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Then there is the deeper aesthetico-philosophical question: if the film/developer combination sees the world differently than the eye does, how do we, in turn, looking at the result (be it on paper or on a screen), view the world differently?
This is one of the purposes of my photographic work...to learn to see the world, not differently than an eye sees, but through how the brain responds to the light the eyes receive. Just a slight semantic shift. But there was a major mental movement when I realized the simple fact that I was photographing light as my subject.
This lead me to the one camera - one lens - one developing/printing scheme for a long time.
In his latest book of essays, Modern Instances, Stephen Shore brings up something I find very interesting. Here's the quote (emphasis mine):
"When I was fourteen, I began developing film by inspection. This means looking at film for a fraction of a second under a very dark green safelight while it's developing. It means learning what partially and fully developed film should look like under those conditions. I learned to literally see, when taking pictures, not just in black and white, but like the film/developer/paper combination I was using. Later, when I began working in color, I had also to learn to see like the film and paper. I understood that making a color photograph entailed not seeing the colors and quality of light that my eyes see, but the exact colors and quality of light that the particular film sees. In 1973, the only color negative sheet film available was Kodak Ektacolor. In 1976, Kodak replaced it with Vericolor. I had to learn a new palette and my work changed because of it. I think I was able to make this transition as quickly as I did because more than a decade earlier I had learned to see like Tri-X developed in Microdol-X and printed on Varigam."
I find this passage endlessly fascinating, and there would be much to comment. It is, amongst other things, one of the best definitions I've read regarding what it is to see the world—or rather, to think your vision of the world—as a photographer. It's also a great way to think about, at least in its most general and essential meaning, what is often described as "visualisation" or "pre-visualisation".
"I had to learn a new palette and my work changed because of it" is also an interesting departure point for reflection, in the idea that we adapt not only our technique but also our vision to the tools at our disposal. It may seem counterintuitive, as many think they change their work by personal choice and intent, not because the tools propelled them to. It also leads me back to recent and on-going threads about grain (I won't go back into that rabbit hole here, not the point) and about developers, as well as to some advice I've gotten here a while back, to try and stick to a film/developer combination until you "learn its palette" (to borrow from shore) rather than keeping "experimenting".
Then there is the deeper aesthetico-philosophical question: if the film/developer combination sees the world differently than the eye does, how do we, in turn, looking at the result (be it on paper or on a screen), view the world differently?
but for sure with different aspect ratios I see differently.
The capabilities and characteristics of the materials are integral to that process. But I wonder if they are more integral to the very focused and purposeful work of someone like Stephen Shore, then they are of someone like me
This is certainly an important part of what Shore is talking about. I've experienced it quite often in 120, going from the square format to 6x7. But as I've been struggling with the square recently, and after reading your comment as well as pondering over the Stephen Shore quote, I'm starting to think that, for me at least, it's less a question of me seeing (or looking?) differently when changing formats, but rather not having taken the time to learn to see how the square format sees differently.
The difference—one looking differently with a different camera vs one seeing as the camera sees—is subtle, and probably akin to some to trying to figure out the sex of angels, but I find it worth looking into (pun intended).
I does remind me that I only recently noticed that in one of Robert Adams' books in his Denver series (can't remember which), all the interior shots are in 6x6 and all the exterior shots are what seems to be 6x7 (or maybe 4x5). At first, I thought it was just a matter of convenience, i.e., the Rolleiflex being easier to carry indoors than the other format, but there might be something more to it.
The Fan Ho is magnificent. As a photo book collector, I've been wanting to have one of his in my shelves for a while.
I think seeing with aspect ratio is probably easier than seeing with film and paper in mind, because the camera gives you a literal window to look through in a certain aspect ratio, and you can quickly adjust to it as needed.
But there was a major mental movement when I realized the simple fact that I was photographing light as my subject.
"I learned to literally see, when taking pictures, not just in black and white, but like the film/developer/paper combination I was using."
in terms of a mastery of tools and material, it is an apt description of what everyone experiences once they have picked up a real ability to use a tool on a material. That is, what he's talking about had more to do with a practice than anything conceptual or theoretical.
@Vaughn : I've read this from you a couple of times in here. I'm curious: did this come suddenly, as a sort of epiphany, during an photographic outing—looking at a subject with the sudden realization that you are actually looking at light—, or is it the fruit of a longer, reflective process?
One of the moments of realization was while printing a 4x5 negative (making a 16x20). The scene was a close-up of diffused light falling on a bush. Before I started printing the image, it was just a bush with some nice light on it..by the end of the printing session it was an image of ther light reflecting off a bush. It was the realization that when I walk under the redwoods for hours with the cameras, I am looking at pools of light creating their own forms in the landscape -- and when I was composing in my mind and on the GG, it was these forms that were driving the composition...not just the features (redwoods, streams, etc) reflecting the light.
So it was a realization of what I was doing all along (what I like to call a delayed intelligence) -- rather than a decision to start photographing a certain way.
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