The Call: S’mores — Jessica

Bear with me here, as I attempt to tease out something from the jumbled mass of thoughts running through my head.

I was listening to a podcast by the Circe Institute when Andrew Kern mentioned how Robert Frost thought that all art was a gathering of metaphors. Kern was speaking specifically about literature, but my mind immediately jumped to the visual. Hmm, I thought. There is something very interesting there. Since I didn’t want to transcribe the podcast, I found a similar bit that had been posted on the CI’s blog:

For Frost, metaphor was everything. It is the heart of poetry, he believed; but, more than, it’s heart of all thinking. Not only did metaphor allow his poetry “to talk”, as he wished it to, but metaphor also was central to his dualistic aesthetic philosophy. He believed that “the height of poetry, the height of all thinking, the height of all poetic thinking,” was in “that attempt to say matter in terms of spirit and spirt in terms of matter.” He believed that is is the job of the artist to provide “gathering metaphors” by which the universe can be understood.

So the question now becomes, how does a visual artist “gather metaphors?”

The picture above is from a scout campout this past weekend. The metaphor I was working on was “light in the darkness” and the s’mores being that “light” after a long day of activities, dinner prep/clean-up, and hikes. Now, there is kind of a mismatch between the two; s’mores are certainly not as serious as that metaphor so in many aspects I think it fails as a gathered metaphor — it certainly doesn’t help us understand the universe! Then again, I wasn’t really attempting that here — just trying to show how excited the girls were about the treats after a long and tiring day.

Now, in terms of how to make a metaphor visual, I’m hoping that Adam Marelli can help me. I know I’ve linked to his work before, but it may have been on my (stalled out) personal blog. I have learned so much about composition and formal design structure his website. Wonder around his site and see if something doesn’t speak to you too. I really have enjoyed his work on Henri Cartier-Bresson, the surrealists, and a recent lecture at the B & H store in NYC.

Finally, I know we talked about both doing a shot based on the same poem. The Frost poem that I linked to on Circe’s blog would be an interesting one and I think it would match the “Metaphor” call very well too. What do you think, Cheryl?

The Second Response: Take Off — Jessica

I didn’t want this topic to end without getting in one more post.

What moves a photo beyond a snapshot? It’s the depth of thought that went into making it. I know, Cheryl, that we have talked before about how we work out the photograph in our minds and I don’t mean to say that unless you have the photo planned out before you pick up the camera that it isn’t anything more than a snapshot. Luck certainly plays a part in all of this too: capturing the right gesture, the right expression with the best composition, etc. But it’s the thought that has us dancing around the subject (literally or in our mind) and thinking through the impact that each choice we make (aperture, placement, focal length) has on the final product and meaning it will have for our viewers.

It takes a great deal of depth of knowledge to do that each time we pick up a camera. Technical, artistic and cultural knowledge all combine in an almost intuitive way as we click away and move closer to what we are trying to say or share.

The First Response: Enter Batman — Jessica

I had bit of a revelation last week at the library. Again. This time I was flipping through a book of portraits of people from exotic foreign lands during the 1920s and 1930s. I thought the photos were interesting and so I was trying to deconstruct them. Why were they interesting? What was catching my attention? It certainly wasn’t the poses of the people. They were, almost all of them, facing the camera straight on, in a very conventional pose — unblinking, unsmiling.

So what was the draw? It was the sheer exotic-ness. The Iraqi marsh dwellers, the Egyptian herders, their clothes, their habitat — that’s what drew me in.

And then I thought about the trove of old family pictures that I have on CD. Pictures of fancy dress Washington birthday parties from the 1900s and family portraits from the 1880s — it was the same fascination with them. Its almost an archaeological interest. Looking at all the details of the things that surround them and how similar and how different they are from me. Here. Now.

And finally, I realized who my audience is. It’s not just friends and family and nice by-passers on the photo internets…it’s my future family. The grandchildren and great-grandchildren that will look at my photos of their parents and grandparents and savor and wonder over every detail. Which means that I should probably add a lot more depth to my photos.

I am guilty of keeping the aperture wide open at times and keeping my depth-of-field short. Bokeh IS beautiful but fifty years from now, that detail will be priceless.

Second Call: The Good Shepherd — Cheryl

Years ago, I bought two books by Sofia Cavalletti: The Religious Potential of the Child and its sequel aimed for 6- to 12-year-olds. They sat on the shelf, unread, for years. Yesterday, I finished the first book. Of course, by the time I had finished chapter two, I was shaking my head and asking myself, “Why didn’t I read this all those years ago?”

The books are about Catechesis of the Good Shepherd, a Montessori-esque program of religious education. It’s a simple, yet deep, method that respects the child and the child’s longing for a relationship with God. By carefully selecting which Bible passages are used to introduce children to Jesus (mainly the parables), then giving them time to reflect on what they’ve heard, Catechesis of the Good Shepherd teaches them, first and foremost, that Jesus is the Good Shepherd who will never abandon them.

This is just one of the many stories in the book about children’s responses:

Children who are sick or handicapped have a special sensitivity to the parable [of the Good Shepherd] we are speaking about. Maria, two years and ten months old, was being treated in the cancer ward of the Bambino Gesù pediatric hospital in Rome. She came from the south of Italy, so her parents lived far away. One cannot describe the sadness in her small, pale face nor the impossibility of establishing any rapport with her. “She is always on her own,” related the other children, “sometimes she cries and cries but she says nothing.” A catechist went to the hospital with the intention of speaking to Maria about the Good Shepherd’s love, but her endeavors to make contact with the little girl seemed completely in vain. While the catechist presented the parable materials to a small group of children who had gathered around her bed, Maria appeared to be far away, if not actually asleep. However as the catechist read the parable, Maria’s breathing became gradually calmer; when the catechist started to rise slowly from the chair beside her bed, Maria stood up abruptly, threw herself into the catechist’s arms and kissed her. Discarding her doll, she cleared a space on her bed for the materials and indicated in an obvious way that she was waiting for a new presentation of the Good Shepherd. Then she took the parable book herself and suddenly began to say a number of things that unfortunately the catechist, who was a foreigner, could not understand. But communication had been established just the same: Maria wanted to be held in her arms, carried around the room, and fed when the dinner arrived. When it came time for the catechist to leave, Maria refused to let anyone else hold her and let her leave only after she promised to return the next day. The night nurse heard Maria singing softly: “He knows my name.”

In an effort to slowly introduce Catechesis of the Good Shepherd concepts into the lives of my children, I recently changed prayer time. Now, instead of reciting a bunch of prayers (with very little feeling for them) and asking for intercessions, we recite one prayer, which varies from day to day; I read a line or two from a psalm; we observe one minute of silence, in order to reflect; then we ask for intercessions. Yesterday, during our minute of silence, I caught sight of this Hummel figurine and was inspired to photograph it and write today’s post.

First Call: Autumn Leaves — Cheryl

I chose Depth as this week’s Call, because I’m desperately trying to find some in my work. When you know you can spend a mere five minutes underwater, though, you don’t put on the diving suit, strap on the air tank and head down 30 meters.

I know it’s a frustration I’ve voiced previously (as has Jessica), but it’s a situation that comes and goes. Unfortunately, this time around, it arrived back in about May, and it doesn’t look to be going anywhere anytime soon.

Depth: have I captured any with this photo? I think so, because (ironically) the depth of field is so shallow. I have other shots of this gorgeous maple tree shining in the afternoon sun with a deeper focus, but because I can’t really see where the background ends in this shot, I feel like it goes on forever.

What do you think? Am I just imagining it?

Second Response: Window Washers — Cheryl

When Bridget and I got home from her ballet class, neither Stella nor Jack ran to meet me. I asked after their whereabouts, and Henry told me, “They’re washing windows.” I wasn’t sure if I should laugh, cry or applaud. After a quick peek in the living room, I grabbed my camera.

Anyone who doesn’t really know my kids might look at this shot and describe their character with positive adjectives like hardworking, enthusiastic, helpful. I look at this shot and think, “What a couple of characters!”

The Second Call: Alpha Dog — Jessica

Sitting on her maple tree root throne, India is the queen of all she surveys. Her bark certainly lets her subjects know that she is in charge. The squirrels, chipmunks, deer and sparrows are subject to her rule. Or at least, she likes to think. Enclosed in her dog run, I don’t think the other animals really have too much to worry about.

First Response: Analytical Dennis — Cheryl

If I was writing a novel and wanted to make my husband, Dennis, a character in the book, he’d likely be the main one. I might name him Atticus O’Neill, with a tip of the hat to Harper Lee and Leon Uris, for he’d have as much integrity as the Southern Lawyer and value loyalty like Conor Larkin’s best friend did. I’d make him a Sherlock Holmes-style detective, but he’d have a passel of kids and a brilliant wife who weighs in on the cases, helping him put himself in the shoes of the victims, and sometimes, the perpetrators.

Detective Atticus would be no mental slouch either, although he might have a tendency to overlook a detail or two in his push to solve the crime as efficiently as possible. The somewhat scruffy but handsome, middle-aged sleuth would mentally reconstruct crime scenes and analyze the information he’d collected while strumming a guitar or working on his golf swing at the driving range.

Of course, there’d be plenty of false leads, close calls, and erudite asides — along with a few misunderstandings. In the end, though, Atticus would always solve the crime and impress everyone with his knowledge and presentation skills.

First Call: Nicholas, Reading — Jessica

…the camera machine cannot evade the objects which are in front of it. No more can the photographer. He can choose these objects, arrange and exclude, before exposure, but not afterwards… Your photography is a record of your living, for any one who really sees. … The photographer’s problem, therefore, is to see clearly the limitations and at the same time the potential qualities of his medium, for it is precisely here that honesty, no less than intensity of vision, is the prerequisite of a living expression. This means a real respect for the thing in front of him, expressed in terms of chiaroscuro through a range of almost infinite tonal values which lie beyond the skill of human hand. – Paul Strand

Now, I did admit that my long-term goal was to improve the “storytelling” aspect of my photography so I hope you will indulge me in another “story” related call.

I’m not sure where I came across Paul Strand. Sometime last week, I looked him up and then went to my favorite famous photographers’ quotes site and was struck, deeply, by the immediateness of his vision. Here, now, right in front of me are the characters, subjects, of my potential art. It remains for me to just understand the medium and bend it to my vision.

So for this week, I’d like to concentrate on who my subject is, naming specific traits, and then to use visual means to relate those traits to the viewer.

This is my second oldest child, Nicholas. And I’m not sure how well I’ve succeeded in capturing him. It’s a flattering picture but it would give the impression that he is a quite and studious young man. He’s quite the opposite — trust me! He is very kind and compassionate, full of down-to-earth advice for his friends. He is also highly imaginative and fun-loving — always coming up with jokes and games to keep the party going. On the other hand though, he is also very thoughtful and at heart, a philospher. Of all my sons, I believe that he could be a priest. He has a spiritualness about him that has lead to some very interesting theological discussions.

Take Three is a very appropriate title for this post — it has taken me three attempts to a: take a series of photos, b: figure out what my subject really is, and c: find the time to sit and write it down.

For me, one of the main attractions of switching to a weekly format, was the ability to put up work that I was complelety happy with. I hate the pressure of the 365 format. I don’t like sharing work that I find crappy and boring. After all, if I think it looks bad, what is the benefit of sharing it? That may sound like perfectionism (and I am TOTALLY NOT a perfectionist), but I think it has more to do with pride in work and hoping to live up to artistic standards that I set for myself.

The downside is that it may mean that I only manage to get one post up on any particular topic. Just know, that even if you don’t hear from me, I am busy trying to think and work my way through the topic.

So after that long aside, the subject I finally realized I was trying to take, is the process of late summer turning to fall — Nature and all her textures. Using the Lensbaby plastic optic was probably not the best choice in that regard (since it’s focus is soft by design), but I do like the dreamy effect.

Second Call: A Single Rose — Cheryl

Yesterday, Bridget came home with this lovely red rose. Today, I decided to use it for a relatively straightforward series on backgrounds.

I tend to favor clear, bright colors (the blue background is the wall of my studio), and I like the contrast between the red of the rose and the blue of the wall in photo one. To me, it reads as a happy, vibrant image, and the strong contrast puts the flower front and center — even though it’s actually off the side a bit ; ).

With the vase and baby’s breath almost melting into the background, the rose in front of a white canvas has a romantic feel.

The polka dots in the final image add a sense of fun to the image, but the juxtaposition of the classic (somewhat uptight) red rose and baby’s breath and the irreverent dots doesn’t really work for me. There’s just too much competition for the viewer’s attention.

At first, I thought I liked the image with the white background best, but on second thought, the image with the blue background is my favorite. How about you?

First Call: BMW Isetta 300 — Cheryl

I thought it would be kind of neat to take a look at one subject in three different ways. A photographer has a seemingly endless list of choices to make when capturing an image: ISO, shutter speed, F-stop, exposure compensation, point of view, where to focus, where to take a light meter reading, what to include in the background, what to exclude. But those are just a few of the factors to consider when taking the picture. Choices expand when it comes to post production.

I’m posting three shots of one of the classic cars my family and I saw today at the Owls Head Transportation Museum in Owls Head, Maine. With shot number one (above), it may take the viewer a moment or two to figure out what is being portrayed. The edge of the mirror is really the only thing in focus, and there’s an awful lot of red to wade through in getting to the bottom of things. It’s likely that this is a car, but it’s certainly not a car that was manufactured in the last twenty years.

In my second shot (below), I’ve pulled back and revealed more my subject. While the Isetta is sort of in a class by itself, identifying the object in the photo as a car is a pretty safe bet. (The out-of-focus, old, British-Racing-Green MG in background also helps place the object in the world of automobiles.)

Finally, in my last shot, I give you the whole car (albeit from the other side). Now, it’s very apparent that I have photographed a car and that I found it in a museum of some sort.

While I’m not thrilled by the quality of these photos, I am happy that I have the freedom to emphasize different aspects of this one vehicle, and am thereby able to make various statements about it.

Second Response: The Joy of Digital Photography — Cheryl

When Jessica passed along the advice about including more than one person in a shot to introduce the concept of relationship, I balked. My mind immediately conjured images of crowd scenes: images that have traditionally left me scratching my head when trying to figure out the story the shooter had in mind when creating the image.

Then I stepped back for a moment, turned the notion over a few times, and exchanged the crowd scenes for more intimate photos: a dad helping his child ride a bike; or two friends struggling over some homework together; perhaps a whiskered old fellow cradling a new baby, while a young man stands off to the side, blinking back tears. I can see stories in images like that.

But what about photos that contain only person, or none? Those are the ones that come to my mind when I contemplate storytelling through photography. Lately, I been thinking about images that include just one faceless person, thanks to the work of Patty Maher. In fact, before I got this shot of Bridget, I tried a different pose, different props, with my daughter hiding behind her long hair. I hated the results. Talk about contrived.

Perhaps what most excited me in Jessica’s posts on Story was this:

That is the aspect of Story as input in the creative process. Twyla Tharp in her book, The Creative Habit talks about how when she is beginning to choreograph a new dance she seeks out all kinds of varied inputs; everything from art, to novels, to science becomes fodder for her to mash into something new.

How often do I seek inputs away from pictures and other photographers? Lately, not very often. Music, poetry, novels, fairy tales, prayer — all these things offer keys to unlock my mind. I just have to remember to look for them.

Even though I can’t point to many specifics, I’m sure that much of my reading material this week helped me create this image: everything from The Landmark History of the American People to Eugenie Grandet by Honore de Balzac. One specific input I can point to is Sophia Cavalletti’s The Religious Potential of the Child, for she writes at length about introducing children to Jesus the Good Shepherd, and then getting out of the way, so they can get to know Him themselves, on their own terms. Shouldn’t we be trying to do the same with photography? Shouldn’t we be offering up our view of the world, then stepping away so others can interact with the work according to their own experiences?

The Second Call: Pinochio — Jessica

Confession time: for as long as I have been interested in making photographs that tell stories, I have actually never (until this week) googled the term to see what others had already written about the topic. In some ways I think I always thought, “next time I’ll find a better story angle.” And then next time never really came, since for the most part I shoot from the hip — capturing what ever is playing out in front of me. But I do want to be more intentional about it.

The most helpful bit I found was about putting more people in the frame in order to introduce “relationship.”

When telling a story through a single image think about including more than one person in the shot – when you do this you introduce ‘relationship’ into a photo which will conjure up all types of thoughts in the viewers of your shots.