How Much Is Too Much?

There's been a lot of discussion lately about the ethics of photo manipulation. Tom Till, the noted Southwest photographer, brought this up recently in a piece he wrote for Outdoor Photographer magazine. He found that he had drifted along the seductive path of saturation: if something looks good with bright colors, just make the colors brighter. After comments from several friends, he resolved to tone down some of his images. Even more recently a photographer won a prestigious international photo contest, only to have the honor stripped from him because of over manipulation. He claimed he didn't read the rules closely enough.

A few years ago I stepped inside a photo gallery in the prestigious little artsy town of Carmel, once home to such greats as Ansel Adams and Edward Weston. Even today, the town teems with some of the great photographers in the country. In this case, as I stepped into the busy gallery, the colors of the giant enlargements virtually screamed over saturation. The colors were practically migraine-causing. For this photographer, however, the technique worked and he was making a lot of money. 

The over manipulation road is an easy one. Learn a few basic Photoshop (or Elements) tricks and you're on your way. I've seen it happen over and over with my students. Many of them become enamored of HDR (high dynamic range), another potential photo villain. At this point it's time for some careful diplomatic conversation with these students, and I urge restraint. But am I right?

Who's to say? I've said before on this blog that one must follow one's heart, and this doesn't always correspond with the reality of what the scene really was. In the midst of a red rock sunset in southern Utah, the colors can be truly overwhelming. Is it right or wrong to saturate, to express what your heart feels here? I've darkened stormy skies to accentuate the weather, "popped up" the colors of fall leaves and committed other processing sins. The attached photo is an example. It was taken in the gold stamp mill in the ghost town of Bodie. I've done this image (and many variations thereof, as I've been here often over the years with my photo workshops) as a black and white. This version, however, "speaks" to me. I applied mild HDR processing and presto, the beautiful colors of the wood resonated. The reality of the actual scene is a near-monochrome. Bodie is a town of incredible wood textures, and these stout timbers are a good example of that.

I think manipulation should be restrained, unless it's blatantly departing from reality, and then it becomes art or whatever you want to call it. The viewer instantly knows that you've done a lot of manipulation.

Slowing Down

I've been fortunate to visit many of the most beautiful places in the world. Most of the time these are "hurry up" moments: gawk at the site, maybe take a snapshot. Sometimes I am more fortunate: I can linger at a special spot, savoring its uniqueness, its spirit. As a photographer, how do I capture that?

I think some of that happens by slowing down, really thinking about what is here. This photo is a case in point. The subject is a humble little place, Fern Springs, in one of the greatest of nature's spectacles on earth, the Yosemite Valley. My friends and I had passed it by a couple of times, in search of bigger subjects like El Capitan or Half Dome. Finally, we stopped, and the magic permeated all of us.

There is some method involved here. I studied the little spring from many angles, finding new wonders each time I took a step. Sometimes it's good to just leave the camera in its bag for a while. Anyway, the more we lingered here, the more great images we saw. Each angle revealed different lighting, a different assemblage of leaves, and of course, different compositions. A bit of post processing in Photoshop brought out what was in my heart.

Of all the photos in the Yosemite Valley I made that autumn day, the series of images from the spring are among my favorites.

Better Technology, Less Thinking?

I was sorting and culling today through old correspondence with publishers. A generation ago, getting images to a magazine was a ponderous process. First, one had to label slides, then create a separate typed (yes, with a typewriter) list of each slide, together with its file number. I then wrote a cover letter,  created a delivery memo, together with a self addressed stamped envelope for the editor to sign and return. I'd then trot this entire carefully wrapped package to the post office, send it off certified mail and in a week or so the editor would receive the images. Occasionally, on a tight deadline, I'd overnight a package at great expense. The process paid off and I published widely.

No wonder the competition was so much less then. All this sort of thing was a giant headache. Today, of course, in the digital world, it's totally different. I create an online portfolio in a matter of minutes, send the link to an editor, he/she selects a few (hopefully), and I upload a high res image via email, YouSendIt, DropBox or some other service. I've also placed over 1200 high res images on an art website, Imagekind.com and make regular sales there. Just last week on that site I sold a photo of Ansel Adams that I first made in 1980 at his home in Carmel. He was kind of enough to change positions to afford me better light. (Originally he had been silhouetted against the window.) The original was shot with Kodak Plus X film and I scanned the image recently, restoring it in Photoshop. Now Kodak, disinclined to keep up with the digital revolution, is defunct. Keeping up with new imaging software, plugins and so on is practically a fulltime job and expensive besides. Now I am playing with iPhone technology and marveling yet again at how the photography world has changed.

But is it all good? A lot of thought went into those old cover letters. I would write a first draft, reflect on things for a while, then revise, revise, scribbling my corrections on the revision. Today it is too easy to shoot an email to someone (or worse, to whole groups), or splash something onto Twitter or Facebook. Sometimes we don't think of the ramifications of what we say, and occasionally our written missteps can prove awkward.

No, we don't need to go back to the old days. But we do need to think. Critical thinking and analysis seem to be going the way of Plus X film.