Running Meditation for Photographers
Here I am at the Berkeley YMCA again. It's 8 am and I've gotten here early for once. My goal today is running / walking intervals on the treadmill. I do this almost every day.
The great thing about the Berkeley Y is the spacious women's fitness center. I've learned if you get here at 8 the commuter crowd has already left. I get my choice of treadmill by the windows facing west.
I’ve grabbed a magazine from the rack. As I'm getting the treadmill up to speed, I start to turn the pages: editorial photographs, advertising, illustrations, whole page layouts. I'm looking for an image my eyes can study without having a conversation about it inside my photographer brain.
I don't remember how I stumbled on this exercise while exercising. The main idea is to absorb the design, structure, and color in an inactive way. I just put the image in front of my eyes and let my eyes do whatever they want. I have the very untested notion that this is good for me as a photographer. It is vision, separate from words, instructing itself. Anyway, I like the process.
Today I've got New York Magazine, the August 3, 2009 issue. I start from the back and glance at every page, considering my options. There! On page 27 I find just what I want.
I love this photo on first glance. Like Cartier-Bresson, I think. Look at how the light is strong, glaring, on the left side and drops to darkness on the right. Sunlight skims across the people on one side and scatters over to the shadowed side as though all of the men's heads have been sprayed with light. How, I wonder, did he get that shot? (The photographer is Peter Funch) How long did he have to stand there to get all those people in just the right position? This is the perfect image for my eyes to wander through while I pick up the pace on the treadmill.
After a while, though, my eyes began to find things wrong. This is where it gets interesting. There are different 5 men, evenly spaced across the image, all wearing the same color red tie. Several men in blue ties, all the same hue of blue, shades lighter or darker. My Photoshop trained eyes spot a man who seems to be floating on the sidewalk. He's pasted in using Adobe Photoshop's cut-and-paste feature. Once I spot that all the tricks seem to pop out a me.
I have been deceived! This is not a photograph; it's an illustration. Nobody stood long hours in the sun with a camera, waiting for the Decisive Moment.
By now I've slowed the treadmill down to a walk. I pull the magazine up close to my face, searching for an explanation. How can this cut and paste job can be called a photograph? New York magazine is kind enough to offer a caption: "A composite photograph, taken over the course of two days, of businessmen emerging from Goldman Sachs."
My dilemma is this: is this thing worth looking at? Is there something here that enriches me visually? And in the end I conclude: no.
At a glance, I thought this was a photograph, that is - a single image captured in a single exposure. Most people, reading the accompanying article, think this is a photograph too. But it is an illustration made from pieces of many photographs. It is not nearly so hard to make this illustration as it is to capture this image using a camera. That would be hard. That would take vision, skill, patience and possibly talent.
For the purpose of illustrating Joe Hagan's piece, Is Goldman Sachs Evil? the image does its job. As an object for meditation, this semi-photograph it has lost all its usefulness. It is rigid, contrived and out of place, like a naked Barbie doll left behind on the playground.
Worse, could contemplating this picture corrupt my wordless photographer's eye? Without words, I cannot explain to my eye the reason for the lack of shadows in the right places, unnatural juxtapositions, slightly off perspective in this photo-illustration that is too much like a photograph, not enough like an illustration. My eyes have nothing to learn from clever Photoshop tricks.
Workout done and back at my car, I grab my camera. I am not uninspired; I'm motivated. It's time to go find that photograph that Peter Funch did not take. Or one very like it.
Andrea McLaughlin
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Berkeley, California
(510) 644-1400
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follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/AndreaM


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