Taking time between making and viewing

I find great pleasure in the process of photography and the final outcomes. However, I need time to detach from the creative process before I can appreciate the finished image. Currently, one of my favorite photos is of Bridlington harbour. I enjoyed capturing and editing it, but the connection to the final piece wasn't immediate. After printing and displaying it above my stairs, with time, I've grown to enjoy the image. There were aspects I could have improved, but now I see the picture as a complete work of art, rather than fixating on minor details.

This also explains my struggle with monthly competitions or showcasing recent work. A month after capturing an image, I'm still more attached to the creation process than the final piece. My recent work is often subject to my harshest critique, yet with time, it becomes work I truly appreciate. This pattern holds true across my other creative endeavors.

For fellow photographers, I strongly suggest revisiting your older photographs. For non-photographers, I hope this sheds light on my thought process and why I can be overly critical of my latest creations.

An interesting paradox

In the world of photography, there exists a fascinating paradox - a photograph of an interesting thing isn't necessarily an interesting photograph, and conversely, an interesting photograph doesn't necessarily contain an interesting thing. There are many bad pictures of the recent aurora, and many excellent images of a simple tree that hundreds of people pass every day.

At first glance, one might assume that capturing a striking or unique subject automatically yields a captivating photograph. A majestic landscape, an iconic landmark, or a rare moment in time - these subjects often draw our attention and compel us to press the shutter button. However, it is essential to recognize that the mere presence of a visually appealing subject does not guarantee a remarkable photograph.

What transforms a mundane image of an interesting subject into a compelling photograph is the art of composition. The way the photographer frames the shot, plays with light and shadow, and arranges elements within the frame can elevate a simple subject into a work of art. It is the photographer's unique perspective and creative vision that breathe life and depth into an image.

Conversely, an everyday object or scene devoid of overt interest can become the focal point of a mesmerising photograph. By experimenting with angles, textures, and contrast, a skilled photographer can uncover the hidden beauty in the mundane. The play of light on a weathered wall, the intricate patterns in a cobblestone street, or the delicate interplay of shadows - these subtle details can captivate the viewer's imagination in ways that a flashy subject cannot.

In essence, the power of photography lies not solely in the subject matter but in the photographer's ability to see beyond the obvious, to capture moments that transcend the ordinary, and to evoke emotions through visual storytelling. The next time you peer through the viewfinder, remember that an interesting photograph is not just about what is in front of the lens, but how you choose to interpret and present it to the world. Embrace the paradox, explore the nuances, and let your unique perspective shine through each frame you capture.

Imperfectly human

Music has always been a huge part of my life. I was a radio DJ for many years, and station manager for quite a chunk of that time. I love unsigned bands, that lack the polish of the big production that a record label adds. The rawness and imperfections add to my enjoyment, not take away from it. Over the last couple of decades, autotune has dominated. Perfect pitch is seen as the ideal for music production. Yet to me these songs sound lifeless. The pitch moves unnaturally from one perfect note to the next, lacking any flow. If you just use the metric of perfect pitch, many of the truly great singers aren’t good singers. Yet we still admire the likes of Dylan, Knopfler, Lennon, and others. Their voices flow through the songs, grabbing your attention, and moving seamlessly between notes. Their songs are relatable stories instead of musical perfection.

So what does this have to do with photography? We can apply the same approach to our pictures. If we judge pictures solely on the ‘rules’ of composition, then we can lose the emotion from the image. Sometimes aligning something perfectly on a third is the wrong place for it. Sometimes a little distraction can add balance.

The closer we get to perfection, the further we get from human.

Seeing differently

I was diagnosed as colourblind when I was at school. Like many young lads, I wanted to be a pilot, so this was pretty devastating. I became disinterested with school, and just coasted through for the majority of the time. In my later school years, they were offering the chance to learn photography. This was before digital photography, so it was mostly shooting on black and white film, and developing it in the school darkroom. I was really taken with the mixture of science and black magic that goes into producing a print this way, and even tried more experimental techniques such as solarisation. In those days I mostly shot portraits, because as a 17 year old with no social skills I thought it was a good way to meet girls (it wasn’t). Shooting in black and white my colour blindness didn’t hold me back. After leaving school I built a little darkroom at home and continued shooting.

Then came digital. Almost overnight film became redundant. I lived in a small town, so my local camera shop could now only stock a few different film stocks, mostly colour. Darkroom supplies were incredibly difficult to get hold of too, especially as this was before the Internet really took off. I felt that the results I saw from digital cameras were very poor compared to film. It was a triumph of convenience over quality. I hadn’t long switched from the Praktica that I learnt on to a Nikon, but once my stock of photo paper ran out I put my camera away and never got it out again.

Fast forward a few years, and I became very ill. It was possibly the best thing that happened to me. I re-evaluated my life, and decided I needed to follow more creative pursuits. I picked up a cheap Nikon DSLR, got a Lightroom subscription, and started shooting. While I knew it would take a while to learn how to create images on a PC instead of dodging and burning while half high on fixer fumes, something else became clear from my photos. I was dealing with colour images for the first time. While there were the obvious issues of green tones being edited wrong, I also found that I really didn’t connect with the colours in the image. Even the colours that aren’t affected by my colourblindness could be off, simply because I didn’t really care about the colours. What really mattered was to me was the textures, tones, and contrast. I started editing more in monochrome, which I connected with more. I did some research, and I found it’s not unusual for colourblind people to have this switch from an emotional connection to colour to connecting more with tone. From there my enjoyment of photography increased significantly. Everything I shot I had a black and white image in mind. I watched hours of videos about editing in monochrome. Over time I developed my own process for getting the results I wanted, especially as I switched editing software to find different approaches. I now have a process that gives me results that match how I think about the tones and textures I see. I have accepted that I see differently, and that it’s a good thing.