New Years and making good pictures...
Finally the New Year is upon us. Finally, I say, because this past year was quite the turbulent one. It also marks the first year anniversary of this blog. Hooray! I know you all are excited about that.
But actually it represents a mild achievement for myself. When I set out to do this, I really wanted this blog to be about the random thoughts that entered my head, melded with my photographic work. Somehow I thought, that what I do on a daily, or weekly basis, might have some relevance to the world at large. And passing that insight on to others might help me (and the reader, presumably) in the way that we approach the world. Maybe it demystifies the idea of a working photojournalist. Maybe it brings the world closer to the reader. But most of all, it’s a selfish endeavor. Let’s call a spade a spade. For most of my life, I’ve enjoyed writing. For a brief moment in my life I considered whether a career as a novelist would be something to pursue. It never panned out. As it was, I decided to pursue science and a general curiosity toward the natural world. Working in neuroscience labs naturally gave way to taking pictures. And now, I can write a little, to cure that small craving. Two birds, one stone…
But as I learn more about being a photojournalist, I’ve found that the idea of making great pictures actually is simpler than it appears, while simultaneously being far more complicated to achieve.
I’ve started to believe the idea of a great picture is very much rooted in the content. At least that’s how it appears to me now. The structure of that content is secondary. When I look at my pictures from a few years back it isn’t so much that they aren’t taken with the correct composition, or in the best light. Instead, the pictures were lacking in content, or at best, confusing. Composition can play a part in clearing this up.
But as I sat at my parents’ home over the holidays, I poured over several volumes of photographs taken over several decades. In them were all my relatives and friends and of course, myself. But there was particular meaning in most of those photos. As I looked at them with my fiancée, what struck me is the particular potency of having moments in your life documented for posterity. The clothes. The locations. Or simply the people in the photos. They all played a part in stoking nostalgia.
These pictures weren’t great because they were shot with great gear, held the “rule of thirds”, or the light was perfect. In fact there were very few that were “great” by any standards you’d apply if you were judging photos for a contest.
But they were wonderful to see. And it struck me that I had watched, some months earlier, several photographers gather at a local art institute to answer questions about taking pictures. There was Dave Burnett (a particular favorite of mine), Sam Abell, Annie Griffiths-Belt, Bruce Dale, and even Bob Gilka, the legendary photo editor at National Geographic for so many years, was there. Burnett offered some advice which I didn't pay much attention to at the time. He advised us to photograph our lives. After looking at the volumes of pictures at my parents’ house, I remembered what he said and thought, “Damn, he’s right”.
All around us are moments that we have unlimited access in which to witness and take pictures. This is the simple aspect of taking great pictures.
At some point between leaving my home, and going to the next assignment, it’s easy to forget the reason for taking pictures. It’s not so we can come away with some clever composition or cool blurry photo. It’s so we can convey information. Over thinking can really lead to taking bad pictures.
The goal should be to capture history and add to that library of visual history I’ve spoken of before. That history can be the inauguration of the president, conflicts around the world, or the family together during the holidays. Inevitably, though, the moments you have with your family will be the most meaningful, and are most easily shared. They convey the most meaning.
Again, it’s about the content. And maybe one of my resolutions this year will be that I work to have more content in my images. But if it’s another lesson I’ve learned with the digital age, is that it is very easy to take lots and lots of pictures. But they bear little or no meaning if people can’t see them. Luckily however, the internet provides more places than ever allowing you to put together your own albums. Especially when you consider the time it took to take the film to the store, get the prints, then take out the album and sort them into the pages, it’s a very inexpensive service.
So this year, I’m planning on taking more pictures and putting them in albums, and not just the ones that go in the newspaper. I probably won’t remember them 20 years from now, anyway.
But actually it represents a mild achievement for myself. When I set out to do this, I really wanted this blog to be about the random thoughts that entered my head, melded with my photographic work. Somehow I thought, that what I do on a daily, or weekly basis, might have some relevance to the world at large. And passing that insight on to others might help me (and the reader, presumably) in the way that we approach the world. Maybe it demystifies the idea of a working photojournalist. Maybe it brings the world closer to the reader. But most of all, it’s a selfish endeavor. Let’s call a spade a spade. For most of my life, I’ve enjoyed writing. For a brief moment in my life I considered whether a career as a novelist would be something to pursue. It never panned out. As it was, I decided to pursue science and a general curiosity toward the natural world. Working in neuroscience labs naturally gave way to taking pictures. And now, I can write a little, to cure that small craving. Two birds, one stone…
But as I learn more about being a photojournalist, I’ve found that the idea of making great pictures actually is simpler than it appears, while simultaneously being far more complicated to achieve.
I’ve started to believe the idea of a great picture is very much rooted in the content. At least that’s how it appears to me now. The structure of that content is secondary. When I look at my pictures from a few years back it isn’t so much that they aren’t taken with the correct composition, or in the best light. Instead, the pictures were lacking in content, or at best, confusing. Composition can play a part in clearing this up.
But as I sat at my parents’ home over the holidays, I poured over several volumes of photographs taken over several decades. In them were all my relatives and friends and of course, myself. But there was particular meaning in most of those photos. As I looked at them with my fiancée, what struck me is the particular potency of having moments in your life documented for posterity. The clothes. The locations. Or simply the people in the photos. They all played a part in stoking nostalgia.
These pictures weren’t great because they were shot with great gear, held the “rule of thirds”, or the light was perfect. In fact there were very few that were “great” by any standards you’d apply if you were judging photos for a contest.
But they were wonderful to see. And it struck me that I had watched, some months earlier, several photographers gather at a local art institute to answer questions about taking pictures. There was Dave Burnett (a particular favorite of mine), Sam Abell, Annie Griffiths-Belt, Bruce Dale, and even Bob Gilka, the legendary photo editor at National Geographic for so many years, was there. Burnett offered some advice which I didn't pay much attention to at the time. He advised us to photograph our lives. After looking at the volumes of pictures at my parents’ house, I remembered what he said and thought, “Damn, he’s right”.
All around us are moments that we have unlimited access in which to witness and take pictures. This is the simple aspect of taking great pictures.
At some point between leaving my home, and going to the next assignment, it’s easy to forget the reason for taking pictures. It’s not so we can come away with some clever composition or cool blurry photo. It’s so we can convey information. Over thinking can really lead to taking bad pictures.
The goal should be to capture history and add to that library of visual history I’ve spoken of before. That history can be the inauguration of the president, conflicts around the world, or the family together during the holidays. Inevitably, though, the moments you have with your family will be the most meaningful, and are most easily shared. They convey the most meaning.
Again, it’s about the content. And maybe one of my resolutions this year will be that I work to have more content in my images. But if it’s another lesson I’ve learned with the digital age, is that it is very easy to take lots and lots of pictures. But they bear little or no meaning if people can’t see them. Luckily however, the internet provides more places than ever allowing you to put together your own albums. Especially when you consider the time it took to take the film to the store, get the prints, then take out the album and sort them into the pages, it’s a very inexpensive service.
So this year, I’m planning on taking more pictures and putting them in albums, and not just the ones that go in the newspaper. I probably won’t remember them 20 years from now, anyway.
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