On perspective

A couple of weeks ago, in response to the comments about the launch of this site, I posted on Twitter that my goal for the new year was focus. Like many of us, I get too easily distracted by shiny things. Not just gear, though I suffer from that in spades, but by all of the ways to broadcast my work to all of you. This site—and the dissolution of several other sites/accounts—is my answer to that problem.

However, I think it's only a partial solution. A more complete answer is cultivating a broader perspective; viewing the world around me with a keener eye. In addition to being easily distracted, it's too easy for me to be drawn into responding to others' perspectives, rather than holding my own. I don't mean that I always know better than others, or that I shouldn't listen to other points of view, even if I'm pretty sure I disagree with them. In my opinion, listening to solid, thoughtful opposition is an essential ingredient to being a good human being, but there are times when I get drawn down a rabbit hole into a much narrower world; a world where I lose perspective.

(A short digression here, folks. For the love of Funk and Wagnalls, the word is lose, not loose. Look it up. This epidemic must be stopped.)

What was I talking about? Heading down rabbit holes and trying to keep perspective? Ah, right.

We do sometimes recognize when we're losing perspective. My Twitter feed is occasionally littered with the #firstworldproblem hashtag, meaning that person understands their problem is a pretty minor thing in the greater scheme of things. In a world where some people don't have any idea where their next meal is going to come from or where they're going to sleep tonight, it's a good idea to pay attention to just how small some of our problems are. We can get caught in a bubble of narrow perspective where these smaller problems can seem much larger, and when we limit ourselves to discussing it with people who mostly agree with us, it becomes an echo chamber where we only become more convinced we're doing the right thing. In the end, it leads to the well-known arguments of Mac vs. PC, Nikon vs. Canon, and more recently, gear vs. vision.

What does this have to do with photography? Well… a lot. Refusing to listen to people who disagree with you, or who at least have a different point of view, stunts your growth as a human being and as a photographer. You need to take all of what the world has to offer—good and bad—to really understand what you have to give it in return. A narrow perspective usually leads to a limited imagination and, of course, imagination is key to photography—or any art for that matter.

But a broader perspective is also important in the way we approach our use of photography. We talk a lot about how to convey intent in a photograph, but there's a much larger picture here (pun definitely intended). Author Wes Cecil asked all of the participants at ART, "Why this?" In other words, why do we photograph? Why spend our time on it? What are we trying to say as a human to other humans? If, as a photographer, your goal is to effect change, you must broaden your perspective of what photography is to you.

Focusing only on gear is a shallow pursuit. Focusing only on technique is a shallow pursuit. Focusing only on making money with your camera is a shallow pursuit. Our "passion", as it stands, cannot be just photography itself. Most great photographers—the ones who helped make significant changes in our lives, and the ones we remember—were obsessed with social, cultural, and political issues that affected them. They used photography to show the rest of us how they felt about it and to push for change. Lewis Hine, Dorothea Lange, Tim Hetherington, Peter Magubane, Donna Ferrato, and even Ansel Adams used photography as their chosen vehicle for change—the change they wanted to see in the world.

Many photographers have been ignored, banned, jailed, beaten, and even killed by people and societies who were afraid of what would happen when others saw the things that photographer was exposing, or who simply weren't ready to see it. These photographers didn't always expect to make these kinds of sacrifices and they certainly didn't go looking for them, but they continued their work in spite of the danger to themselves. Deciding whether film or digital is better or whether or not to use HDR was nowhere on their radar of things to worry about.

Edward Bulwer-Lytton famously wrote, "Beneath the rule of men entirely great, the pen is mightier than the sword." If a photograph is worth a thousand words, how much can it accomplish? If we want to change the world, we have to tell the stories that need to be told. We need to examine and understand the reasons we are making photographs, and then keep pushing ourselves to make the best photographs that carry out that purpose. We can't limit ourselves to a narrow perspective and fall into the rabbit hole of photography only for photography's sake. We, as photographers, don't really matter. Photography, as an art and a craft, doesn't really matter. It's the photographs that do.

Thinking about thinking… and not thinking

How much thinking do you do when you photograph? A lot? A little? Somewhere in between?

I’ve been thinking about thinking in photography since I attended the Artists’ Round Table (ART) in Port Townsend, Washington this past June. During our image reviews, I learned that many times I was overthinking my photographs. I was spending too much time making sure things were exactly the way I wanted them in both subject matter and technique, as opposed to paying attention to what I wanted to say. As a result, many of my photographs were, as Ansel Adams put it, “sharp photographs of a fuzzy concept.”

Not all of my photographs, though. So I began to look closer at the ones that seemed to work better to see if I could discover a pattern or at least a clue about why they did. What I discovered were two things: a) even if I wasn’t consciously thinking about composition and sharpness and depth of field and everything else, I still managed to do those things pretty well, and b) these photographs moved me more than the ones I made where the technique was my focus.

What did this tell me? Well, that some of the things I worried about when making photographs could now be relegated to what you might describe as muscle memory. I could trust myself to do them as needed whenever I made a photograph and concentrate on what I wanted to express with the photograph. And instead of worrying about those things, I was free to really think about how the photograph would feel as opposed to how it looked.

Now, I’m not saying that you need to stop thinking about technique or composition, etc., or that you’re “doing it wrong”. What you know about making photographs is essential to your growth as a photographer and the quality of your photographs. But if you’re like me, you might remain focused on that too long after you’ve mastered it well enough to make good photographs. The most compelling photographs aren’t always the sharpest or have the greatest dynamic range.

Hanging onto this limited vision also does something else. It allows us to avoid thinking deeply about what we’re trying to express with a photograph and what we have to say about a subject. That’s a lot harder to figure out, at least for me, and something I still need to think more about. Many photographers—both amateur and professional—end up here, focused on technique, and then never go past it. We keep repeating the same photographs using a particular technique—which we often mistake for our style or voice—or we do it simply because it sells.

So, how do you do this? How do you avoid dwelling on technique? Well, by throwing it away completely. Try this: set your camera on Auto (gasp!) and take a picture without looking through the viewfinder. Don’t just fire wildly, though. Find something interesting; something you would normally shoot—your kids at play, a street scene, even a sunset. Hold your camera over your head or at your waist. Oh, put the tripod away, too. (Nice try, kid.)

Don’t think about the shutter speed or the aperture, or whether you want to use HDR or a limited depth of field. Give up control for a little while. Shoot when things look interesting to you; when you feel the moment as well as when you see it. Maybe even close your eyes. Use the Force, Luke.

After you’ve done this, take a look at the photographs you made. A lot of them could be throwaways, but some of them might not. Look at each of these closely and see if it conveys the feeling of what you saw. Were you successful in showing that? If so, give yourself credit for it, and remember it when you return to your normal style of shooting.

You might just be a better photographer than you think.

Why this workshop?

[Photography] is putting one's head, one's eye and one's heart on the same axis. – Henri Cartier-Bresson

I've spent a some time here recently telling you about the Close to Home workshop and the great sponsors we're working with to bring it to you, and I am certainly grateful for their participation and their support. I personally use many of their products on a daily basis and I highly recommend you try them, too.

But workshops are not just about the sponsors or the prizes they've donated for participants. I think it's important for you to know what it is you're getting yourself into so you can decide if a particular workshop is right for you. I always look at workshops and seminars as opportunities to do two things: a) learn from other photographers I respect and b) grow as a photographer by learning something new. Some workshops and seminars are designed to further your off-camera flash skills or post-processing techniques and they are certainly valuable to photographers of all levels. There comes a time, however, when you find yourself dissatisfied with simply learning new "tips and tricks." There's that voice in your head that says, "I want to do more. I want my photography to mean something more." That's where I've found myself recently and that's where Ray and I plan to take you.

Now, of course I want you to come to the workshop to experience this for yourself, simply because there's nothing like the kind of energy that a group of photographers focused on the same goal can bring, but I think I can give you enough information to help you decide if this workshop is right for you.

Essentially, the Close to Home workshop is about seeing. Seeing photographs, seeing stories and helping you tie your photography to your life—in both small and big ways. The book, Close to Home: Finding Great Photographs in Your Own Back Yard, is really a smaller discussion of a big idea—that great photography comes from within you, not where you live or travel . Ray and I are going to help you get closer to this idea through a series of discussions and exercises designed to slow you down and help you see the world around you more clearly. Then, once we've gotten you used to this approach, we'll give you an individual assignment for the rest of the workshop so you can put these ideas into practice, and ask you to show the rest of the group your results at the end.

This may seem a bit like navel-gazing Zen meditation—and sometimes it is—but there are definitely practical results that you'll see. You will understand better why you make photographs and how to make all of the photographic skills and techniques you've already acquired better serve your particular kind of seeing. It doesn't matter if portraits or landscapes or abstracts are your thing, and it doesn't matter what your skill level is. We want to help you connect your photography with your life.

I hope you'll join us.

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Don't forget that early registration ends tonight, Sept. 6, at midnight PST, where you can save 10% off of the regular workshop fee of $299. If you register and pay by the deadline, you'll be eligible for a chance to win one of two copies of Laura Shoe's Lightroom Fundamentals DVD. Register today!