Getting philosophical about photography

“You don't take a photograph, you make it.” -- Ansel Adams

Photography involves more than simply aiming a camera and clicking. It's a process that begins in the eyes and mind of the photographer. (Along with my own thoughts, this post includes quotes from others with whom I concur.)

Through my photographs, I open the door into how I see the world. In other words, I'm inviting you to see what I see.

My photographic process begins with mindfulness -- being aware and present in the moment, akin to meditation. This process involves mentally engaging with what's around me and simply seeing.

“To me, photography is an art of observation. It's about finding something interesting in an ordinary place... I've found it has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them.” -- Elliott Erwitt

Details delight me. I find fascination in the small things in plain sight that most people routinely pass unaware.

“I'm always mentally photographing everything as practice.” -- Minor White

I call them “untaken photographs” -- those mental images I'm always noting as I go through each day. If I photographed everything that caught my eye, I'd be doing nothing else. Instead, I enjoy the moment and then allow it to pass.

Sometimes, however, an idea or concept refuses to let go until I follow through. Call it an obsession or just something I “need to get out of my system,” to use a cliche.

For instance, on the bus going down Madison's State Street regularly, I see details, small flourishes and features, interesting lines, forms, and textures, etc. Finally, I took time to explore this popular stretch on foot with my camera, and captured What I saw.

Here's a link to the set Over-State-ment: http://www.flickr.com/photos/29720498@N08/sets/72157623758568722/

“Photography is more than a medium for factual communication of ideas. It is a creative art.” -- Ansel Adams

I have no problem calling myself a photographer, but I must admit to wrestling with calling myself an artist. At the heart of this tustle are these questions: When does a photograph become art? And when is a photo just a picture?

“Whether he is an artist or not, the photographer is a joyous sensualist, for the simple reason that the eye traffics in feelings, not in thoughts.” -- Walker Evans

I've pondered this artist issue conundrum and reached a conclusion expressed as a question: Does it really matter? To me, it really doesn't. If someone wants to call one of my photos art, I'm fine with that.

“Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still.” -- Dorothea Lange

When I make a photograph, I usually do just one shot, capturing one moment. On those occasions when I shoot more than one image, I make changes between shots -- zoom in or out, alter the framing, shoot horizontal and vertical, recognition that each photo captured a distinct moment.

“Photography can only represent the present. Once photographed, the subject becomes part of the past.” -- Berenice Abbott

If I don't get the image I want, I accept that, and allow the moment pass unrecorded.

“There are always two people in every picture: the photographer and the viewer.” -- Ansel Adams

“There is only you and your camera. The limitations in your photography are in yourself, for what we see is what we are.” -- Ernst Haas

As much as I enjoy sharing my photos, I must confess that I am my primary audience. I find the taking and editing of photographs simply entertaining.

“Photography, as a powerful medium of expression and communications, offers an infinite variety of perception, interpretation and execution.” -- Ansel Adams

I'll end with this quote (expressing an excellent idea) from an unknown author: “I think a photography class should be a requirement in all educational programs because it makes you see the world rather than just look at it.”

Why I Shoot Those Who Make Music

I own a Washburn six-string guitar. I've taken a beginning guitar class. I know some chords. With some effort, I can pick a melody. Am I a musician? Just posing that question makes me laugh.

But my dabbling has deepened my appreciation of those who make music -- from the master musicians who represent the best of their art to the front-porch pickers who play for the sheer joy of it.

I enjoy listening to recorded music (and have plenty of it), but nothing beats hearing music (particularly acoustic forms) while seeing it played. The spontaneity, interactions and energy of live performance enhances the music, even if the tunes aren't quite played with studio perfection.

As a photographer, I'm fascinated by how individual musicians interact with their instruments and how they express the music through their movements and expressions while performing.

I still can picture the first time I saw the David Grisman Quintet on stage. Mando master "Dawg" Grisman swayed to and fro as he vigorously picked and strummed, his long, black hair waving wildly. Next to him, guitar great Tony Rice stood rock steady, his long fingers flying across the strings. When mandolin maestro Jethro Burns joined the DGQ for the finale, he laughingly attempted to copy the Dawg's style.

I've also observed how the flow of energy makes an ensemble greater than the sum of its parts. As a photographer, I look for how musician interact, how they feed off of each other's energy.

Years ago, I often went to small, local bluegrass festivals where front-porch pickers came out to play before audiences. I particularly enjoyed one annual festival, held on a remote, rural churchyard. The stage was the back of an old flat-bed truck. Off to the side, musicians signed up for a time slot on stage.

Elsewhere on the grounds, musicians congregated for jam sessions. Several had clustered in a circle under a large oak tree. Right next to the tree, an old weathered farmer (at least he looked like an old farmer) thumped a well-worn doghouse bass.

When the old guy nodded toward another player in the circle, that was the signal to take a solo. Then, with a sly smile, the old guy began slapping the bass furiously, challenging the soloist to show what chops he or she had. And each one seemed eager to please.

I wished I'd had a camera to capture those moments. Now that I do, I seize opportunities to photograph musicians while playing. I've shot several Midwest Gypsy Swing Festivals and a few other gigs. A side benefit has been getting to know some of the amazing musicians playing around here. And some even use my photos on their websites or link to them.

Most recently, I photographed musicians busking along Madison's State Street for the Literacy Network (one of my personal causes). The variety of performers plying the street corners was incredible, and they were a joy to photograph. (My only regret was being unable to stop and listen more.)

Now with summer just around the corner, I'm just itching for the opportunities to put performers in pictures.

How I Got From Then to Now

Eugene Cernan, one of the few humans to set foot on the moon, said: “Curiosity is the essence of human existence and exploration has been part of humankind for a long time.”

Cernan also said: “It’s our destiny to explore.”

Astronaut Frank Borman said: “Exploration really is the essence of the human spirit, and to pause, to falter, to turn our back on the quest for knowledge, is to perish.”

I’ve always seen myself as an explorer. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of exploration ... studying explorers in history class ... following space missions as closely as some follow baseball and football teams ... and biking off to “discover” new neighborhoods in the city where I grew up.

My love of adventure led to the defining experience of my life at age 17. I applied to become an exchange student, and lived with a native Chamorro family on a tropical Pacific island ... in a chain first visited by explorer Ferdinand Magellan.

I was on an island that had seen one of the bloodiest WWII battles in the Pacific theater … and within sight of the neighboring island, where the atomic bomb attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki were launched.

In addition to exploring, the experience fully awakened my drive to tell stories about where I’d been, what I’d seen and experienced. I saw then that I was destined to be a journalist ... a storyteller.

I got a journalism degree, followed by more than two decades at daily newspapers ... reporter, writer, and editor. In 2001, I left that business, but still see myself as a journalist – and explorer.

Over my newspaper career, I learned a bit about photography … shot various subjects, even though that wasn’t my primary role. I also learned about photos working as an editor and page designer. Developing an eye for photo composition and editing. I’ve had opportunities to work with and observe some truly gifted news photographers -- guys like Roger Turner, Joseph Jackson III, Steve Apps, John Maniaci, and Craig Schreiner at the Wisconsin State Journal.

I applied what I learned in taking photos of family and of my travels, got some nice landscape shots that were good enough to use as gifts.

In my development into a photo artist, I want to mention two more pieces of the puzzle.

In 2002, I started my study and practice of taiji quan (tai chi), which includes meditation. As such, I’ve become fascinated by the simple, yet complex concept of mindfulness – best described as “being fully aware in the present moment.” My approach to photography is very much rooted in mindfulness.

A few years ago, I got my first Canon digital camera, which enabled me to take more photos and — more importantly — interact with the images on the computer. I’ve done a bit of darkroom work, processing and printing, but I am a digital photographer.

These pieces came together most notably during a couple of photo shoots in November 2007 along Starkweather Creek, on Madison's North Side. The positive reaction to my photos gave me the courage to explore the possibility of doing a photo show — Starkweather: Autumn Reflections.

That’s my journey thus far in a nutshell … explorer … journalist … photographer.