Why Study the Masters? #4

Today’s answer: to find words.

Ann has a saying that she frequently uses with me, only half in jest:  “You have words.  I have no words.”  I would disagree, saying that, while she sometimes hunts for how to say exactly what she’s thinking, she usually gets her point across very well.  However, she’s right.  I tend to be able to rattle off my thoughts without thinking too much about it, and writing, while difficult, isn’t as much of a hurdle since I’ve been doing so much writing as a lawyer.  So, as usual, Ann’s right.  I have words.  Well, that is, until I don’t.

If you’ve been paying attention, you know I’ve been thinking a lot about photography, my work, and what it is and isn’t.  And putting those thoughts into words.  It’s not that I have an incessant need to classify what it is I’m doing, but rather a desire to understand it better and to push forward those things that I am doing well, to improve the things I want to be doing better or deeper, and not to waste my time on things that, quite frankly, don’t interest me in the long run despite how I may feel in the moment.  So I think about my photography.  

Without being morbid about it, I’m increasingly aware of the limited amount of time I have left to explore the things I want to explore (and the things I don’t know yet that I want to explore, which means I have to discover them first).  And when I’m out, I don’t want to waste time on making images that don’t mean much to me.  So if, like on our recent trip to the coast, I stop, compose my thoughts and realize I have an opportunity to pursue a theme I’ve been working on for the past few years, I’m much happier spending the 20 - 30 minutes of precious pre-dawn light working on those images than just randomly pointing a camera at things that, in the moment, might make a perfectly fine photograph. 

Seal Rock State Park, Oregon  July 2016

So what does this have to do about studying the masters?  Well, a lot.  It isn’t only about studying their images, though as Ansel would say, the image should speak for itself.  The images usually speak volumes.  However, a lot of photographers also talk about their process, what excites them, discoveries they’ve made, and qualities of the subjects that they’ve photographed in ways that, if I can pull them from my memory banks at the opportune moment, will help me see things I might not otherwise see, or to see things in a new way, and ultimately to make a better image.  Or help me think differently about image making.  Or the types of images I make. 

Seal Rock State Park, Oregon    April 2014

Now, not all photographers are eloquent about their work, or even want to talk about their work per se.  This month’s photographer, Brett Weston, once said:

“My work is my language and I don’t discuss it very easily.  It’s difficult for me to verbalize my feelings, or to intellectualize my work.  In fact, it used to annoy me when Ansel Adams and Paul Strand yak-yak-yakked about what photography meant, and I told them so.”

He even went so far as to describe some of his subject matter as “elegant gorp” or “magnificent crud” (and if you want, you can find expletive versions similar to the above attributed to him as well).  In short, Brett Weston was an intuitive photographer who felt his way through image making and didn’t want to over-intellectualize the process.  And he was damn good at it.

So where does that leave someone like me, who feels an affinity towards his work, yet wants to know more beyond the image.  Or, even more importantly, does not have the words to describe why I am attracted to certain images (both his and mine), yet feel compelled to make them.  Those should be the images that I can most easily speak about, but every time I’ve tried I’ve failed.

Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming  September 2014

This wasn’t the first Study the Masters #4 blog post.  I have another one that is about 60% written, discussing a difference I see (but can’t quite articulate) between Ann’s images and my images.  The difference, at least I thought, related to the difference between depth and flow in an image.  It was inspired by thoughts that arose from some John Sexton images I was studying at the time.  I stopped writing that blog post because it was wrong.  Simply wrong.  As correct as the thinking might have been about the two concepts (we’ll see about that as I continue to mull it over), that was not the explanation for the fundamental differences between Ann’s wonderful images and mine.  

So now to the point of this blog (like Ann says, I have words - lots of words sometimes [at Ann’s request, a word count shows 734 words so far, not including this parenthetical] [and if you haven’t been able to tell by now, the images in the post are totally unrelated to the subject matter - I just felt a need to include images in the post]  See - I have even more words).

Seal Rock State Park, Oregon   March 2015

This week I developed an appreciation of art critics and art historians.  Those persons who, all too often, I associate with verbal crap (not to be confused with Brett Weston’s “magnificent crud”).  While there are still passages that make me roll my eyes, others are enlightening.  Face it, their job is to find the words to describe what they’re seeing.  And if they have had an extended association with the artist, the words to articulate what the artist has shared with them about, in this case, the photographic process and their photography.  It has been helpful, particularly helpful in thinking about my compositions.  

I have an Evernote folder entitled “Quotes” that has note files for quotes by different people that I’ve found compelling.  There are files of quotes by artists (Ansel, Edward . . .), great persons (Barak Obama . . .), and hopefully someday great persons (Matt Buckberg, . . . ).  I’ve called myself a “quoter” before; I’ve always written down meaningful quotes.  I’ve even called my photography an act of “quoting.”  Well, the Evernote note for Brett Weston quotes is going to include a few from him, and a lot of statements by others about his work.  Particularly his intuitive approach to form and abstraction in photography.

Portland Japanese Gardens, Oregon   June 2015

And that will, hopefully, help bring things back around to why study the masters - to better understand your work.  And to do that, for me at least, means I have to have words.  Even words from art historians.  Not to present my images, but to better understand them.