Against the "Good Image" in Favor of Personal Vision

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The Problem with Archetypes

A specter is haunting landscape photography - the specter of Ansel Adams.

- Marx & Engels, probably

Bad variations on The Communist Manifesto aside I want to take some time in this piece to deal with an approach to image making that I find to be alarmingly prevalent as well as what I take to be the problematic aspects of it (or at least it should feel problematic if you care about anything but copy and paste photography).

The approach that I’m talking about is the kind of formulaic approach that seems to be especially prevalent among landscape photographers. You know what I mean, or if you don’t then start paying attention for the following and you’ll start to see it: So much of the landscape photography milieu seems to approach the process of image making the way one might go about building a house. One begins with a blueprint, and then sets about constructing a house on the basis of the framework outlined by the blueprint. A good photograph just becomes that photograph which most closely approximates the “blueprint.”

The blueprint here is what I will call the archetype. More concretely there is an archetype containing the ideal set of properties which comprise the “good landscape image.” This archetype covers everything from subject matter, to lighting, to compositional elements and beyond. All the would-be landscape photographer has to do is assemble their image following the steps delineated by the archetype, and just like that one has themselves a “nice photograph.” These archetypes are largely the collective aesthetic(s) established by the “past masters” of landscape photography. This is also what I mean to imply by the specter of Ansel Adams (to be fair one could substitute Michael Kenna, David Muench, et al to make the same point).

The problematic part of this approach, at least for me personally (a lot of people seem totally happy with this copy and paste approach as far as I can tell), is that these images are more often than not entirely empty as anything other than a recapitulation of the same basic archetype. Have you ever wondered why so much landscape work looks like it could have all been made by some small handful of people? This formulaic approach/the archetype is what leads to the monstrous cliche that is most landscape work. Everyone ends up making the same image because they are all working off the same basic archetype that informs their decisions about what makes a “good image.”

Even more troublesome than this is the fact that this recreation of the archetypal landscape image too often becomes the end in itself. The point of making photographs becomes, well, to make “good photographs,” as defined by the archetypes! Photographs as the end in itself. Rather than any compelling engagement with the subject matter (which many of the greats actually did) and the subsequent creation of genuinely meaningful work that comes from that meaningful engagement with one’s subject matter, we enter a realm in which the sole aim of photography becomes the empty repetition of these archetypes. We are inundated with images which, while certainly technically proficient, say nothing. And this is the deeper problem with the tyranny of the “nice photograph.” It empties photography of its meaningful potential, obliterates the capacity to do meaningful work.

Archetypes: A Personal Story

In the interest of not coming off as completely arrogant and condescending I do want to make it clear that this issue is something that I myself have struggled with off and on over the years, even as recently as, well, currently.

The earliest instances of my own personal struggles with this issue date back to my very first forays into photography. I, like most people that are just picking up a camera and thinking about taking photography seriously, often felt overwhelmed by all the creative decisions surrounding the kind of images I was going to make. I knew that photographing nature was important to me. So I naturally began digesting all of the landscape work that I could find on sites like Flickr, 500px, Instagram, even YouTube, looking for work that I found appealing, inspiring, etc..

And indeed perusing all of this work certainly gave me a kind of aesthetic foothold and helped me have a better idea of the kind of images that I would work on making. And so I did just that. And this “aesthetic foothold” gave me a target to work toward in order to hone my skills and grow as a photographer. But as I kept working it wasn’t too terribly long before I began to feel that something was amiss. To me it began to feel that there wasn’t really anything deeper to the images that I was making outside the project of making images that fit this arbitrary archetype of what I had taken to be a “good landscape image.” They may have been nice photographs but they were essentially meaningless copies of an abstract ideal, devoid of any deeper meaning.

Upon this realization there were two options. I could stay the course or radically rethink my approach to making photographs. Staying the course felt entirely too inauthentic to me, and I chose to really step back and think about my work in a deeper way. To think about what it really was that I wanted to say and do with my images and work on saying and doing those very things in my photographs rather than just repeating the same empty archetypes. To forge and express my own personal vision rather than the visions set for me by received aesthetics. This realization and the following changes that came about because of it have been some of the biggest breakthroughs that I have had in my time making photos.

So, What of Archetypes, then?

In conclusion I do think there is a place for this archetype approach. It’s just that I personally think the reliance on archetypes should serve a pedagogical function for new photographers as they learn to perfect their technical skills and get a feel for their own personal aesthetic. The archetype gives the new photographer a target to aim at before they have begun to tackle these larger issues for themselves. But they should ultimately be left behind in time as one grows as an artist, the way one eventually stops having to consult recipes when making their favorite meal. To cling to them rather than letting them go as you explore your own personal approach is only to place a limit on your own potential growth. The point from this essay to integrate into your practice is this: Do not repeat archetypes, create your own.

Why Monochrome? On Ansel and Black and White

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In a semi-recent interview with Adrian, aka @aows of Instagram fame, I was asked the following question:

You are a B&W photographer, even though you share some color on your Instagram every once in a while. Why Monochrome?

While my initial response to the question, which can be read in the original interview here, was good as a very brief overview of some of my main thoughts on the matter I would like to take some more time here to expand on some of my answers, in large part through a case study of Ansel Adams’ work followed by some brief conclusions.

Ansel Adams: A Study in (Great) Black and White Photography

As I stated in the interview, black and white imagery has always been a deeply beautiful medium to me. Some of my earliest memories of being struck by certain images relate to my encounters with some of Ansel Adams’ work as a kid (a cliche story, I am aware). But, cliches aside, images like Clearing Winter Storm, Snake River Overlook and others definitely had a lasting impact on me. And in large part my tendency toward working in black and white probably owes much to these formative experiences which instilled such a love and respect for black and white as a medium.

More to the point here, there is something about Adams’ presentation of the monochrome landscape (and the presentation of the landscape in good black and white work in general) which I think changes our modes of experience in very interesting ways. In Adams’ black and white work we are shown a view of the world which is both familiar and yet different for reasons which can be difficult to pin down. The absence of color seems at first blush to be a small difference. But the impact of this subtle difference is visceral and contains some of the deepest import of black and white as a photographic medium. .

Cathedral Rocks, Yosemite, 1949 - Ansel Adams

Over the years I have spent time dabbling in both color and black and white, and over those years of experimenting with and reflecting on both mediums I have slowly come to some more solid conclusions on those difficult to pin down qualities of black and white presentations of the world. The short answer, stated both in the interview and above, is that black and white allows us to present as artists, and experience as viewers, the world in ways which are more difficult if not impossible within the familiar medium of color. At the risk of being overly simplistic, a monochromatic presentation, by the simple removal of color, opens up a space for a different encounter with the world.

To expand on this point, Adams’ above image of Cathedral Rocks in Yosemite would most certainly be a stunningly beautiful scene in color. But in Adams’ monochrome presentations we are thrust into that interstitial realm between the familiar and the unfamiliar. We behold the landscape in a way which we have and cannot ever experience outside the medium of the black and white image. By throwing us into that realm between the familiar and unfamiliar we are called to reconsider, to re-encounter our once-familiar world. The monochrome landscape calls not simply to be experienced as a picturesque color scene might, but to be considered, contemplated, encountered in a deeper manner.

I think this aspect becomes especially clear when one views Adams’ color work, and the necessary contrast that one feels between it and his black and white work. While Adams’ color work still comprises a beautiful body of work, there is a clear experiential difference between much of his color work and his black and white work. Adams’ color work, while still strikingly beautiful imagery, does not seem to elicit the same kind of response. Perhaps, as I would postulate, this is because it does not offer us that window into the unfamiliar that black and white imagery does so well. The world “in living color,” so to speak, is too close to the world of our everyday familiarity to spark within us that encounter with the unfamiliar that motivates that deeper engagement that was spoken of above. Put another way, one does not contemplate that meaning of the landscape in a color image. But one would be hard pressed not to in a monochrome image.

An example of Adams’ color work

Conclusion

The point here in highlighting Adams’ work, as noted above, is that I think it functions well as a case study on those particular qualities of great black and white images, and consequently such a study is a helpful guide in the search for an answer to the question, “Why monochrome?” Or, in this case, serves as a helpful avenue to expand on some of the answers I have given to this question in the past.

And in reality this treatment of the question “Why monochrome?” is not markedly different from what I initially put forward in my original interview with Adrian, but it was never supposed to be. The same key point remains: through the medium of black and white we are able to present the world in ways which push our experience into the realm of the unfamiliar. And in so doing we create a space for a kind of experience which has the effect of moving us to think or see differently about subject matter being presented to us.

In my own work such a quality is deeply important. As I stated in my short piece, Why Photography?, the moving force behind much of my work stems from my attempts to “…express, as well as I can, a certain kind of spiritual, religious, or mystical experience.” While such a goal can certainly be achieved within the medium of color, the capacity of black and white to open up that space wherein people can enter into these quasi religious kinds of encounters with the landscape is one that is especially important to me. That, for me, is the answer to “Why monochrome?”

Square Photography: On Shaking Things Up

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I’d like to take some time in this post to reflect on some practical benefits of shaking things up. In this instance I want to talk a bit about my experience shooting square format images and some of the primary benefits that I have personally seen from the shift to shooting exclusively square format images for a short period of time. It is also my hope that perhaps similar practices might work for shaking up your own photographic processes and lead to growth as they have for me.

As some brief background: I have always had something of a love-hate relationship with square format. On the one hand, I have always had an immense respect for well done square images. There is a certain balance and elegance to a well composed image in a square frame. In addition to this there is, to me, a certain kind of contemplativeness to the medium. Well done square images almost call to be considered, as a work of art should be. For example, I have always admired the work of Michael Kenna for these features (among others), not to mention a number of other primarily square format shooters who do beautiful work with the format that I have enjoyed following over the years. So this fondness for the medium has always informed the “love” side of the relationship.

But on the other hand the square frame has always felt like my Achilles’ heel when it comes to the various image formats. It seemed that no matter how many times I tried to head out with the explicit goal of making square images the resulting work always felt like some of my weakest. Every time I tried to make a photograph and fit it inside a square frame the result just felt weak, awkward, etc.. As a result I would usually end up switching back to shooting rectangles after what felt like a few failed frames and that would be the end of that, my frustration (or hate depending on the day) with the medium freshened.

And so there has always been this tension between my love of well executed work in the format and my frustration with my own (many!) failed attempts to work within it. I think it was ultimately this tension that motivated me to spend the month of August 2018 forcing myself to shoot only square images. I figured that the only way I was going to learn how to work with the format would be by limiting myself exclusively to it. This way I could no longer fail a few times, become frustrated, and fall back into what was comfortable by shooting more rectangles.

To my own surprise I did find that after several outings forcing myself to work exclusively with the format I slowly began to start assembling some square format work that I no longer felt were total failures. I actually began to feel that my square work was some of the strongest work I had been able to produce in a while, another surprise!

After some recent reflection on this I think that the largest reason for this change in the strength of my images had to do with the fact that switching from a rectangular format to square format forced me to rethink many of my decisions/habits/etc as I went about assembling images. Shooting square, I had to think much more carefully about my compositional choices for the first time in a while (I am a bit ashamed to admit this). But this more careful or thoughtful approach that I had to focus on as a way to try and hone my aptitude with the medium was what led to growth in my skills and ultimately to stronger images.

After a month or so of square shooting I did ultimately go back to shooting my usual format(s), but the more thoughtful approach to composition was something that I found I had kept with me. Granted, I ultimately shot square format because it was a medium that I felt I was weak in and wanted to work to hone my skills in a medium that I respected. But nevertheless this shift in my standard process had the effect of shaking things up and leading to some positive benefits.

And this is the real importance that I want to point to in “shaking things up.” The practice of changing up our approach to making images, in this case by forcing ourselves into a practice that is markedly different from our usual approach, is a good way of shocking the system, so to speak. These “shocks to the system” are beneficial. They force us to rethink our approaches in ways that can lead us to growth. For me it was shooting squares and being forced to confront challenges of composition, building skills that I was able to then take into the rest of my work.

Whatever way you may decide to shake up your own workflow, I think it is certainly a valuable exercise that should be considered if you are looking to grow as a photographer.