Minimalism

[This is a long and circuitous post about minimalism. And yes, I see the irony!]

I've been thinking about my photography, how I don't see the big picture, just the smaller details, and have come to a conclusion.

Those of us who call ourselves photographers got into it for a variety of reasons. There are those who enjoy the gadgetry, the technical aspects, the cameras, the lenses, etc.

There are those who are the opposite, who couldn't tell you what's the maximum aperture on each of their lenses, who do not want to fuss with dials and numbers, who just want to shoot.

And there are those who dabble a bit in both ponds: who don't want to worry about numbers but lust for a longer lens; who don't have the patience to meter a huge landscape, but will wait an incredible amount of time for the pelican to turn its head just so, etc.

I've never been much of a technician; but I can see and compose quite well. I've always considered technicians the superior photographic species, have felt less-than when around them, and often quite apologetic about my own apparent lack of expertise.

I'm an adult now. An older adult. And I can look back to see where I began and how I've evolved. And have decided there's nothing to apologize for. I'm really good at seeing. And I know just enough technical stuff to emphasize what I do see.

Would I be a better photographer if I were more disciplined and learned more about the technical side? Probably. Do I care at this point? No. At this point I'm thrilled that I have a good eye, that I notice things that other people don't, and that I take joy in the noticing. And it's the joy that keeps me going. All throughout my teaching years, it was the seeing that I emphasized, with the technical stuff sneaking in. And that's what my students picked up on -- the seeing aspect of photography. (My stock phrase being, "If you can't see it, you can't shoot it.")

Other photographers, more technically inclined, get their joy and satisfaction out of creating a finely crafted image, of really working a scene, tweaking the settings, and seeing the big picture. And thank goodness there are people like that, who show us things others do not see, do not create.

And equally important, thank goodness there are people like me, who show us things others do not see, do not create. But most important (to me), is the realization I no longer have to apologize for my lack of technical expertise, that I am not less-than.

It's therefore with a sense of calm and quiet satisfaction that I show you these three very minimalistic images, images that contain just a few elements and that, to me, look pretty cool.

The first shot, of the drainpipe, I took yesterday as we were walking around the little town of La Conner, Washington. The sun was very bright, very harsh, and so I was looking for shadows. (That's my personal rule of thumb. When the sun is bright, look for dramatic shadows.) I liked the repeating narrow vertical elements, each one separated from the other via shadow and/or texture. I took the shot using my iPhone. And I adjusted the exposure by metering primarily for the brightest, most glaring element, which was the drainpipe.

The next two images I discovered today. They were on a memory card that's been missing for a year and a half, and were taken looking down through the window of a condo we were staying in in Hilton Head, South Carolina. I used a longish lens to isolate little sections of the swimming pool down below.

The memory card also contained photos I took of pelicans, of a great blue heron, of a grebe, reflections of a lighthouse, some landscapes, etc. But, when I came to the two pool pictures, I felt that little zzzzzzz of excitement. This is what I'm good at and what I particularly love doing -- taking weird photos such as these, images that most people wouldn't see, and if they did, they probably wouldn't consider shooting. And I get that. But no way and no longer will I apologize for shooting the way I do. (But I will apologize for the long blog post!) 

Wishing you joy in whatever you create and however you end up creating it.

©Carol Leigh
All text, photographs, and other media are ©Copyright Carol Leigh (or others when indicated) and are not in the public domain and may not be used on websites, blogs, or in other media without advance permission from Carol Leigh.

Minimalism in a boatyard (part 2 of 2)

Continuing on from yesterday’s post about shooting stark, minimalistic images in a boatyard, here are a few more examples.

Canvas sails on a wall
My favorite image from the day is this first one, an abstract of a canvas sail-covered wall. It began as the full-frame second shot, which I also like, but I cropped it into a square. Why? Because all the “good stuff” begins just to the left of the darker triangle. The triangle leads your eye down into the frame to the red cord. Your eye then moves along the bluish horizontal bit and then over to the right.

Movement. The square format emphasizes both the shapes and the movement. It keeps your eyes on what I consider the heart of the design.

Building detail
More stripes. The first image, with the galvanized metal on the red roof, was taken later in the day than the second one, and the colors weren’t as saturated as they were in the second image, taken earlier in the morning in overcast light. So in Photoshop I pumped up the red roof and the trim in the first picture, leaving the wood and the sky as they were.

In the second shot, I frankly was going for the #22 and the vertical stripes. My dilemma was do I include part of the red-framed window or do I solely concentrate on the number and the vertical elements? Obviously I decided to include part of the window, but why?

I kept it because it creates visual movement in the frame. Your eye goes first to the #22, quickly notices the vertical lines to the left, but then immediately comes back to the number, and then follows the bold diagonal-ish line across the frame to the window, where the reddish-orange trim echoes the red surrounding the number. So your eye goes back to the number.

I like the repeating patterns of the vertical lines. I like how the number and the window stand out. The diagonal line moves your eye left-right and keeps the vertical lines from being boring. Pattern. Contrast. Movement. Works for me.

Texture
The cinnamon color looked great with the turquoise patina and immediately caught my eye. It’s not a standalone shot, but something I regularly find and photograph because I use things like this in my photomontages, combining the texture with something else.

Red fish
I didn’t find the fish at the boatyard (it was part of a sign I photographed in South Carolina). But just for grins, I thought I’d combine the texture shot with the fish photo and then play around using Topaz Impression. It’s unlike anything I normally do, rather gimmicky, but there’s something about it I like. Cool colors. Cool fish. Fun to make. Just thought maybe you’d be interested in seeing one use of the simple texture shot I got at the boatyard.

Blue arrow
In the junkier part of the boatyard I found a piece of painted canvas, weathered by rain and sun so that the paint was peeling away here and there and it was just funky. Why photograph this? Because I “collect” arrows. As a standalone shot it doesn’t quite work, but I tend to shoot arrows whenever I find good ones, and this now becomes part of the mix.

The first arrow photo isn’t the original. The second one, with the black empty space at the bottom, is how the arrow actually looked. The canvas ended at the arrow’s point, nothing behind it. I purposely left the black space, knowing I could do something with it later, and that’s what you see in the first shot. I just added more canvas, more paint, more grunge down at the bottom and the picture seems more complete to me now.

Bilge water
Finally, I took this picture for two reasons. It struck me as mildly humorous. I mean, when’s the last time you saw a container of bilge water? And secondly, I collect photos of signs. I don’t know when (if ever) I will use this picture, but here it is and it goes into the mix.

Why didn’t I move in close and shoot just the sign? Why include the container and the #12? Because just the sign would have been boring. Keeping part of the container in the frame gives the sign a bit of context; and the #12 indicates that there’s a lot more bilge water available if one should need it. At least 11 more containers!

By the way, my stock agency, Alamy, just yesterday sold a photo of a “No Parking” sign I took while on vacation in Breckenridge, Colorado. And it’s not the first time that sign has sold. See? You never know about signs.

So that was my day at the boatyard. Two blog posts showing you what I gravitated to, why, and a bit of how. This is my kind of photography. I leave the big pictures, the grandiose landscapes, the breathtaking scenery to other photographers. My talent and joy comes from being able to zoom in on little interesting bits, things you would find in a boatyard, around military bunkers, antique car shows, on the sides of buildings, at airplane museums, and in back alleys.

Simple, minimalistic shots that feature line, design, and movement. Hope you found it interesting and, perhaps, even inspirational.

©Carol Leigh
All text, photographs, and other media are ©Copyright Carol Leigh (or others when indicated) and are not in the public domain and may not be used on websites, blogs, or in other media without advance permission from Carol Leigh. Thank you!

Minimalism in a boatyard (part 1 of 2)

On a warm(ish) sunny day in a boatyard, there’s a lot going on. Boats on slings being lifted out of the water, hulls being scraped, trim being repaired, welding, hammering, polishing, wood being planed, sanded, and painted. The noise and activity can be daunting.

Amid the sounds and chaos, it’s my challenge (and my delight) to find the little things, to wander around, watching, looking, trying to find lines and designs apart from and within all the busy-ness.

I’m not a big-picture kind of gal. A boatyard and all it has to offer me and my kind of photography makes me feel alive, giddy even. And so I look for structure, patterns, abstract designs. And I find them where no one else is looking.

My resulting photographs are stark and strong. Some could say empty and boring. And I understand that. But let me show you three photographs I made, and let me tell you why I like them. And isn’t that an important thing about photography, art, etc.? That you make or create a work that fills something inside you, and you are confident about the “why” behind it?

Red-trimmed building
The buildings in this boatyard are an interesting combination of new and made-to-seem-old, and I liked the contrast between the wooden red and blue building in front of a plain, metal building. What they had in common were stripes. Stripes are the unifying factor; old/colorful against new/blah was the jarring factor, the tension. In addition, the strong red diagonal lines of the foreground roof contrast with the repeating vertical lines in both buildings. And then the two rectangular windows, the focal point, give the photograph interest, a place for your eye to land, relieving the endless repetition of the stripes.

Did I think about all those little details before I took the shot? Nah. I looked up, thought to myself, “Cool building. Love the red trim against the blue. And stripes! How can I isolate all that against the background? Most importantly, how can I keep all those straight lines straight?” Knowing what draws me to the scene makes it easy for me to compose the image. Emphasize the good stuff, use the other stuff (if any), to create a bit of tension.

Boat hull
What caught my eye were the drip lines, where time and weather and infrequent maintenance created a repeating pattern of dark and light stripes, where rain and gravity and dirt worked their bit of artistic magic. I positioned myself directly in front of the boat, which sat on stilts slightly above me, so that I could capture both sides of the boat, with the strong vertical line on the right being where everything came together.

What drew my eye were the repeating drip patterns. What created the interest was the strong vertical line against the diagonal lines of the drip patterns. And then the plain part of the hull at the top contrasting with the busy feeling of the rest of the photograph.

Boat fender, or buoy
More stripes. The vertical buoy, the strong repeating pattern of black and white stripes, stands out and contrasts with the plain background and the three horizontal elements at the bottom and top of the shot. Busy against plain. Vertical against horizontal. The buoy caught my eye. My challenge was how to display it. My challenge was also the decision to either include or delete the little bit of blue up at the top. I decided to keep it since it echoed the color blue at the bottom and sort of “contained” the buoy.

What’s my point? I always know exactly what caught my eye, what attracted me to the scene, what I sort of instantly fell in love with. Once I know that, then the rest is easy(ish). How do I make what caught my eye “work?” What do I leave in? What do I leave out? What’s my background doing? Does it compete with my subject or does it enhance it?

The rest is technical. How much do I want in focus? Do I want a perfectly symmetrical shot, or do I want things slightly off-center? Why? Are my “horizon lines” level? Do I want this shot slightly lighter or darker? Is this something I can tweak in Photoshop, or do I create it here? Do I scrape that wad of chewing gum off the hull (ewwww), or do I plan to clone it out in post-processing?

The seeing always comes first. What drew me to the scene? The technical part comes second. Right brain/left brain. Yin/yang.

I think it’s a Gemini thing.

©Carol Leigh
All text, photographs, and other media are ©Copyright Carol Leigh (or others when indicated) and are not in the public domain and may not be used on websites, blogs, or in other media without advance permission from Carol Leigh. Thank you!

Minimalistic photography

The details are in the corners at Mission San Xavier del Bac in Tucson, Arizona.

©Carol Leigh
All text, photographs, and other media are ©Copyright Carol Leigh (or others when indicated) and are not in the public domain and may not be used on websites, blogs, or in other media without advance permission from Carol Leigh. Thank you!