When it comes to evaluating our own photographs we’re probably the worst ones to do so.  That’s not surprising because we’re so emotionally tied up in every aspect – the subject, the feelings we had when we got the shot, the work we’ve done on it in the digital darkroom.

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I vividly recall avidly reading Ansel Adams and Edward Weston, savoring every idea, every concept, every technique they discussed.  I guess I’m a zone system kind of guy at heart.

One thing they both said that baffled me were their comments on previsualization.  Seeing the final image in one’s mind’s eye before snapping the shutter was beyond my ability.  Boy, was that ever intimidating.

Well, umpteen years and thousands of photographs later I still feel challenged by the notion of previsualization.  But I think I may be getting a glimmer of a hint.

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I was listening tonight to a conversation between Jim Svejda and the amazing Hilary Hahn on Classical KUSC, my favorite radio station here in Southern California.  For those who don’t now, Jim Svejda is the most knowledgeable person on classical music probably on the planet and hosts several absolutely fascinating programs on KUSC.  And Hilary Hahn, at the age of 28, is one of the most phenomenal violinist on the current scene and certainly destined to be one of the great violinists of all time if not already so.

Their conversation delved into two dimensions of classical music performance – technique and interpretation.  It went something along these lines – composers don’t write compositions that are difficult to perform to give the performer a chance to display their technique.  Composers write compositions, difficult or easy, because they have something to say.  And performers haven’t mastered the composition when they’ve mastered the challenges of technique.  It is only when they also master the interpretation that they create music.

Hilary Hahn used a phrase that caught my attention – ‘Interpretive decisions.’  It was delivered in the context of discussing a very abstract, technical, even mathematical violin concerto by Arnold Schoenberg, a piece that’s a challenge to listen to not to mention the challenge it is to perform.  Hahn said that there were ‘interpretive decisions’ that added meaning to or subtracted it from the piece.  That makes a lot of sense.  A poorly interpreted piece, no matter how great, is boring whereas a richly interpreted piece, while being very simple, can be captivating.

What does all this have to do with a photographer’s personal style.  Well, in a word, everything.

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This image started in a bit of a disaster.  If you’ve ever shot in Upper Antelope Canyon outside Page, AZ you know that you park your car, get into your guide’s truck and are carried about three miles up a dry wash to the canyon entrance.  It wasn’t until we arrived and were in the darkness of the canyon that I discovered the ball head on my tripod was frozen.  Our guide had dropped us off and returned to the parking lot so I was forced to deal with the situation and ‘work with what I have,’ (my motto).

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In the first posting on personal style I discussed how the tools we choose affect the finished photograph and thus our personal style.  There’s one more aspect of tool selection that needs to be mentioned.

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Ever since I attended my first workshop two years ago I’ve been pondering personal style.  At first I had no clue as to what my personal style was.  But as time has gone by and I become more aware of the kind of work I produce, the idea of a personal style is starting to become clearer.  So, I plan to write a number of posts on personal style and my journey of self discovery.

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I’m finding working on the Antelope Canyon images I shot last month is a powerful, moving experience.  No other images that I’ve shot or worked on have produced such a strong emotional response.  Granted, there are many times when I get very excited about an image I’m working on.  But each one of these Antelope Canyon images speaks to me and each communicates a different message.  The feelings I get from them range from sensual to terrifying to enlightening to spiritual.

See for yourself; what do you think?

More than a year has passed since I last visited Antelope Canyon in northern Arizona.  The return was eagerly anticipated and this time I would be with eight other people, some who were already good friends and others who were to become good friends.

The Antelope Canyons (actually there are two – Upper and Lower) are amazing slot canyons about three miles from each other – one up stream, the other down.  They have totally different personalities.  The first images to come from this most recent trip are from Upper Antelope. 

There’s a spiritual quality to these canyons.  To be sure they are sacred to the Navajo, the caretakers of these wondrous places.  It is with respect and awe that one enters their worlds.

I hope you enjoy the first image to come from this trip – Spirit Bear.

 
Spirit Bear

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In the first post (http://ralphnordstromphotography.com/wordpress/2008/02/18/journey-to-a-fine-art-photograph/)  I talked about the importance of the first step you take with your image, the opening move if you will.  I don’t know if this ever happens to you but it happens to me all the time – I work on an image for several evenings only to end up in a box canyon, a dead end.  It’s not going anywhere.  And so very often I think, “Wow, I started it all wrong.  I did X but if I had done Y I would have avoided this problem.”  It’s too bad but sometimes the weaker opening move isn’t manifested until you have quite a few hours invested in the image.  But the only thing to do, if you still believe in the image, is to start all over again.  Maybe you do so right away or maybe you set it aside for some weeks or months and just let it ferment in  your mind.

That leads to another ‘Ah Ha’.  Do you ever sit staring at an image and ask yourself, “What do I do next?”  Like I said before, I’m of the school that discovers the emotional content of an image as I work with it, not necessarily in the field when I’m shooting it.  “Discover” is the key word here.  Here’s the way it seems to me - it feels like walking across a meadow in a thick fog.  Sure, you can see one or two steps ahead but you can’t see the other side of the meadow until you get really close.

Each step you take is based on the one or two most obvious things you see when you look at the image.  Perhaps the first thing you notice is the need to address contrast.  You choose a tool to deal with it, say curves.  Once that’s corrected you see another thing, say color.  Maybe you choose selective color for that.  Next you see something else, perhaps a highlight that’s distracting from the overall composition.  You choose a tool to correct that, say dodge and burn.  And on you go, step by step, dealing each time with the most obvious correction that is calling out to you.

It’s in this process of picking our way across the creative meadow, through the fog, step by step that our personal style emerges.  Because, two artists looking at the same image on identical monitors will respond differently.  They may very well see different things calling out for attention.  And even if they see the same thing, the tools they choose to address them may be different.  And even if the tools are the same, the way in which they apply the tools will most surely be different.  And that’s just one step in the journey.  There are many, many more to go.  It’s fun listening to people who criticize us when we stand shoulder to shoulder with other photographers, cameras all pointed in the same direction, clicking away like mad.  They laugh about the individuality of artistic expression.  But of the two dozen or so photographers I shared the bridge with over the Virgin River shooting the Watchman in Zion this past Thanksgiving, I’ll lay odds that not a one of them has a photograph that looks anything like mine.  Not a one of them took the same path across the foggy meadow that I did.

The foggy meadow analogy also works to understand the importance of the first step you take with the image.  If it’s to the left, the right or straight ahead, you’ll end up in a different place on the other side.  You may end up in a place that you find inspiring or you may not.

The journey across the meadow can also be a journey of self discovery.  As you progress, the image takes on more meaning.  And as it does, you perhaps relate to the emerging meaning in ways that are new for you, ways that give you an insight into yourself, a deeper understanding of your inner self.  This in turn can lead toward exploring the image in yet different ways which can reveal new layers of meaning.  In this way, you and the image leap frog across the foggy meadow in a journey of understanding and self-actualization.

So, that a marvelous, miraculous and mysterious journey this is, from the field to the digital darkroom to eventually an expressive image hanging on the wall that carries so much of you, just as you carry the image and the journey that led you to it.

I was thinking the other night about the process of giving life to a fine art photograph.  What are the steps on takes; what is the path one follows?  Ever since my first workshop with Alain Briot I’ve been on a journey of discovery with the goal being to have a better understanding of my personal style, my unique way of viewing and presenting the world.  There were several “Ah-ha” moments that evening, one of them being that one’s personal style is embodied in one’s workflow, the steps one takes to produce a fine art photograph.

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