograph sees a different image. I have no control over the viewing platform you use. We each have different computers, different monitors, and different (if any) calibration devices. You will have brightness and contrast on your monitor set differently to mine. The colors and tones you see will depend on a host of settings, not least of which are your own personal preferences. I’m writing this on my laptop, which I already know displays my photographs much darker than the desktop on which I do most of my editing.

It just so happens that I was reading July’s pdn (photo district news) last night, which has an intriguing article on the use of the iPad for showing portfolios. In the article, Jason Lindsay, an advertising and travel photographer says “…it is really a different experience looking at the images on an iPad versus looking at them on a computer. It’s more engaging and feels more like a portfolio”

I wonder if part of the reason for this is that the iPad brings us full circle. If I develop my images to look as I want them to look on an iPad, and you view them on an iPad, we are both seeing what I want you to see. It has the same impact as a print portfolio, but with all the added advantages (tagging, multimedia, social media access, etc.) of digital technology. Of course, this is still not the same as standing in front of a 36”x72” print of “Clearing Winter Storm”, but I do believe it’s a step (or curve) in the right direction. Maybe the iPad is bringing us full circle. I wonder what Ansel would say. My guess is that he’d embrace it wholeheartedly.

Playing Favorites

My most recent post about the difficulty of choosing a collection of photographs for contests or other uses prompted a friend/reader to ask a very good question; “What’s your favorite photograph by another photographer?”

For me, this is actually a very easy question. If I follow the dictionary definition for favorite, and pick the photograph that I “regard with special favor or preference”, it can only be “Clearing Winter Storm”, taken in the 1940’s by Ansel Adams.

I’ve always been inspired by Ansel’s stunning black and white images but, until a couple of years ago, had only seen them reproduced in books and those museum-style prints common in student dorm rooms. Then I had an opportunity to attend a gallery showing a collection of his prints. One of these prints, crafted in the darkroom with his own hands, was “Clearing Winter Storm”.

As I stood in front of this huge print, I finally understood the mastery of its creator, from his original vision through to his work in the darkroom.  A friend just reminded me of a little known but fabulous Ansel Adams quote: “The single most important component of a camera is the twelve inches behind it.” I love that notion, and its essence is fully apparent in “Clearing Winter Storm”. This photograph is more than a recording of a scene or an event. It’s also more than a literal recreation of what the photographer saw as he looked through the lens of his large format view camera. It’s a faithful reproduction of what he saw in his mind’s eye; the vision that he wanted to convey. As you stand in front of this print and get lost in its amazing detail, you understand the darkroom skills necessary to bring that vision to life. Tones, highlights and shadows all play an important role, used to draw your eye to specific areas of the print and move you around it in a manner that tells a complete story.These skills are rapidly becoming lost in this digital age of automation and instant gratification.

So, yes, this “favorite” of mine is the photograph that taught me the difference between looking and seeing. It’s a valuable lifetime lesson that has implications far beyond photography.

What about you? Do you have a favorite and a story?

Forced Creativity

On Sunday, I uploaded my final submission for the ‘Portfolio Development’ class I’ve been participating in for the past 8 weeks.  As mentioned in a previous post, our instructor – William Neill (you owe it to yourself to check his work) – has been teaching us to think in themes.

With the class complete, I’ve been reflecting on what I’ve learned.

At the risk of stating the obvious, I’ve learned the value of themes. Finding and focusing on a specific project or portfolio has made an enormous difference in the way I approach photography. I have a plan for this year and beyond. When I head out, I know exactly what I’m looking for; I have images in mind and I don’t get sidetracked by other things. Of course, that doesn’t mean I ignore a great photo opportunity if it arises (my recent storm images being a good example), but I capture that photo and get back to the task at hand. I go out with a sense of purpose and I typically come back satisfied.

I’ve learned the value of quality over quantity. Because the image I’m looking for is to be added to an existing portfolio, I’m perfectly OK with spending 3 or 4 hours out there and arriving home with one photograph that is good enough to make the cut.

I’ve learned the importance of context. I have 4 portfolios that I’m working on, and they are all very different. That means I approach my photography differently for each of them. For example, images for a book should tell a story about the location, such that readers feel they know the place.  Fine art prints intended for a gallery exhibit will put more emphasis on creativity and emotion. For a calendar, we may need to photograph common landmarks or features that we’d typically ignore but are essential in such a project. These aren’t necessarily what I’m working on, but they are good examples of the subtle differences.

I’ve learned the real value of critique and how to look beyond the words and think about it in context of what is being critiqued and by whom. I’ll talk about this more in a future post.

Most of all, I’ve learned that, on a personal level, I’m at my most disciplined when being driven by deadlines. Throughout the class, there were a number of occasions that I dragged myself out of bed on a miserable New England winter’s morning because there were images I needed for that week’s assignment. Every time I did this, I was happier for it.

I used to think there was no place for forced creativity. Now I think differently.

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.