Gear and Art

We all know it's not about the camera, but it doesn't seem to matter; everyone asks about gear anyway. The most frequently asked question of any photographer has to be, "What kind of camera do you use?" That always strikes me as a bit odd since we don't enjoy a good meal and then ask the chef what kind of pots and pans she used. I suppose there's a hidden assumption at work here, one that says photography, unlike other less technically oriented art forms, is dependent more on the gear and less on the gear handler.

This may be partially true up to a certain level. Today, the average point-and-shooter, outfitted with a mid-range automatic camera from any of the top makers, can take pretty darned good snapshots with little-to-no training. This overall improvement in gear has democratized photography to the point that it's sometimes hard to pick out a photographer in a crowd. Or to look at it another way, it's becoming harder and harder to find a crowd that isn't chock-full of photographers.

The upside for the fine art photographer is that not much has changed in the realm of art. When put up against armies of serious amateurs armed with serious gear, the fine art photographer still brings the two biggest guns; an artist's eye and a creative temperament. Certainly, neither are exclusive to the fine art photographer, but they also can't be bought online at B&H Photo or Amazon.com. They have to be earned the old fashioned way, with lots of thought, effort, and long term dedication (you know, that boring stuff). One thing's for certain; without the essential elements of creativity and vision, no amount of sophisticated gear will produce an end result that qualifies as art.

No Hands Bridge

The Mountain Quarries Railroad Bridge, more commonly known as the "No Hands Bridge", crosses the American River just downstream from the confluence of the North and Middle forks. It was originally built as part of the Pacific Portland Cement Company's 7-mile railroad that connected its limestone quarry in Cool with the Southern Pacific line in Auburn. At the time of its construction in 1912, the No Hands Bridge was the longest concrete arch bridge in the world.

Today, the No Hands Bridge is the oldest bridge still standing on the American River. It has withstood many flood events, including the 1964 failure of the Hell Hole Dam that took out two modern bridges upstream, and the Valentine’s Day flood of 1986 that destroyed a 250-foot coffer dam two miles downstream.

The colloquial name “No Hands Bridge” was coined in reference to equestrian Ina Robinson and her legendary stunt of dropping the reins as she rode across the guard rail-less bridge during the Tevis Cup Trail Ride, an equestrian race from Tahoe to Auburn. Guard rails have since been added to the bridge, but the "No Hands" moniker lives on in perpetuity.

The photo was taken from just downstream of the bridge, looking upstream toward the confluence. It was captured in late February (before the runoff), when the flows were relatively low and gentle. 

Seeing Beyond the Subject

Landscape photographs suffer the fate of being a close enough representation of reality that most viewers never get past the subject of the image to the physical reality of the photograph itself. There's the illusion of a physical location represented in a photograph, then there's the actual two-dimensional object (either a piece of paper coated with varying densities of silver or a projection on an electronic screen), with its own abstract shapes, patterns, textures, and tones. To fully appreciate and experience the entirety of a photograph, I believe we must see it on both levels; as an illusion that tells a story about some other time/place, and as a two-dimensional physical object that exists in the present, with its own reality (and value) separate from the subject it represents.

Time and Place

Naturally, when we think of landscape photography, we think of place. Places are our subjects, captured in fleeting moments for future viewing. The shutter clicks and a particular place at a particular time is frozen on the film or sensor. This is the essence of still photography. 

It is possible though, to record more than just place in a photo. With a tripod and shutter release, anywhere from a few seconds up to multiple hours of time can be captured within a single still image. 

Storm Over Seasonal Wetland (shown at right) is an example of a photograph that captures multiple minutes of time in a single frame. Here is the metadata associated with the photo:

  • Camera: Canon EOS 5D MK II
  • Lens: Canon EF17-40 mm f/4L
  • Focal Length: 17 mm
  • ISO: 50
  • Exposure: 179 seconds @ f/14

The camera was mounted on a sturdy tripod and the shutter was controlled manually using an intervalometer*. To lengthen the exposure time, the ISO was set at 50 and the lens was stopped down to f/14. To extend the exposure even further, a 10-stop neutral density filter** was placed on the lens, which took the exposure from 1/8 of a second out to nearly 180 seconds.

The result is a photograph in which the primary subject is time, not place. The movement in the clouds tells the story of the storm rolling in over time, an aspect of the landscape that would have been completely invisible using a conventional exposure. 

*An intervalometer is an electronic remote shutter release with a built-in self-timer, interval timer, and long-exposure timer. I use a Canon TC-80N3 that can be set anywhere from 1 second up to 100 hours.

**A neutral density filter (ND filter) is a middle gray filter placed on the front of a lens to reduce the amount of light that enters the lens. They are available in various degrees of density from light gray to almost black. The 10-stop filter I used on this image is designed to block 10 full stops of light. It is one of the darkest ND filters available.

500 Million to 1

According to Mary Meeker, we are collectively uploading over 500 million photos per day to various photo sharing and social media websites. That number looks to double within the next 12 months, which means that by this time next year we’ll be uploading over 1 billion photos per day, every day, until the Internet collapses under the weight of all that collective snapshooting.

Here's another mind-boggling statistic from Jonathan Good: 10% of the total photos ever snapped were taken within the past 12 months. I've seen graphs illustrating this acceleration, and the lines are trending toward straight up.

It makes you wonder who is looking at all of these photos and what’s behind this frenzy of image making. No one really knows for sure, but the assumption is that a large majority are snapshots taken with smartphones, and that a majority of the people who take the photos aren't "photographers" in the traditional sense of the word. Whether anyone is looking is an open question.

For the traditional semi-pro or pro landscape photographer, there is probably no sense in trying to stand out in this tsunami of online photo sharing. Even on more serious photo-centric sites such as 500px and Flickr, quiet and subtle photographs tend to get lost amongst the never-ending onslaught of flashy, eye-catching imagery. It now appears that attempting to build an audience by posting images to photo sharing and social media sites is only marginally effective at best, and perhaps even a distraction and waste of time at worst. 

So what to do for the budding fine art landscape photographer? I’d suggest what is a decidedly old school approach that involves building an audience locally, then slowly and steadily moving into regional competitions, national/international exhibitions, and eventually if all goes well, full gallery representation. It's a long road and a long shot, with no guarantee that one will ever arrive at their destination, but at least the odds are (possibly) better than 500 million to one.

f/64

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, before photography was accepted as a fine art medium, photographers used various techniques to mimic painting in an effort to gain credibility in the art world. The style, known as Pictorialism, remained popular into the 1920’s but was pretty much on the way out by the end of World War II. *

In the 1930s, as a reaction to the soft focus, impressionistic aesthetics of Pictorialism, Ansel Adams, Edward Weston, Imogen Cunningham, and handful of other well known West Coast photographers formed a group to promote a precise, modernist approach to photography. They dubbed the group “f/64” in reference to the extreme depth of field and clarity obtained by using a high f-number setting on their view cameras.** Their 1932 exhibition at the de Young museum in San Francisco was hugely successful and subsequently many of them went on to influence the direction of photography for decades to come.

My approach to landscape photography is heavily influenced by the Group f/64 photographers. I love the clarity and precision in their work; the long depth of field, the sharp focus, the careful compositions and precise exposures. I also appreciate the emphasis on the natural world that is prevalent in so many of their photographs. It's been over 80 years since that first show at the de Young, but the standard they set is still a lofty goal to strive for.

*It's ironic that with the rise of the iPhone and Instagram, a modern version of the pictorial style has come back to popularity, but that's an article for another day.

**A camera f-number represents the ratio between the focal length of the lens and the size of the lens opening (aperture). The higher the f-number, the smaller the aperture, the lower the f-number, the larger the aperture. Aperture size determines the amount of light that passes through the lens, and it also affects depth of field, which is defined as, “the range of objects within an image that appear to be in sharp focus.” The lower the f-number, the shorter the depth of field, the higher the f-number (as in "f/64"), the longer the depth of field. 

An Excuse to Play in the Water

I can't really believe it, but I've been at my current job as a graphic designer for nearly 14 years. Boy, how time flies. Prior to that I worked in the fly fishing industry, managing a fly shop, teaching fly tying, and hosting groups of anglers on trips to exotic fishing locations such as Christmas Island, Belize, and the Yucatan. I also did a lot of fly fishing for trout in Northern California. 

After you've caught and released your first 1,000 trout (or whatever number becomes enough), your focus shifts from the specific act of chasing fish to the enjoyment of the overall experience. The fishing mostly becomes a reason to get out of Dodge; we often described it as a ridiculously expensive excuse to go play in the water.

I gave up fly fishing years ago, but my fascination with moving water hasn't diminished in the least. I miss some aspects of the fishing experience, but it was always more about the rivers and the mountains than the catching. Now, landscape photography fulfills that need for me, which explains why water plays a central role in so many of my photographs. Chasing images gets me out of the house and back in touch with nature, and just like chasing trout, it gives me a perfect excuse to go play in the water.

Plants in Water

Photographers often refer to “seeing” and “vision” when discussing their work and the process of creating images. There's no doubt that what separates one photographer from another has little to do with equipment or technique, and almost everything to do with the ability to see a strong image amongst the nearly infinite number of viewpoints we experience every minute of every day. Sifting through this visual overload to ferret out meaningful compositions is the essence of photography.

The image “Plants in Water” is unusual when viewed in the context of my other work. I’m typically drawn to scenes that encompass a large depth of field from just in front of the camera out to the horizon and beyond. This particular image depicts a small group of plants reflected in a still pool of water. The perspective is close in and flat, and the image has an abstract quality. The genesis of the photo is interesting in that I walked right past the scene and it was my wife Michael who called me back and pointed out the image. Her vision, not mine, made this photograph. This also happens to be one of my most successful images in terms of both sales and positive feedback from viewers. She deserves the credit because it was her vision that made it possible. My only contribution was the mechanical process of focusing the lens, setting the exposure, and pressing the shutter.

California Fine Art

My mother, Marbo Barnard, has been a working artist most of my life. As she was building her career over the past 50 years, she'd bring us kids along to every type of art show imaginable, from cheesy shopping mall "art & craft" shows, to openings at the Crocker Museum and Sacramento Fine Arts Center. One of my favorite shows to attend was always the California Fine Arts exhibition at Cal Expo. For obvious reasons, going to the Fair for an art show was much more appealing to a rambunctious kid than sitting quietly through a long awards ceremony at the Crocker.

This year, the California Fine Arts competition at Cal Expo received 1,577 entries. Mediums accepted run the gamut from sculpture, to painting, digital art, photography, textiles, and many others. Of those 1,577 entries, 180 were chosen for inclusion in the exhibit. Mom and I were both thrilled to find out our pieces were accepted into the show this year. It's an honor to have my work accepted, and a privilege to share the experience with her.

California Fine Art
July 12 – July 28, 2013
California State Fair
Cal Expo, Expo Center Building 7, Sacramento, CA

Ebb and Flow

Approaching fine art landscape photography as a business (or at least as a serious avocation)  requires a surprising lack of focus and intensity. There's the waiting for the weather, there's the waiting for the light, there's balancing the pursuit of images with "real" work and family life, and then there's the schizophrenic nature of actually doing the work, which goes something like this: work in the field, market the work, wait, work in the field, market the work, print and frame like crazy, show the work, work in the field, wait, wait some more, and so on and so forth. There's an ebb and flow to it that requires a zen-like willingness to let the process unfold in its own time, something that doesn't necessarily come naturally to me.

Speaking of ebb and flow, I'm pretty excited about the River Show at Gallery 2110 coming in June 2014. It's an invitational with some of the top traditional/representational artists in Sacramento taking part. It's all very preliminary at this point, but names I've heard bandied about include Greg Kondos, Marbo Barnard, and Clark Mitchell, among others. To my wonder and delight, I've been asked to display a selection of my river photos in the upstairs gallery as a sideshow to the main event. More details will emerge as the year progresses, but in the meantime I have a great excuse to go play in rivers between now and next summer.