Holding a Brett Weston negative — “Brooklyn Bridge, New York, 1946”
During our visit to the Weston Home at Wildcat Hill in late September, Kim Weston shared a wide range of photographs and photographic objects , and accompanying stories, with us in his studio. (That’s him at the lower right of the frame.) He shared and talked about work by many of the Westons, from Edward Weston to himself. He even passed around various photographs and objects for closer inspection, including this negative of a very important Brett Weston photograph, “Brooklyn Bridge, New York, 1946.”
And — no surprise! — he has a lot of stories to tell. If I have this one correct, it goes sort of this way. Brett Weston’s photographs are very much about the print and the initial image in the negative served as source material for the final interpretation. That interpretation was the thing — not the negative. As I understand it, he wanted the prints, not the negatives, to remain as his legacy, and he had announced that we was going to destroy the negatives for many great photographs. He discussed this with Edward (?) Weston, who did not feel the same way about limiting editions and who apparently convinced Brett to let him pick a few negatives to save. Brett agreed, Edward chose, Brett went and brought back the selected negatives… which he had defaced with a hole punch. (You can see the holes near the four corners of this negative.)
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist whose subjects include the Pacific coast, redwood forests, central California oak/grasslands, the Sierra Nevada, California deserts, urban landscapes, night photography, and more. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
Yesterday I realized that I had sort of forgotten a huge batch of aspen photographs from this fall in the eastern Sierra Nevada. How can one “forget” a big batch of such photographs, you ask? I simply became busy working on several other projects and after I moved on to them I stopped thinking about the earlier work.
I have so many of them — with more to come! — that I’m not going to string them out and post one at a time. Instead, here is one big batch of them all in one post. To save typing, all are from the eastern Sierra Nevada in October 2014
In late September I had the opportunity to join a group of photographers visiting the Wildcat Hill Weston home in the Carmel Highlands area of the California Coast. The Weston family, members of which still live and work here, trace their family history at this place back to the great photographer, Edward Weston. The main house is maintained in much the state it would have been in quite a while ago, and there are wonderful archival objects — photographs, art, objects, this darkroom, etc — everywhere. This small darkroom, designed for contact printing, is a small space off the main room of the building. Not only does it have fascinating historical interest for photographers, but it is also remarkable to see the modest and personal space in which so much Weston photography was realized.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist whose subjects include the Pacific coast, redwood forests, central California oak/grasslands, the Sierra Nevada, California deserts, urban landscapes, night photography, and more. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
This morning various things had me thinking about what a landscape photograph might do, how it might work, and what it might try to “show.” This is — no surprise! — a gigantic subject and much too big for a “morning musings” post, even a long one. Frankly, it would take a book to even begin to cover it. So regard what follows as just a few thoughts that came up today. (I’ve also used this post as an excuse to post a second photograph today — I have so many new ones that I think I need to speed up the process!)
I actually find it difficult to fully explain what it is that I’m looking for or trying to do in “landscape” (or certain other types of) photographs. There is a strong “I know it when I see it” element that almost defies description and analysis. In fact, too much analysis can be paralyzing, and I strongly believe that a lot of it is better left for later when I’m not in the process of making photographs.
It is also the case, I think, that there is not just one kind of landscape photograph — something that should be self-evident to anyone who has looked at a lot of landscape photography, especially along the outer boundaries of the genre. Most often we think of “natural landscape” with no or little evidence of what we think of as non-natural elements, but there are also urban landscapes, industrial landscapes, and much more. I’m not going to try to undo that intellectual and aesthetic knot in this little post!
What I can do is share a little bit of what I’m looking for when I photograph landscape subjects, though even this can become complex. Here is a short list:
The big reflected in the small. While we can point the camera at the “all of it” (as my wife refers to the big landscape subjects), it is difficult to do so without overwhelming the viewer with too much information. In addition, because we are often familiar with the big views, it is difficult to create them in ways that show us anything new about the subject. On the other hand, my experience with these places is formed from the sum of many small elements that work together to create the feeling of the whole. I tend to think that the, done right, a single tree against red rock can evoke the feeling of the Southwest as much as a photograph with a larger scope.
Geometry. I’m continually fascinated by the shapes, lines, angles, curves, textures of things in the landscape. This is, frankly, a sort of visual obsession, though one that I think I share with a lot of other photographers and visually-oriented people. In a sense, this leads to viewing the landscape as a sort of abstraction where these visual elements themselves form the basis of the image.
Feeling. Certain elements of the landscape evoke, at least for some of us, emotional responses. Some are probably obvious — the power of a storm, for example. Others might be a bit more elusive — such as quietness or stillness. For several reasons, this is potentially a very complex aspect of the work. The feelings are very personal, and in some cases they may not be “visible” to other viewers. They can also be tied up with other elements of the experience of the place that only the photographer knows. The viewer brings his or her own response to the photograph in ways that the photographer cannot know.
Light. The quality of light has a fascination to many of us that is perhaps almost impossible to explain to people who don’t see this way. (Looking back, I eventually realized that I was “afflicted” by this from a very young age!) There is something about certain effects of light — something in its spotlight, haze and atmosphere that glows, variations in its color, soft light that fills shadows — that simply stops some of us in our tracks.
Holding the ephemeral. Virtually everything we photograph is changing — in fact, virtually everything in our world is. The seasons change, trees grow and die, storms pass, the way we see evolves, special light appears and is gone. The list is endless. I believe that landscape photography — and, actually, photography in general — is at least partially an attempt to grasp and hold onto these things as they pass by.
Place. The role of “place” is obvious when the place is well-known, but it is important to me in photographs that do not focus on a well-known place, as is the case with most of my photographs. Almost every landscape photograph is tied to a real, concrete place, whether or not that is its most important feature.
What/How I See. I believe strongly in the idea that a photograph (or, especially, a group of photographs) ultimately tells us more about the photographer than about what is in front of the camera. I’m fascinated every time I work with other photographers and see, yet again, that we can stand side-by-side, shooting the same subjects, and come up with very different ways of seeing them. So a photograph of a Utah canyon wall is not just a photograph of that wall — it is evidence of what I saw in that canyon and of how I saw it.
This list could go on, but this is just a “morning musings” post, so I’ll stop here. What and how do you see the landscape when you photograph or look at photographs?
About the photograph: I made this photograph in a Utah slot canyon recently. I’m tempted to say that the slot canyons are all about the light. Though that might be a bit of an exaggeration, canyon light is very special. I virtually always comes down from far above, and softens and picks up color as it reflects between higher rock walls. As I walk through such canyons I am usually hyper-aware of the quality and color of the light, and I’m often looking up. That was the case in this canyon when I looked up to see this amazing scene of complex and interacting patterns on the canyon wall: curves, vertical drainage lines, horizontal strata, various cracks in the rock.
Morning Musings are somewhat irregular posts in which I write about whatever is on my mind at the moment. Connections to photography may be tenuous at times!
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist whose subjects include the Pacific coast, redwood forests, central California oak/grasslands, the Sierra Nevada, California deserts, urban landscapes, night photography, and more. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
Photographer and visual opportunist. Daily photos since 2005, plus articles, reviews, news, and ideas.
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