We have spent the last several podcasts and videos exploring tools that help us as photographers and retouchers.  But technically perfect photos are not necessarily great ones.  As I contemplate those works I most admire, two characteristics stand out: point of view and intimacy with one’s subject.

At the risk of oversimplifying, humans appear to learn in almost predictable manners.  As children, we have a naiveté about the world that is instinctive.  Give a camera to a child, and buried amongst the many images he might take are real pearls.  More often than not, the most stunning are those with a radically different point of view.  Children often confront photography and their subjects with a fearlessness. 

At about age 5, our society begins to educate our youth.  They learn a series of tools that build upon other tools.  If we are successful, they have a basic understanding of the world and of themselves.  If we are especially successful, these students will have a fascination with the world and others that is not trapped in cliche. 

Many of the world’s most talented educators warn that we should not anthropomorphize the world, that we should see animals for what they are.  If I was to generalize this topic, contemporary culture suggests that we also see all others for who they are.  I, for one, greatly appreciate the wisdom of these conclusions.  But the challenge as a photographer is that children do not see the world this way, and neither have cultures throughout the history of mankind.  Children do not see a separation between themselves and others, indeed many show a kind of kindred spirit. We have probably all witnessed a child walk over to a complete stranger, and offer them a cracker.  And in that moment, we understand why children are so universally loved; they show no separation.

So it is with the best photos.  These photographers capture a kind of naivete in their photos, establishing a connection - ideally an emotional connection - between the viewer and the subject. 

An example almost cliche in the world of animal photography is that of a mother bear and her cub.  I am sure you can imagine in your mind’s eye, that moment a mother bear nuzzling her cub - showing closeness and protection.  Part of the reason these kinds of images work so well, is because they connect with instincts deep within us, 

Contrast that against an image of a flock of birds.  What do you see in your mind’s eye?  Perhaps an image of stunning execution of pattern and light and color.  But does it conjure the same sense of connection?  

I love photographing landscapes.  But I have recognized in my own work a lack of intimacy.  Hopefully, much of my work was executed with a level of technical acceptability, but much of it does not always connect on an emotional level. 

One of the personal reasons I started this website was to chart a new course.    I believe that at its best, photography is an interactive process, requiring an audience.  I have always enjoyed the sharing process, whether it is mentoring young scientists or attending workshops with photographer colleagues. 

Galen Rowell is attributed with saying that the difference between professional and amateur photographers is that professionals shoot more bad pictures.  If we broaden Galen’s definition, folks who are passionate about their photography will come back day after day until they’ve mastered a topic.  Galen contrasted that kind of individual with one who is more of a collector, wanting to collect images, for example, from all of the National Parks.  Once they’ve done one park, they move on to the next, equating their emotional state as a saturation of awareness.  He suggested that this is precisely the time to move in and use that feeling to do something better.  When you think you’re close, see if you can get even closer.  Ask yourself if anyone will respond emotionally to the subject of this photo.

One of the challenges facing the professional and serious hobbyist photographer alike is the proliferation of good equipment and the increasing interest of photography in general.  How does one take a unique image of the Grand Canyon when it is photographed by literally millions of people a year?    How many of us can immediately conjure up a mental image of a sunbeam striking the floor of a slot canyon?  This despite the fact that there are only a handful of such places in the world - yet we can all instantly recall such images. 

My answer is to try to be more intimate with my photography.  Try to understand the ritual gestures of the environment, connecting those gestures with some kind of emotional connotation, and seeing if I can come up with a visual response.  

Frans Lanting is quoted as saying that he admires those who, 20,000 years ago, painted onto cave walls visions of their environment - concerning themselves more with revealing the essence of the animal than with details or sharpness of the image.

In a world that moves at an increasingly rapid pace, most really good photography still requires patience.  Reading, planning, spending time in the field.  Gradually, the generalities transcend into individual idiosyncrasies.  Every tree is different.  And every canyon changes throughout day.  

For me, the challenge is to focus on the individuality of a place.  Rarely easy, taking a fair amount of time.  How does this spot differ from its neighbor?  How can I communicate with people whose mental state starts in a completely different place?

The transition to a digital world, I think, is changing the nature of still photography.  Once an exercise in optimizing composition, color, shape, and texture, I sense a trend towards one of emotional story telling.  Instead of a single image, the best photographers will exhibit sequences or collections of images having a beginning, a middle and an end.  I believe our craft is no longer just about getting physically closer but rather about getting emotionally closer.  How do I get my viewer to get close and stay close?

I believe that the best photographers are those who understand their craft so well that they can return to the naivete of their youth.  They understand the body language of the landscape they choose to shoot.  These folks internalize the repetitive behaviors of their environment.  Seeing how close we as photographers can get to our subjects with nothing between us.   

Now that most of the world has literally been photographed, it is no longer sufficient to see an animal or a mountain as generalized or representative form.  We need to go further, to gain a sense of intimacy with our subjects.  At its very core, photography is a means to communicate.  For each of us, it is one way for us to express ourselves to one another and to a planet.  That is both our challenge and our opportunity.

Thanks for listening, This is Rick Allen.
 

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