Expressive photography Archives - Thoughts on the Art of Fine Art Photography

Photography As A Time-Recording Device

photo from skyline drive, shenandoah np — Whisper of a Sunrise, Shenandoah NP

What happens when artistic license is applied to a photograph intended to make us believe a moment actually took place? What happens when the power of photography is used to compel people to believe something happened, when in fact the moment / event never happened?

I watched a video by Hiroshi Sugimoto this morning about his collection of fossils, and it got me thinking about his belief that fossils and photographs are similar in that both are “time-recording” devices.

Fossils show us a likeness of something that lived millions of years ago. We can see the skeletal impressions of fine bones, and holes where eyes once were, and sometimes even the bones of what it had for dinner, resting forever in what once was an intestinal tract. Fossils are a documentary record of what actually was, at some moment in history.

Upon its invention in 1839, photography became yet another tool for humanity to document history, no less important than the archaeological record. Just as a physical object (like a fish) under pressure created the fossiles, the presence of light reflecting off a physical object could create a photograph, and thus document a real moment in time that fractions of a second later became history.

This is one of the aspects of photography that absolutely fascinates me. It’s ability to capture a moment in time; unique moments that would otherwise be lost forever as our brains quickly dismiss them in an attempt to rapidly process millions of other visual inputs. The realism of a photograph is what makes it so powerful as a ‘time-recording’ device.

People of my generation tend to believe the photographic image. We’ve grown up believing that photographs are a true facsimile of some event, some moment, that actually happened. Simply because most photographs we’ve seen throughout most of our lives were exactly that. While photographs may have been artfully modified to reflect the photographer’s vision (versus the camera’s), there was no doubt that the images were likenesses of something real at a specific moment in time. We didn’t question whether Ansel Adams’s mountains and rivers, or clouds, or cacti were real.

Now to be clear, artistic photography has always had an element of the ‘unreal’ behind it– we call it artistic license. Paintings, illustrations, and even doodles on a notecard are entirely contrivances of the human imagination and depend wholly on artistic license. We accept artistic license in art photography as being okay, because art in any form is intended to make us FEEL, and less so to make us believe.

Unlike art photography, documentary photography is primarily intended to make us BELIEVE, and less so to make us feel. Photojournalism is a great example. A news photograph of an event is intended to make us BELIEVE the event happened, and secondarily to make us mad, or happy, or just make us feel well-informed.

What then happens when artistic license is applied to a photograph intended to make us believe a moment actually took place? What happens when the power of photography is used to compel people to believe something happened, when in fact the moment / event never happened?

It’s so easy to do, especially in the emerging age of artificial intelligence and sophisticated imaging software. Photoshop a 93 year old grandmother in her wheelchair to make it appear as if she’s sitting at the top of Mt Everest. Or two world leaders made to appear to be shaking hands (or throwing punches at each other), even though they’ve never met. Or maybe a small child crying at the feet of a large man. Are these “photographs” real, or are they merely contrivances of the human imagination?

Once photographers–and those who use photographs–hijack the power of photography to knowingly make a false narrative intended to make us believe something that isn’t true, then the power of photography as a believable “time-recording” medium will be lost forever. The intent of a photographer will no longer matter, whether it’s to make us BELIEVE or to FEEL, because we will no longer believe in the intrinsic truth of photographs. All photographs will be viewed with suspicion, as “fake,” as “photoshopped.”

A Prediction: Future generations will likely believe any photograph to be a mere contrivance of human imagination, no more significant than doodles on a notecard.

I fear that’s the direction documentary photography is going, and it disturbs me, no less so than any form of falsehood or dis-information does. No one likes to feel manipulated by someone else, so when someone shows me a photograph and tells me it’s real (i.e., documentary) when it’s anything but, purely to dis-inform me and modify my belief in reality, that person will lose my trust. And I will also mistrust the gimmick he or she used to try to dis-inform me. Who in their right mind actually trusts a magician’s top hat?

Once we as a culture begin using the power of photography (specifically its power of believability) to propagate dis-information, it is certain that we will cease to believe in photographs as a facsimile of some real moment in time. The validity of the so-called “photographic record” will cease to exist. Photographers may just as well be doodling.

Perhaps we’re already at that point in the history of photography. Are we?

I still consider photography to be a “time-recording” device. As long as I wield a camera and make photographs, I will never make a fool of myself by trying to fool those who see them. My photographs all represent a real moment in time–each pixel or grain of silver, and each dot on the page was created by light reflected or emitted by a physical object that was part of the composition when I took the picture–unless I say otherwise–and even then I won’t refer to it as a photograph. Because it would be something entirely different.

How do you feel about this? Do you believe photography should be true to its power as a “time-recording” device or not? Or is it just me and Sugimoto?

Until next time,
J.
Picture of J. Riley Stewart
PS: Clicking on “Whisper of a Sunrise” will take you to its place in my online gallery, where you can see in more detail all the splendor of this unique moment in time in the Appalachian Mountains.

Art, Expressive photography

Taking, then Making a Photograph

I like taking photographs, but I love making photographs. And making photographs requires more than a camera.

Everyone today takes photographs. Is just too easy not to. We all have a camera with us most of the time, and there’s always plenty of people, events, places, food, and pets to take and share pictures of.

But what does it mean to “make” a photograph? Is making a photograph different than taking a photograph?

It’s interesting that there is such a distinction for photographic art. No one ever says “take a painting” or “take a sculpture.” It’s only in photography that we can both take a photograph and make a photograph. And yes, there is a difference between taking and making a photograph.

So what’s the difference? Why are some photographs made while others are merely taken? Are we just talking semantics here?

Not really. When folks talk about making a photograph, they are implying that, in the making:

the result will be something that doesn’t already exist, and
the making will require some degree of personal expression, in other words, the maker (i.e., the photographer) shapes the final image to suit his/her abilities and, most importantly, their artistic intent for making the image.

As an example, a painter–once choosing to make a picture of a mountain valley–eventually must decide what that valley will look like in the final painting. The fact that the painting doesn’t already exist is easy to accept. The idea of a painter expressing his/her vision is also easy to accept. It can be highly representational, or abstract, or surreal, or any number of styles open to the painter, consistent with their artistic abilities and limitations. They can paint in a river or forest that isn’t on the landscape naturally, or they can choose to remove physical elements from the landscape they don’t want to appear in the final painting. The ‘making’ of a painting is entirely up to the artist. We readily accept that.

Well, it’s much the same for making a photograph. To make a photograph first requires a camera to capture the scene (i.e., the taking part), but it also requires much more. Making a photograph also requires that the photographer have a vision of the final image and the skill to express that vision. The range of possibilities open to a photographer is as vast as that open to oil painters or any other artist, especially true in this digital age of compositing multiple images and other digital manipulations possible today.

Back before the digital age, the distinction between taking and making photographs was much less confusing than it is today. Years ago, the only way to get a photograph was to make one. Sure, just like today, the pre-digital photographer first had to take a picture, but the result was incomplete and essentially without value: they couldn’t do anything with the exposed film until they developed it, evaluated it, and printed it (including all the possible creative manipulations made during the printing to realize the photographer’s vision). Back then, all photographs were made, not merely taken. Taking a photograph was only the first step of many steps required to create / make a photograph.

Jump forward to the modern digital age and all that changes. I’d guess almost 99.999% of all photographs we see are simply taken. We stand, we click the camera, and voila, there’s the picture on the back, ready to share on Facebook or Instagram. “..Look what I had for breakfast !…” Not very expressive, but we’ve all taken these photographs.

Remember the vision part? Now we’re entering confusion territory, my friend. Some would say that even a snapshot was “made”, not merely “taken.” And that can be true, because the difference between taking a photograph and making a photograph has nothing to do with the technology used. And it has nothing to do with lapsed time or effort involved. It only involves an intent and skill of the photographer to say something important in the creation. If the photographer’s vision is to make an image that compels an emotion, AND if the audience has an emotion, then that image becomes art by definition. And ALL art is made, again by definition.

Let’s contrast the snapshot approach (i.e., merely taking a picture) with the expressive approach to truly make a photograph.

In the image below (“Birch on the Rocks”), I was struck by wonder in the small birch tree seemingly plopped on top of the boulders. I found it while on a walk in the Allegheny Mountains in West Virginia, a beautiful nature location and a nature photographer’s dream destination. I wanted to make an image that expressed that wonder; the wonder of the tree’s placement in nature and its precarious life choice. There was a certain positioning of the tree and its related objects that I had in mind–using the art of previsualization–so I placed my camera to make sure that I captured those relationships, knowing the final image would require additional editing and “making” to realize the imagined final image.

Below is the image that my camera gave me, and I knew that to express the wonder I felt, the camera’s image was going to need some work on my part (i.e., the ‘making’ part of my vision).

Final expressive image of Birch on the Rocks

My preferences for expressing, or making, images is generally traditional. I rarely use photoshopping tools beyond cropping, adjusting contrast, dodging, burning, and spotting. That’s the case with this image. My principle goal was to clearly emphasize the light falling on the small tree and its perch, which I accomplished by burning in the distant background and immediate foreground, while also dodging the small tree roots and rocks immediately around the roots. I felt the final expression was much better in showing the wonder I felt when I walked upon this small tree on its rocky perch.

My point is that just as a painter has the liberty to make a ‘scene’ express what he/she wants to say about their subjects, so does a photographer have those same liberties. Photographic art can be just as expressive as any art form, and the best photographs are made, not just taken.

Also see:

Are there limits to artistic freedom in photography?

The Down Side to the Digital Photography Revolution

Art, behavior, Expressive photography

Art Requires a Bit of “Stewing”

Chapel of Ease by J. Riley Stewart example of making photographs — “Chapel of Ease” – Moss drapes the portico of an antebellum church ruin in the Carolina Lowcountry.

I like taking photographs, but I love making photographs. And making photographs requires stewing over them.

This article comes from a selfish, artist-centric perspective, but I thought you might appreciate hearing what one artist thinks about rushing the process of artmaking.

Making art has nothing whatsoever to do with enjoying art. In fact, when the process of making art becomes important to the process of enjoying art, something has gone terribly wrong. The end result should stand on its own without you having to consider whether the artist used oils or watercolors, or fat brushes or bamboo sticks, or a digital camera or a film camera, or whether it took the artist 5 minutes to make the artwork, or even 5 years. Enjoying art requires only the finished piece, the fine art product.

So, why even talk about the extraneous aspects of making art? Because sometimes we artists need to remind ourselves to slow the hell down and stop being in a such a rush to produce “anything, just to get it on social media.”

Making art is one of those things you can’t rush. Even Bob Ross, who used to create those beautiful mountain landscapes in 30 minutes on TV back in the 80s, would make a number of practice proofs of the scene before going on camera. He sure did make it look easy, though.

In this digital age, so much is made of how quickly a photograph can go from “click” to “share.” Smart phones have literally shortened this time to mere seconds through any cellular connection. Thousands of software tutorials show us how quickly we can modify a straight photograph, right from the camera, to any number of “artistic” renderings with just a few clicks of the mouse. But is ‘being quick’ a good way for an artist to behave?

Using film like I do has a way of slowing the process of making a picture. Selecting a composition, setting up the camera, and even recording the shot in my field log is a very deliberate and careful process.

After settling on a composition, the picture-taking process is very mechanical, very non-creative. I think it’s fun, but I can surely understand why some wouldn’t find it so. Then there is the time-consuming process of getting the picture to a state where I can see what I actually took (or more precisely, what the camera gave me). First I have to develop the film, and it often takes me a couple weeks to get to that. Next, I have to scan the negatives–which may take a day or two–and still I only have a very preliminary look of what I envisioned in the field.

But once I have the negative digitized, the creative part starts again. And it takes me days to weeks to turn what the camera gave me into a finished fine art print for exhibition.

That’s the point with making art: you can’t rush it. It should be a very deliberative process. Numerous artistic decisions and actions have to be made; often by trial and error. Some of these deliberations are downright painful in terms of the mental anguish involved. But this ‘stewing’ over my art is so worth it.

As with many things in life, the personal return from making art is proportional to the level of investment: the more I find myself stewing over a particular photograph, the more excited I get about it. I feel very little emotion toward pictures I take with my iPhone and share through social media. In such pictures, I’ve invested almost nothing. They are mere snapshots.

Pictures that require personal investment and stewing are a different story. I like taking photographs, but I love making photographs. And making art requires stewing over them. Often it’s a fight. Sometimes it turns to hate. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose. Regardless, I’ve learned something in the process as an artist, and from that I get personal satisfaction.

What do you think about this? Have I overlooked an element of making art that benefits from doing things fast instead of deliberately? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

“Chapel of Ease” is available as a large-scale, hand-varnished fine art print from here, and you can see other images from the Carolina Lowcountry while there.

Art, Expressive photography, philosophy

What makes a photograph good?

Have you ever wondered what it is about a photograph that makes you stop and stare? Not many photographs will do that, but some do, surely, and those are good photographs. What makes a good photograph? Or more importantly, what makes a photograph good?

I look at a lot of pictures; it’s my job, so to speak. I admit though, that very, very few make me stop and stare. A quick glance is enough to tell me when a picture just isn’t important enough to stop what I’m doing to explore it.

Is it the same with you? Do you skim over most of the pictures put in your face, but every now and then find one that keeps you spellbound for minutes at a time? What is it about such pictures that are so important that you feel compelled to spend your time with them?

John Szarkowski, the long time Director of Photography at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, had clear ideas about what makes a picture a “good picture.” He said

“The best pictures are important because they achieve the high goal of art: simply and gracefully they describe experience–knowledge of the world–that we had not known before.”

Simply put, Szarkowski suggests the two main attributes of a good picture. First, it has to be simple and graceful. Second, it has to show us something new.

Simplicity and gracefulness relates to the aesthetics of the picture, and aesthetics relate to the craft of the artist.

A good artist having a high level of craft knows how to create something that is simple and graceful. I love my 5 year old granddaughter’s drawings, but they aren’t what I would call simple or graceful. I love them for a reason that has nothing to do with aesthetics. But I doubt my next-door neighbor would feel as I do about my granddaughter’s drawings.

Long ago I decided what simple and graceful meant in my own craft. Simple means compositions having not more than 3-4 components, such as “trees+water+sky” in a vista landscape or, as in Exposed– “tree skeleton+foreground foliage+background forest”. All the rest of the chaotic forest environment I edited out when I took the picture to give me a chance to make the final image simple and graceful.

Simple also means using lines and simple shapes to lead you through the story. For example, Exposed contains simple lines created by the foreground foliage that lead the eye to the main character (the tree skeleton). The tree then itself presents a simple line leading you to the dark, forbidding forest, which then stops the eye to return to explore the story of the small tree and foliage again. Lines and shapes can be very subtle yet still be effective in leading us through the visual story.

Graceful is more difficult to describe. Gracefulness has less to do with the subject of the picture and more about how the artist presents the subject. I love photographs having dramatic but delicate lighting and a wide range of mysterious shadows. And I love elegant, natural transitions from light to shadow. On the other hand, I dislike harsh, empty highlights as much as I dislike empty, pure black shadows. To my tastes, such harshness in a image lacks gracefulness and elegance.

Szarkowski’s second point about knowledge of the world–and I find this the hardest part of making good photographs–relates to the visual story told by the picture. He says a good picture will “..describe experience..that we had not known before.”

If a picture doesn’t change you in the least, perhaps it’s because you’ve seen millions of similar pictures; it shows you nothing new, it’s too common or cliché. You probably found the story boring, uninteresting, and thus, not important.

When an artist does show you something you haven’t seen before and you find the story compelling and interesting, then you are more apt to remember it. This new memory will change you, perhaps ever so slightly, but change you nevertheless. That is what Szarkowski meant by the “high goal of art.”

It’s not easy to make a picture that simply and gracefully says something entirely new to people who see it. That’s why there are so few good photographs. And with so many pictures being shown to us today, it’s harder than ever before to make good photographs that reveal something new.

The last thing I want is for my pictures to be cliché, common, or unimportant. Instead, I want to make only good photographs. I want to be deeply moved by them, and I want others to be deeply moved by them. They should show something new, to change the way people think about the world. To perhaps even find room in their visual memory for it to live forever! It’s a very high bar to reach, and I’m prepared to never reach it, but there it is.

If I ever reach that bar, it means I’ve succeeded as an artist, because I will have created something that approaches “the high goal of art.”

When you find a picture that tells you a story (i.e., an experience) that is new to you, and the story is well-told through high-craftsmanship (simply and gracefully), then you’ve found a keeper that you’ll enjoy for years. Take action to own it and live with it–either in your visual memory or on the wall of your favorite space. As I like to say, you deserve to live with the art you love!

Want to read how other photographers answer this question? Read this article.

A note about Exposed:
Forests offer so much to see. Yea, there are trees, I know. But what often draws me to forests is that there are also lots of interesting characters and shadows hiding things from the light. And sometimes, I find something in the forest that is well-lit when it shouldn’t be.

This small tree, long dead and only now existing as a skeleton of what it once was, is an example. The dark, shadowy forest in the background suggested to me that this small tree should have been back amongst its peers. Under the protection of the canopy. But instead it was out in the clearing, exposed to the elements of Mother Nature and Man, and the result is clear. The story didn’t end with the death of the tree, however. Visual stories rarely ever end, do they?

Exposed is available as a limited edition fine art print from 14×11″ to 40×30″ here

See hundreds of other examples of scenes from nature, romantic landscapes, and old nostalgic architectural subjects /here/

Art, Expressive photography

Photographs deceive, but in a good way

There is deception in art, it’s a given. Even photographic art is never an accurate record of reality, even though some of us accept it as such.

But in the case of art, deception is not evil; quite the contrary. Accepting the deception leads us to ask questions, which (eventually) may lead us to a story worth remembering. And that’s a good thing.

More than any other medium of visual art, photographs can objectively inform us. That is, they represent an actual experience, a real moment in time involving real subjects, that paintings and other forms of visual art simply can not.

Not all photographs inform us. Some styles of photography create such obvious deceptions that the first question we ask is “..how did the photographer do that?” The deception is too obvious to be believed. In fact, informing us is not the purpose of such photographs, so they don’t fit within this discussion. It’s sometimes fun to see how photographers ‘photoshop’ natural subjects (like the “multicolored” Giant Squirrel of India) to create internet sensations… yea,… right.

But real photographs, photographs that represent actual objects and the relationships among them, can indeed inform us. Further, they can also evoke stories of real characters and help us develop our own set of personal experiences. Example: Most of us “know” the Golden Gate Bridge, even if we’ve never been to San Francisco.

Still, if you only know the Golden Gate Bridge (or any subject for that matter) through photographs, there’s still plenty you don’t know about it: its actual size/scale, its actual color, its movements, or the actual texture of its painted steel. What you know is incomplete and therefore deceptive.

When confronted with incomplete information, our brains automatically kick into an analytical mode to try to understand the missing pieces. You can’t help it. This is what our brains do naturally, and the more curious one is, the more the brain will question, and eventually fill in the gaps with imaginary information– deceptive information. This phenomenon is the essence of deception in art.

I had an experience this past week that made me think about how important this whole idea of photographic deception is to our enjoyment of photographic art. I want to share it with you.

My experience relates to a photograph of an old sycamore tree along a local creek that I took a couple years ago. “Gran’s Lap” is a straight photograph (albeit an expressive photograph). It clearly shows how she’s suffered from many years of erosion as the spring floods repeatedly wash over her roots. And yet, she still clings on and is thriving. That’s one story, at least my story. Yours may be different.

Before reading on, try to develop in your own mind some sense of the scale of the tree and her bared roots. You likely have no preconceived idea of her actual size, you only have what is framed. There are no wrong or right answers, only what your imagination will lead you to conclude. The title I’ve given you may even bias your imagination, who knows?

Picture yourself sitting down on Gran’s Lap for a quick rest along your hike. (I’ll wait).

So, now that you’re there, is the ‘lap’ big enough for your toosh without falling into the creek? Or is there plenty of room to share?

Over the months since I took this picture, my own memory recalls that Gran’s Lap was just big enough for me to sit comfortably and enjoy the sounds of the creek. Oh, I should tell you that I’m not a very big guy, because what I say next might lead you to think I’m gargantuan.

This weekend, warming weather encouraged me to take my 7 year old grandson James on a hike along the creek. We visited the old sycamore. I’m not sure why, but when seeing this tree this weekend, I was amazed how large it was. In my memory–probably biased by the photograph I took–it was much smaller. To give you an idea, here’s the same tree with James sitting on it, as shot with my iPhone.

My surprise by the actual size of ‘Gran’s Lap’ got me thinking how photographs can be very deceptive to our eyes. Even so called “straight” photographs can’t be believed.

All photographs are deceptive to an extent, aren’t they? There is always some important context missing, because photographs can’t possibly include everything our eyes see as they sweep across the entire field of view and as our brains interpret scale, depth, color, and movement to give us the most complete picture of everything we see.

Photographs can inform us only to a certain extent. Often they only give us enough information to make us question. And the questioning starts because photographs (especially good photographs) first and foremost deceive us, and make us ask “what is this photograph about?” Then our imaginations take over to fill in the answers, and the next thing you know, there’s a story that emerges.

Not every photograph you see will cause you to stop and question what the photograph is about. But sometimes, the subjects or compositions or colors or textures that a photograph may show you is only the start to your enjoying it. When you see such photographs, let your imagination take over and explore the deception, and you’ll become the wiser for it!

What do you think about deception in art? Leave a comment below, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

J. Riley Stewart

April, 2019

art appreciation, Expressive photography, philosophy, techniques

Something to Say About Photographic Narratives

So, should visual artists try to explain their creations, or just let them speak for themselves?

Recently I read an article by Neal Rantoul, who writes for Luminous Landscape. The title of the article was “A Disturbing Trend.”

What did he find ‘disturbing?” That young photographers today typically include written narratives along with their photographs. He made other points, but this is the one I want to talk about today.

He blames this trend to narrate photographic images on what’s being taught in MFA courses, and finds it inferior to when he was an emerging art photographer. In his day, photographers would exhibit single photographs on a wall or in portfolios or books–usually titled but nothing more–and let the images “speak for themselves.” Rantoul believes that the old way was better, because each viewer of an image could study the image without interference and develop his/her own interpretation, and thus realize a more fulfilling experience.

I don’t have an MFA (that’s a Master of Fine Arts degree). In fact, I have no formal schooling in photography or the arts at all. But that doesn’t mean I have no opinions about what makes a photograph engaging, interesting, and moving.

On this matter, I agree with the youngsters. When I can, I like to include at least an inkling of the backstory or concept behind each of my photographs. I do this not to inflict my artistic intent on anyone, but only to help explain why I thought it was important to make the picture in the first place.

“Just Enough Dirt” -It doesn’t take a lot to flourish for these side-walk plants along a street in Warrenton, Fauquier County.

There’s a consistent reason why I choose to make a photograph. It’s because I want to remember the subject or moment–or more importantly a question or idea that strikes me upon experiencing the subject or moment. The questioning and remembering is a huge part of why I’m a photographer in the first place.

Anyone can make a picture of a tree, whether a photographer, painter, or illustrator. And we may or may not enjoy it. That’s entirely up to each of us. But I think most people will better appreciate and remember the picture when the artist communicates their intent. Sometimes, even often, that intent can be communicated in the title alone, and that’s okay.

Left unsaid, I sometimes wonder why a picture was made in the first place, or even if the artist had any purpose at all in making the picture. And if I find myself wondering why a picture was made, then that means I’m not engaging the picture but instead I’m engaging the artist, and I’ll probably not remember either. The experience is far too fleeting to remember.

I appreciate it when other artists provide a short narrative about why they made a picture; I’m truly interested. An interesting title or narrative starts my mental process of engaging with the picture myself. Only after I consider the picture can I begin to appreciate it. And remember it.

So if a simple narrative starts my mental process going, that’s a good thing for the sake of the art and for me as a consumer of the art.

Unlike Rantoul, I don’t think photographic narratives compromise a viewer’s ability to imagine things for themselves. Art lovers are imaginative folks, and no matter what the artist says regarding his/her intent in making the picture, an art lover, when sufficiently interested in the picture, will take it another step, or in another direction, or embellish it altogether with their own emotions and feelings. When that happens, they will remember it, and perhaps grow to love it, and isn’t that what art is all about?

What do you think? Are you at all interested in what the artist has to say about a work of art that he/she created? Do you appreciate knowing what was in their head at the time? Or would you rather just see the image and make up your own story? Let me know by replying to this email; I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Until next time,
J. Riley

P.S. Clicking on “Just Enough Dirt” will take you to its place in my gallery, where you can explore it (and its tenacity) in detail.

Art, Expressive photography

Seeing things that aren’t there…until you look

Example of photographic seeing — Assimilation by J Riley Stewart

To appreciate today’s featured image, you have to STOP AND LOOK at it for a moment. You want to engage a bit in photographic seeing. Once again quietly: stop. and look.

I don’t mean to be yelling at you. Really. But I did want to get your attention, because the story I want to tell you today demands some creative thought on your part.

At this time of year, with the holidays fast approaching, we’re all going 100 miles per hour. And we need to just stop for brief periods to catch our breath. Or we risk missing something important.

The picture isn’t important. The things our kids say and do everyday: those are important. The holiday wishes we get from friends: again, important. The quiet planning by those busily preparing holiday meals: Important. Important. Important!

And my contribution to your busy-ness right before the holidays is merely this: an opportunity to stop for a moment and think about something …..else. A pleasant diversion, if you will.

Photographs are merely diversions, are they not?

But they can be very powerful diversions. In fact, photographs can permanently change the way you think and feel about things, if you let them. But to give them that chance, we need to stop and look at them for a few moments. To buck the tendency to scroll rapidly past countless images in our Facebook and Instagram feeds.

The famous 20th Century American photographer Minor White said:

“One should not only photograph things for what they are, but for what else they are.”

I try to do that, in my own way, when creating images. Admittedly, I often/usually fail. It’s not easy to communicate what else something is.

In “Assimilation,” we see a quaint white church in the forest. That’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s got a steeple with a spire on top and a bell in the belltower. It must be a church.

But what else is it?

It’s up to each of us to answer that, assuming we want to.. And it’s okay that we all have different answers. Some of us will say “..it’s a place of worship (enter all the souls who have made it so over the years),” Some will say it’s a relic of our history, representing the culture and the times from whence it sprang. And still others may say, “…it’s just a drafty old building.”

To me, and what caught my attention when walking about the Mission Baptist Church site in Cades Cove, TN, was the way the church became a part of the forest surrounding it, if only for a few moments. During those moments, the setting sun was casting shadows of the trees across the church’s facade, and It became inseparable from the forest. In those moments, the trees became the church and the church became the trees.

I thought “assimilation” an apt description for “what else” this little church had become, and this moment became something I wanted to remember. “Click.”

What else is this little church to you? I’d love to hear about it!

Until next week,

Clicking the image of “Assimilation” will take you to its place in the gallery, where you can explore the details and, I hope, give you a moment to escape all the holiday busy-ness in your life, even if only for a brief, quiet few moments.

Art, Expressive photography, nostalgic photography

Small Town Virginia Project

My Small Town Virginia project is an ongoing attempt to depict the charm of villages and towns near where I live, before it disappears completely. I’m just beginning, and I will continue to visit and photograph in these towns and create these images for as long as my interest in the project continues.

Some months back, I revisited a series of photographs that I took while living in Europe back in the 1980s. From a personal point of view, I found myself reliving those moments, and the nostalgia was a very pleasant experience. However, I also noticed how different the places were then compared to more recent photographs (by others) of those same places. Time moves on, and it doesn’t always make things around us better, does it?

Where I live in Virginia, we have many small towns that began as crossroads during the 18th and19th centuries and went through cycles of growth and decay during the 20th Century. My small town of Leesburg, Virginia has mostly kept its early 20th Century small town charm. But I don’t have to drive far to see towns that have completely lost their charm to the advances of ‘progress.’

Even in Leesburg, progress is inevitable. Parking garages now sit where old mom and pop business used to be. Nostalgic old neon signs replaced with the typical glitz and glitter of modern times. Old incandescent street lamps torn out and replaced with 50 foot halogens. The list goes on and on.

How’s your small town doing? Have you seen such changes where you live? I bet you have.

Lately, I’ve been on a crusade, and I wanted to share it with you.

Small Town Virginia isn’t about doing a travelogue. I’m not interested in documenting historical artifacts and architecture. Nor am I trying to criticize the effects of modernization and progress. Instead, I’m trying to create images that recall the time when things were simpler in our small towns; quieter times, community times.

I’ll be changing the images in the portfolio over time. Some of those here now will disappear and others will appear. The best way to see where I am in the project is to follow along. Leave me a comment on the Small Town Virginia page and let me know if you have favorites or to just make your mark of interest.

An enduring value of photography is that it freezes moments that our brains want to dismiss in mere fractions of a second. Through photographs, we can relive those moments, enjoy the nostalgia of the experience, and then repeat whenever we want.

And that’s what I love about photography!

Until next time,
J.

Did you enjoy this article? Feel free to share with someone you think might also enjoy it, and invite them to subscribe to “Under the Darkcloth.” And please leave me a comment or ask a question by commenting below. Clicking the image of “Early Morning at the Tally Ho” will take you to its place in the gallery, where you can explore the details and see how it might give you just the right place to go when you need a bit of nostalgia and make a quieter time for yourself.

Art, Expressive photography

Looking for the positives in the aftermath- beauty in devastation

Aftermath by J. Riley Stewart an example of beauty in devastation — “Aftermath” by J. Riley Stewart

Aftermath is an interesting word. When we think of aftermath, we normally think about the immediate bad consequences of something terrible that happens to us. But we can, instead, think farther down the road and consider something more positive, more hopeful. There can be beauty in devastation, given enough time.

As I write you this week, Hurricane Florence sits less than 24 hours off the Carolina coast. By the time you get this, you’ll know how serious it could be for you and your family.

Our weather forecasters have thoroughly warned everyone from Virginia to Georgia about the potential catastrophe that could hit us: high winds, torrential and persistent rainfalls, and widespread loss of power for days. We’re all on edge, understandably.

Of course, the hurricane is on my mind this week. Sometimes, the only way I can get through the angst and worry, and the threats at times like this, is to focus on the aftermath.

“Man can live about forty days without food, about three days without water, about eight minutes without air, but only for one second without hope.” Charles Darwin

When I happened upon the scene depicted in “Aftermath,” all I saw was the profound beauty in the devastation. There was only peace in the downed trees resting in the quiet surf. I knew the story of how this scene came to be, of course. Moments that had wreaked havoc to the coastal forest right behind me. But I also knew that without the past devastation, I would not have experienced the peace and beauty I saw before me. I was on the positive side of the aftermath.

Stay safe and stay hopeful, friends. Whether you are in the midst of the hurricane, or the forest fires, or drought, or bitter heat (or cold). Remember it’s all temporary.

I hope you never have to suffer.
I hope in your suffering, you never lose hope.
I hope you can clearly foresee the positive side of the aftermath no matter how hidden it might be right now.

PS. Clicking the image of “Aftermath” will take you to its place in the gallery. There you can explore the details and see how it might give you just the right place to go when you need a bit of wonder amid the devastation.

Did you enjoy this edition of Friday Foto? Feel free to share this email with someone you think might also enjoy it, and invite them to subscribe to “Under the Darkcloth.” And please leave me a comment or ask a question by replying to this email.

Art, behavior, Expressive photography, Nature photography, philosophy

Why do we love pictures of iconic subjects?

picture of Old Rag during a passing rain storm — Passing Storm, Old Rag Mountain

I’ve been thinking this week about my recent trip to Shenandoah National Park, when I couldn’t resist taking a picture of one of most recognizable icons of the Park, Old Rag Mountain. I wondered why it is that we can’t resist taking and making pictures of iconic subjects.

Old Rag Mountain is certainly iconic to anyone from northern Virginia who has visited the Park. It appears from several turnouts along Skyline Drive, and it also appears prominently from the roads down in the valley in Madison County, Virginia. Unlike many of the peaks that sit in this part of the Blue Ridge, Old Rag is a solitary old thing, making it easy to identify. Kinda like the big dipper. For many of us northern Virginians, the profile of Old Rag symbolizes all that is beautiful about Shenandoah NP.

The 3300 foot summit of Old Rag is known as a great hiking destination. If you live in northern Virginia, you may have made this hike at some point; millions of people have. For many Virginians, the hike up Old Rag is an annual pilgrimage. It’s a popular hike for young couples who, apparently, are testing the mettle of each other. Those who make it to the top together, I guess, get to take their relationship to the next level. Apparently. And people have even asked to be buried on Old Rag, according to a good friend of mine.

Because of our feelings for Old Rag Mountain, you’ll find lots of pictures of her on the internet.

Natural icons like Old Rag rarely excite me as a landscape photographer. I have only a few iconic subjects in my portfolio, like Purple Mountains Majesty (Grand Teton NP) and Yellowstone Drama(Yellowstone NP).

By definition, taking a picture of an iconic subject means that you’re not the first to do so. In fact, the more iconic the subject is, the more it’s had its picture taken. Who hasn’t seen the hundreds of variations of Ansel Adams’s picture of the Snake River? It’s an iconic scene. But today any picture from the same vantage point is also common, cliche, and even boring at this point. But still, if you’ve ever been to this vista over the Snake River valley and didn’t take a picture of it, well, you’re the exception to the rule 🙂

Driving up and down Skyline Drive on my many trips to Shenandoah NP, I’ve probably passed Old Rag Mountain hundreds of times. Until my most recent trip, never have I stopped to take her picture. I didn’t feel I had anything new to say about her. I don’t want to be boring.

On my most recent trip, I witnessed a rare face to iconic Old Rag, and I knew I had to share it with you. I found this moment to be quietly dramatic, with heavy foreboding clouds and rain storm, and with the forest all wet and dark, but through it all, Old Rag catching the proverbial silver lining.

Pictures of icons like Old Rag Mountain are important to us. They remind us of important experiences and make us nostalgic about those moments. And the fact that a mere image can do that for us is nothing short of amazing. And that’s what I love about photography!

Before leaving, I wanted to ask if you’ve seen the trailer to my new book “At Water’s Edge?” If you’re interested in helping me support the children under the care of the Marland Children’s Home in Ponca City, OK, you can order the book directly from Blurb. Thank you in advance!

Until next time,
J.

PS. Clicking the image of “Passing Storm, Old Rag Mountain” will take you to its place in the gallery, where you can explore the details and see how it might give you just the right place to go when you need a bit of quiet drama.

What happens when artistic license is applied to a photograph intended to make us believe a moment actually took place? What happens when the power of photography is used to compel people to believe something happened, when in fact the moment / event never happened?

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