As if on cue, right after I posted my “Photographer versus Photoshopper” piece yesterday, in which I mentioned Adam’s “Moonrise…” photograph, I saw this wonderful video interview with Ansel Adams’ son Michael in which he offers a basic description of the extensive post-processing that Adams applied to the original negative to produce the print we know so well.
The interview also reminded me of another topic for the “Photographic Myths and Platitudes” series that I am thinking about, namely the claim that great photographers always carefully compose and consider their subjects before they trip the shutter. Sometimes they do, but quite often it is more a matter of “tripping” over the tripod as one scrambles to capture a moment of beauty that appeared unexpectedly and which may disappear any second if you don’t work quickly. Of course, well-developed technical and aesthetic instincts help when it comes to turning such a moment into a photograph.
Read enough online stuff about photography and you eventually begin to recognize certain “common knowledge” assumptions about photography that are frequently repeated, quoted, and stated as truths. Unfortunately, quite a few of them are, at best, personal opinions rather than facts, and a good number are just plain wrong. I have a couple of ideas for a series of posts on this blog, and I’ve felt that occasionally dealing with some of these myths and platitudes might be one such thread. So, here goes — a new series: “Photographic Myths and Platitudes.”
I’ve seen writers attempt to draw distinctions between “photographers” and “photoshoppers” – in fact I just saw another today. The underlying assumption seems to be that if you are really a “photographer” you’ll be able to do everything perfectly in-camera and won’t have to do anything in the “post-processing” stage, and that “photoshopping” is a form of non-photographic cheating or tweaking that only has the purpose of making a poor photograph less poor. Further, quite a few who hold this view attempt to build their case on photographic history, often suggesting that “Great Photographer X” fully and accurately “pre-visualized” the image in its finished form, carefully calculated composition and exposure in such a way that the final print would be inevitable, pressed the shutter release, and captured a perfect image that could not be improved in any way by further work.
I have backpacked in California’s Sierra Nevada range for quite a few decades. A number (a large number!) of years ago my wife and I went on a two-week trans-Sierra backpack trip that traversed the range from west to east between Crescent Meadow and Whitney Portal, following a route known as the “High Sierra Trail.” On the third morning we left our camp and began the stiff ascent toward the pass we had to cross to enter the Kern River drainage. Near the top of the steepest part of the climb the trail momentarily leveled out and we found ourselves facing a high, rockbound lake with a perfectly vertical patterned rock face dropping straight into the water on the far side. The view seemed familiar – and I realized that it was a scene captured by Ansel Adams (“Frozen Lake and Cliffs“) in the early 1930s. (I also later realized that there is a wonderful and well-known photograph of the subject by Vern Clevenger.)
My wife and I were enthusiastic about photography in those days, too, and we carried a couple of Pentax SLRs and a few lenses and many rolls of film into the back-country. But I don’t think I came back with more than a few “snapshots” of this lake on that trip.
Fast-forward a few decades to 2008 when a group of my backpacking friends decided to follow this same trans-Sierra route — and, of course, I had to join them. Once again, I found myself ascending the trail toward that small bowl, but this time I had a plan to photograph the lake and the equipment to do it right. I recalled parts of the climb from my previous trip, but I had probably forgotten more than I remembered during the intervening decades. As the trail traverses a beautiful wet section full of wildflowers (which I had forgotten) I could tell that the lake was just ahead, and soon I topped a small saddle and saw the familiar scene before me.
As planned, I set to work doing some of the photography that I had contemplated before the trip. To be honest, I mainly worked from more or less the location that Adams must have used, though the conditions were a bit different on this day – the light was changeable as broken clouds passed above, and there was very little snow, much less ice, left at the lake. After perhaps 30 or 45 minutes of work, my hiking partners were getting restless and it was time to move on. I felt that I had worked this scene about as much as possible under the circumstances – and I did get a photograph of the “classic view” that I like a great deal — so I loaded up my heavy 9-day backpack load, put away the camera, and strapped the tripod to the outside of the pack. I hoisted the load and slowly started up the switchbacks immediately above the lake.
A couple of switchbacks up the trail I happened to look back at the lake from a slightly higher vantage point, and from here the astonishing deep blue color of the lake and the apron of rocks falling into the water became visible. My first reaction was a combination of “Wow!” and “No way am I taking this pack off and setting all that stuff up again!” Continue reading A Photograph Exposed: “Submerged Boulders, Lake, and Cliffs”→
Black and white photograph of the interior of a donut shop late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve.
As in many photographs like this, I hope that there may be more to it than meets the eye. I won’t tell the whole story, but here is a bit of background. I had been involved in an online discussion of the merits of shooting “old school” street photography using primes, and specifically limiting oneself to a 50mm prime on a 35mm film camera. Though it isn’t the point of my post here, I’ll just say that I’m skeptical about the value of that sort of limitation given a whole bunch of boring photographic philosophy. In any case, as an outgrowth of that discussion I thought it would be fun to head out on foot armed only with my full-frame camera (sorry, no film camera at all these days!) and a 50mm prime and just see what I could come up with. So, I walked out my front door and did some photography.
It was late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, so few businesses were still open, and it was late enough in the day that the last-minute shopping traffic was diminishing and things were becoming rather quiet. Few people were even out walking. I mostly walked but I also photographed some shop windows and buildings and so forth, and when I passed this tiny donut shop I first did an exterior shot of the closed business that included a weathered wooden and brick wall and some sad-looking holiday lights. Then as I passed the front of the shop I decided to put my nose against the window and peer inside. The low light from the late-afternoon sun was directly behind me and casting some very harsh and flat light into the interior, but I was intrigued by the arrangement and shapes of the tables and chairs, the shadow cast by the Christmas ornaments hanging in the window, and by the odd juxtaposition of a poster of the work of a certain photographer that is barely visible on the wall.
This photograph is not in the public domain and may not be used on websites, blogs, or in other media without advance permission from G Dan Mitchell.
