philosophy 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, philosophy

Why do artists make art?

It’s a fair question. Why do artists make art? What I say next may make you see that what I’m actually asking is “why the hell do artists make art, given how few people actually appreciate it.”

Let’s say you’ve gone to college to get a degree that allows you to freelance. You then enter the job market and begin selling your talents. It’s difficult, but you make do, living small and cheap, perhaps taking a second job to make ends meet until your freelance business takes off. Eventually you’re able to focus all your time and effort into your passion, and all is well.

The 2017 report from Artnet describes how this happens in the professional visual art-making world, or more accurately, how it doesn’t work.

Would you continue working in your primary job if it only provided you a fraction of your basic needs to live on? What if the things you make in that job only sell once you’re dead? Who would do such a thing?

Answer: most visual artists in the US.

In the US, only 1/4 of all professional artists make $10,000 or more per year from their art.
In 2018, the federal poverty threshold for US individuals was $12,140 annual income.

So, which artists are making big money? You probably know them by name: Pablo Picasso, Andy Warhol, Gerhard Richter, Claude Monet, Georgia O’Keefe, and many others. But what you’ll notice right off is that, well, most of the artists reaping huge monetary rewards from their art are……. dead.

Does this mean most living artists are dirt-poor? Not at all. Many have supporting spouses, offer complementary services (e.g., classes and workshops), or even have another full time job, either related to their artistic talents or not. There’s no such thing as a starving artist, because starving is not sustainable.

But that’s the dark side of being an artist, and not at all what I wanted to focus on in this article, and that is this:

Monetary impediments aside, artists will continue making art– until they can’t.

It’s quite astonishing, if you think about it. Against all odds, artists continue making art. Artists have chosen a life path having few opportunities to make even the most meager living. And yet, they still create. They create because making art is important to them, and because they know that making art is important for Humanity.

I believe it says alot about the creative drive of people (all people, not just professional artists). Even when the public-at-large doesn’t appreciate it (i.e., buy it), artists will make art– until they no longer can. And they stop only when they no longer have the time to make art, or no longer receive even the basic rewards necessary to enable them to make art, including the satisfaction they get merely from receiving appreciation from an audience.

Let’s be clear. Making art is not entirely an altruistic, self-serving endeavor. We all know artists who say that’s the only reason they make art, but I know of no artist who doesn’t expect at least a small degree of external reward for making their art. Sometimes, perhaps oftentimes, mere appreciation–the occasional “thank you for making your art” –is all the reward they need. And for some, the necessary rewards goes beyond the simple act of applause.

I know no professional artist who rejects being paid for their artwork; just the opposite. Most artists hope to make enough money from making art to cover expenses and even make a decent living– while they are still alive. Unfortunately in the US, visual art is very under-appreciated, as proven by the 2017 Artnet study.

The under-appreciation of art in the US isn’t just of visual art. Virtuoso violinist Joshua Bell played Bach masterpieces in the Washington, DC subway station for 45 minutes one cold January day back in 2007. A thousand people passed by; hardly anyone seemed to notice. Very few stopped to listen. His total coin-drop for the session was $32.

Bell admits that he didn’t enjoy the experience. Here he was, an artist at the top of his game, and to this particular audience, he was nearly invisible. A near vacuum of human interaction: That was the worst part of his experience, he said. Bell didn’t expect to make a lot of money from his 45 minute performance, but he did expect people to stop and listen; perhaps even applaud.

Appreciation for our artists cost nothing, folks. The next time you see an artist performing or sharing their passion for making art, a small hand clap goes a long way. Better yet, a purchase of their work will be a huge help to them continuing to make their art. Because if they stop, Humanity may miss something extremely important.

Hug an artist today. Better yet, add to your art collection and help an artist succeed in life.

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, philosophy

What’s in a Name?

picture of old trees shrouded in for along Skyline Drive — Standing in Obscurity

I want to share something that you may take for granted, or perhaps never even thought about. And that is “..where do art titles come from?” How do artists come up with their titles for artwork?

As art lovers, we’re accustomed to seeing titles (or names) on artworks. Titles are a convenient way to refer to a particular painting or photograph. So instead of saying “that photograph by Gurski of the Rhine River that someone bought for $4,200,000” we simply know it as “Rhine II.”

Photography especially lends itself very well to titling of images using nominal or geographic descriptors. After all, most photographs reveal real moments, real locations, and real subjects. In fact, titling photographs to identify the subject or the location is the tradition of the medium. Whether it’s Weston’s “Pepper” series or any number of Ansel Adams’ titles (“Half Dome,” “Snake River”), or even Gurski’s “Rhine II.” The title of the image often reveals the name of the subject itself, no question about it, just call it what it is.

I find such an objective approach to titling photographs a bit unsatisfying. When I stand before a scene in the field, I try to think about the concept I want to communicate, the story the scene is telling me. It is this story that I want the title to describe and not so much the physical entity in the picture. The title I give to a finished photograph often reflects the story that struck me at the time of capture. In fact, I often write the “working title” on the field log I keep for every picture I take.

For me, it’s important to title photographs this way. First, it helps me recall how I felt when I discovered the scene, and second, it guides how I want to interpret the picture to extend and clarify that feeling.

“Standing in Obscurity,” the featured image above, is a good example. I could have called this image “Trees in Fog Along Skyline Drive,” but that would say nothing about my mood or emotions as I stood before the scene. At the time I found myself contemplating how those graceful trees, shrouded in fog as they were, might represent how many of us, me included, often prefer to stand in obscurity, hidden from the world, doing our ‘thing’ without any need to feel observed or judged. That was the storyline that struck me as I shared the foggy morning with these trees, and that lead me to the final title of the image and guided me during the expression of the final image.

Every artist has their own way of coming up with titles for their artwork, and none of them are wrong. I have to admit, though, that when I see a piece of art named “Untitled,” …well, I just don’t get that.

Regardless, whatever the artist has named a particular picture, don’t let it keep you from dreaming up your own story. It’s your fantasy, so write it however you want!

Interested in another take on why/when/how of naming your artwork: See Creating Titles for your Artwork by Jason Horejs.

If you’re an artist who is often stuck naming your pieces, does my approach give you an idea you hadn’t considered before?

If you’re a photography art-lover, do you prefer objective titles or more conceptual titles like I’ve described? Leave a comment below and let me hear your thoughts on the matter.

Until next time,

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, 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.

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, Nature photography, philosophy

Escaping the noise of summer: Do you have a “quiet space?”

Do you have a “quiet space?” It’s fascinating how an artful image can become that place.

We’re having quite a strange summer here in northern Virginia. I made a resolution to get out more this summer and experience nature, but early July was blazing hot and muggy, which kept me close to the AC. Then a tropical weather pattern decided to sit over the top of us, giving us almost daily rain storms. It’s been here ever since. I’m actually enjoying it though. And it hasn’t kept me from getting out.

If you live in an area where the weather is intolerable this summer, I hope you’re doing okay, and remember that it’s only temporary. Winter is just around the corner.

There’s few things I enjoy more than heading to the Appalachians during the summer. In early July, my son and I went camping in the Bolar Mountain Recreation Area, way down in southern Virginia on the border with West Virginia. We both needed a break from the daily hubbub. And even though I had my camera gear with me, this trip wasn’t about making photographs as much as it was about enjoying our time together camping, canoeing, and enjoying the peace and quiet.

Along the road to the campground was a turnout overlooking the lake and the surrounding mountains. “Quiet Evening on Lake Moomaw” is the only photograph I took during our trip, and it was taken from this turnout. We spent many hours parked on the turnout, usually just reading, watching the sky, and talking quietly between ourselves (there was never anyone else on the turnout with us). It was a great spot to really get to know the lake and see its many faces.

Spending a lot of time in one spot is the only way to really know a place. I don’t sit still often enough. Usually I’m more anxious to capture a photograph and run off quickly to get the next one. Afraid I’m going to miss something I guess, or maybe it’s just in my nature to be a ‘spring butt.’

But, as I said, capturing photographs wasn’t my mission on this trip, so I didn’t feel compelled to chase the light. In fact, I didn’t feel compelled to chase anything.

So it was that we spent hours up on that turnout overlooking the beautiful lake and mountains. During the day, power boats and jet skis were a constant threat to the senses. But something both I and my son noticed was, after sun down, this place became profoundly quiet. Not just human-quiet, but nature-quiet as well. Not a bird tweet or a bug chirp. Nothing but quiet; for hours. Both of us living in urban Virginia, we found the quiet to be almost surreal. And peaceful.

It was this profound quiet that I wanted to remember from our trip to Lake Moomaw, and that I wanted to share with you in “Quiet Evening on Lake Moomaw.”

I hope you enjoy your August, wherever you live, and I hope you have a place to go when you need some peace and quiet.

Do you have a “quiet space?” Art can often become that place. A quiet scene in your own living room, a “place” to lose yourself in and escape all the noise and stress, if only for a moment, can make all the difference.

Until next time, best regards,
J.

Art, art appreciation, philosophy

Do you have fun with images?

My only point this week is that it’s not mandatory to accept images as being serious. When we see images, how we see them is entirely up to us. And sometimes, seeing them as humorous just makes them better.

In my role as an artist, I spend a lot of time looking at images and reading what artists and art promoters say about them. Maybe you do too. In fact, I hope you do.

So much of what I read from visual artists and art pundits suggests the seriousness of art. Descriptions like “sublime,” “contemplative,” “evocative,” “thoughtful,” and “emotional” frequent the narratives about art. And I agree, art is often all these things.

Maybe it’s just me, but these descriptions are just way too serious. Excepting obviously comedic and whimsical images, it’s rare that some expert characterizes art as “fun” or “funny.”

I like to have fun when I’m out photographing nature. I don’t mean having a beer with my camera or dancing in the woods with my tripod. I mean I like finding subjects that are funny to me.

Yes, sometimes even nature’s characters can be funny. But it usually requires me to impose on those subjects some strange, quirky human behavior; to personify the subject.

Back in October I wrote you about a completely different topic, but its featured image also was a natural personification. That time the subject was an old apple tree performing a dance recital in a clearing. This week’s featured image “Groupies” is another example.

I’ve always found the concept of celebrity-hysteria to be seriously quirky. I remember as a young kid when the Beatles took the US by storm. “Why are those kids bawling / screaming / jumping /fainting during the song?” Do you remember that? I found the whole thing well…..hysterical.

That memory hit me as I stood in front of this unusual arrangement of tree, boulders, and woodlands. The afternoon lighting seemed to bring all the important elements together in a single story: “Groupies, every celebrity has them.” I laughed to myself, and took its picture.

The whole process of personification in my art-making is fun. I often see humanly behaviors when in nature, and it’s so strong that it actually compels me to take a photograph.

Interacting with art, both making it and seeing it, can be fun. Art needn’t always be so serious and steeped in deep philosophical significance. In fact, if a piece of art makes you smile every time you walk by it because it strikes you as funny, that may be the most important outcome there is in life. At least during those brief moments!

Until next time,
J.

PS. Clicking the image of “Groupies” will take you to its place in the gallery, where you can explore the details and see if it amuses you too.

Picture of J. Riley Stewart

Art, Expressive photography, Nature photography, philosophy

Why are we so drawn to trees?

Today’s featured image comes from my new compilation called “Simplicity of Woodlands.”

I love walking in the woods. Do you? Over the years, I bet I’ve hiked through woods more miles than any other type of terrain. Walking up and down mountains doesn’t thrill me. Walking down a city street….too many distractions. And pastures even grow old after several hundred steps.

But woodlands? They never get boring. Each tree has its own character, the smaller bushes, ferns, and grasses growing on the forest floor seem to change with every step I take. And there’s always the rocks and streams and animals and…. well, you get the picture (no pun intended).

As a photographer, though, finding simple woodlands compositions that I like to feature in my work can be very difficult. There’s just far too much CHAOS in the woods. Oftentimes, it really is hard to see the trees through the forest.

But every now and then something within the chaos catches my eye, and I just stop and relax for awhile until I am able to see its best face, at a particular moment.

It may be a quaint scene of an old log cabin harbored amidst the trees. Or a woodlands path taking me from a small bright clearing into the shadows of a dense canopy of the forest. Or perhaps an interesting tree sitting along the banks of a stream or lake or at the edge of a clearing. And sometimes it’s a glorious old oak tree stealing the show with its full autumn colors!

Even if you’re not the woodsy type, the human attraction to trees and woodlands is strong. Over thousands of years humans have developed a type of kinsmanship with trees. They shelter us. They hide us from danger. They feed us. They shade us when it’s hot. They even reward us with their beauty when we’re lucky enough to see it.

I’ve compiled my favorite woodlands scenes in my online gallery. Go Here, or just google “J Riley Stewart woodlands.” I hope you enjoy it.

Until next time, and I hope you’re loving the autumn season as much as I am.

PS. Clicking the image of “Oak Among Pines” 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 to rekindle your human desire for trees.

Art, Expressive photography, philosophy

Artful Images and the Question of context

abstract photograph of a stone fence as example of context matters — “Stones of Any Shape”

The first question we ask of an image is about context.

Have you ever wondered why you are drawn to certain images? I mean images you can’t take your eyes off of. Images that literally drag you in and stimulate you to recall precious stories from your own memory. The short answer is context, because in imagery, context matters.

The use of context in artful imagery is a huge factor in whether you may actually appreciate a given image (or not). Understanding this one aspect of imagery could lead you to collect art that you will love forever. It may also keep you from buying something that winds up in the attic after a few short years (…&*#@% !…).

The best way to explain why context is so important is to know that context is tightly linked to our own personal memories. Without a memory (or recognition) of a certain subject, your brain decides that it’s abstract and immediately switches to a more complex analytical pathway to make any sense of it.

The more difficult the recognition, the more the brain has to analyze and conceptualize. It can be quite intimidating while the brain interprets the puzzle. And an image with no context is a puzzle, for sure.

For example, if you’ve never seen a fishing fly, you have no way to describe this “thing.” That tuft of feathers on a curvy thingy may be quite confusing to you. But show you that same fly in the mouth of a fish, and it becomes more clear what it is and what it’s supposed to do.

You now have the context necessary to discern the purpose of the fly, and your brain doesn’t have to analyze it as much. (You now know what my favorite hobby is!)

Even though confused by abstractions, our brains are extremely capable of conceptualizing and letting us imagine what that abstraction could be. In fact, some of us love puzzles. We prefer abstract art forms and shapes precisely because it stimulates our brains to conceptualize. It can be exciting to imagine something in a highly abstract painting or photograph that isn’t really there.

I recently had an amusing discussion with a gallery visitor about what she saw in a highly abstract painting hanging on the wall. She swore she saw a horse; pointing out its nose, and mane, and back. Of course, I didn’t see her horse, no matter how hard I tried. Her brain was working hard to make something appear out of an abstraction that she could recognize, and that was great fun for her!

Personally, I like some context in the images I make, such as a log cabin in the woods, or a beautiful sunrise over a quiet river, or even a landscape vista during the peak of Autumn. These are subjects that push the brain to recall peaceful, nostalgic feelings and conjure stories from my own memory (and yours). I think realistic, context-rich art pulls on the heart while abstract art pulls on the brain. And I’d rather have my images pull on the heart.

The featured image “Stones of Any Shape” is a slight departure from my normal style because of its abstraction. I’m using it here as an example of how context matters. There’s not much context here, is there? Just stones arranged in an interesting pattern. The image says nothing about how, where, or why the stones are arranged this way. Is it a road or walkway? A fence? A wall? How large are the stones? What color are they?

Don’t worry, though. Your brain will conceptualize whatever you want to see. And that’s completely okay.

Is it necessary to know those things to enjoy the image? Usually not. You can love a picture without context, it just means your brain has to pre-process it somehow before getting to the “love” part. The other side of this pre-processing situation can also lead to rejection if the context can’t be imagined readily. I have another article you may be interested in that explains the role of mystery in images to either compel a sense of “boring,” “interesting,” or “bizarre”… check it out here.

And when context doesn’t provide the answers we want, we can always let our brains conceptualize the answers that makes the most sense to us, and just have fun with it.

As you look at images online or in a gallery, ask yourself about their context. Is the context obvious or elusive? Starting with that one simple question can often lead to many more questions, and in the process you may learn something about yourself and strengthen your appreciation of art.

If you’d like to read more about how our brains interpret visual abstractions, I’d recommend this article from Salon.

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I first published this article in my newsletter “Under the Darkcloth” on May 26, 2017. To get these articles sent to you personally, just subscribe HERE.

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Until next week, please share this email with others who you think might enjoy it.
J.

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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The first question we ask of an image is about context.