This chapter is from the book
This chapter is from the book
This chapter is from the book
We’re Not the Only Ones Involved
Each photographer goes through stages while becoming technically proficient with her gear, and more often than not, this facet of shooting overtakes the meaning created in the images we produce. I’m sure you can think of at least a handful of images that you are extremely happy with based on how you achieved them rather than what they are saying to a wider audience.
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Canon 5D, 24mm, 1/125 sec, f/8, ISO 100
Case in Point: Method Over Meaning
One of my more recent battles with the issue of making the method more important than the meaning occurred while on assignment for a state wildlife magazine. I was photographing a story on conservation efforts to protect a threatened lesser prairie chicken population in Texas. In addition to taking pictures of the animals, I was assigned to photograph several people involved in the story, including conservationists, researchers, state agency representatives, and energy lobbyists. One such person was Jeff Haley, a ranch owner in the Texas Panhandle, a cowboy, an intellect, and a great steward of the land he owns.
Jeff Haley shown here in the original image. The dark shadow splitting his face is the key element that takes away from his true personality and his role in the magazine story.
Canon 5D Mk II, 110mm, 1/200 sec, f/7.1, ISO 100
I drove several hours to meet with Jeff on our first visit, and the photo shoot was a three-hour ride across the ranch in his pickup, talking about the plains, his cattle operation, and his endearing connection with the prairie chickens that he no longer sees on his ranch. His portion of the story I was shooting related him to the land, so we would periodically stop the vehicle, and I would photograph the rolling prairie landscape and make portraits of Jeff along the way.
The whole time we were talking, and I was learning more and more about him and his family, their heritage with the land, and the reasons he considers himself a working conservationist. Toward the end of our shoot, when the light was sitting atop the western horizon, we drove down into a small dip in the land, an area that rolled with beautiful golden bluestem grass. I mentioned how well the area would serve for a portrait backdrop, and we set up about 100 yards from the pickup with just the breeze and the slight rustle of the grass.
I’m a field lighter, so I had what I call a quick bag of lighting equipment, and within minutes, I had an off-camera flash set up on a stand with a daylight reflector just below, forcing warm color back into Jeff, whose back was turned slightly to the setting sun. The resulting images were edgy and visually demanding. The hard light from the sun hitting his right side was gritty, and the light from the flash and reflector defined many of his facial features. The shadow created between the two, from my point of view, was the icing on the cake and gave the shot a signature Western feel.
At the time, I was really pleased with the shots, and still am, mostly because of the lighting. For the purpose of the story, however, this wasn’t enough.
All things technical came together in Jeff Haley’s portrait. What didn’t come through was his role in the magazine story. I sought some feedback on this shot from the story’s writer and a few colleagues after I made it, and I remember one photographer’s statement more than others. He enjoyed the shot for what it was but wondered if I was trying to make Jeff look like the bad guy. I looked deeper into the portrait, and I came to realize that the lighting and the contrasting shadow that I enjoyed were a bit intimidating and threatening. The black cowboy hat added to that feeling as well.
I came to know Jeff through the shoot and a few visits afterward, and he’s every bit a gentleman and all-around nice guy, so threatening was not a word I wanted used to describe a portrait of him. After all, Jeff was the conservationist in the story, someone who yearned to see the prairie chickens flourish on his ranch again. Although the portrait is still one of my favorites, it does not exactly tell Jeff’s story.
Essentially, I was wrapped up in making a shot that was technically impressive instead of creating the appropriate connection between subject and viewer. The image looks cool, but it says something completely different than what I meant to say. Just for good measure, I submitted this portrait to the magazine, along with others that weren’t as “threatening,” and the publication went with a more true, complimentary photograph than the one that I had thought was a sure thing. This issue crops up all the time when I’m on assignment, and because of this one incident, I’m more aware now of just whose story I’m telling. Thanks for the critique, Moose Peterson.
The portrait of Jeff Haley that was published alongside the conservation story depicted him in a less aggressive “light.” McLean, Texas.
Canon 5D Mk II, 58mm, 1/200 sec, f/8, ISO 100
A Spanish guitar player outside the city cathedral in Granada, Spain. Tourists pass by this gentleman daily and make similar images. What separates this one from theirs?
Canon 5D Mk II, 108mm, 1/500 sec, f/2.8, ISO 200
Just as we can express our own vision through images, we are also telling the story of who or what we are photographing, and the camera and our technical ability can sometimes get in the way of good storytelling. We’ll always stumble over some of the technical details of making images, but the more we concentrate on creating story, the less stumbling we do along the way.
Creating visual stories is a two-way street, a relationship between the photographer and the subject. The subject may be static or live, but either way, the minute we publish an image in a magazine, newspaper, or image-sharing Web site, we’re saying something about both actors. My villainous image of Jeff Haley says that I’m a photographer who knows how to use artificial light in a field context, but it doesn’t exactly do his story justice. The image chosen for the story, however, fit his personality and role in the overall narrative while conveying my own photographic style.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m not saying that the technical achievements are not important. Working on this aspect of your photography is infinitely valuable. I do believe, though, that our work as visual storytellers is most effective when the technical does not get in the way of the unfolding narrative. Sometimes, the technical aspects of images help advance the direction of the story, but that requires awareness. This is something I’ll discuss in more detail in the following chapters.
Field of Dreams. Sometimes your own family members help build your storytelling portfolio. Baseball is an important part of Dillon’s life on the rural ranch where his family lives. Cottondale, Texas.
Canon 1D Mk III, 195mm, 1/250 sec, f/2.8, ISO 100
My youngest cousin, Addison, on her first birthday. Even if your heart’s desire is to photograph extreme sports whilst hanging out of a helicopter window during a thunderstorm, don’t shirk your role as the family photographer and visual storyteller.
Canon 5D Mk II, 50mm, 1/250 sec, f/1.4, ISO 100