I am as guilty as (OK, more guilty than) anyone else when it comes to writing a lot of words about my photographs! This is ironic in a way, since I believe that, for the most part, successful photographs should be able to say whatever they have to say without a lot of verbal explanation or justification. (There are clearly exceptions to this “rule,” and this is not to say that there isn’t a lot to talk about in photographs.) But some people seem to enjoy the descriptions, so I offer a bit of back story about every photograph, and I love to discuss the photos with folks who share my interest.
Recently I read a post about a fine landscape photograph that someone had produced – the photograph was one of those that is good enough to make me think about how I might create such an image. As I write this now, I have forgotten whose post it was and precisely which photograph it was about. But something that struck me about this post was the tremendously compelling and somewhat scary story that the photographer told about getting the photo. It included things like standing for days in tremendously difficult and seemingly dangerous weather conditions, traveling miles and miles across difficult terrain to find precisely the image that he/she had previsualized, and the tremendous good fortune of finding this perfect image after days and days of enduring challenges that normal people would not or perhaps could not endure.
Some such stories may be true. (Though more often I suspect that they are considerably embellished, but what’s wrong with a bit of fun fiction now and then? :-) But sometimes I wonder if the effect of the photograph would be the same without the spine-tingling story-telling? And I wonder to what extent some viewers tend to look at (or not) photographs that are not accompanied by such compelling and daring tales? What is the balance between viewers being intrigued by the apparently adventure-filled lives lived by photographers and viewers reacting to the intrinsic quality of the photographs themselves?
With this in mind, I offer two descriptions of events associated with the creation of photographs. Think about how the stories affect your perception of the images – for better or worse. ;-)
Story #1
It was a tough morning in the arid desert valley. The oppressive early season heat had arrived and it was over 90 degrees shortly after sunrise. Raging wind threatened a dust storm, and I had been suffering in the heat and dust and dryness for many days. However, this remote location being a place of remarkable extremes, the surrounding mountain peaks were topped by several inches of recent snowfall, rendering many areas inaccessible to anyone unprepared for serious alpine travel. So I faced a choice — endure another day in the sun-blasted furnace of the valley or attempt to struggle up into the alpine zones of the towering mountains and make a photograph.
I chewed on a last piece of stale biscuit, washing it down with a swallow of the last warm water remaining in my bottle.
I chose the mountains.
The route to the west is a steep one, and I strained as I ascended the tremendous sloping terrain leading toward the snow-capped summits looming over my destination. After climbing thousands of feet in elevation I passed the final outpost of what passes for civilization in these parts – a small, primitive camp where a few hardy, miserable-looking souls clustered around their tents as the wind rose, threatening to flatten their camp, and dust began to fly. I left them behind and continued on — I would only find what I was searching for in places even more desolate and lonely.
I left this path behind and turned onto an older, less-used, and much narrower track that ascended up a vast alluvial fan and into a narrow slot canyon, where the cliffs and hoodoos loomed ominously above me as my route twisted and turned through the tortured terrain. I saw no one else here as I continued my slow, lonely ascent. This land is completely dry and devoid of anything green or alive, and as I continued I began to see snow-covered slopes and above them jagged and rocky spires of alpine peaks cloaked in winter snow and ice. Passing across a large high-elevation plateau that reminded me of my travels across subarctic and arctic Alaska or perhaps the high plateaus near the Himalayas, I came to a place where a narrow track left even this meager route that I had followed to this point and headed off towards… towards what, exactly? From all that I could see, it simply disappeared into rugged and lonely hills after passing across this immense, barren plateau.
But I held the image of a high and lonely scene in my mind, and I was determined to produce a photograph that would achieve what my mind’s eye saw, even though I knew that few are willing to venture to such places. I knew that it would not be easy, that success was not assured, and that considerable risks stood between me and this sought-for image. Unwilling to let adversity turn me away from the quiet for an elusive and sublime scene of inspiration, I did what most might deem to be tremendously foolhardy and risky – I turned onto that narrow track and continued on alone.
As I slowly picked my way along this route, navigating carefully around ice and rocks that threatened to block my way, I passed an abandoned and lonely old miners cabin. The constant gale, the powerful storms of many years, and monumental stretches of time had begun to turn this vain attempt to create a livable outpost into a pile of bleached lumber. I thought about how even the hardy souls who would live in such a place and attempt to carve wealth out of the reluctant earth had ultimately found the place to be too dangerous and too powerful. I turned my attention back to the path ahead and continued slowly forward, trying to suppress rising apprehension about the risks I had yet to face if I were to find my photograph.
As I continued my climb toward the snow-covered heights, the track entered another narrow and foreboding canyon. The path twisted right and left and the surface tilted wildly, first one way and then another. Boulders littered the route, and I had to slow to a crawl as I carefully picked my way among the hazards threatening to halt my progress and and leave me stranded alone in this forsaken wilderness. At times I could not see more than a few feet ahead as the route bent and turned around boulders, past the shoulders of the peaks above, and beside washes that had recently been filled with a wild torrents of water and rocks and mud. I persevered and eventually emerged again from the confines of this narrow and dark canyon.
But a new challenge stood before me. The route now had reached the narrow crest of this high and rugged range. With trepidation I crossed the slender point of the ridge… and the world dropped away on the other side. As the gale-force winds raked this exposed location I looked down well over a mile across a precipitous descent into an uninhabited landscape of deep, shadow-filled chasms, knife-edged ridges, and loose and dangerous surfaces. But the choice was simple — turn back and miss the sublime experience that might await me should I survive, or face the danger and carry on towards the summit that I could now make out looming in the distance along the jagged and wind-whipped ridgeline.
The route began to traverse across the upper face of this tremendous range. I dared not look to my right, as a moment’s distraction from the slippery slope that passed for a trail might prove to be enough to hurl me into the deep, dark void below. I tried unsuccessfully to control my racing heart as I crept forward, but by sheer will and the application of skills gained through years of travel through equally rough and dangerous terrain I finally made it through and found myself utterly alone and isolated in a tiny flat area on the mountaintop. The light was beginning to fade – yes, it looked like I might have to face the return trip in darkness or else wait alone atop the mountain for dawn – and the tremendous, building winds raked my position. I sat for a moment and felt the sheer power of the gale as it shook me and my equipment. I contemplated the unavoidable fact that, having come so far and risked so much, I would now need to leave the minimal protection afforded by this spot, traverse an even more exposed ridge and face the elements head-on. I thought about it for a moment, steeled myself for the powerful forces with which I knew I was about to do battle, and stepped forward.
I was immediately struck by tremendous blasts of mountaintop wind of a sort unknown to those who do not travel into remote and wild regions. Suppressing the momentary shock and fear that the overpowering roaring wind always brings, I went straight to my camera equipment and carefully selected the perfect lens for the shot I intended to produce, then mounted lens to camera and camera to tripod. Struggling against the wind and the bulk and weight of my gear I slowly crept toward a rib of rock directly atop the exposed ridge, where I hoped to find a view towards the west and a bit of protection from the brunt of the elemental forces that were conspiring to send me back where I came from.
The rock provided no protection, and now I found myself alone in an exposed location, and barely clinging to the peak in the face of the gale. And I had to make a photograph! As I waited, tremendous cloud formations began to coalesce to the west as the sun began its final descent towards the jagged teeth of another alpine range on the distant horizon beyond this sea of peaks. I looked into this blazing light and saw spread out below me the lonely and barren terrain of the range I had crossed to arrive at this point, and the endless succession of ridges beyond, fading into the mist as they marched toward the horizon. There it was! I saw the photograph that I had imagined when I set out on this hopeless quest.
Now I had only moments to act before the ephemeral light was gone if I was to capture this image as a photograph. Casting aside concerns for my safety and ignoring the rising gale and oncoming darkness, I set myself to the work of creating this image. Turning my lens into the brilliant western light I composed my photograph. Calling on my past experience I quickly calculated an exposure that might, with some luck, encompass the tremendous range of this scene – I had to get it right the first time since there might only be one chance. Using my body to try to stabilize the tripod against the storm and control the wind-induced vibrations, I managed to squeeze off an exposure during a momentary decrease in the wind.
By now I could see that night was coming on and that there was no time to waste if I was to get off the mountain safely and share my photograph achievement with the world. As I stood there in the gathering gloom, having gotten what I came for, my attention turned back to the reality of my predicament. I realized that it would be potentially even more challenging to return to my homeward path — but what choice did I have? I could not spend a night out in the open in these conditions! But even getting off this dangerous ridge would not be the end of the challenge – I still had to negotiate all of the dangers I had passed through to get here, but now in darkness. I once again shouldered my gear and began to work my way along the knife-edge ridge, through the wind, and back toward the flat where the modest protection of a few rocky prominences awaited.
After a struggle I left the ridge, working against the efforts of the wind to stop me, I managed to repack my gear despite the fearful maelstrom that was now building. I could still feel the power of the wind as I began to cross the ridge line, but at least I was protected from its direct effects. As dusk turned to full on darkness, I began to work my way back down the route I had so recently ascended, full of concern about the risks of negotiating in lonely darkness what had been a challenge to pass over in daylight. Suffice it so say that I prevailed, I made it back, and I produced the photograph I had it mind.
Story #2
It was getting a bit warm in the Valley so I thought it might be a good day to head up into the Panamint Range where the temperatures are usually cool. I didn’t have a concrete plan, though I had been out to Aguereberry Point in the afternoon in the past to shoot and I thought it might be interesting to try to refine a scene that I have been working on from that location – the view over the hills of the Panamint Range and across many intervening desert ranges towards the peaks of the snow-covered Sierra Nevada to the west.
So I headed up into the Panamints, stopping along the way to investigate some interesting subjects, make a few photographs, and at one point take a nap at a wide spot in the road! In the middle of the afternoon I decided that it looked like it might be a good day to try that “Panamints to the Sierra” scene I had in mind so I headed out on a good gravel road past the old mining site of Harrisburg, up through some interesting canyons beyond, and finally arrived at the crest of the Panamints with its tremendous views down into Death Valley. Since the light seemed right, I paused to make a few photographs of Trail Canyon, the lower slopes of Wildrose peak, and Death Valley before slowly driving the last exposed section of the road to the small parking lot at Aguereberry Point. It was windy when I arrived and no one else was there. I put on some extra clothes and grabbed my equipment and headed out along the ridge to find a place to set up and shoot back toward the Sierra. I got lucky when the clouds in the west began to thin a bit and provide a clearer view of the Sierra crest. It looked like a vertical format shot (more or less what I had in mind) would work, so I set up the camera and composed it. I had to be a bit careful with exposure because some of the sunlit clouds were very bright while it was dark in some of the backlit canyons – I “exposed to the right” to avoid blowing out the highlights and planned on bringing back that shadows a bit in post.
The other main challenge was the wind – it was blowing like crazy up there! With a long lens even a bit of wind can amplify vibrations and you end up with a soft image. I used 10x live view magnification to see the vibration on the LCD – my technique is to watch that and wait for the image to stabilize before making the exposure. I made a few exposures as the sun dropped lower in the sky and then was done. Whenever I see and photograph the Sierra from places like this I think about the many times I’ve traveled in that range, and on this evening I started anticipating another upcoming backpacking season.
At about this point the post-sunset light produced brilliant and intense color in the sky, but I couldn’t see a photograph in it so I just enjoyed the show! I headed back to my car and drove back down the gravel road in gathering darkness. The photograph is here.
I think there are perhaps several things going on related to the need to tell wildly exciting stories about photographs. I think that we all, at times, like to feel like heroes, and embellishing stories of our adventures can make us feel like we are somehow different and more daring that “regular folks.”
But I also think that there is a part of the photography world, including both photographers and those interested in photography, that wants to imagine the wild life on the edge of the photographer, a life that must be so much more exciting and daring and full of risk than their own lives.
In reality, the vast majority of photograph making is anything but a wild adventure full of risk and excitement – at least not the sort of excitement that is equivalent to roller coaster riding or skydiving. The facts are:
1. There is a lot of down time when photographing – the time spent driving or flying or hiking to locations, the time spent doing the other regular business of living, the time spend waiting for the right light, the time spent killing time when the light is poor.
2. It is extraordinarily rare to engage in truly risky activities while making photographs. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen – I’ve seen people standing in dangerous places to get a photo – but most of the time what we do is not risky in that sense at all. We do tend to go places that others might not go and perhaps experience some aspects of nature that might impress those who don’t share these experiences, but standing behind a tripod making a photograph is rarely a thrill-filled risking of life and limb.
3. There is excitement, but it most often not the adrenaline induced fear-factor sort of excitement. Rather it is the inner excitement of finding or seeing or watching something that is truly amazing right before us and perhaps of catching that thing photographically.
There is an audience that wants it to be more of the thrill sport. I’m often asked things like, “Tell me the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done to get a photograph” or “What is the biggest risk you’ve taken?”
It is somewhat difficult to imagine telling them that it was more about denial than risk – perhaps missing meals, or not sleeping in, or being alone in interesting places.
I think some photographers mistake the old addage “A photograph is worth a thousand words” as a requirement they must fulfill. :)
Actually, “The Making of….” is a subject I’ve been pondering writing about in my own forthcoming blog. Precisely because I have seen a number of the ‘over the top’ stories you so eloquently mimic in story #1. And in several cases, I’ve had a hard time deciding 1) if I believe half of what was written or if my abundantly cynical side is getting the better of me, and 2) if the photographer thinks writing such grandiose yarns adds to the quality of the image.
The first of those 2 is really inconsequential….in the bigger picture, it doesn’t matter to me if the story is true or not. It *might* tell me something about the individual if I knew the answer, but it really has nothing to do with the image to be viewed.
OTOH, the 2nd part does give me pause and cause me to ponder the shooter’s motivation for the telling of the tale….even though it too really has nothing to do with the image. I just find it interesting to attempt to determine if the shooter is really a frustrated writer and only makes images to provide subject matter for a story, if he/she is trying to convince viewers it’s a wonderful image because of what they endured/overcame to make it, or…….???????
The most puzzling part to me is that more often than not, the image associated with these backstories is a truly wonderful image that walks tall all by itself….ain’t no backstory needed. And as often as not, that particular image is not just a lucky one time capture by the photograhper. When the opportunity presents itself to view a portfolio of images by this individual, I frequently come away thinking….”Wow, he/she is a really good photographer.” And when it becomes clear the photographer is more than capable of producing images that stand perfectly fine with no discourse at all, it only compounds my attempt to understand their motivation for providing such drama.
The bottom line……..an image either succeeds as an image….or it doesn’t. ‘The making of….’ writing is just filler….doesn’t enhance/detract from my opinion of the image itself.
Dan No worries I realised that was the case and as you say you succeeded admirably :-)
Craig, just to be clear, the first “story” was supposed to be way over the top. I think I succeeded admirably! ;-)
The second is more like what I usually include with my photograph posts. I do recognize that readers’ preferences vary quite a bit. From the comments here you’ll find that some share your preference for truly minimal commentary, while others seem to enjoy a bit more back-story. I’ll probably stick with more or less what I’ve been doing in my regular posts, and hope that those who don’t enjoy the text will just look at the photos!
Thanks for dropping by and posting.
Dan
First story I was bored with very quickly and am not really interested in how macho the photographer is in taking the photograph. Second story more interesting but my view of the image would have been no more or less diminished by either story. I think I would have preferred it if you had written” I was driving along highway and saw this wonderful view and captured the moment”
Hi Dan. Yes, I agree with you that the definition of ‘just right’ will vary from person to person.
I’m going to speak about my very ‘humaness’ when I say that the amount of info I want to read about a
photo can also vary as to the point in time in which it’s read. If I am digging through hours of photos
which I do often as I’m in such a ‘young learning curve’ here, that I may just not have the interest
at that particular time to read a great detail about every photo. I overwhelm myself trying to learn so
much at once; I should probably slow down and learn to ‘savor’ the photos more. Thank you for
bringing up this subject and allowing others to comment. It’s very interesting hearing different points
of view. I like the comment by David Hoffman in his second paragraph and I reflect his sentiments.
Thank you for allowing us into your world of photography!!!
Interesting discussion, Dan. I’m with you – I want each of my images to stand on its own, without explanation. That said, a little back story is always interesting. As you said, “just right” will vary with the listener. My wife’s eyes will glaze over very quickly during an explanation that might interest another photographer. (That’s an understatement…she usually falls asleep listening to me talk…about anything, come to think of it.) I think most people will enjoy some explanation of the artistic process. The amount of technical info they are interested in will vary widely.
I’m not that interested in alot of prose about what it took to “get there”, etc. I am very interested in hearing about what the artist saw and thought about and what decisions he/she made in the process of capturing the image. I think you do a wonderful job of connecting with the viewer in your blog posts.
Hi Dan
Just to let you know… I have TREMENDOUS respect for photographers and what you endure in order to entertain and keep the public informed… after all, you document nature, at YOUR expense!!… and we just sit back and enjoy it… not fair really..:(..so all I can say is: Thank You, from the bottom of my heart..:)
I may be a bit opaque sometimes, but everyone does realize that the first story was meant to be over the top, right? :-)
I once read a very dramatic tale by a person who had photographed at an iconic high Sierra lake – probably anyone who has done any photography in the high country has photographed this lake. The person’s tale related a dangerous and brutal climb up steep and twisting trails that left him exhausted when he arrived at his destination. The description continued, relating dangerous ascents of rock faces that were necessary to get to the perfect spot to make the photograph and a choice to risk being on this mountain as the sun set in order to photograph the “golden hour” light on a nearby peak above the lake. Then, as the light faded, our intrepid photographer apparently was forced to make a risky after-dark exit back down the trail, a journey that he reported included the constant fear of attack by hungry bears.
The lake is where I took my kids on pack trips years ago when they were about five years old. The location from which the photograph was made is a short five-minute walk uphill from the meadowy shore of the lake. Yes, if you leave food about the bears may eat it, but that’s about it. ;-)
Dan
Dan – I enjoyed your stories, a little long but interesting. The fact you have taken the time to record a recollection of the experience is a very personal. While it may not add value to the sale it is valuable just the same and the viewer or buyer would definitely have interest. I would suggest brevity as most readers will not read more than a few sentences.
When talking about photos as fine art, then, to me, no stories won’t change how I value the photo. A bad or a good photo, it’s what I see. How it was taken, digital/film/manual, and blah won’t change how much I would pay for the photo.
With that said, I always enjoy reading your writing because I take photographs, too, and is interested how other people do the activity.
Interesting thoughts, Pam. I like to think that the photo should be presented first just as a photograph, with little more than the title attached. (And I prefer titles that simply describe “what it is” rather than tell you how to think about it.)
I’m interested that second, shorter description seemed too long for you. That is an interesting data point for me. I think people like to read a little something about the photograph – the how and where of its production – and perhaps a bit about some technical stuff that it might illustrate, but I’m certain that the definition of “just right” varies quite a bit.
Dan
Personally, I think photos should sell themselves. It is interesting to me to have a little bit of the
‘thought process’ of the photographer while making the photo, but in my humble opinion, both
stories were overload. Don’t mean to be offensive, but I didn’t read but the first paragraph of both
stories before I lost interest. I would be more interested in the technique used than in all the info
leading up to taking the photo with just a few brief comments to describe the moment. If a photo
is being posted to ‘teach a technique’ for example, then I’m all for lots of info!! I haven’t gotten to the point yet where I put more than a title on mine, and that’s something I need to improve on!!!!
I have never sold a print based on the “drama” of how I took the shot nor have I ever heard of anyone buying a photograph, in any medium, on the “drama” in my 35+ years photographing. Evey photograph has a story and I like to hear and read about the photographers image. But, I don’t want to read a novel that encompasses way more territory than the original image in a post or what have you. I also think that if a photographer “needs” to sell their images they have more problems that any “drama” can help them…
Thanks to Monte the cat for posting that before it was fleshed out. Feel free to delete if you want. My point was going to be that photographers may need to sell their shots, and drama sells. My approach is to limit the drama and let the shot stand on its own. Hence the Pete Townsend reference.
Or you could try my approach, I was here (coordinates imbedded in the image) and shot this.
Breathless prose does nothing to enhance an image. But a bit of back story can help sell it. As a photographer, tales of hardship don’t really cut it, because we have all shot in adverse conditions. But for consumers, knowing that there was some effort involved can make the q. As Pete Townsend said “A little is enough”.
Good post Dan…I read one paragraph of story #1 and that was all I could take. Story #2 I liked as it was read like someone commenting on their photograph instead of writing a couple of chapters of a book like story #1. I like to read what a photographer has to say about their photograph. A photograph without some type (pun intended) of story line or even without a caption doesn’t tell me what the photographer was thinking at the time. A photograph can and does stand on its own but I am not viewing it in a gallery, I am viewing it on-line in a post of some kind and want to know more.
I enjoyed both stories, Dan. And I don’t care which one is true. And neither particularly affect the enjoyment of the photograph, which is also lovely. I don’t believe that good photographs necessarily need any explanation. I do like to know where they were taken, just to settle a place for them in my minds-eye. The backstory of each photograph taken is just a little bit of shared history between the viewer and the photographer. Neither necessary nor too much information, just a story between two people who enjoy the world visually and our place in it.