But my point in bring up the practice of contemplation is that (at least for me) one does not spend enough time with work prints, making variations and pinning them to the wall, studying them and coming back to them after some time and determining what to do to make the best print for one's satisfaction.
That's what a few artists I know do. They 'live' with their photographs for quite some time before they materialize in a finished form.
It allows for sometimes long periods of observation, seeing what might be working or not, speculating changes and possible improvements.
To oversimplify, I'd say the main difference is that photographers are looking outward while painters are looking inward. And the questions asked, be it to the print or to the painting, are quite different. To the painting the painter asks "Are you true to what I feel, to what I am, to my imagination?" while to the print the photographer asks "Are you true to what I saw, to what I felt when I saw what I saw?".
Work for each isn't done in the same timeline or time-frame. As you mentioned, for the photographer, contemplation comes before clicking the shutter. And "contemplation" doesn't need to be slow, submitted to a "long period of observation". For the photographer, who deals with moments which can be as much hours as instants, contemplation — let's get into Zen territory while we're at it— means awareness. Means being present to the here and the now, and looking. Yes, there are times, especially in landscape photography, when you have to wait for the moment — the right light, the wind to stop, someone to move out of the frame, a cloud to be in the right spot —, but that, to me, has little to do with contemplation: the thing to capture has already been seen, the decision to click the shutter has already been taken, the time just isn't quite now.
After that, the work on the print becomes one of both correspondance and interpretation. But between a print and a painting the things that can be changed are totally different. The painter can change just about everything in his painting, immensely affecting its mood, its tone, its rhythm, how it is felt, how it is received, etc. In a way, until he's finished, he's working with a canvas as blank as it was before he started applying his brush to it. He's only limited by his imagination. And for him, meaning is reached at completion.
Not so with the photographer facing the print. He is limited by the many choices he's already made, by his darkroom technique, by the limits of the medium. And for him, meaning was reached at the moment he clicked the shutter, at the moment he said "This — what I see — is important to me, means something to me."
Not saying one shouldn't look carefully and at length at one's work, that one should not come back to one's print and see what can be changed or improved. On the contrary. But I've always felt that one of the things that is wonderful about photography is that you can abandon your work for a while after working hard on it, that you can let it sit somewhere, be it in a drawer or on your wall, and one day, after weeks, months or years of forgetting about it, come back to it and naturally approach it differently because one's technique has evolved, as well as one's vision.
The one moment where I can really see contemplation necessary is when working on sequencing for a book, pinning your prints on the wall and taking a step back to see what kind of story your sequence tells.
For me printing is a skill acquired over many years and I have to think about what I'm doing. But the taking of the image is often completely devoid of thought. Total relaxation without any angst. I am merely an earthling who presses the shutter. An act that I find difficult to explain.let's get into Zen territory while we're at it— means awareness. Means being present to the here and the now, and looking.
For me, the inital exposure is only the raw material for my art and is up for interpretation in the darkroom
After that, the work on the print becomes one of both correspondance and interpretation.
I pin prints to the wall and live with them for a while...annoyances emerge with time.
The biggest hurdle is consistency between printing sessions where exposure and developing variations can mess with intentions. Once exposures are controlled with stabilization or compensating metronomes, and developing times are adjusted for temperature variations, that still leaves developer freshness/fatigue.
I came up with a developer suited to my images and a way of using factorial development where prints would be identical between printing sessions, even if they were made weeks apart and developed in new or months old developer:
12/15 Developer
I loved the look of Ansco 120 developer, and felt Ansco 130 had too much snap and sizzle for my images, but wanted the depth, richness, and keeping qualities of Glycin...so I came up with what I call; --------------------------12/15 Developer...www.photrio.com
A benefit of a glycin print developer is that darks get proportionally darker (while hardly touching high values at all) as development times are extended past a normal developing time.I find that using f-stop timing and rudimentary notes, I can pretty much get consistent results. I always develop to (maybe past) completion--3 minutes--and have not seen noticeable variations printing between 16-22ºC.
For me printing is a skill acquired over many years and I have to think about what I'm doing. But the taking of the image is often completely devoid of thought. Total relaxation without any angst. I am merely an earthling who presses the shutter. An act that I find difficult to explain.
I wrote this in another thread on one's mental state while photographing:
Henry Cartier-Bresson talked often about how enlightening the book Zen in the Art of Archery by Herrigel was for him, and should be for photographers. Here's an excerpt from a 1974 interview:
For me, to be yourself is to be outside yourself. It's like what Herrigel describes: we reach ourselves by aiming at the target—the outside world... This book, by Herrigel, which I discovered a few years ago, seems to me fundamental to our profession as photographers. Matisse wrote similarly about drawing: set a discipline, make rigor a rule, forget oneself completely. And in photography the attitude must be the same: detach onself, do not try to prove anything at all. My sense of freedom is the same: a frame that allows any variation. This is the basis of Zen Buddhism, the evidence: that you go in with great force and then you succeed in forgetting yourself.
Your mental state is key to a successful photography career, says Canon research
Your mental state is key to a successful photography career, says Canon research https://www.digitalcameraworld.com/news/your-mental-state-is-the-key-to-a-successful-photography-career-says-canon-research Won't say anything about the article. Curious to read how people will respond to it.www.photrio.com
There's a good point to here. Too much thinking can lead to too little doing...might that be the reason why your contemplating chair is only half-upholstered?I'm forever in the shed sitting in my contemplating chair thinking what to do. Maybe better if I did more and contemplated less.
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Thanks for those ideas. I also find taking a digital picture very helpful when doing a painting! There's something about seeing it smaller and on a screen that just makes the flaws very obvious.Using a digital camera or cell phone, to take images to further examine will help you decide what's right or wrong.
To oversimplify, I'd say the main difference is that photographers are looking outward while painters are looking inward. And the questions asked, be it to the print or to the painting, are quite different. To the painting the painter asks "Are you true to what I feel, to what I am, to my imagination?" while to the print the photographer asks "Are you true to what I saw, to what I felt when I saw what I saw?".
Work for each isn't done in the same timeline or time-frame. As you mentioned, for the photographer, contemplation comes before clicking the shutter. And "contemplation" doesn't need to be slow, submitted to a "long period of observation". For the photographer, who deals with moments which can be as much hours as instants, contemplation — let's get into Zen territory while we're at it— means awareness. Means being present to the here and the now, and looking. Yes, there are times, especially in landscape photography, when you have to wait for the moment — the right light, the wind to stop, someone to move out of the frame, a cloud to be in the right spot —, but that, to me, has little to do with contemplation: the thing to capture has already been seen, the decision to click the shutter has already been taken, the time just isn't quite now.
After that, the work on the print becomes one of both correspondance and interpretation. But between a print and a painting the things that can be changed are totally different. The painter can change just about everything in his painting, immensely affecting its mood, its tone, its rhythm, how it is felt, how it is received, etc. In a way, until he's finished, he's working with a canvas as blank as it was before he started applying his brush to it. He's only limited by his imagination. And for him, meaning is reached at completion.
Not so with the photographer facing the print. He is limited by the many choices he's already made, by his darkroom technique, by the limits of the medium. And for him, meaning was reached at the moment he clicked the shutter, at the moment he said "This — what I see — is important to me, means something to me."
Not saying one shouldn't look carefully and at length at one's work, that one should not come back to one's print and see what can be changed or improved. On the contrary. But I've always felt that one of the things that is wonderful about photography is that you can abandon your work for a while after working hard on it, that you can let it sit somewhere, be it in a drawer or on your wall, and one day, after weeks, months or years of forgetting about it, come back to it and naturally approach it differently because one's technique has evolved, as well as one's vision.
The one moment where I can really see contemplation necessary is when working on sequencing for a book, pinning your prints on the wall and taking a step back to see what kind of story your sequence tells.
True, painting and other graphic arts do not necessarily as restricted as photography. On the other hand only so much can be done to a watercolor painting, an etching or lithograph. The one point I will disagree with is "Are you true to what I saw, to what I felt when I saw what I saw?" For me, the inital exposure is only the raw material for my art and is up for interpretation in the darkroom, having been detached from what I may have seen or felt at the moment of exposure.
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