Bruce Barnbaum - The Art of Photography - An Approach to Personal Expression

I fully endorse digital manipulation for artistic ends. If I photographed a landscape tomorrow that had several overlooked power wires that could be eliminated with digital manipulation, I would surely do so—and I believe most photographers would do so (even those who profess a disdain of digital). I’m not opposed to manipulating an image via computerization if it were the only way to produce what I wanted. I would be foolish and decidedly narrow-minded if I simply refused to improve—or create—a fine image through the use of a computer.

Note

When photographers get away from thinking, “This is what I can do ” and get to “This is what I can say”, photography becomes a more mature interpretive medium .

Is computerization altering photography as we know it? Of course it is. It’s certainly offering a new process, perhaps even new thinking behind it. But just as the advent of photography altered painting (see Chapter 15), I suspect that digital methods are having a great influence on photography, and I doubt that they will bring an end to photography as it has been previously practiced. To my knowledge, no art form has ever pushed a previously existing art form completely into oblivion. Painting still exists despite photography’s immense influence on it. And to use musical instruments as an example, the forte piano replaced the harpsichord, which was replaced in turn by the modern piano. Yet there are recordings made on all three instruments today. Whole orchestras of ancient instruments exist today, and their recordings are quite popular. I believe that traditional film-based photography will be produced into the foreseeable future alongside digital, computer-manipulated imagery. For now, I continue to make traditional film-based and darkroom printed photographs—and I continue to feel that artistic manipulation is perfectly acceptable unless it’s done with the intent of personal damage.

Art, Communication, and Personal Integrity

I’ll close this chapter by examining a completely different aspect of personal integrity. If photography is an art form (the basic premise of this book), then we must concentrate on its success and effectiveness as a form of communication. If a work of art conveys or communicates nothing to the viewer, then how can it have any artistic value?

There can be good counterarguments to this question. A magnificent baroque table or an ancient urn may qualify as art, though neither was created with any intended message other than beautiful form, extraordinary craftsmanship, and exceptional materials. So a photograph that possesses amazingly rich and beautiful tonal relationships and wonderfully captivating lines and forms may possess artistic value even though it has no real message—other than inherent beauty—to convey.

This strongly indicates that necessary ingredients of fine photographs are compelling compositional qualities. It would be hard to imagine any photograph lacking good composition still qualifying as art. Beyond that, if a message is to be communicated from the artist to the viewer, the issue of effective communication must be considered. The key issue is how deeply should you, the artist, concern yourself with your ability to convey your message and the viewer’s ability to comprehend it?

Suppose you create a compositionally strong image that thoroughly pleases you. You’re being true to your ideals and your vision, and additionally, you’re spot-on with the message you want to convey. But suppose nobody else gets it. Do you alter your printing or even start anew with your basic photographic approach, in order to make the message clearer to others? If you do, are you selling out? Are you so concerned with the message that you compromise your art for the sake of communication? Furthermore, suppose your work is critiqued by professionals who suggest changing things to make your message clearer. Should you listen to them, or should you ignore their suggestions and go your own way?

These are tough questions to answer because there are no clear guidelines. When you’re learning, it’s particularly wise to listen to good constructive criticism and suggestions. That’s self-evident. (But then, we’re always learning, or we’re dead.) But what if you’re a step or two beyond basic learning levels? My experience is that it’s always worth listening to others whose opinions you value. After all, you can easily and inadvertently overlook problems in your own images, ones that may jump out to someone who isn’t so wrapped up in the imagery or the message. Listening and reevaluating your work is hardly selling out. It’s being open-minded and sensible. But if you revise without reevaluating, then that is selling out.

Consider this: In his lifetime, Vincent van Gogh was never looked upon as a worthy artist. But he ignored all those who derided his work. He followed his vision. Today, of course, he’s considered one of the great artists in history. Not during his lifetime, but today with historical perspective, we can see that he was right to ignore his critics. Also worth considering is the question of who’s correct—the public and the critics in his day or those today. The answer is ever changing. Who knows if Van Gogh will be honored 120 years from now, or scorned as he was 120 years ago?

Pleasing yourself, as van Gogh did, should not be confused with producing fine art. Some people truly believe they are great artists and claim that they, like van Gogh, are misunderstood. I term their rationale “the van Gogh defense”. It goes like this: “He was great, and nobody understood him during his lifetime; I’m equally great and nobody understands me either, but they will in the future.” There can be no rational argument against such thinking. Unfortunately, there are very few van Goghs, even among the legions who claim to be misunderstood geniuses. In general, the van Gogh defense is a way of dodging the fact that the work is really just junk.

Because everyone’s personal definition of art varies, it’s impossible to come up with a universal definition of art (more about this in the next chapter). It may be equally difficult to define “effective communication”. Only you can decide whether you’re communicating effectively within your artistic vision or whether you’re selling out and compromising your principles. You have to be honest with yourself about this.

I pose these questions as ones worthy of thought. I can’t offer solid answers—only you can, and only for your work, your thinking, and your personal integrity. My views may differ from yours. I’m not trying to force your conclusions, but simply asking you to reach your own.

Sunlight was edging the deeply pitted sandstone wall of Utah’s Wolverine Canyon creating a particularly pleasing form of light against the shadowed wall. Only after developing my contact proof did I notice that the sunlit form looked like a crucifix. And only after making my first 16″ × 20″ print did I notice the lizard in the shadows toward the lower left. Sometimes surprises occur, but these represent no ethical violations .

Figure 14-6. Canyon Crucifix

Chapter 15. Photographic Realism, Abstraction, and Art

IN THE LATE 1870S, BODIE WAS A MINING TOWN of considerable importance, producing millions of dollars in gold and silver ore at the prices of its day. It was infamous for its bitter weather, brawls, and shootings. Its fortunes declined during the early 1880s as the mines were depleted. The last occupants moved away in 1940, eight years after a devastating fire destroyed most of the town. Today Bodie is a California State Historical Monument with a cluster of remaining buildings spread over a square mile area.