Interpretations of Home

We all know that home is more than a house. Yes, it is the people. It is where we feel comfortable. It may be where we feel rooted. Or where things are familiar. For each of us, home brings something very personal and unique to mind.

In many ways, this photo reminds me of home—not of the house or the people, but of the landscape in which I grew up—here in Georgia on a lake where I spent hours swimming, fishing, sailing, skiing and just sitting on the dock contemplating life (or drinking beer with friends). The edge of the lake was always muddy—that red Georgia clay. But the water also reflected the clouds in the sky and trees along the bank (these photographed in winter).

It is a simple image—one that captures a place and a moment in time.What kind of images do you have or could you make that would remind you of home?

What compels you?

The first photography workshop I attended was a two-day event with John Shaw and Dewitt Jones back in the 1980s. For me, the draw was John Shaw, whose photographs of nature and country living were a strong influence in my early development as a photographer, but both photographers gave inspiring presentations and it was a story by Dewitt that has stayed with me through the years. 
 
As he shared beautiful photographs of a spider web in a meadow, Dewitt told us how he didn’t stop with just one photo, but instead kept moving closer and looking at the web from different angles because he knew he had not quite expressed what compelled him to pick up the camera and photograph it. The final shot was an extreme closeup of water droplets hanging from the web, glistening in sunlight. He encouraged us to pay attention to what compels us. In fact, “What compels you?” has become a sort of mantra for me and that question goes through my mind each time I pick up a camera. It’s one that I, too, encourage students to explore during workshops.
 
Dewitt's photographic advice often doubles as good advice for life and I have watched a number of his videos and talks over the years. I especially like his message in this TedX talk: Celebrate What’s Right with the World. It is a message worth sharing, so I hope you might click on the link, watch the video and enjoy!

Why do You Make Photographs?

In a conversation with workshop participants this week, we explored our reasons for making photographs. Those reasons are different for each of us and often change throughout our lives.

When I first discovered photography, for instance, it was about the magic: How I could see the world through this small, handheld box-with-a-button and a week later hold that view in the palm of my hand as a print? In high school and college, when photographing for yearbooks or at gatherings with friends or family, it was about capturing memories of people and our times together. While shooting on assignment for books and magazines, it was about visual storytelling. These days, it is more a means of being more present, wherever that happens to be. Most often, that is in the landscape or in the studio with my collection of natural objects, but it could be anywhere. I try to slow down, breathe, and simply observe what's in front of me before making a photograph. 
 
Why do you make photographs? Is it to capture memories, explore a place or tell a story? Or maybe to express your emotions or explore your dreams? Knowing why you make photographs can inform how you make photographs–what to include within the frame, what kind of mood to create, whether to shoot straight or interpret a scene in a more artistic way. A botanist would likely photograph a flower in a very different way than someone more interested in the romance of flowers or a magazine photographer illustrating ways to use that flower for design purposes.

Journaling is a great way to explore your reasons for making photographs (or any kind of art, for that matter). But even if you're not into journaling, I hope you'll take a few moments to ponder the question this weekend. If you feel like sharing, I'd love to hear from you.

What Constitutes Creative Practice?

Those of you who have been following me for some time know that I’m not into resolutions. That said, I am a believer in both reflecting and dreaming, and then mulling over ways to make some of those dreams come true. Each year, I select two or three words that represent areas in which I’d like to take a deep dive—to explore, learn and grow. 
 
This year, one of those is creative practice. (Okay, that’s two words, and I may count it as such, because for me, this is a big one.) What constitutes creative practice for photographers? What skills or creative exercises do we practice and how often do we practice them? What can we learn from other visual and performing artists, or perhaps from athletes or masters of other fields? How important is routine in creative practice, and how do you know when it’s time to shake up that routine? Does strict routine enhance or inhibit creativity? How much of creative practice is practice in the traditional sense and how much is simply showing up and doing the work? No doubt, the answer to all of these questions may be, “It depends.” But I’m going to see if I can at least explore and define some of these for myself, spend more time creating and less time doing “everything else” and make some new strides in my creative practice. I will share some of my experiences along the way.
 
I’d love to hear from you, as well—whether you are a photographer or not. How do you define creative practice? Do you benefit from a set routine or creative habits; prefer more spontaneity; or find it challenging to carve out creative time at all with your other roles and responsibilities? What are the current challenges you face or that you spend your time thinking about as a photographer or visual artist? Perhaps we can work through some of these questions together in the coming year.

Select. Eliminate. Emphasize.

In her book, Georgia O'Keeffe: The Poetry of Things, Elizabeth Hutton Turner quotes O’Keeffe talking about her approach to painting, noting that, "It is only by selection, by elimination, by emphasis that we get at the real meaning of things.” 
 
It struck me how true O’Keeffe’s approach is for photography, as well. 
 
We begin by selecting a compelling subject to explore from different perspectives, looking for meaning and an appropriate perspective. Next, our task is to eliminate everything that doesn’t belongin the image—all of the extraneous objects, the clutter, the odd little things creeping in around the edges of the frame and anything that doesn’t contribute to conveying meaning or telling our story. And finally, we emphasize our choice of subject by highlighting it in some appropriate way. Perhaps there is an emphasis on color, line, shape or form; texture that is exaggerated with side lighting; compositional elements that guide the eye to a particular area of the image, or lighting that creates mood. We photograph our subject in a manner that calls our attention to what matters.
 
Select. Eliminate. Emphasize. Three very good words to remember when composing photographs and a good reminder that less can be more.

A Dark Diptych for Black Friday

I can’t recall why they named the biggest shopping day of the year Black Friday, but despite the great sales, it is a day I do my best to either stay home or get out in nature and away from it all. I don't care much for shopping or crowds. One mall visit a year is one too many.
 
But as a nod to the day, which actually follows my favorite holiday of the year, here is an image from a new series of black-and-white diptychs that I’m working on. It is so much fun playing with these. It requires getting out of my usual mindset and looking at images in new ways. I experience a small thrill each time I find an unexpected connection between photographs. They almost always tell a very different story than they might individually. Sometimes, one of the images adds depth, information and insight to the other. And other times, they become something entirely new, as is the case here.
 
Anyhow, for those of you out shopping: be safe and have fun. I hope you find some great deals. And to all of you, thank you for your continued interest and support, for reading my newsletter, for participating in my workshops, for hanging my work in your homes, for simply connecting in some way. May you all find something to be thankful for today and every day.

Keep Going Back

I have photographed Fort Clinch on Amelia Island around a dozen times. I’m fascinated by the light and architecture—the many tunnels, windows, doorways, arched ceilings and worn, handmade bricks. I usually go with my tripod, camera and one or two zoom lenses on lightly overcast (preferred) or sunny days.
 
Earlier this week, I was on the island and it started raining. I ditched my plans, grabbed my camera and drove to the fort. No tripod, no zoom lenses, no filters. Just a 50mm lens and an umbrella. The rain tapered, but it was still wet, drizzly and moody. 
 
Shooting in different weather wasn’t my only motive for returning. I wanted to try looking at the fort in new ways. Handholding allowed me to be more playful. The 50mm lens required me to zoom with my feet—physically moving closer to or farther away from my subject.
 
I noticed some things had changed at the fort. Furniture had been rearranged; some windows had been opened while others had been closed; the pantry was open in the kitchen; white barriers had been randomly placed along an exterior staircase (above); a different (interpretive) soldier was on duty.
 
When you find a subject or location you like to photograph, keep going back. See what has changed. Capture different moods by photographing in different seasons or light. Push yourself creatively by focusing on something different, using a different lens, or experimenting with a different technique each time you go. Be open to the serendipitous—the interaction of people or animals with a place or each other. One time think broad views; another time think intimate details. Look for opportunities to tell different stories about or reinterpret a place.
 
Is there somewhere close to your home or a place you travel to often that you could photograph regularly? Why not start building a portfolio of images about that place? If you do, I'd love to hear about your experience.

Pairing Images

sharing images in new ways
 
Do you ever get the urge to do something different? I’m not talking about dramatic life or career changes, here. Just changes that shake up your routine, change your way of seeing, or result in new work that feels fresh.
 
One of the ways I’m addressing that urge right now is by playing around with paired images: diptychs, triptychs and short, visual stories of five to eight images. It’s sort of like writing haiku when you’re used to writing novels, so it requires a different way of thinking. It's fun looking for relationships between images that not only hold them together, but also result in a sum that is greater than its parts—images that tell not only their own stories, but also help shed light on each other; images that, perhaps, feel more poetic when paired.

Here is a diptych from Great Cranberry Island. The boulder was shaped by the ocean's waves and, in addition to their physical relationship, I loved the waves of blue in the rock.
 
What about you? Do you ever pair images to create a diptych or triptych? Printing a number of individual images first is a great way to play with pairings, as it allows you to shuffle them around on a table. It can be done on the computer screen, too, but for some reason, it’s just not the same. Why not give it a try and see what happens?

Portraits of Place

One of the key concepts in creativity is that of combining seemingly unrelated ideas to come up with new ideas or looking to other fields for strategies that might work in our own.
 
In photography, this can be as simple as approaching one field of photography like you might another. For instance, a landscape photographer can benefit from thinking like a portrait photographer. After all, every place, whether a bustling city or a remote patch of desert, has its own personality and unique characteristics. This can inform the elements and composition, the angle of view and the kind of light in which we photograph the landscape.
 
When I photograph plants, I often bring them into the studio and set them up much as one might for a portrait session. I spend time studying each plant carefully, looking for unique characteristics or gestures that give it personality. And that’s what I emphasize through lighting, composition and depth of field.
 
I was reminded of this while listening to an interview by Chris Orwig with noted photographer Keith Carter. Carter has spent much of his life photographing the people and places of East Texas and approaches all of his subjects as portraits. It doesn’t matter whether they are people, dogs, houses, landscapes or objects. His work is insightful, engaging and often mysterious. It is filled with soul and magic, and he says that's because he gives his subject intense attention and respect. If you want a good example of portraiture concepts applied in non-traditional ways, spend some enjoyable time with his work. 
 
What happens when you begin to think of the photographs you take as portraits? How does it change your way of seeing and relating to your subject?

The Artist Residency: A Gift of Time and Focus

Although artists and writers need connections and benefit from collaboration in many ways, creating the work itself is generally a solitary act. And it requires shifting into a creative “zone” in which we are totally focused on our work, oblivious to our surroundings, schedules and other obligations. Sometimes, that’s easier said than done. Cell phones, the internet, appointments—they all get in the way.
 
Sometimes it is helpful to just get away from it all. To eliminate the distractions, reset, reflect and focus on the work. Artist residencies offer a way to do that, and it is one of the reasons they are so coveted. They offer a change of environment, a quiet place to work for an extended period, and various forms of support—usually housing and studio space, and occasionally other amenities such as meals, transportation or access to specialized equipment. Some offer a community of other artists with whom you can build relationships and share experiences with over meals; others are solo retreats. Most provide an opportunity at some point to share your work with their local community or offer greater visibility for your work in some way. But mostly, they offer a quiet place to work without interruptions. 
 
I am doing my first artist residency this summer through the Heliker-LaHotan Foundationon Great Cranberry Island, Maine. Located just off the coast of Mount Desert Island and Acadia National Park, it is the largest of five islands in the Cranberry Isles, measuring roughly two miles long by one mile wide. It is accessible only by boat, and beyond a general store, café, library and local history museum, there are few amenities on the island. I do not expect to have cell phone service. Internet is likely only available at the library (though the island is in the process of adding a broadband system). But that's okay. There are rocky shorelines; a large, protected tidal pond; a log boardwalk through a bog; trails through a spruce-fir, birch and red maple forest; and excellent views of the sunset over the mountains of Acadia National Park.

I will be at the residency for four weeks following two weeks of teaching at the Maine Media Workshopsin Rockport. I will have both a place to stay and a private studio overlooking the water. While there, I will lead a three-day photography workshop on landscape and place. (You are invited; see details below.)
 
Preparing for a residency is an interesting process: How much to plan versus how much to leave open to the experience? Will I work on a current project that needs some deep attention, focus on a new project based on the island, or some combination of the two? What equipment and materials should I pack, knowing I have to get everything there by boat and will not have local access to additional supplies? Should I take my own backdrops or make do with what I can adapt? Take a small lighting kit for studio shots or rely on natural light? Should I post as I can about the experience while I'm there or totally disconnect? What needs to be taken care of at home before leaving on a seven-week journey (as I am also driving to Maine and back)? If I’ve learned anything about travel over the years, it is to prepare, but to be open to the unexpected and change of plans, so that is how I am approaching this adventure.
 
I will likely take a break from posting my newsletter and on social media while away, but I will keep you posted on preparations over the next few weeks and share my challenges, discoveries and experiences in some way when I return. I am extremely grateful to the Heliker-LaHotan Foundation for this opportunity to take a deep dive into my creative work and look forward to the journey.

Why Make Photographs?

Why make photographs? Not just “take pictures,” but why take the time to create a compelling, memorable image? What compels you to pick up a camera—whether a digital SLR, a 4x5 field camera, or the camera in your phone—and create a photograph? 
 
I believe this is an essential question that every photographer should ask, whether they are a working professional, artist, avid enthusiast or someone new to photography. Doing so and exploring the answer is part of what separates photographers from everyone else with a camera, which is just about everybody these days. Of course, that doesn’t mean the answer comes easily, or that it doesn’t change and evolve over time. 
 
In exploring this question, you may find that there are both easy answers and more difficult ones—those more general in nature that many other photographers might identify with and those that are very specific and unique to you. Those unique to you are the most valuable. They provide the motivation. They bring focus, clarity and consistency to your work. The more you understand your “why,” the more compelling your images are likely to be.
 
Some of your answers may have to do with how the process affects you. Others may have more to do with what you want to share with others. They may have to do with recording your life, telling stories, expressing emotions, documenting change, exposing injustices, teaching others about a subject, sharing what others often overlook, or so many other reasons. Even within a particular genre, you have a unique perspective that is driven by your why. What is it?
 
Even if you’ve answered this question dozens of times before, why not take some time this week to think about it again—to see if the images you are creating are consistent with your why, if your thoughts on the subject have evolved, if the answers are helping you to grow.

Practicing Slow Photography

There is a difference between taking pictures and making photographs. The first is a casual act; the latter is a contemplative one. It is possible to produce interesting images either way, but making photographs is done with much greater attention and intention.
 
Last week, I asked about some of the ways you go about slowing down and making photography a more contemplative, creative act. Today, I’d like to share a few of my own approaches. 

• Set the camera aside. Just sit for a while or take a walk and become more aware of your surroundings. I believe this is especially important in nature, but may be equally important and insightful in other surroundings, as well. This can help you slow down and become more in tune with a place. It can also allow you to see things you might otherwise miss.

• Notice your first impressions. Sometimes they are the most important impressions; other times they are misleading. It is your job to discern the difference. 

• When something attracts your attention, think about why it does that. What compels you and how might you best emphasize or translate than photographically? 

• If possible, move around your subject and look at it from all angles. Notice not only the subject, but how the light falls on it, what is behind it, and what is beside it that might be encroaching on your image. This can apply whether you are photographing a flower or garden, a stone or a mountain, a doorway or a building.

• Focus more on making one great photograph than taking lots of shots.

• Stop often to look up from what you are photographing. Notice how the light is shifting, what may be falling in or out of shadow, and what is taking place around you. If you are shooting close-up, observe the overall scene. If you are photographing a broad scene, take a look at the details around you.

• Eliminate distractions. Might you need to turn off your phone? Get away on your own for a bit when traveling with others? Go to a quieter location? 

• Pay attention not only to the subject, but how it makes you feel.  Can you bring some of that emotion into your photograph?

• Let go of expectations (both your own and those of others). Instead of worrying about how to get a great shot, allow the scene to speak to you.

Do any of these resonate with you? What would you add to the list? 

Photography as a Contemplative, Creative Act

Photography helps us see the world around us in new ways. For this reason, the camera can be a powerful creative tool. But it is just a tool, for how we choose to see the world through that viewfinder is entirely up to us. We can use it to expand our vision and see things we’ve never seen before; to share our unique experiences and way of seeing the world; or to express our thoughts, ideas and emotions. And yet, when we look through that viewfinder, we naturally narrow our focus and often miss important things around us. We can even hide behind it, using it as a shield from interacting with the people around us or fully engaging with our environment.
 
There was a time when photography, by its very nature, was a contemplative act. Large, heavy cameras on tripods with bulky sheet film holders forced photographers to slow down and be more conscious of their actions. They had to compose images upside-down on glass plates, calculate proper exposure without meters, and process their own negatives and prints in a darkroom. They had a limited supply of film holders and expensive film, limiting the number of photographs they could take. Trips into the wilderness required extensive planning and, most likely, packhorses to carry the gear. It was a slow process, at best—one that required attention to detail, a command of the scientific and technical aspects of photography, and patience. But even then, the camera was just a tool. The photographs produced varied greatly from one photographer to the next.
 
The process of slowing down to take a photograph is just as important today as it was then—even though our cameras fit in a pocket or small bag, have meters that help calculate exposures, and capture hundreds of images on tiny digital cards not much bigger than a thumbnail. Photography still requires looking, seeing, thinking, interpreting and expressing. For that, we must become more in tune with our surroundings, our emotions and our intentions. What are some of the ways you go about doing that in your own photographic work?
 

The Real Value of Artist Statements

Artist statements get a bad rap. And if you've read many of them, you know why. Too many are written with the intent of sounding impressive, when their purpose is to simply and clearly communicate the what, why and how of our work. An artist statement should clarify, not mystify. 

Even though we usually write artist statements for others to learn about our work, they can be equally beneficial to those of us writing them. Sometimes, their real value is not so much in the finished product as it is the process of articulating what our work is about. It helps us clarify what we do and why. It brings our intentions into greater focus and forces us to think deeply about what matters, what we hope to accomplish or communicate with our work, what processes are important to us, and what sets our work apart from the work of other artists.
 
Pausing from time to time, maybe every year or so, to revise or rewrite our basic artist statement helps us think about where we are, how we have grown, and where we are going. Hopefully, we’ve gained some clarity in our work since the last version was written. 
 
Writing artist statements for each new project, series, or body of work helps us clarify what that work is really about. Doing this early in the development of that work can give us direction, keep a project focused, and help us communicate with others what we are doing. Of course, sometimes we need to spend time with a project before we know that. In such cases, writing an artist statement later helps us to reflect on the work and perhaps see things we were not aware of when we launched the project.
 
When was the last time you wrote an artist statement—either a general one or a project-specific one? Is it time for an update? Are you delving into a new body of work that would benefit from greater clarity? 
 
If you are cringing at the thought, remember that it’s only one paragraph—just a few sentences. Try answering the following questions in one sentence each, in your own conversational voice: What do you do? Why? And how? If necessary, add another sentence or two to fill in any important gaps. Sleep on it, and then polish it the next day. Let me know how it goes.

Studies in Shape and Form

There were many special moments during my recent tour of Georgia O’Keeffe’s home in Abiquiu. Among them was discovering her rock collections scattered about the house, both inside and out. I’ve done a little research and it appears that she loved the shapes of these rocks, as well as rocks in general. She gathered them on her walks, as well as during her trips to other places, such as Oaxaca, Mexico. One, later deemed her favorite, she "stole" from the home of photographer Eliot Porter and had a photograph made of her holding this black stone. Her gardener sometimes rearranged rocks in her collections; she moved them back without saying a word. It became a game they played for years. For a time, she painted individual stones in addition to the magnificent rock formations in the landscape near Abiquiu and Ghost Ranch.
 

One of Georgia O'Keeffe's rock collections. O'Keeffe home in Abiquiu, NM.

“I have the kind of mind that sees these shapes. I know what some of them are from. Many have realistic landscape or natural bases, but others are just beautiful shapes that I see in my mind.”

-- Georgia O’Keeffe

 
I am a photographer rather than a painter and I see shapes in the things around me more than I imagine them in my mind, but I do identify with O’Keeffe’s passion for shapes. It is what draws me to architectural subjects, to unique land and stone formations, to leaves and other details in the natural world, and even to abstractions. It is what I love most about the adobe architecture of Santa Fe and surrounding areas, whether Pueblo, Spanish Colonial or Territorial Revival in style. I like to simplify images so that their shapes become a dominant feature in the photograph.
 
Visually, which are you more drawn to: shapes, lines, textures, colors or some other element? How do you convey this through your photographs or artwork, or even through the way you decorate your home, the clothes you wear or the artwork you choose to hang on your walls?

Searching for the Why

We fall in love with photography. And yet, it is about more than cameras and lenses, depth of field and exposure, or image processing and printing. It is about learning to see. As photographers, we must figure out what it is that we are meant to see, to experience, to share. We must find stories to tell, places to document, subjects to delve deeply into, curiosities to investigate, emotions to express, ideas to share, or events to record. We must fall in love with something, or be moved, inspired or motivated by something beyond photography itself. We must focus our energy not just on learning to operate our equipment, but on understanding and investigating our subject or ourselves. 
 

“A camera is a tool for learning to see without a camera.”

-Dorothea Lange

 
What do we photograph and why? How can we dig more deeply into matters that mean the most to us—that inspire us, anger us or intrigue us? How can we use our photographic tools to more fully explore that which piques our curiosity? How can we turn our cameras on ourselves—if not literally, then figuratively? What are the themes that run through our work and through our lives? What has shaped us into who we are and what we hope to become?
 
When we can answer these questions, or at least embrace and pursue them, and combine them with our sense of visual style, then we can begin to find our voice. Not that it is missing. It is simply buried deep within us and must be excavated. How is your digging going?

Oh, the Things We'll Never Know

Earlier this week, I read an article that said it is good to have lots of books on your shelves that you haven’t read yet. I laughed, and thought surely this must be fake news. But the source (Inc. magazine) was legitimate and the story was based on research by bestselling author Nassim Nicholas Taleb. The thinking is that having many unread books (assuming that you do read some of them, of course) both fosters a sense of curiosity and reminds you of your ignorance.
 
I guess this way of thinking falls into the same category as the more you learn, the more you realize how much you’ll ever know. Whenever I take a deep dive into a subject, I find this to be true. It was certainly the case with gardening. Just when I learned how to prune a hydrangea, I discovered there were other types of hydrangeas that had different pruning requirements. As I quizzed myself relentlessly to learn the names of plants in nurseries and botanical gardens, I discovered that there are more than 350,000 known plant species, not to mention cultivars and hybrids. I even discovered that gardening wasn’t just about growing plants; it was also about garden design, landscape architecture, horticulture, botany, arboriculture, environmental sustainability and even meteorology. 
 
Photography is that way for me, too. I’ve been taking photographs and learning about photography since I was a kid. And yet, no matter how much I read, shoot, and take or teach workshops, I can never begin to grasp even a significant portion of it all. I discover that it's not just about taking pictures; it's also about art, storytelling, lighting, science, computer technology and so much more...yes, even meteorology. (Landscape photographers obsess over the weather just as much as gardeners.) There are so many photographic processes, both new and historic, I’d love to try. So many photographers I’d love to read about. So many exhibits and photo books I’d like to spend time with. And then I realize, there will never be enough time to take it all in. The field of photography, like nearly everything else, is changing rapidly and growing exponentially.
 
So I’m glad to know that it’s okay if I haven’t read all of the books on these shelves and that it’s natural to discover how much I’ll never know about the subjects I’m most passionate about. It helps to both tap and satisfy my sense of curiosity and gives me something new to look forward to each day, even if it does remind me of my ignorance. 

Photographing the Space Between

Most of us are familiar with negative space, or the space that surrounds a subject within a frame. Much less contemplated, but equally important, is the space between subjects. It may be the space between trees in a forest, boulders on a beach, people standing in a park, or stems in a bouquet of flowers.
 
Choosing subjects with interesting interior spaces (above) or carefully positioning the space between subjects (below) can result in graphic, eye-catching images. Sometimes it is just a matter of moving your camera a hair to the right or left, up or down. Or perhaps you move your subjects—shifting a stem or person just a bit so that they don’t overlap visually with the others.
 
With people, the space between them often reveals a great deal about their relationship—whether they are intimate or distant. Even inanimate objects can take on almost-human characteristics based on the way they relate (leeks, below right)—though the space between them usually has more to do with clarity and distinction. Sometimes that space or the way your subject is highlighted by that space can create a sense of rhythm in the image (willow branches, below left). 
 
Even when elements overlap, as they typically do in nature, minimizing the overlap can make a big difference. In addition to moving around a subject, sometimes you can move in closer to eliminate distractions. And a simple background—whether a solid wall, field of grass, sky or blurred area—can help highlight these interior spaces.
 
Learn to look for that space between—especially when shooting objects with points and lines. This week, when you go for a walk, look for groups of subjects. Walk around them, seeing how their relationship changes as the space between them changes. If sitting at a desk, try rearranging the pencils in your pencil cup or a glass as an exercise in seeing. Can you find arrangements that work better than others based on the space between them?  

Willow branches (left) and dried leek pods (right). 

10 Tips for Achieving Simplicity in Photography

Some concepts are most easily defined by what they are not. Simplicity may be one of those.
 
Simplicity is not confusing, complicated, intricate or ostentatious. But neither is it plain or boring. Perhaps, instead, it is just enough. Just enough to tell the story. Just enough to catch your eye or take your breath away. Simplicity done right can leave a lasting memory.
 
Simplicity is not the same as minimalism, though minimalism may be a form of simplicity. Simplicity is a way of seeing and communicating. Minimalism is a style. Simplicity has more to do with capturing the essence of your subject than minimizing design elements, though it may do both. Achieving simplicity should look effortless (though it often is not).
 
In a world that has grown highly complex, simplicity appeals to our soul, as well as our senses. It has the power to give our eyes, minds and hearts a moment of pause. It has to do with clarity of thought, vision or emotion. You know immediately where to look in the image. Distractions have been eliminated and the composition leads you right to the point. To create a simple photograph is to remove the clutter and confusion—to edit out everything that isn’t essential to the message.
 
There is no one way to achieve simplicity in photography. In fact, the various ways in which photographers do this tends to be one of the key elements of their style. But if you are struggling to simplify your images, just as most photographers do when learning their their craft, here are a few strategies to help along the way:

1. Know what compels you. Make that the clear focus of your image.
2. Clarify your message. Edit out everything that doesn’t contribute meaningfully to that message.
3. Seek out what Edward Weston called the strongest way of seeing. Change your perspective  Explore different points of view. Move around your subject. What works best?
4. Search for simple scenes with fewer elements—more masses, fewer points and lines.
5. Move in closer. In complex or chaotic scenes, focus on details rather than the big picture.
6. Move back to give your subject breathing room. This can be especially effective if you have clear blue skies, a field of green, a sea of water or a solid wall as a backdrop. It's a great way to work with fog.
7. Minimize your depth of field, blurring undesirable or distracting backgrounds.
8. Simplify your color palette. Soft color harmonies, a single spot of color in an otherwise neutral scene, or bold color contrast can make a greater impact than a rainbow of colors.
9. Shoot in black and white. It eliminates color as a distraction and allows forms, shadows, strong lines or tones to shine instead.
10. Clean up your edges. Look around the frame before you click the shutter and again when you are editing the image. Make sure there is nothing there to pull your eye back out of the image. Keep your focus where it matters most.

Do you have other strategies for achieving simplicity and clarity of vision in your photographs? I'd love to hear your thoughts on the subject.

The Joy of Unexpected Snow

We don’t get much snow here in the South and having a big snow before New England has its first snow is, well, pretty much unheard of. But it happened this year. Here in North Georgia, we had 6 inches or more, with some locations reporting as much as 12 inches, before the storm headed on up the coast. It was a beautiful, heavy and unexpected snow. (The forecasters said “an inch at best” and “it won’t stick.”) For the most part, roads were clear in a day but the snow lingered on lawns and shrubs for all to enjoy. For most, it added a cheerful note to the holiday season. With the days so short, it was nice to have them so bright with all of the reflected light.
 
I wandered around our neighborhood with my camera the morning after the snow. I didn’t shoot much—just trees and a few snowmen—but it was wonderful to be out in the crisp air and to see what the neighborhood children were up to. I hope that during the holidays, you can take a break to get outside for some fresh air and to take a look around. The bare tree canopy is especially revealing and birds are much easier to spot as they fly about looking for food. I also love the textures of dried flower heads, ornamental grasses, and seedpods in the garden this time of year. If there is snow on the ground, be sure to look for tracks while you make your own.
 
I’m off to the mountains of North Carolina for a few days to spend some time with family. I hope you enjoy your own celebrations in whatever way you find most meaningful. Happy holidays!