The Rock - Bandon April 2019
Not to sound too morbid about it, but I’m constantly reminded that life wants to steal every moment from you that it can. It wants to fill up what little free time you have from the necessities of life (sleep, eating, work) and deprive you of those things that make your life rich, whatever that is at any given moment. It seems like I have to force myself to make time to do those things I love (instead of those things I have to do, or “should” be doing). So when I walked upstairs and saw that image on Ann’s monitor, I was reminded that I have to make the effort to stop, talk with her about it, think more about my image, and, ultimately, write this post. I’d been thinking about my image for far too long and had done nothing with it. Time to make time.
When I saw Ann’s image, I knew that it was taken on the same day as my image. Not only did it include the same rock, but it had the same interesting (once you really started looking at it) weather conditions, the same tidal context, and the amazing mix of colors and water textures that caused me to start revisiting my image once I’d come across it again a few months ago. And while the images were made about an hour and a half apart, that fact isn’t readily apparent and the two present as a pair. Plus, they’re both worth examining.
The images were made on a trip we planned based on the fact that there would be an exceptionally low tide in Bandon just before sunrise. That would give us an opportunity to photograph farther seaward than we had in the past, but would also give us an incoming tide that would provide us with very different images over the morning. What I hadn’t expected (how could I, we’d never been there under those conditions), was that the incoming tide would have these extremely long run-up waves that would leave very slowly receding water on the gently sloping shore area usually well under water. I wasn’t the only one who took advantage of that in my image making.
Something that “hadn’t” worked out for us, at least in our thoughts at the time, was that it was a heavily overcast morning. We weren’t gifted with the incredible Bandon pre-dawn light that we’ve so come to love. Instead, heavy clouds gave a false sense of time and, in the end, allowed us to be photographing under similar conditions for a much, much longer period. My photograph was made at 8:03, often just about the time we’re calling it a morning at Bandon. I have plenty of images I made after this one, so the morning was unusual in that respect. Anyway, both images are examples of what you can learn and create when you don’t have “expectations” about a particular photography location and leave yourself open to what is there. As I’ve said, I love that sense of exploring and discovery of a place (and time) with a camera.
Ann’s image was taken about 6:30 in the morning. If you look closely, you can see pink hues in the clouds from the early morning light; hues that are missing from my clouds.
As is often the case, Ann’s photograph shows a greater landscape than mine and while it does not have the usual flow she often seeks, it does have that animal element that seems to catch her eye (and is often a bit humorous). In this case, the seagull provides not only interest, despite being so small, it and the bright patch around it serves as a counter-weight to the dark rock off to the right. The fact that there are three elements (three is always a good number), the two rocks and the gull, fairly evenly spaced across the image settles the image for the eye, allowing the eye to roam around and explore the frame.
When the eye does that, you’ll discover a world of textures. I’ve mentioned how eyes are attracted to bright areas of a frame, so the eye is immediately attracted first to the smoothness of the still bright water at the gull’s feet, moving up to the waves and across the frame to the rock, the heavily textured rock. Only to drop down to the differing textures in the water around its base (and the subtle colorations if you’re attentive) to make it’s way back across the bottom of the frame to see the rough ripple in the bottom left, only to rise to the wet sand patch and the bright lit water around the gull. As the eye moves further up the frame, you’re met with more textures in the clouds, linear towards the distant horizon, more billowy towards the top of the frame. Again, if you’re sensitive to colors, you’ll notice the subtle color variations in the clouds; not only the pinkish hues from the early morning light, but also the brighter cooler patch in the upper left corner.
But as the eye will almost invariably return to the brightest part of the image, you return to the gull, only to begin the process again. Each time there is more to discover as you visually explore the image - sometimes within the largest rock, other times the breaking wave off to the left, others the seemingly random textures within the water - each review giving you a deeper and deeper experience of this particular moment.
As I spoke with Ann about her image, I commented on how I so enjoy the fact that often her images appear very simple on first glance (almost innocuous, even random), but then as you explore them, you realize the depth and complexity of what is contained in the image. Some images you can look at and absorb much of what they have to offer in a matter of seconds. Return ten minutes later, or a week later, and there’s not much more that gets added from studying the image. Kind of like a cheap candy that has a great first flavor, but then nothing else. The best of Ann’s photographs (and there are quite a few of them) are not like that. Much like Henri Cartier-Bresson’s images (no Ann, they’re not that good . . . yet), it seems I get something more, different, new each time I visit her images. More like a great dessert (or wine, or dinner), where its rich flavors are only appreciated over time. I’ve learned not to dismiss Ann’s images just because I don’t immediately see “it” in the image. Now if I can only get Ann to believe that not all of her images suck.
As I said above, my image is not of the greater landscape; not really. My latest thinking about the differences between the way Ann sees (and photographs) and the way I do is that she sees spaces and landscapes, and I see (and photograph) things. Not that one approach is better or worse than the other, but it yields very different results that are particularly evident when we are photographing the same (or similar) subjects. My photograph from the pair is a good example of what I mean when I say that.
There’s very little question that the rock is the subject of my image. It may not be only about the rock, but the rock and its details, the textures, forms and colors, is inescapable in a way that is not in Ann’s photograph.
Once your eye moves away from the rock again it is the textures of the water that seem to catch the eye, and then, eventually the differing coloration within the water areas. The clouds have a similar texturing as in Ann’s image, but much less pronounced and the coloration has exchanged the pinkish dawn coloration for more browns and grays of normal cloudy days at the coast.
As I’ve mentioned, I’ve been looking at and thinking about this image for quite some time. During our workshop with Charlie Waite he noted that you have to be attentive of everything about an image as you’re making it. Miss nothing! I think what caught me quite by surprise when I revisited this image earlier this year was the lovely green-colored area around the base of the rock. I distinctly remember placing the rock just so within the frame, and determining the correct shutter speed for the waves in the background, and experimenting to see if the textured foregrounds would be lost at the shutter speed I wanted (the ripples are from water moving over ripples in the sand below, not wave action). But I cannot for the life of me recall whether I was cognizant of the green vs brown colorations in the foreground at the time of making the image. Which means I probably was not. (I am, however, fully aware that one should avoid stepping in any water area that is green-colored near a rock, unless of course you want to go knee deep and fill your water boots with water.) I guess I need to be more attentive to live up to Charlie’s standards.
Much like discussing Ann’s imagery, I actively seek to add complexity to images, even when they appear simple and straightforward. In some ways, the more layers of complexity you have, the more the eye wants to linger and discover the image. One may not be aware of just what it is that is keeping you looking at an image, and sometimes that’s the point - being obvious isn’t always the best thing in all instances. I think it was the unseen and unexpected color in an image from an overcast day that helps makes this image be something . . . more.
I suspect that in one of our printing sessions in the not too distant future, we’ll be printing each of these images. [Turned out to be a very not too distant future, I printed it on my birthday]. That too should be a great learning exercise. [It was.]