My Blog (and I) have been off-line for a while, as my family and I enjoyed a well-earned vacation. This short entry, to recouple myself to the Blog world, is titled "Artist at Work" - and contains a wink, ";-)" - at the end because I am decidedly poking a bit of fun at myself. While I aspire to one day attain the right to call myself an "Artist," I have also retained enough objectivity in my short life to appreciate I have a way to go to get to that point.
The image shown above is a before and after shot. The before shot (on the left-hand-side) exists by courtesy of my beautiful (and brave) wife, who was with me on the Florida beach as yours truly was (incredibly, and somewhat idiotically!) taking a series of Hiroshi Sugimoto-like long-exposures of some pylons sticking out of the water as it, the beach, and my wife and I were pummeled by close-to-hurricane-level winds! The after shot (on the right; "after" referring to the physically banged up state my wife and I were in after braving the inhumanly vicious winds!) was among the several images I somewhow managed to capture without my hat, camera, tripod, and bag being blown half-way to Cuba.
Suffice it to say that I now understand two things about my photography (and physical state):
1. That it is not why I take the pictures of the things I tend to take the pictures of (leaves, reeds, vines, dilapidated buildings, ...) that people stare at me when I take pictures with a mixture of bemusement and incredulity; rather, people stare at me with a mixture of bemusement and incredulity because of how I take my pictures.
2. The reason my back (and neck, and shoulders, and knees, and ...) seem to hurt all the time has less to do with the inevitable age-creep (I'm only 45 for Goodness sake;-), and everything to do with the contortions I put my poor body through to get that next shot! (The irony is that my body, in the act of capturing the beauty of dilapidated buildings, is itself succumbing - rapidly - to the same entropic decay!)
When I said to my wife (while laughing at what I thought was a "fluke" picture of me in a comically and awkwardly wrenched position), "Hey, you were lucky to catch me like that!"... it was my turn to stare at my wife (with a mixture of bemusement and incredulity;-) when she gently, but firmly, assured me that I always look like that when taking pictures. Whether I am in a mini-hurricane (as above), or precariously balanced on a ledge on some cliff in Hawaii, or delicately (and typically not all-too-well) poised on one leg on a small rock in the middle of a babbling brook, I'm always scrunched up like a pretzel!
The "Artist at Work" indeed!
Thursday, April 20, 2006
"Artist at Work" ;-)
My Blog (and I) have been off-line for a while, as my family and I enjoyed a well-earned vacation. This short entry, to recouple myself to the Blog world, is titled "Artist at Work" - and contains a wink, ";-)" - at the end because I am decidedly poking a bit of fun at myself. While I aspire to one day attain the right to call myself an "Artist," I have also retained enough objectivity in my short life to appreciate I have a way to go to get to that point.
The image shown above is a before and after shot. The before shot (on the left-hand-side) exists by courtesy of my beautiful (and brave) wife, who was with me on the Florida beach as yours truly was (incredibly, and somewhat idiotically!) taking a series of Hiroshi Sugimoto-like long-exposures of some pylons sticking out of the water as it, the beach, and my wife and I were pummeled by close-to-hurricane-level winds! The after shot (on the right; "after" referring to the physically banged up state my wife and I were in after braving the inhumanly vicious winds!) was among the several images I somewhow managed to capture without my hat, camera, tripod, and bag being blown half-way to Cuba.
Suffice it to say that I now understand two things about my photography (and physical state):
1. That it is not why I take the pictures of the things I tend to take the pictures of (leaves, reeds, vines, dilapidated buildings, ...) that people stare at me when I take pictures with a mixture of bemusement and incredulity; rather, people stare at me with a mixture of bemusement and incredulity because of how I take my pictures.
2. The reason my back (and neck, and shoulders, and knees, and ...) seem to hurt all the time has less to do with the inevitable age-creep (I'm only 45 for Goodness sake;-), and everything to do with the contortions I put my poor body through to get that next shot! (The irony is that my body, in the act of capturing the beauty of dilapidated buildings, is itself succumbing - rapidly - to the same entropic decay!)
When I said to my wife (while laughing at what I thought was a "fluke" picture of me in a comically and awkwardly wrenched position), "Hey, you were lucky to catch me like that!"... it was my turn to stare at my wife (with a mixture of bemusement and incredulity;-) when she gently, but firmly, assured me that I always look like that when taking pictures. Whether I am in a mini-hurricane (as above), or precariously balanced on a ledge on some cliff in Hawaii, or delicately (and typically not all-too-well) poised on one leg on a small rock in the middle of a babbling brook, I'm always scrunched up like a pretzel!
The "Artist at Work" indeed!
Friday, April 07, 2006
Science "Abstract"
Today's Astronomy Picture of the Day website (which is a must-save bookmark for anyone with even the slightest interest in science and imagery!) contains an incredible digital composite of the sun's corona (taken during the recent March 29 eclipse). The composite was created by Koen van Gorp.
The Sun's "atmosphere" (i.e., its corona, which consists of extremely hot gas with a density less than one billionth that of the earth's atmosphere), scatters light from the Sun in all directions. Since this scattered light is very dim compared to the light emanating directly from the Sun, it is normally difficult, if not impossible, to see the corona. However, the corona becomes visible during a total solar eclipse, when the Sun's disc is covered by the moon and its atmosphere becomes visible as a bright, shimmering ring around the moon. Nonetheless, even during such favorable viewing times, it is difficult to capture - at least, to capture in a single image - the typically 10,000 to 1 range of luminance levels.
To circumvent this diffulty, and as explained at the site, the composite image shown above contains 33 separate digital photographs, that collectively reveal remarkable detail that would otherwise remain invisible. Individual exposure times range from 1/8000 sec to 1/5 sec. The resulting image is, in a word, breathtaking!
This extraordinary image is also a great example of how a purely aesthetic experience may be enhanced (indeed, profoundly intensified!) by appreciating the science on which it rests. To be sure, this image may certainly be appreciated purely on its own terms, without the slightest understanding of what it depicts or how it was created. It is a marvelous "abstract" that any abstract expressionist artist would be proud to call his or her own. But to learn that the image is emphatically not the isolated product of a creative artist (drawing on inner inspiration) - rather, that it is a creative collaboration between artist and nature, in which the artist draws upon science (by using scientific tools to visualize otherwise unseen processes and enhance his/her understanding of natural phenomena) - for me, only transforms an already impressive image into something truly special!
Perhaps the only important difference between those who choose such fields as physics and mathematics as lifelong pursuits, and those who do not, is that those who do are able to see the same kind of resplendent, radiant beauty displayed by this image in the very equations that describe the physics that underlie it. Thankfully though, for those for whom "equations" were more of an anathema in school than a stepping stone toward enlightenment;-), such a deep level of understanding is not needed to appreciate nature's gentle grace, elegance and beauty!
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Kafka's Door
As I completed my list of Ten Epiphanous Photographs, with Josef Sudek's At the Janacek's being the tenth and last selection, I was reminded by Sudek's Kafkaesque-like imagery that I have recently been lucky enough to capture an image that would (I think) do Kafka proud...
The image was taken a few weeks ago at Forest Glen, Maryland, a wonderful "park" that consists of acre-upon-acre of old, abandoned buildings that (dating back to the 1880s) were used, in turn, for a tobacco plantation, a hotel, the Norfolk College for Young Women, a seminary, and, in 1942, an Annex of Walter Reed Army Medical Center.
Today, the estate is essentially a relic, but is soon to be renovated. For photographers (particularly those whose "eye" leans toward the beauty of entropic decay;-) it is a veritable paradise for a weekend safari.
What went through my mind as I encountered this marvelous site (sandwitched atop two buildings on the portion of the estate closest to the main road) was Franz Kafka's parable, "Before the Law" (or, more precisely, what the door in this parable will look like, years and years after the events in the parable have taken place)...
"Before the law sits a gatekeeper. To this gatekeeper comes a man from the country who asks to gain entry into the law. But the gatekeeper says that he cannot grant him entry at the moment. The man thinks about it and then asks if he will be allowed to come in later on. “It is possible,” says the gatekeeper, “but not now.” At the moment the gate to the law stands open, as always, and the gatekeeper walks to the side, so the man bends over in order to see through the gate into the inside. When the gatekeeper notices that, he laughs and says: “If it tempts you so much, try it in spite of my prohibition. But take note: I am powerful. And I am only the most lowly gatekeeper. But from room to room stand gatekeepers, each more powerful than the other. I can’t endure even one glimpse of the third....
...During the many years the man observes the gatekeeper almost continuously. He forgets the other gatekeepers, and this one seems to him the only obstacle for entry into the law...
...Finally his eyesight grows weak, and he does not know whether things are really darker around him or whether his eyes are merely deceiving him. But he recognizes now in the darkness an illumination which breaks inextinguishably out of the gateway to the law...Before his death he gathers in his head all his experiences of the entire time up into one question which he has not yet put to the gatekeeper...
...“Everyone strives after the law,” says the man, “so how is that in these many years no one except me has requested entry?” The gatekeeper sees that the man is already dying and, in order to reach his diminishing sense of hearing, he shouts at him, “Here no one else can gain entry, since this entrance was assigned only to you. I’m going now to close it.”
The viewer certainly doesn't have to (or need to) know what goes through the photographer's mind the instant the shutter is pressed, but it is hard to look at some images in any way other than how the photographer envisioned it after being told what that vision was! I thus present to you, gentle reader and viewer, what can henceforth be seen only as Kafka's Door!
Friday, March 31, 2006
Ten "Epiphanous" Photographs: #10
The tenth (and last) "epiphanous photograph" - in a hand-picked series of photographs as defined in an earlier Blog entry - is...
Epiphanous Photograph #10: Josef Sudek's At the Janaceks (1948)
Josef Sudek (1896-1976) was one of the great photographers of the 20th century, and perhaps the best-known Czechoslovakian photographer. Sudek was already an accomplished amateur photographer when he was called up for combat in WWI, and continued to photograph during his military service. Having lost an arm in the war, Sudek was able to get a free scholarhip for a photography course, from which point his life's course was essentially set.
Like Andre Kertesz, Sudek's photography is subtle, and intensely poetic. Though the works of both artists reflect a deep inner meloncholy, where Kertesz focuses (though not exclusively) on daylight scenes and subject matter than spans his travels, Sudek's images are confined mostly to Prague (indeed, to his own studio!) and are often dark and charged with a palpable mystery; few, if any, of Sudek's images would appear out of place as "illustrations" of a Kafka novel!
Consider my tenth, and final, selection as an "Epiphanous Photograph," Sudek's At the Janaceks. Using the simplest of aesthetic primitives - a chair, a window, light and shadow, and diffused light - it simultaneously evokes mystery (of undefined, hidden, meaning) and intensity (in the tangibly psychological presence of the "life" that pervades this room); a seeming paradox of clarity and ambiguity!
It is precisely because of the ambiguity of visual cues and delicate nature of the image - the hint of a yard and fence outside the window, the subtle suggestion of either a candle or small light bulb as an additional source of room light, the small, but otherwise distinctive "peeks" of furniture and a picture (?) in the corners - that the image is able (as so many of Sudek's photographs are!) to strike such powerful emotional chords in the viewer. In Sudek's hands, the camera (with help from Sudek's artistic eye!), becomes a magical tool to capture, probe, and ask what are ultimately unanswerable questions of the meaning and purpose of everyday life.
Sudek once said of his own work, that...
"...everything around us, dead or alive, in the eyes of a crazy photographer mysteriously takes on many variations, so that a seemingly dead object comes to life through light or by its surroundings....To capture some of this - I suppose that's lyricism."
To which I can only add that - if one spends even one afternoon gently immersed in Sudek's work - one can only conclude that in the eyes of a crazy but preturnaturally gifted artist, no part of the world is ever devoid of life and inner radiance. Although this is surely a basic lesson that all photographers, to one degree or another, teach, an examination of any of Sudek's best works makes this "lesson" almost obvious. I am humbled to know that on those rare days on which I dare call myself a "photographer" I at least share a common vision (if not divine gift of expression) with a true genius by the name of Josef Sudek. There is no question that in the right hands, photography is art.
Indeed, perhaps the shortest answer I can give to the original question that led to my soul-searching selection of ten personally "Epiphanous Photographs" - rephrased to read "How can you demonstrate to a non-photographer the nature of fine art photography and why you are so passionate about it?" - just look at any of the photographs by Josef Sudek! (More of Sudek's work can be seen here (#1) and here (#2).)
Epiphanous Photograph #10: Josef Sudek's At the Janaceks (1948)
Josef Sudek (1896-1976) was one of the great photographers of the 20th century, and perhaps the best-known Czechoslovakian photographer. Sudek was already an accomplished amateur photographer when he was called up for combat in WWI, and continued to photograph during his military service. Having lost an arm in the war, Sudek was able to get a free scholarhip for a photography course, from which point his life's course was essentially set.
Like Andre Kertesz, Sudek's photography is subtle, and intensely poetic. Though the works of both artists reflect a deep inner meloncholy, where Kertesz focuses (though not exclusively) on daylight scenes and subject matter than spans his travels, Sudek's images are confined mostly to Prague (indeed, to his own studio!) and are often dark and charged with a palpable mystery; few, if any, of Sudek's images would appear out of place as "illustrations" of a Kafka novel!
Consider my tenth, and final, selection as an "Epiphanous Photograph," Sudek's At the Janaceks. Using the simplest of aesthetic primitives - a chair, a window, light and shadow, and diffused light - it simultaneously evokes mystery (of undefined, hidden, meaning) and intensity (in the tangibly psychological presence of the "life" that pervades this room); a seeming paradox of clarity and ambiguity!
It is precisely because of the ambiguity of visual cues and delicate nature of the image - the hint of a yard and fence outside the window, the subtle suggestion of either a candle or small light bulb as an additional source of room light, the small, but otherwise distinctive "peeks" of furniture and a picture (?) in the corners - that the image is able (as so many of Sudek's photographs are!) to strike such powerful emotional chords in the viewer. In Sudek's hands, the camera (with help from Sudek's artistic eye!), becomes a magical tool to capture, probe, and ask what are ultimately unanswerable questions of the meaning and purpose of everyday life.
Sudek once said of his own work, that...
"...everything around us, dead or alive, in the eyes of a crazy photographer mysteriously takes on many variations, so that a seemingly dead object comes to life through light or by its surroundings....To capture some of this - I suppose that's lyricism."
To which I can only add that - if one spends even one afternoon gently immersed in Sudek's work - one can only conclude that in the eyes of a crazy but preturnaturally gifted artist, no part of the world is ever devoid of life and inner radiance. Although this is surely a basic lesson that all photographers, to one degree or another, teach, an examination of any of Sudek's best works makes this "lesson" almost obvious. I am humbled to know that on those rare days on which I dare call myself a "photographer" I at least share a common vision (if not divine gift of expression) with a true genius by the name of Josef Sudek. There is no question that in the right hands, photography is art.
Indeed, perhaps the shortest answer I can give to the original question that led to my soul-searching selection of ten personally "Epiphanous Photographs" - rephrased to read "How can you demonstrate to a non-photographer the nature of fine art photography and why you are so passionate about it?" - just look at any of the photographs by Josef Sudek! (More of Sudek's work can be seen here (#1) and here (#2).)
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Ten "Epiphanous" Photographs: #9
The ninth of ten "epiphanous photographs" - a hand-picked series of photographs as defined in an earlier Blog entry - is...
Epiphanous Photograph #9: Aaron Siskind's Jerome (Arizona, 1949)
Aaron Siskind (1903-1991), an American abstract expressionist photographer, began his career on his honeymoon, after receiving a camera as a wedding gift. Originally an English teacher, he later taught photography (with Harry Callahan) at the Institute of Design at the Illinois Institute of Technology in Chicago (from the 1950's into the 1980's). As an artist, he started taking documentary photographs of Harlem in the 1930s when he was a member of the New York Workers' Film and Photo League, but later evolved into a deep abstract impressionist, focusing his attention on cracked walls, peeling paint, fences, and graffiti. His own transition from documentary-style photography, and its strict adherence to the primacy of subject matter, to abstraction, as a conceptual and artistic vehicle for individual expression, marked a general turning point in twentieth-century American photography.
His Jerome, Arizona image is a good example of his unique artistic eye; it is also the very first image by Siskind that I can recall seeing (and being mesmerized by ever since!) While it shares the same basic abstract impressionistic aesthetic space as Weston's Pepper, Minor White's Capitol Reef, and Harry Callahan's Ivy Tentacles on Glass, it (and Siskind's whole general approach) represents a subtle departure from those other photographers.
For Siskind, the flat two-dimensional frame of the picture surface is the sole frame of reference of the photograph. As Siskind describes in an exhibition catalog of his work in 1965,...
"...The experience itself may be described as one of total absorption in the object. But the object serves only a personal need and the requirements of the picture. Thus, rocks are sculpted forms; a section of common decorative iron-work, springing rhythmic shapes; fragments of paper sticking to a wall, a conversation piece. And these forms, totems, masks, figures, images must finally take their place in the tonal field of the picture and strictly conform to their space environment. The obejct has entered the picture, in a sense; it has been photographed directly. But it is often unrecognizable; for it has been removed from its usual context, disassociated from its customary neighbors and forced into new relationships."
Weston, White and Callahan all taught (me) that "ordinary things" may be viewed (and understood) as symbols of abstract "otherness" (and, in White's case, of one's "inner state"); Aaron Siskind has taught me that when the last vestiges of all conventional reference frames are removed from a composition - deliberately, so as to force the viewer to rely on a more primitive language of context-less shapes and tones - a even deeper, ineffable beauty emerges. And Siskind's Jerome, Arizona is another reason I love fine-art photography. (More of Siskind's photographs can be seen here (#1) and here (#2).)
Epiphanous Photograph #9: Aaron Siskind's Jerome (Arizona, 1949)
Aaron Siskind (1903-1991), an American abstract expressionist photographer, began his career on his honeymoon, after receiving a camera as a wedding gift. Originally an English teacher, he later taught photography (with Harry Callahan) at the Institute of Design at the Illinois Institute of Technology in Chicago (from the 1950's into the 1980's). As an artist, he started taking documentary photographs of Harlem in the 1930s when he was a member of the New York Workers' Film and Photo League, but later evolved into a deep abstract impressionist, focusing his attention on cracked walls, peeling paint, fences, and graffiti. His own transition from documentary-style photography, and its strict adherence to the primacy of subject matter, to abstraction, as a conceptual and artistic vehicle for individual expression, marked a general turning point in twentieth-century American photography.
His Jerome, Arizona image is a good example of his unique artistic eye; it is also the very first image by Siskind that I can recall seeing (and being mesmerized by ever since!) While it shares the same basic abstract impressionistic aesthetic space as Weston's Pepper, Minor White's Capitol Reef, and Harry Callahan's Ivy Tentacles on Glass, it (and Siskind's whole general approach) represents a subtle departure from those other photographers.
For Siskind, the flat two-dimensional frame of the picture surface is the sole frame of reference of the photograph. As Siskind describes in an exhibition catalog of his work in 1965,...
"...The experience itself may be described as one of total absorption in the object. But the object serves only a personal need and the requirements of the picture. Thus, rocks are sculpted forms; a section of common decorative iron-work, springing rhythmic shapes; fragments of paper sticking to a wall, a conversation piece. And these forms, totems, masks, figures, images must finally take their place in the tonal field of the picture and strictly conform to their space environment. The obejct has entered the picture, in a sense; it has been photographed directly. But it is often unrecognizable; for it has been removed from its usual context, disassociated from its customary neighbors and forced into new relationships."
Weston, White and Callahan all taught (me) that "ordinary things" may be viewed (and understood) as symbols of abstract "otherness" (and, in White's case, of one's "inner state"); Aaron Siskind has taught me that when the last vestiges of all conventional reference frames are removed from a composition - deliberately, so as to force the viewer to rely on a more primitive language of context-less shapes and tones - a even deeper, ineffable beauty emerges. And Siskind's Jerome, Arizona is another reason I love fine-art photography. (More of Siskind's photographs can be seen here (#1) and here (#2).)
Monday, March 27, 2006
Ten "Epiphanous" Photographs: #8
The eighth of ten "epiphanous photographs" - a hand-picked series of photographs as defined in an earlier Blog entry - is...
Epiphanous Photograph #8: Galen Rowell's Rainbow over the Potala Palace, Lhasa (Tibet, 1981)
Galen Rowell (1940-2002) pioneered "participatory (wilderness) photography," in which the photographer becomes an active creative participant in fine-art image making. An accomplished outdoorsman and adventurer, his deep emotional connection to nature pervades virtually all of his photographs. Another signature characteristic is his vivid use of color during the "magic hour" (at sunrise and sunset); indeed, it is arguably true that Rowell was as much a "master of color" as Ansel Adams was a master of black & white. (It is fitting that he received the Ansel Adams Award for his contributions to the art of wilderness photography in 1984.) The life of this extraordinary artist was cut tragically short in 2002 when the plane carrying Rowell and his wife (Barbara Rowell, herself an accomplished photographer) crashed as they were both returning home from a Workshop in the Sierra Mountains.
Rainbow over the Potala Palace is, according to Rowell himself, one the great photos of his life. I have selected it as one of my own epiphanous photos for two reasons: (1) it is a magnificent Wagnerian-like "epic" photograph, that is jaw-droppingly beautiful as a print and even more so as a symbolic synergy of aesthetics and spiritual meaning, and (2) it is a quintessential example of Rowell's lifelong practice of participatory creation.
According to Rowell (see The Power of Participatory Photography in Inner Game of Outdoor Photography, pages 41-43), this image was captured not long after a trekking group (consisting of about 15 people) that Rowell was a part of in Tibet was called to dinner. A rainbow suddenly appeared in a field below them, though not (from the point of view of the trekkers at that particular moment, as they were all settling down to dinner) in the spot that it appears in Rowell's subsequent photograph.
Rowell, relying on his years of experience with optical phenomena in diverse environments, imagined in his mind's eye the precise spot he must get to from which the rainbow would appear to emanate from the roofs of the Dalai Lama's Potala Palace. Dropping his dinner, and running into the fields as fast as he could to get to where he knew he had to position himself, he managed to capture this incredible photograph.
None of the other trekker/photographers budged an inch; although many later "claimed" to have captured the same image. In fact, none of the other images even came close to having the same drama, with the rainbows in other "versions" (having been captured from obviously wrong angles) either badly missing the Palace or invisible altogether. Only in Rowell's photograph does the rainbow rise majestically out from the Palace. Only Rowell had the forethought, intuition and strength of will to get himself, his camera and his "eye" into the right place at the right time.
Rowell, in his essay (see above), quotes Jacob Bronowski, who finds a similar pattern in the history of scientific creativity: "The mind is roving in a highly charged active way and is looking for connections, for unseen likenesses...It is the highly inquiring mind which at that moment seizes the chance...The world is full of people who are always claiming that they really made the discovery, only they missed it."
Rowell's Rainbow over the Potala Palace taught me that a great natural scene is not always (perhaps even rarely!) enough, by itself, for a fine art photograph. It is not enough to be properly attentive, but then sit patiently, passively, awaiting the right confluence of light, tone, texture and form to present itself; one must imagine the exact space-time-soul point where that magical confluence will arise, and then act swiftly, and decisively, to grab it!
Galen Rowell (1940-2002) pioneered "participatory (wilderness) photography," in which the photographer becomes an active creative participant in fine-art image making. An accomplished outdoorsman and adventurer, his deep emotional connection to nature pervades virtually all of his photographs. Another signature characteristic is his vivid use of color during the "magic hour" (at sunrise and sunset); indeed, it is arguably true that Rowell was as much a "master of color" as Ansel Adams was a master of black & white. (It is fitting that he received the Ansel Adams Award for his contributions to the art of wilderness photography in 1984.) The life of this extraordinary artist was cut tragically short in 2002 when the plane carrying Rowell and his wife (Barbara Rowell, herself an accomplished photographer) crashed as they were both returning home from a Workshop in the Sierra Mountains.
Rainbow over the Potala Palace is, according to Rowell himself, one the great photos of his life. I have selected it as one of my own epiphanous photos for two reasons: (1) it is a magnificent Wagnerian-like "epic" photograph, that is jaw-droppingly beautiful as a print and even more so as a symbolic synergy of aesthetics and spiritual meaning, and (2) it is a quintessential example of Rowell's lifelong practice of participatory creation.
According to Rowell (see The Power of Participatory Photography in Inner Game of Outdoor Photography, pages 41-43), this image was captured not long after a trekking group (consisting of about 15 people) that Rowell was a part of in Tibet was called to dinner. A rainbow suddenly appeared in a field below them, though not (from the point of view of the trekkers at that particular moment, as they were all settling down to dinner) in the spot that it appears in Rowell's subsequent photograph.
Rowell, relying on his years of experience with optical phenomena in diverse environments, imagined in his mind's eye the precise spot he must get to from which the rainbow would appear to emanate from the roofs of the Dalai Lama's Potala Palace. Dropping his dinner, and running into the fields as fast as he could to get to where he knew he had to position himself, he managed to capture this incredible photograph.
None of the other trekker/photographers budged an inch; although many later "claimed" to have captured the same image. In fact, none of the other images even came close to having the same drama, with the rainbows in other "versions" (having been captured from obviously wrong angles) either badly missing the Palace or invisible altogether. Only in Rowell's photograph does the rainbow rise majestically out from the Palace. Only Rowell had the forethought, intuition and strength of will to get himself, his camera and his "eye" into the right place at the right time.
Rowell, in his essay (see above), quotes Jacob Bronowski, who finds a similar pattern in the history of scientific creativity: "The mind is roving in a highly charged active way and is looking for connections, for unseen likenesses...It is the highly inquiring mind which at that moment seizes the chance...The world is full of people who are always claiming that they really made the discovery, only they missed it."
Rowell's Rainbow over the Potala Palace taught me that a great natural scene is not always (perhaps even rarely!) enough, by itself, for a fine art photograph. It is not enough to be properly attentive, but then sit patiently, passively, awaiting the right confluence of light, tone, texture and form to present itself; one must imagine the exact space-time-soul point where that magical confluence will arise, and then act swiftly, and decisively, to grab it!
Friday, March 17, 2006
Ten "Epiphanous" Photographs: #7
The seventh of ten "epiphanous photographs" - a hand-picked series of photographs as defined in an earlier Blog entry - is...
Epiphanous Photograph #7: Bruce Barnbaum's Circular Chimney, Antelope Canyon
Bruce Barnbaum, as he reveals on his website, entered photography as a hobbyist in the 1960s; he is still at it today, though his "hobby" has turned into a life's work. His photographs typically contain ambiguities of scale and perspective, inviting the viewer to actively participate in the recursive creative process.
Earning Bachelor's and Master's degrees in mathematics from UCLA in 1965 and 1967, and spending a few years working as a mathematical analyst and computer programmer, Barnbaum quit the field and turned to photography full-time in 1970 (though his "eye" retained much of his mathematical training; the importance of which I can attest to as well, speaking as both photographer and physicist). Bruce Barnbaum is widely regarded as one of the world's finest living photographic craftsmen and darkroom printers.
I confess that my seventh "epiphanous" image, Barnbaum's Circular Chimney, proved to be a particularly hard choice to make, because it is, in truth, but one example of an entire gallery of exquisite Slit canyon photographs, any one of which most photographers would be proud to call their own masterpiece!.
It is also but one of the many spectacular photographs my eyes first fell on in 1987 as I was slowly (in rapturous awe really!) thumbing through my then newly purchased copy of Barnbaum's first book, Visual Symphony. The book is organized into four movements - The Landscape; The Cathedrals of England; Urban Geometrics; and The Slit Canyons - and contains images that are so beautfully composed and exquisitely toned and rendered, that (certainly up until that point in time) I had never seen anything approaching that standard. This book remains as one of the most remarkable collections of photographs ever to grace the covers of a book.
While Barnbaum is not the first photographer to photograph within the often claustrophobic confines of Arizona's slit canyons (nor the first to cast an artistic "eye" on the sanctified spaces of Cathedrals), he was the first to elevate their light and form into fine art. What is even more remarkable, is that in this one book (now, sadly, long out of print and unavailable) - Barnbaum does the same for each of his chosen subjects. Matching (maybe surpassing) Weston's compositions for clarity and purity of expression, and with tonal ranges that sometimes exceed Adams' finest efforts, Barnbaum's photos reveal an almost supernaturally transcendent beauty no one had imagined lurked beneath the surface of canyon walls, cathedral pillars, architectural forms and landscapes.
To be sure, photography generally works best, as an art form, whenever it reveals the hidden beauty of nature; and there are many gifted artists who manage to do this time and again. But what Barnbaum's photography revealed to me back in 1987 (a lesson I have carried with me ever since), is that there are even greater depths of aesthetic, even spiritual, beauty to be plumbed in what otherwise, and to others, may appear to be "old themes" and "tired" cliches.
When I first saw Barnbaum's Circular Chimney, I could not help but feel that I was somehow looking directly at the face of God; it was that powerful, as a photograph, and as a visual, and spiritual exprience. I learned that photography, if practiced in a dedicated, empassioned soulful manner, can indeed elevate the utterly mundane (rocks and light) to the highest planes of spiritual understanding, and communication (as art).
The possibility of this magical transformation from the ordinary to ethereal is what drives much of my own photography, and is another reason why I love fine art photography.
Bruce Barnbaum, as he reveals on his website, entered photography as a hobbyist in the 1960s; he is still at it today, though his "hobby" has turned into a life's work. His photographs typically contain ambiguities of scale and perspective, inviting the viewer to actively participate in the recursive creative process.
Earning Bachelor's and Master's degrees in mathematics from UCLA in 1965 and 1967, and spending a few years working as a mathematical analyst and computer programmer, Barnbaum quit the field and turned to photography full-time in 1970 (though his "eye" retained much of his mathematical training; the importance of which I can attest to as well, speaking as both photographer and physicist). Bruce Barnbaum is widely regarded as one of the world's finest living photographic craftsmen and darkroom printers.
I confess that my seventh "epiphanous" image, Barnbaum's Circular Chimney, proved to be a particularly hard choice to make, because it is, in truth, but one example of an entire gallery of exquisite Slit canyon photographs, any one of which most photographers would be proud to call their own masterpiece!.
It is also but one of the many spectacular photographs my eyes first fell on in 1987 as I was slowly (in rapturous awe really!) thumbing through my then newly purchased copy of Barnbaum's first book, Visual Symphony. The book is organized into four movements - The Landscape; The Cathedrals of England; Urban Geometrics; and The Slit Canyons - and contains images that are so beautfully composed and exquisitely toned and rendered, that (certainly up until that point in time) I had never seen anything approaching that standard. This book remains as one of the most remarkable collections of photographs ever to grace the covers of a book.
While Barnbaum is not the first photographer to photograph within the often claustrophobic confines of Arizona's slit canyons (nor the first to cast an artistic "eye" on the sanctified spaces of Cathedrals), he was the first to elevate their light and form into fine art. What is even more remarkable, is that in this one book (now, sadly, long out of print and unavailable) - Barnbaum does the same for each of his chosen subjects. Matching (maybe surpassing) Weston's compositions for clarity and purity of expression, and with tonal ranges that sometimes exceed Adams' finest efforts, Barnbaum's photos reveal an almost supernaturally transcendent beauty no one had imagined lurked beneath the surface of canyon walls, cathedral pillars, architectural forms and landscapes.
To be sure, photography generally works best, as an art form, whenever it reveals the hidden beauty of nature; and there are many gifted artists who manage to do this time and again. But what Barnbaum's photography revealed to me back in 1987 (a lesson I have carried with me ever since), is that there are even greater depths of aesthetic, even spiritual, beauty to be plumbed in what otherwise, and to others, may appear to be "old themes" and "tired" cliches.
When I first saw Barnbaum's Circular Chimney, I could not help but feel that I was somehow looking directly at the face of God; it was that powerful, as a photograph, and as a visual, and spiritual exprience. I learned that photography, if practiced in a dedicated, empassioned soulful manner, can indeed elevate the utterly mundane (rocks and light) to the highest planes of spiritual understanding, and communication (as art).
The possibility of this magical transformation from the ordinary to ethereal is what drives much of my own photography, and is another reason why I love fine art photography.
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