Tivedens National Park - Part 2
The other two days photographing at Tivedens National Park offered us more of the same, with the exception of no snow and less rain, and for some periods (but not others), way more sun than clouds. None of that interfered with our enjoyment of the landscape, though it did make photography much more difficult. Simply put, bright sunlight in a forest is extremely difficult to handle successfully in a photograph. The contrast range is just so great. A photograph doesn’t automatically adjust to the variations from one point of focus to another as the eye does. It’s one of the strongest examples of the point that the camera does not see like the eye(s) see(s). Sometimes it becomes a technically near-impossible task to make a successful image. Other times you have to wait and wait for a cloud, or even the edge of a cloud, to soften the light somewhat. And, of course, there are the photographic tools we have to work an image in many more ways than we ever could in the wet darkroom, but challenging lighting conditions test your skill set. Photographing in these conditions requires tremendous effort, starting out in the field, trying to make an exposure (a negative, so to speak) one can work with to make a believable image and carrying on later as you develop the image. I’m not much one for combining different images to make a single image through exposure blending, much preferring to get what I see with one image, to work with it later. Either way, it’s not easy. But sometimes the results are rewarding and give you something worth examining.
Ann has a category of images, rather a type of image, that she calls a “place” image. We’ve talked about these types of images, what the term means for her and their value (or lack of it). I’m not quite sure I fully grasp her meaning of the word, but our talks have increasingly made me think about how a “place” image (for me) can be more than just a picture of a location, even if it also shows what the place is like. For me, place images goes beyond an image of what a place looks like, rather it also conveys a real sense of what it feels like to be in that landscape. There is a presence to many places - Yosemite feels very different than Yellowstone. That’s one of the wonders of architecture, it can create a presence in a space that you feel, experience - and a picture can become a photograph if it can convey that presence. It may, or may not be what one would call an excellent photograph, but it rises above being a mere picture because it gives one a sense of feeling what it’s like to be there, not just an image of what it looked like. I think that’s perhaps what I’ve been striving for with all the woodland photography we’ve done over the past year - trying to first understand what makes a woodland (in general, and in particular) special, and then to make images that give you the same feeling I had when I was standing there in the woods. Yes, all while still trying to make photographs that stand in and of themselves, but also trying to convey a sense of place, of what it feels like to be in a particular environment.
These woodland images are difficult because they often lack a clear sense of a subject - “Hey, look at this!” Instead of slapping you across the face, they have to draw you in, provoke your curiosity, stir your emotions without necessarily having an “oh wow” factor. It’s not an easy thing to accomplish, particularly when others may not have the same interest in woodlands or the landscape that you have, or quite the same natural curiosity or appreciation of the details or complexity within the landscape. I guess on that latter point, how others may respond to an image, it really helps to be photographing for one’s self and to not really be too worried about what others think (though I hope you can enjoy the images I post, if not my ramblings). I quote St. Ansel later on, but good work has to come from yourself, your own motivations, your own curiosity and drive. That way you can keep at it and, more importantly, continue to learn, develop and push the boundaries of your own seeing and, consequently, your image-making.
So I think that’s why I feel these Tivedens images rise above the others from the trip. So many of them make me feel the place again. The little things that trigger the eye, the mind, one’s emotions, captured in an image of a place. Sometimes to draw you in to walk through the image, other times to get you to wander with your own thoughts. It really doesn’t matter, other than the fact that the image becomes more than itself, triggering something in others (hopefully) who take the time to view it. That’s a successful photograph. But they are not necessarily easy images to appreciate.
Really, that’s the struggle with photography, making images that are “more” than just the picture. To quote Ansel, “There are always two people in every picture: the photographer and the viewer.” Among the photographs Ann and I made during our trip, I think it’s these images from Tivedens that most consistently rise to be something more (at least for now). Images that continue to trigger an emotion, a thought, a question, even now. Hopefully, they do the same for others.
One really can’t expect more from a photograph, from photography, or from any art form for that matter.