Ed Schlotzhauer

An artists journey

Category: Psychology

  • Innocence of Eye

    Innocence of Eye

    The phrase innocence of eye is from Minor White. He uses it to describe the child-like wonder we should hold on to. That’s hard.

    Minor White

    Minor White (July 9, 1908 – June 24, 1976) was an American photographer. He was contemporary with and friends with Stieglitz, Ansel Adams, Paul Strand, Imogen Cunningham, Dorothea Lange, and many others.

    He became a disciple of Stieglitz’s theory of “Equivalence” and taught and wrote about it extensively. In actuality, he was more of a poet and writer and editor than a photographer. He assisted Ansel Adams in starting the photography department of the California School of Fine Arts, There were also teaching positions at the Rochester Institute of Technology and at MIT. In 1952 he, along with Ansel Adams, Dorothea Lange, Beaumont and Nancy Newhall and others, formed Aperture Magazine. White became the first and long time editor of it.

    None of this is really important, except to establish that White was very knowledgeable about the theory and practice of fine art photography and a voice to be listened to.

    The quote

    A more complete version of the quote about innocence is:

    … innocence of eye has a quality of its own. It means to see as a child sees, with freshness and acknowledgment of the wonder; it also means to see as an adult sees who has gone full circle and once again sees as a child — with freshness and an even deeper sense of wonder.

    Minor White

    One reason this is impactful for me is that he describes not only the normal child-like innocence but the possibility of rediscovering this innocence as an adult. This is a problem I have acknowledged.

    Tunnel of storm sewer pipes©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Child-like

    Think of a child, with their spirit of wonder. Everything is fresh and new. Nothing is silly. It’s a world of possibilities. Why can’t the sky be green if they want it to be? Why can’t a giraffe be purple? And that flower they just saw – it’s the prettiest flower in all the world.

    How do we hang on to or restore that spirit when we are old? I think it can be done, but it requires conscious work.

    Problems of maturity

    As adults, we become tough, cynical, jaded, and skeptical. We’ve seen it all, maybe too much. Nothing seems as exciting anymore.Very few images seem fresh and new to us. It is all just variations of what we have already seen and done.

    Whatever your interest is, you’ve probably shot it thousands of times. Is there anything new that can be said about it? Why just repeat the same things?

    This is where many people give up and conclude they are not an artist anymore, because they can’t do fresh, creative work. I recently wrote about doing a major culling exercise in my. library. It took a long time. One of my take-aways was that my images are getting too predictable. I’m following the same paths and thought patterns. Part of that is that I’m too mature. I “know” what works and seldom stray from it. I need to shake it up some.

    Rusty old Morris perched on a roof©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Rediscovering innocence

    How do we recapture that child-like view of the world? I think part of it is replacing cynicism with curiosity. Easy to say; hard to do. But when we are cynical, we automatically eliminate choices. We say to ourselves “that won’t work.” So we never try it.

    Curiosity is a positive force. It leads us to learn new things and try new things. Curiosity expands our thinking and our ability to see things.

    Ask questions

    Do you remember being a child and asking questions constantly? Why does that happen? How does that work? What if I did this? Most of us have that squeezed out of us by the time we’re in HIgh School. That is one of the major faults of our education system.

    To regain that, we must become sincerely curious. It almost doesn’t matter what about. I’m old enough to remember a set of books called an “Encyclopedia”. They have disappeared now, but what a marvelous experience when I was in school. I would head into one to look up something for school,and get sidetracked by all sorts of interesting concepts I stumbled across on the way. Looking up a simple fact that should take a few minutes could take an hour or more because of the interesting things I discovered along the way.

    Of course, the Encyclopedia has gone the way of the Dodo now. That’s sad. But we have a tremendous amount of the world’s knowledge immediately available to us. We have Google search (I strongly recommend Duck Duck Go instead), AI chatbots, and Wikipedia, for instance. I recommend looking up 3 random things everyday. When you see or hear a reference to something that sounds interesting on the news or an article, go look it up. It does not matter at all if it is “useful” to you. Curiosity and knowledge builds on lots of random facts that you start tying together over time.

    When you find something you think you might be a little bit interested in, dig into it more. A couple of hours spent going deeper into something that tweaked your curiosity is not wasted. You might discover a real interest. I have read that if you spend 10-20 hours studying a subject, you will know more about it than most people in the world.

    Fast action at a County Fair©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Distractions

    We have an insane level of distractions in our world now. Besides the “normal” things like jobs and family, we have whole industries spending billions of dollars to capture our attention every second possible. Social media, TV, news, and our phones constantly are screaming “ME! ME!”. Each wants us to believe it is critically important to stay glued to their channel.

    Amongst all that noise, it is very hard to think independent thoughts. Or think at all. Psychology research shows that we can’t learn effectively unless we have quiet time to allow our brain to assimilate the new information we take in.

    The constant noise and information drowns out thought, and thought is necessary for curiosity. Sometimes disconnecting is the best thing to do. Letting our minds wander, especially when we are out in nature, is extremely healthy for us.

    Giant flamingos, in Colorado.©Ed Schlotzhauer

    A better photographer

    Will asking questions and researching things and giving ourselves quiet space to think make us a better photographer? Well, I believe it will make us a better person, which is part of the equation. These things by themselves will not automatically give us back the child-like innocence and curiosity we miss. But they will help.

    Maybe it could bring us the balance of the having the innocence of eye with the vision of an adult that White described. Perhaps we can be one who has gone full circle and once again sees as a child.

    Try it when you are out shooting. Disconnect. Let your mind wander. Give in to your curiosity. Make shots that your adult mind says are silly, but that seem fun and, who knows, they might lead to something. Even if they don’t make some great new image, you tried something new and had fun.

    I will try, too.

  • Two Questions and a Problem

    Two Questions and a Problem

    I don’t like to get too deep into philosophy, but sometimes I step in it and get some on me. Lately I have pondered the question of what is good in art. A quote by Henry James brought up 2 questions and a problem that I can’t resolve.

    The quote

    Henry James was a well-known literary critic in the late 1800’s to the early 1900’s. Many people rightly disagreed with Henry James, but he was articulate and good at presenting and defending his points, and never at a loss for an opinion.

    Even though his work was in literary criticism, many of his comments seem to me to apply to visual art, too.

    Anyway, James once proposed what might be a template for art criticism. Paraphrased, it is “What is (the artist) trying to do? Does he do it? Was it worth it?”

    When I first read it, it seemed reasonable. But the more I considered it, the more I got sucked into a spiral of imponderables. I will be forced to reveal the shallowness of my philosophical thinking.

    Photographers stay out - except for me©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Author’s intent

    This first question is the artist’s intent. At first, it seems like it shouldn’t be a problem. We just need to decide what the artist wanted to create or achieve with the work. I often hear this given as a necessary step in analyzing art.

    But… how can we know? Unless the artist clearly stated their intentions, all we can do is speculate. Any criticism of the work would start with I think they were trying to do this, or I think their goal was to create that.

    Doesn’t that setup a framework of our own ideas that we evaluate the work against? That seems invalid and unfair to the artist.

    Some genres might be deduced with relative accuracy. We can look at some images and think that “that seems to be a traditional realistic landscape along the lines of Ansel Adams.” But it is still our interpretation of their intent. Therefore, it may or may not be right.

    And, on the other hand, is the artist required to justify each piece by thoroughly describing their intent? Without doing this, does it open them to criticism based on any criteria the viewer sets up? What about the artist who wants to leave such questions to the viewer? Are they sabotaging themselves?

    So, I’m already stuck on the first question and haven’t even gotten to the one I called a problem.

    Through a Screen©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Author’s success

    The second question embedded in James’ statement is whether the artist achieves his intent. To me, this still has the problem of not being addressable without knowing the answer to the first question. If we don’t clearly know what they are trying to do, can we say if they did it?

    We can criticize it for being out of focus, or what we consider to be an unbalanced composition, or poor lighting or exposure. But maybe the artist was making a satirical comment about postmodernism and the meaninglessness of meaning. Maybe what we criticized was exactly what they intended to do, and they successfully did it.

    Without understanding intent, can we do more than saying “I don’t like it” or “this doesn’t appear to be as well done as other images that seem similar”? Maybe both are true statements, but do they address the artist’s intent?

    There’s a big difference between saying “that didn’t succeed by my standards” and “that did not achieve what the author was trying to do”. One is judging it by my standards, the other is judging it by the author’s intent, which we may not know.

    Intentional Camera Movement©Ed Schlotzhauer

    The problem

    But then comes the problem for me. The part of the question that asks, “was it worth it?” Who can answer that?

    A Twentieth Century science fiction author named Theodore Sturgeon put forth what is known as Sturgeon’s Law. He said that “ninety percent of everything is crap”. These are words I have lived by, but my corollary to this is that Sturgeon was an optimist.

    I have become rather jaded in my view of art. It seems like a small percentage of the art I see, including photography, including mine, has any great inherent worth. Value is subjective. A Rolex watch has a high price tag, but low value to me. I don’t want one. I know people who value them highly and wear them. A personal value judgment that I can’t criticize.

    It is a joy to me when someone sees one of my pictures and values it enough to spend money to have it. It means that they want to hang it to see every day and it has worth to them. But that is a personal judgment based on their values. Did it mean that picture was worth it? Well, it was to them. Probably to me. But not necessarily to someone else. Worth seems a very subjective thing.

    Dead tree in snow. Bent, broken, but still trying to stand.©Ed Schlotzhauer

    What does it mean for me

    I guess my takeaway is that I’m not going to precisely and accurately figure out the value of other artist’s work and other people are not going to be the faithful judges of my work. So, I should stop being a critic and I should develop a thick skin against criticism from others.

    Should I have to write a detailed description of my intent and thought process behind a picture? I hope not. Most of the time I couldn’t give a very impressive explanation. I much prefer to leave it to my viewers to create their own story.

    I have developed a cynical view of theories and movements and lots of words poured out by people who talk but don’t do.

    If a critic or a juror or a gallerist or another artist gives me feedback, I should receive it gratefully as input and consider it, but not necessarily take it as a truth carved on stone that I must act on. It matters more to me if the image met my expectations. If it succeeded according to my intent. They did not know what was in my mind.

    I see a scene or I have an idea, and I make an image that represents the best of my ability. If it is a true representation of what I saw or felt or wanted to convey, and if it is a level of creativity and craftsmanship that I am proud of, that, to me, may be a good image. If it delights me, it is worth it. But not all images that meet my intent actually have lasting power. That is another discussion.

    I find that when I over-analyze my art or get too formal in making it, some of the life gets sucked out of it. Better results come from following my instincts and my feelings. Doing that leads to pictures that I can say are worth it.

    “What is the artist trying to do? Does he do it? Was it worth it?” The 2 questions and a problem I brought that I struggle with. I can only discuss them accurately about my own pictures.

    The deeper questions of criticism will have to be left to philosophers. I don’t know what makes good art. But I know what delights me.

    I decided to accept as true my own thinking. I have already settled it for myself, so flattery and criticism go down the same drain, and I am quite free.

    Georgia O’Keeffe

    The purpose of art is to inform and delight.

    Horace, 1st century AD

  • Impatience

    Impatience

    Here’s a confession: one reason I’m a photographer is that I’m too impatient to do any other type of art I like (except writing). Have you ever considered that photography is a form of impatience?

    Not painting

    I long ago figured out that I could never be happy painting. I can’t draw well. Most of my grandkids exceeded my drawing ability when they were about 4. Well, I have one who is only 6 weeks old, so I can do better than him. But even more than my inability to draw, I know that I would not be able to keep my interest going through rounds of sketches and design trials, and through days or weeks of work manually laying pigment on a canvas to create a finished work.

    And then if I want another copy, I must either photograph it and make prints or go through the manual work of painting another one. I guess that enforced scarcity works to the advantage of a painter by keeping numbers low and prices high.

    I’m just not wired that way. If I see something interesting, I want it captured now. And if you like it and want a print, I want to be able to make a copy for you quickly.

    Sailboat, healed over in the wind.©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Not short attention span

    Based on what I said, you might assume I have a short attention span. But that’s not true. In my career as an Engineer I would often get so lost in a project that I might disappear in it for hours without remembering to eat or go to the bathroom. Flow states were common. Even now, I can spend hours reading or writing or working on images on the computer. No, I can focus my attention fully on something I am interested in.

    The problem is a type of boredom that stems from impatience. If I am not engaged, if something is not keeping my interest, I tend to avoid or abandon it. More of my life is behind me than in front of me. I can feel that, and my reaction is to walk away from things that I consider a waste of my time. Time can’t be saved, only spent well.

    For instance, as I write this, it is tax time in the US. I gather up all of my data and hand it off to someone else to go through the details of figuring it and filling out the forms. It is worth it to me to pay them. Otherwise, I would go crazy beating my head against that mindless bureaucracy.

    Going around in circles©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Spontaneity

    I find that in my art, I love spontaneity. If I see something interesting, I want to capture it immediately. Spending hours, if necessary, working it on the computer is not a problem. I did the raw image capture when I saw it. That satisfied my basic need.

    My photography is almost exclusively “in the moment”. I am a hunter-gatherer. Planning usually does not go farther than “it should be stormy tomorrow. Maybe I’ll head east to see if I can find some good shots without getting caught in a tornado.” Literally, being aware of tornadoes, hail, or serious thunderstorms is a primary consideration where I live. But that makes for some great images.

    I know that some people plan their shoots in great detail. They want to know the exact day and time and location to be at to get “the shot.” This doesn’t work for me. Unless it is a commercial shoot, that much planning narrows my options too much. It takes all the spontaneity out.

    I don’t care about “the shot” as much as finding something interesting that I can exercise creativity on.

    Mysterious road, Where is it? Where does it go?©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Work with what’s there

    Why do I work this way? The simple answer is “it works for me.” I am generally happy with the results I get, even if I sometimes come back with nothing. The thrill of the hunt is reward enough. It is a percentage game. Win a few, lose a few, the process is satisfaction. The benefit of finding a new viewpoint or something unique is enough.

    Perhaps I’m an endorphin junky. If I’m out and about my subconscious may recognize something, even if it is just a potential to be worked. It alerts me to it, and this creates a burst of light/energy/warmth, whatever. It is difficult to describe. But there is a joy and excitement of discovery. Each find creates a kind of high. I would not be finding these things if I was fixed to a shot list and schedule.

    Plus, there is something about my psyche that enjoys working with a real scene rather than creating a fictitious world. I may take the image, or bits and pieces of several and create something different, abstract, even surreal. but ultimately my raw material is real world elements.

    Stylish airport lighting©Ed Schlotzhauer

    It fits me

    So, I have learned and rationalized that photography fits me. I prefer to “run and gun” instead of carefully planning. I want to be inspired by what I discover and be able to capture it immediately. Then go on to the next scene that stimulates me.

    It’s not so much the overall time. An image may require hours of computer work to perfect. It is the lack of barrier between what I see and what I capture that keeps me going. My creativity likes to work spontaneously and in the flow. That is one reason I could never express my art in painting.

    Sure, I could try to do plein air painting or paint from photographs. But why? Plein air painting seems to me to be attempting to (slowly) capture a photograph. And if I were to paint from a photograph, I would have to wrestle with the question of why not just print the photograph?

    So, over time, I concluded that photography is my art. Besides not being able to draw, I would be bored trying to express my vision so slowly and painfully. I like to move fast when I see something interesting. It is a joy to get in a flow, to follow my mood and instincts.

    I have great respect for good painters. But I could not be content doing what they do. Too much impatience.

  • No Learning Required

    No Learning Required

    Photography is a craft we traditionally spend years learning and practicing. What if we could shortcut all that and have some “hacks” that would let us make great images with little work or training?

    The click bait

    It seems like I am getting more and more click bait like this (actual names redacted to protect their anonymity, and to not support their sales offer):

    Most photographers spend years trying to figure it all out on their own—slow progress, scattered tutorials, lots of frustration.

    But what if you could skip that?

    What if this is the year you jump straight to clarity, consistency, and results?
    That’s exactly what the [program name] gives you: the proven system that pros actually use.

    If you’re at the bottom of the learning curve this seems attractive. Who wouldn’t want to be able to leapfrog to the top of your game with little effort? This would save years of hard work.

    For a little money, I could buy my way to success, fame, and fortune. I could become a respected artist quickly. What’s not to like?

    There are 2 things: there is no secret knowledge, and it still involves a lot of hard work and learning.

    Decrepit railroad tie, no track.©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Secret knowledge

    It is a popular and successful sales pitch to insinuate that there is secret knowledge known only by elite practitioners in a field. If someone shares this secret knowledge with you (for a fee), you, too, can be one of the elites.

    The problem with this is that photography does not rely on secret knowledge. Rather than being a closed league, like a guild, the field is very open. Most photographers readily and openly share their knowledge and insight.

    Why would they make all this knowledge available? I think it is for 2 reasons.

    First, many photographers rely on workshops and book and tutorial sales to supplement their income. It is just a reality. The number of people who live solely on image sales is relatively small.

    Second, they know their knowledge is not secret. It does not need to be closely guarded, because it is wisdom based on years of experience. Every photographer who has been in the game long enough basically knows the same things. Most of the ones I know are eager to share their experience and help others benefit.

    Learning required?

    Are there “hacks” you can use to get you where you want to go faster? Maybe. Depending on where you want to go.

    If you are the family photographer, there are simple things you can learn to make your images more enjoyable. Making yourself aware of the lighting and how to control it, framing the subject more deliberately, using shallow depth of field to isolate, and seeking a “decisive moment” are techniques to raise yourself above the norm.

    Or if you want to make your vacation pictures less boring to others, there are “hacks” that can be used. Learning to see and use the light, actively looking at what is going on all around your frame, use wide and close and high and low views. Culling out most of your shots will help a lot, too.

    If these are the kind of specific goals you have, then certainly learn the “tricks” and be satisfied. You will take better pictures but not be an artist.

    One tree leaning on another one©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Results or creativity?

    So, what is the goal? Many people, probably most people, only care about getting a decent shot to put on social media or in a memory album. I do not criticize this at all. That is where their values lie. Learn some simple techniques that will improve your photos.

    But if you aspire to be an artist, if your goal is to make creative and interesting images that express your point of view, that is an entirely different path. If you go to photography school, you will learn techniques like I described above. Probably in the first semester. Then you will be pushed onward to learn actual image making.

    Creativity is hard. You must know the basics of the craft very well, but then you must develop your own unique way of seeing and have something to say. It goes far beyond just being able to take a good picture.

    Are there shortcuts?

    The ad I quoted talks about “slow progress, scattered tutorials, lots of frustration” being involved in the way photography is usually learned. Maybe they have synthesized a program that guides a person through this messy time. Or maybe they just have a rigid program to follow to make a novice a clone of the instructor.

    I believe. that learning to be a creative photographer is hard work. Personally, I don’t think there is a reasonable shortcut. A good mentor can help immensely by pointing things out and giving good feedback. But you still must do the work. It is long and frustrating and sometimes you want to give up. We want to be progressing faster, but we don’t seem to be getting there yet.

    Henri Cartier-Bresson famously noted “Your first 10,000 photos are your worst.” That is true. It does not, however, mean your next 10,000 will be great. As someone who has shot many multiples of 10,000, I know that it is a long and difficult road.

    But we keep pushing, because something compels us to do it. Psychologists tell us we learn more from failures than from successes. As aspiring artists, we generate a lot of learning opportunities. And we do learn. Practice and ruthless evaluation eventually pays off.

    Night landing at the airport©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Doesn’t AI do the work?

    An elephant in the room these days is AI. Won’t AI provide the shortcuts we want? Can’t we rely on it to make our images better?

    Yes, we can. It already happens every day with AI “enhancements” when we take a picture with our phone. And there are many AI “enhancements” that can automatically be applied to our images in Lightroom or Photoshop or whatever your tool of choice is. It will only get more powerful and more pervasive.

    If your goal is to make your image better, then yes, it will be glad to do it for you. But you didn’t do it. And by letting AI do it, you didn’t learn how to do it better next time. We become a tool of the machine rather than it being the other way around.

    If our goal is to become a creative artist, my opinion is that this is going the wrong direction. An artist is responsible for all the creative decisions in making an image. We delegate some simple things to our tools, like when I put my camera on Aperture mode and let it choose the shutter speed based on the aperture I selected. That is a simple technical calculation, it is not taking creative responsibility for the image.

    Maybe AI is one thing driving the resurgence of photographers shooting film and doing chemical darkroom work. They remain firmly in charge of all aspects of their image.

    Foggy night in the park©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Look back

    Sometimes looking back helps us look forward.

    In my blog I have given some glimpses of my culling and evaluation techniques. I will not describe them in detail, just to say that I do not use a basic 5-point ranking scheme. My images must go through several rounds of critique and editing to progress up to my top set. The ones I would be proud to show anyone.

    Recently I was going back through to catch up on my backlog of hundreds of images that are still “in progress”. It is a time to look realistically at each image and decide if it deserves to be promoted to the next level.

    An interesting thing occurred. Having to revisit these hundreds of images, I couldn’t help thinking that I have been making some pretty good and occasionally creative pictures. I shoot so much that I sometimes forget to look back and see the arc that is traced by the past. It was encouraging.

    Art is hard

    Becoming a better picture shooter is easy. Becoming an artist is hard. It involves lots of learning and practice and self-examination. And suffering. At least the mental suffering of falling short of your expectations. But even then, there is no certificate, no award ceremony, nothing to tell you that you have arrived. You keep pushing and reaching forward.

    It takes time and effort. I do not believe there are any magic shortcuts that will get you where you need to go. Put in the work. Put in the time. It is worth it.

  • Depth of Insight

    Depth of Insight

    In a recent Medium article, Marc Overmars gave a good introductory description of depth of field (DOF) This is a technical term uniquely applicable to photography. I want to take the concept in a somewhat more philosophical direction. Maybe there is a concept of depth of insight.

    Purely technical

    On the surface, depth of field is purely a technical concept. it only applies to photography, because it is associated with the physics of focusing through a lens.

    I went into some of the issues in a previous blog. Sorry for the math. 🙂 I know most people don’t like that. I don’t have much use for it either, and I would never use it when I’m out in the field shooting, but some level of understanding is helpful for mastery of the art.

    Maybe the most challenging concept from that article, and a fundamental concept of DOF, is “circle of confusion”. The idea that there are acceptable levels of unsharpness. Very briefly, only one point in the frame is technically “in focus”. But practically, a certain amount of unsharpness can be tolerated before we would consider something blurry. The size of this allowable unsharpness is called the circle of confusion. So, when your DOF calculator gives you a distance range, those are the points where the focus becomes unacceptably blurry. The math is exact, but the concept isn’t.

    Perhaps there are analogies in our understanding of what we shoot.

    Red barn, red truck©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Looking deeper

    Let’s set the math and technical details aside for now. I can hear the sigh of relief.

    I propose that there is an analogous concept concerning the sharpness of our intent when we are shooting. That is, did I just point my camera at a subject, make a decent composition, and shoot? Or was I clear in my mind why I was taking the picture and what it was really about?

    I have often referenced the Ansel Adams quote that “There’s nothing worse than a sharp image of a fuzzy concept.” There are 2 reasons for that. First, it is a brilliant observation. Second, it is something I struggle with, so it is very real and close to me.

    Yes, I can compose, and I can use good technique to get the sharpness I want. I can use light to my advantage, and I have a lot of experience post processing. But even so, I often look at my images in despair. Too often they are sharp images of a fuzzy concept. When I am honest with myself, I know that sometimes I didn’t have much in mind when I shot them.

    Silhouetted tree against glass skyscraper©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Art happens in our head

    Maybe it is too obvious to state, but art happens in our head, not in the camera or the computer. As with any definite statement about art, this is a generalization. Sure, there have been many times when I was working with a scene and experimenting (e.g. playing), and things seemed to come together. That is the exception, though.

    All too often I look at my images and realize they are, at best, just record shots of a place I was at. No depth of insight. Not much below the surface to give you a reason to pause over it and consider it.

    The fault is entirely my own. I didn’t have anything to say, and I said it.

    There is a marked contrast with the images I get when I go out to shoot a project, or ones I shoot when I feel strongly about the subject or the situation. Many more of them are strong and satisfying.

    We all know this: the more we put into something the more we are likely to get out of it. Why don’t I remember it more when I am out shooting?

    My excuse, other than simply laziness, is that I like to go out exploring and shoot interesting things I come across. I don’t always find interesting or “deep” things. That is just that, an excuse. Maybe it is as much that I didn’t have much to say that day. I try to remind myself of Jay Maisel‘s quote that “If you talk with nothing to say, that’s bad. When you shoot with nothing to say, that’s worse.”

    Kentucky Coal Miner©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Circle of confusion

    So, is there a “circle of confusion” concept for our shooting? Maybe so. If we can’t get our ideas into focus, maybe we shouldn’t shoot. Do our ideas have to be in perfect focus? No. Like the technical term, maybe there is an acceptable level of unsharpness. I hope so.

    What do I mean by this? Well, sometimes I realize exactly what the scene means to me, and I can determine exactly how to shoot it. That is great. I am often happy with the result. Sometimes, though, I just have a feeling, a sense of what I am experiencing. I have learned to follow those instincts even if I cannot clearly express their meaning at the moment. If something is drawing me, there is probably a reason.

    Later, while editing, I may realize what was calling me to it. Sometimes an image I was initially dismissive of emerges as the strongest of the shoot. It could be that’s just luck. I prefer to think my instincts were trying to tell me something.

    Maybe I am being too hard on myself. Jay Maisel also said “You always end up with too many pictures to edit and too few that you feel ‘got it’.” I suppose the feeling is common to all photographers, but it still is frustrating.

    Chartes Cathedral interior. Mystic, spiritual impression.©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Projects for focus

    I am learning to use projects to help me focus more clearly. A project is a chance to think deeply about something, decide how I feel about it, and then find opportunities to express it.

    It is basic psychology that when you are concentrating on something you are more attune to it. A simple example: a friend was thinking about buying a Nissan car. I don’t think about there being many of them around, but after that conversation it seemed like every other car I saw was a Nissan. I was more attuned to them.

    A somewhat more relevant example is from a recent trip to France. It was a family trip, not a dedicated photo expedition. But I didn’t want to come back with just random tourist shots. So, I created a few projects to keep in mind to focus my thoughts and energy. One of them I called Sacred Places. It helped me be much more aware of cathedrals, of course, but also monuments and memorials and standing stones. Even a small village celebration of their liberation in WWII. I felt it helped me to see more opportunities, and I looked deeper at the occasions I found.

    If I don’t see it, why should you?

    Circling back to Jay Maisel’s quote: “If you talk with nothing to say, that’s bad. When you shoot with nothing to say, that’s worse.” If we can’t focus our feelings and experience, are we shooting with nothing to say? Just taking a sharp or well composed picture isn’t enough. If you can’t participate in the experience I felt, then I’m not bringing you anything other than an “I was there” picture. Maybe it is pretty, but there isn’t much to feel or remember.

    Perhaps I do not have to be able to precisely express what I was feeling at that moment. Maybe there is a “circle of confusion” associated with our understanding of the image we are creating that gives us some margin for imprecision. But the circle of confusion in focusing helps discuss a range of acceptable sharpness, not permission to be out of focus. Maybe there is a range of acceptable understanding of our feelings leading to making an image. But little or no understanding is out of range. With no real understanding or feeling, there is little interest for viewers. Have something to say.

    I am starting to concentrate. much more on depth of insight than depth of field.

    Moody, mysterious Aspen grove; a created image©Ed Schlotzhauer

    Head image

    I mentioned having Sacred Places in mind and encountering a memorial celebration in a small village in France. The image at the top was a result of that. We happened, by accident, to be there on the day of their annual celebration of liberation in WWII. They still remember and memorialize it to this day. That is heartwarming.

    This flag display was presented while local dignitaries and military officials made speeches. I didn’t understand enough French to follow it, but it was moving.

    Having the Sacred Placed project in mind made me more attuned to this. We stayed for all of it and loved being there. When they discovered that we were Americans I barely avoided having to give a speech at their village celebration afterward.

    I hope a little of the dignity and solemnity of their memorial comes through.