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A study of red drapes

I’ve struggled a bit for a title to today’s essay. Through the course of my investigation into other forms of art – perhaps investigation is a bit too strong a word; meandering or exploration is probably closer – I’ve noticed that photography stands apart for two reasons: perception, and origin. They’re really one and the same if you dig a bit deeper, and this also applies to a lesser extent to its derivatives – film/ video, mixed media etc. I suspect I may open a can of worms with this piece, but I’m also hoping it’s going to provoke some interesting discussion below the line in the manner of some of the classic posts of old…



Holding on

Let’s start with the simpler of the two: origin. Photography is what I think of as a secondary medium. For the most part, the output is a recreation or representation of something, where the something – the originating object, subject or scene – is clearly defined and recognisable in its original form. There is no attempt to suggest that a photograph is anything other than a facsimile of the scene, with adjustments for the bias of the observer – the photographer. Let’s take the example of an apple: if you paint it, no matter what you do, you’re not going to paint it exactly the same; even if you try. And you’re probably going to paint the idealised idea of an apple, not an apple itself: the artwork that comes to mind is Rene Magritte’s ‘this is not a pipe – the treachery of images’ (which is itself a photorealistic painting). It is a representation of what the artist believes that object should look like, the sum of his or her expectations. Not the object itself.



Treachery of Images by Rene Magritte, image from Wikipedia. I’ve been lucky enough to see this painting in person, and it’s both small and unassuming – it doesn’t have very strong visual impact, but give it a moment to register and you’ll see just how successfully Magritte transcended the limits of the medium and painted not a picture of a pipe, the idealised representation of a pipe, but an idea.

No matter how much a photograph uses technique or light or exclusion, it will still be recognised and – this is the important bit – interpreted by the audience – as being a representation of that specific object. Though this may be generalised to type – a photograph of ‘a rose’ as opposed to ‘the rose’, for instance – for the most part, photography is very specific in its depiction. Other forms of art are not, because the interpretative filter of the artist is opaque – not translucent. This distinction is perhaps best made through that of light itself: in a photograph, light from the object passes directly to the recording medium (and for arguments’ sake, the final output). What the photographer sees is what the camera sees. In a painting, it must first pass through the eyes of the artist, the interpretation of their brain and motor skills, and then only to canvas or sculpture or whatever media happens to be their choice.



The window

Recognizability of the subjects within a photograph drives perception of the audience: it looks like the subject, therefore it is. It is not always recognised as being an artist’s interpretation – perhaps that is the fault of the artist for failing to see their own vision in the subject or scene, or perhaps it is their lack of technical chops in the execution. Whatever the case may be, few photographs are mistaken for anything but photographs. This has two consequences on the art itself: firstly, the perception of an image that is not instantly identifiable as a photograph may confuse the audience, but it may just as likely surprise and engage them for its difference; secondly, the commercial value of a photograph no doubt takes a beating.



Double take

Even though we have seen stupendously expensive photographs – Gursky’s Rhein III, for instance – in recent times, we still think ‘that’s expensive, for a photograph.’ It is still significantly less than say the value of a decent Monet. Undoubtedly reproducibility has something to do with it: the artist could simply make a copy, if we so chose. That wouldn’t halve the value of each image, it would lower it by significantly more, owing to exclusivity and so on. More prints beyond that lower value further still, but I think there does come to a point where you are better off making more copies at a lower price than fewer at a higher one. That said, I personally believe the ceiling for the value of a photograph is heavily influenced by people believing they could not only do the same themselves, but probably do it better. Certainly the artistic merit of the output is subjective, and the result may well be better in their eyes. But will it be exactly the same? That is unlikely, because every image captures a moment in time that is never to be repeated (in our lifetimes, at least). Even in a studio situation where the scene is fully within the control of the photographer and repeatable, there are entropic changes happening at smaller scales than we can resolve: invisible on the short term, but nevertheless still present.



Inversion

I think the biggest hurdle photographs face is that the creation simply appears to be ‘too easy’ to the layperson compared to a painting (or sculpture, or carving, or any other medium). Most people harbour memories of painting from primary school and wince slightly at how poor the output looked; however, modern camera phones and general lack of visual education mean that pretty much everything is acceptable – and the difference between outstanding and great, great and good, good and acceptable, acceptable and mediocre isn’t always apparent. A painting takes time, paint and canvas, or whatever other media the artist chooses to work with*. Never mind the fact that it requires just as much time to master photography, the equipment cost may well be significantly higher, and I don’t think many people manage to output what they intend – the perception is there.

*I use painting as a continued example throughout this essay because it’s an easy analog to relate to since it’s visual and two dimensional; the same could well apply to any other choice of medium.

Conceptually, photographers have to be aware of the fact that the medium is one of conscious exclusion, not conscious inclusion. Every single act of framing is one of isolating out and discarding the bits of the work which are not relevant or interesting to the idea; this is the complete opposite to say painting or drawing, where everything that is visible in the final artwork has to be created by the artist – therefore they will have had no choice but to decide what form those objects or elements are to take. This is not the case for photography; the danger is that a photographer simply ignores the less prominent parts of the frame and lets them slide so long as they are not distracting. This is a mistake because it is coherence even through the smallest details that makes the difference between an excellent image and a truly outstanding one. I don’t think one method is necessarily easier than the other: the task of creating something entirely from scratch down to the smallest details is probably just as onerous as deciding whether each and every single element in a found scene is relevant or not, and how relevant.



Transparency

There is of course a middle ground, formed of two types of photography that aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. I’m referring to still life (or general studio/ controlled environment work)n and abstraction. In the former case, the scene has the potential of being fully within the control of the photographer, and the image made repeatable and tuneable; the latter removes the instant identifiability of the donor subject from the photograph and therefore prevents it from being instantly recognisable as one. Though in controlled environments the photographer is generally in control, they are probably not in control to the same extent as the painter: you may want an orange, but you can’t decide exactly which shade of orange and how many dimples it has in its skin – you can pick from a selection, but that is finite. The painter has no such constraints. Similarly, it’s much easier for the photographer to use strict perspective and depth of field controls to emphasize or de-emphasise elements in a scene; the painter can do it too, but it’s much more difficult to replicate convincingly. And if you’re a sculptor or mixed media artist, you’ve got the added consideration of physical viewing point to take into account, too.



The barrier.

This is where I think controlled abstraction is an opportunity to raise photography to another level – to some extent it still has to be serendipitous or found as the photograph depends on the donor subject, but here the strength of the photographer’s interpretation can be made to clearly dominate over the subject. It can be done through perspective, scale, physical proximity/ magnification, removal of depth cues, certain lighting, reflection, or any one of many other ways. However, if certain specific visual cues are removed or carefully controlled – quality of light, color palette, depth of field, final reproduction medium – then it may not be entirely clear at all whether it is a photograph or not to begin with. Such photographs transcend both the medium and more importantly, the audience’s expectations of the medium. Sadly, they are not at all easy to execute.



Solidity of shadow

We must also consider of course that not every photographer wants to transcend the medium; a lot of they time they just want to make faithful, interesting, storytelling or client-satisfying photographs. I personally find the idea of transparency and the idea of making the photograph merely a conduit into a hyperrealistic representation of that instant in time and space very interesting too – hence my development of the Ultraprints. But for those who do – and sometimes that includes me, too – keeping in mind the ideas of conscious inclusion vs exclusion, questioning whether every single small element in a scene is necessary, nice to have, neutral or distracting, and thinking about abstraction – some very interesting results can happen. I believe the images in this essay are a good example of that; some of them consciously seek abstraction; some attempt to replicate the visual cues of a painting; others are simply an unusual perspective. Regardless of which, I personally find them visually interesting – compelling – because they don’t always immediately read as photographs, or if they do, they force the viewer to pause and contemplate a little. And isn’t that what any art form is about? MT

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