Do you have f1.8 days, or maybe pinhole days?

I know I do.

Some days I just want to go out and shoot anything at f1.8 - like this taken yesterday:

I found this plastic bag  in bondage on a barbed wire fence intriguing.

Some days of late, I just want to see stuff through a cheap pinhole lens, just to see what it looks like - that's all. Like this gable wall of the steading at Ardoch:

Better still, leave it in colour. Most pinhole images - that is REAL pinhole images (which mine are not really) - are always in black and white.

As well as the cheap pinhole, I have a cheap plastic Holga lens and my mood of late is to take 'pretty' pictures with a messy, plastic lens. Most end up in the delete bin but some just about get saved due to happy accidents, like this one of Lochnagar:

None of this on their own means much but if I can add them all together in the right way for the right image, something may happen.

Hassles and issues at work this year has seen me in a real mood or mixture of feelings - mostly negative. I think there is a connection with my frustrated, negative mood and this desire to just get out with my camera and do stuff, like some form of anger release.

Anybody else experience this?

Does productive, creative work only happen when your mind is in a 'good' place?

And if you feel that you can't go on. And your will's sinkin low. Just believe and you can't go wrong. In the light you will find the road.

And if you feel that you can't go on. And your will's sinkin' low. Just believe and you can't go wrong. In the light you will find the road., a photo by James_at_Slack on Flickr.

When I decided to learn how to play the guitar, way back when I was a teenager, I did what many budding guitarist did and learned to play by copying my 'heroes'.

As a matter of fact, I still do. Recently, Yvonne wanted me to learn the Civil Wars' 'From this Valley' so she could sing along. Few hours later I was playing the song and she was singing along. Great fun and a sense of achievement.

During my drive to work this week I was wondering why I never approached photography that way? Why had I never studied a photographer who I admired and then tried to copy the image? Perhaps then, try to emulate the photographer's style? That could lead on to trying to work out what was the thinking/purpose behind the photographer's images? If I could grasp that then maybe I could move closer to my own thinking?

I just took photographs. It never occured to me when I was a teenager taking photographs to copy other photographer's work the same way I was copying guitarist's work when I was playing the guitar.

Odd that.

I do sometimes combine songs I used to play or can play on the guitar with one of my images, like the image above.

The Impassioned Eye

Tourists and MacLeod's Tables. Skye, a photo by James_at_Slack on Flickr.

The title comes from a documentary on Henri Cartier-Bresson which I recently watched again. I'm looking back at photographers I admire to see what I can learn from them or what may inspire me to help me move forward with my photography.

Bresson's work is well known and he is often considered one the best photographer of all time. Watching the documentary again, it was interesting what lessons I actually took from it.

We all know that, 'decisive moment' phrase and his images are testament to the joy of geometry, when everything seems right and balanced. He had a questioning stare. He could sense there was an image there - it was just a matter of looking and waiting.

There doesn't seem to be any real, deep messages in most of his images. They are celebrations of beauty of form and emotions. He saw, he felt and captured that moment as everything 'clicked' into place.

He also often shot was amused him. That simple - he looked, saw aspects of life that amused him and he captured these at just the right moment.

His images aside, what I was inspired by as much as, if not more by, was the way he lived and embraced life. He was clearly deeply moved by classical music. Drawing and painting was a real passion and something he continued to do all his life. He read poetry and most of his friends were artists. He had a huge respect for maths and mathematicians. He lived one day at a time, grateful for all the joy and pleasure that day brought. His fantastic portraits captured his love for his friends and his respect for their talent and work.

The lesson I took from the Bresson documentary is to engage with life - all aspects of life; to be curious, always looking and questioning. Make more room for science, literature, poetry, music, theatre, art, friends and family - probably at the expense of photography - to improve my creativity and perhaps my photography.

I've talked about this idea before - that if you want to improve your photography, then embrace life more. But watching Bresson was like some kind of reassuring proof for me.

Finding time or wasting time?

The clinging remnant., a photo by James_at_Slack on Flickr.

This is a subject that interests me a lot.
I've heard full time photographers talk about how they put up with doing commercial work so they can have some money to take a few months off doing their own,creative work. Most aim for getting about three months to themselves to be creative. It was hearing this that made me realise that, although I work full time in a job that is still regarded as one of the most stressful, teaching, I have 12 weeks holidays a year, ie three months!


Why couldn't I get more creative work done?

Well, it takes time to clear your head of work concerns, time to sit and think. Also, there are major projects I like to get on with at home - stuff that needs weeks of time. So it gets back to priorities and taking into account other people and your responsibilities.

The bottom line for me is, and it is this point that I think that separates those who achieve their goals and those who don't, work ethic. It is getting up off your backside and doing it whenever, wherever, no matter how tired you feel. It's that 10,000 hours thing Malcolm Gladwell talks about. As Nike said, just do it. But that means everything - work, family duties, social duties and being creative.
Procrastination, tiredness, apathy, be gone with you!

The journey to the image.

Scalpay ruin, Outer Hebrides., a photo by James_at_Slack on Flickr.

Often, when I discover and explore an abandoned cottage or community, I get excited, engrossed, moved, scared even.

Before I even step inside a ruin, there is usually some reading days beforehand on the history of the area and /or the people who once lived there. Then there's the maps and route planning to be done, checking the weather and finding a free weekend to go.

The walk to the ruin can be the best and worst part of the day. Either way, it affects how I will make images that day.

Sometimes, but not often, I may have company. The conversations on the way may also alter my feelings and mood. I may be enjoying the company so much, the actual picture taking can get in the way!

The surrounding area of many of the ruins I go to is stunning in the right time of the year and weather. I can be so chilled and relaxed in my surroundings that, again, taking pictures can sometime seem like a 'business' part to the pleasure of the trip.

However, more often than not, it's when I get to the ruin and I'm inside taking it all in and finding the right feeling and mood within myself, that I finally make an image and I'm totally in a zone that compliments everything that has gone before. I get a sense of purpose. I try to give this abandoned place some oxygen to its dying embers. I try to almost transmit what I see in front of me to the previous occupants so they can once again be there.

When I return home from a successful exploration, I'm buzzing, I feel recharged and de-stressed. I was totally focused for a period of time and all worries and concerns disappeared for a moment.

When it comes to actually uploading the images, processing them and finally sharing them, I'm finding it more of a chore. Why? Well, to be honest, many images are just ignore or glanced at. I can totally understand this. Most people have no interest in seeing old, abandoned buildings. It bores them and when I upload image after image like the one above, they quickly pass by.

I am getting better at not getting disappointed and upset that my images are not hugely popular. Don't get me wrong, and don't think I'm looking for sympathy or faint praise (or whatever the phrase is), I appreciate the many people who have commented on my work, supported me, encouraged me and, to my surprise, bought my work and hung on their wall. No, what I'm beginning to think is, this slight disappoinment can, at times, put a wee cloud over an otherwise great experience.

So, what am I trying to say here? Well, I'm beginning to sense that the preparation and journey is as much about my creative process as making the image. Maybe one day I'll make a sketch, or record the sounds I hear or even try to write something to express how I feel, rather than, or as well as making images. I could even start drawing on the images.

I should remember that nothing can take away the memory of the day, the feelings I had and the fact that I combined my love of history, walking, Scotland and photography.

I'd love to hear if you have any thoughts on 'the journey to the image'.

Why do I like Diane Arbus and what can I learn from her work?

I have written about my admiration for the work of Diane Arbus before in this blog - Aberdeen Art Gallery;  Barcelona;  the impact she had on me to get back into photography.

Strangely enough, I have never asked myself why I like her work. What is it about her images that I find so intriguing and interesting? After all, the photographs I take are nothing like her work.

I am finding it hard to put into words why I like her images.

I too take images of communities who lived on the edge - on the margins of civilisation, remote, far from amenities and facilities. Outsiders perhaps?

Yes, my images also contain ugliness and a lack of beauty but then we all know what they say about beauty.

I can't say I challenge the viewer as perhaps Arbus's work does, however I am trying to alter the experience of the viewer to decay, debris and to stuff that was once loved and admired but left behind. Some see Arbus's images as portraying people full of despair but I find them intriguing and remarkable. Her "deviant and marginal' people seem to be doing the best they could under some difficult circumstance, within a society that rejected their lifestyle and for some, rejected their shape, size and sexual orientation. Her images are, to me, full of energy and life, as well as compelling. Her work is raw, at times disturbing, unflinching but what an insight we get to a world we would never have seen otherwise.

There is no doubt you can feel like an intruder, a voyeur when looking at her work. Her subjects and the lives they led are almost 'run of the mill' these days, with TV programmes filling late night spots with 'embarrassing bodies' and the like. Looking at my images of someone else's home, albeit abandoned and in a state of decay, may feel like intruding and you may want to look away or you may get a feeling of foreboding - "what will happen to my home, to my 'stuff', when I'm gone?"

Many of Diane Arbus's images hold my attention but also make me want to look away and perhaps it is that conflict that, for me, makes her work so captivating.

So what can I learn from her work? Eric Kim asked the same question regarding his street photography. I have changed his blog post to consider rural exploration/abandoned communities instead of street photography:-

1. Go places you have never been

Arbus shares some of her thoughts:
“My favourite thing is to go where I’ve never been. For me there’s something about just going into someone else’s house. When it comes time to go, if I have to take a bus to somewhere or if I have to grade a cab uptown, it’s like I’ve got a blind date. It’s always seemed something like that to me. And sometimes I have a sinking feeling of, Oh God it’s time and I really don’t want to go. And then, once I’m on my way, something terrific takes over about the sort of queasiness of it and how there’s absolutely no method for control."

I constantly read local history books and scour maps to find new places, never knowing what I'll find. The planning and the journey to find the abandoned place plays a huge part in my work.

2. The camera is a license to enter the lives of others

As Arbus explains:
“If I were just curious, it would be very hard to say to someone, “I want to come to your house and have you talk to me and tell me the story of your life.” I mean people are going to say, “You’re crazy.” Plus they’re going to keep mighty guarded. But the camera is a kind of license. A lot of people, they want to be paid that much attention and that’s a reasonable kind of attention to be paid."

Documenting abandoned and disappearing communities deserves attention and my camera, my project, has got me into properties to capture the fading memories of lives long since past.

3. Realise you can never truly understand the world from your subjects eyes

"You might have a certain intent when photographing, but the result can be totally different. Not only that, but what we may perceive as a “tragedy” may not be considered as a tragedy to your subject:
And that has to do with what I’ve always called the gap between intention and effect. I mean if you scrutinize reality closely enough, if in some way you really, really get to it, it becomes fantastic. You know it really is totally fantastic that we look like this and you sometimes see that very clearly in a photograph. Something is ironic in the world and it has to do with the fact that what you intend never comes out like you intended it.
What I’m trying to describe is that it’s impossible to get out of your skin into somebody else’s. And that’s what all this is a little bit about. That somebody else’s tragedy is not the same as your own“.

I feel many emotions in empty cottages, but they are really what I imagine it must have been like either to live there or how it felt to have to leave. They are only my emotions.

4. Create specific photographs

“A photograph has to be specific. I remember a long time ago when I first began to photograph I thought, There are an awful lot of people in the world and it’s going to be terribly hard to photograph all of them, so if I photograph some kind of generalized human being, everybody’ll recognize it. It’ll be like what they used to call the common man or something.
It was my teacher Lisette Model, who finally made it clear to me that the more specific you are, the more general it’ll be. You really have to face that thing. And there are certain evasions, certain nicenesses that I think you have to get out of."

More and more I am taking shots that, may not have the compositional appeal or be pleasing to the eye, but mean something to me. I may have been moved by something left behind or some part of the cottage may have brought back a personal memory - either way, the image I take on those occasions resonate with people much more than the bog standard abandoned cottage shot.

5. Adore your subjects

“Freaks was a thing I photographed a lot. It was one of the first things I photographed and it had a terrific kind of excitement for me. I just used to adore them. I still adore some of them, I don’t quite mean they’re my best friends but they made me feel a mixture of shame and awe."

I think it is clear that I love local history!

6. Gain inspiration from reading

“Another thing I’ve worked from is reading it happens very obliquely. I don’t mean I read something and rush out and make a picture of it. And I hate that business of illustrating poems.

But here’s an example of something I’ve never photographed that’s like a photograph to me. There’s a Kafka story called “Investigations of a Dog” which I read a long, long time ago and I’ve read it since a number of times. It’s a terrific story written by the dog and the real dog life of a dog."

I think it is clear that to be a better photographer, it is important to embrace life, to get inspiration for many aspects of life be it reading, music, travel, walking, etc.

7. Take bad photos

“Some pictures are tentative forays without your even knowing it. They become methods. It’s important to take bad pictures. It’s the bad ones that have to do with what you’ve never done before. They can make you recognize something you had seen in a way that will make you recognize it when you see it again."

I am realising this more and more. The more I fail, the more I learn. But I can't fail if I don't get out and shoot. Of course it is crucial to understand what went wrong and how might that be fixed. Accidents are a different thing altogether. 

8. Sometimes your best photos aren’t immediately apparent (to you)

“Recently I did a picture—I’ve had this experience before—and I made rough prints of a number of them, there was something wrong in all of them. I felt I’d sort of missed it and I figured I'd go back. But there was one that was just totally peculiar. It was a terrible dodo of a picture. It looks to me a little as if the lady’s husband took it. Its terribly head-on and sort of ugly and there’s something terrific about it. I’ve gotten to like it better and better and now I’m secretly sort of nutty about it.”

Oh, how I would love to have a picture editor! So important to go back over old work with a new mind.

9. Don’t arrange others, arrange yourself

“I work from awkwardness. By that I mean I don’t like to arrange things if I stand in front of something, instead of arranging it, I arrange myself”.

Very rarely do I move stuff around to make a better picture. I'm not sure why I have this approach. It could be that I want to show respect to the previous owners or that I feel it is important to show the property as I find it. The jury is still out on this one.

10. Get over the fear of photographing by getting to know your subjects

To overcome her fear of shooting junkies people in a park (who frightened her) – Diane would revisit over and over again, and found out over time she became less timid. Not only that but she got to know the people there, and asked for permission. This helped her feel more comfortable and photograph the people in the area.

I have overcome my feeling of intruding, my fear of been 'found out' and continue to work on my confident manner when approaching locals or when confronted by concerned individuals who want to know what I'm doing. Often the conversation ends in my favour when they tell me about other abandoned cottages.

11. Your subjects are more important than the pictures

Although Arbus was criticised much during her lifetime (and even now today) for seemingly lacking compassion – she certainly did care for her subjects more than the photos themselves:
“For me the subject of the picture is always more important than the picture. And more complicated. I do have a feeling for the print but I don’t have a holy feeling for it. I really think what it is, is what its about. I mean it has to be of something. And what its of is always more remarkable than what it is.”

I have to give this one more thought because I think I amy be going in the opposite direction. Initially, it was all about the history of these abandoned glens and documenting them before they fell into even more ruin. Other photographers suggested I focus my work more on the details of the cottages, more on producing images that evoke emotions and memories. I'm trying to do this and enjoying the challenge but, to be fair to myself, I sense it will make me want to delve even deeper into the my interest, my passion, to hopefully produce better images.

Diane Arbus was not only a ground breaking and controversial photographer, but she also had deep feelings and emotions with and for her subjects. This clearly comes across in her photography. She followed her heart in her photography and took photos of subjects that not only interested her but felt compassion and warmth towards.

( All Arbus quotes from Diane Arbus: An Aperture Monograph.) 

My formidable foe and food cravings.

It has taken me a lifetime to realise fear is furtive and has many disguises and because of this, it's no wonder it is such a formidable foe.

Fear about your own ability can prevent you from doing your best work and fear about how your work is received can prevent you from doing your own work. 

What I'm also taking time to realise is that uncertainty is essential for creative work to emerge.

On to more lighthearted reflections. 

After eating 'fresh fruit' from local supermarkets this wintery morning in Scotland, I crave the oranges I ate every morning for 2 weeks in San Francisco; I crave the peaches I devoured in the Okanagan Valley in Canada; I crave the small Tenerife bananas. Ach well, the porridge was good and some Scottish smoked salmon is lined up for 'brunch'. 

Food cravings anyone? 

I think I've managed to stay on the bus.

Days are shorter and the harvest is in. Blogs are neglected.

How many blogs have you seen start a new post with apologies like: 'Can't believe I haven't posted anything for x weeks now!' or 'Sorry for not posting for so long', etc.?  Well, I'm not going to despite weeks having past since the last blog post. Why post something when you have nothing to say? In my case, I've just been letting myself mull over thoughts and trying to make some sense of them. Anyway...

I've been experimenting with titles for my images. Titles I find difficult. Some say you should let the viewer create their own association/story looking at the picture. I can agree with that but a title can help to hint at the atmosphere of a place.

When I visit abandoned communities and cottages, I genuinely feel that sense of isolation, hardship, abandonment and loss. As soon as I enter a property I can almost see the husband and wife going about their daily routines, trying to keep it all together against rising rents, falling prices and the growing lure of the big city or abroad. Standing at the bedroom or kitchen window I can quite easily imagine how they felt or what might have been going through their minds at various stages of their life.

So I started to give images titles which were essentially the thoughts I had at the time of the shot. The reaction was generally positive which surprised me a bit. Have a look at some of these images here, here and here. Not sure this approach has much mileage though.

Another change I'm working on is how I organise my images. Initially I organised them by location because it made sense and I believed (and still do) that many people search for images of abandoned places by the name of the property or area. That's fine. But at a Scottish Photographers' meet up in Dingwall, it was suggested I organise all the interior shots together and make a portfolio of them. So for the next meet I quickly (last minute everything!) gathered a set of interior shots of places all over Aberdeenshire. The effect of doing this was instant. I saw a theme, a story, a body of work I hadn't fully realised I was creating! Yes, I'm that dumb. In a book I'm working on, I can see me including thumbnails on a page which could have a whole set of fireplaces or windows on it for example.

With such straight forward and useful advice, my approach to my photography has moved on a bit. I just wish I could meet up with more photographers and artists on a more regular basis. Something to work on for 2013.

Conversations on twitter have helped me stay focused on what I want to do and not be swayed off course by being affected by lack of views, comments, likes, favourites etc. Thanks to Rob and Lucy I've stayed on the bus.

And finally some images of a fortunate find. To locate abandoned properties I tend to read local history books, tour the countryside on my bike or in my car and scour maps at home. Some I find by chance when looking for another place and this particular cottage I found that way but better than that, it had some of the best and weirdest graffiti and art work I've ever seen in a ruin.

If you're wondering about the post title read this. 

The Pattern is Predictable.

I stalled.

"The pattern is predictable: as you see error in what you have done, you steer your work towards what you imagine you can do perfectly. You cling ever more tightly to what you already know you can do - away from risk and exploration, and possibly further from the work of your heart. You find reasons to procrastinate, since to not work is to not make mistakes. Believing that artwork should be perfect, you gradually become convinced that you cannot make such work. (You are correct.) Sooner or later, since you cannot do what you are trying to do, you quit. And in one of those perverse little ironies of life, only the pattern itself achieves perfection - a perfect death spiral: you misdirect your work; you stall; you quit."  From Art & Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland.

But I haven't quit. Far from it. I can see now that the imperfections of my previous images are the seeds to my next attempts at creating images.

Creativity: Permission to fail sir?

"The D4 is announced. I am convinced more than ever that my photography will improve in 2012 by investing in me and my passions than in gear."

I tweeted this today. It was, as they say, a wee 'light bulb moment'. Let me explain why.

In my previous post I sorted out my top 10 'advice to myself'. The top 4 were:


Know who you are.
Embrace life. It helps creativity.
Always have art in your world.
Shoot what interests you, your passions. Find your voice.

These sentiments mirrored something I remember reading. It was Scott Bourne's free e-book 'Visions' and, as ever, the most obvious, common sense advice can sometimes resonate the most and Scott's words of wisdom kept coming back to mind.

He suggested that when it comes to creativity, most limits are self imposed. It can hamper growth.

Try new stuff and fail with a purpose. Give yourself permission to fail so you can learn from it and eventually move on to a new level of competence. Experiment, jam, brainstorm - just as musicians, artists and writers do, so why not in photography?

Make experimentation, expression, authenticity, storytelling and joy the measurements of your success. 


To tell a story in a picture I think you have to have a story to tell. You have to have an interest, a passion in what you're photographing. You need to know and understand why you're making the image. You must avoid trying to be 'new' or taking a shot to please others. You have to be you.  It is therefore important to know who you are. What moves you, what angers you, what saddens you. Be engaged with life, embrace it and be a person you would like to know.

You may be thinking, "I know all this already"- well, so do I, but in 2011 I felt I didn't stay true to this due to distractions like gear, social networking and other 'side-shows'. In 2012, I'm going to try to make images that are authentic, tell a story and convey some passion.

Am I talking rubbish? Do you think differently and approach your photography in a different way? (I am, of course, excluding work done for clients which have a different set of criteria, often defined by the client.) Let me know your thoughts.

Originality, Neil Young, increasing numbers and making money.

This is my last day here on Skye in the Highlands of Scotland. A place renowned for its dramatic scenery and beauty.

My wife and I rent a house and have done so for a few years now. I have a set of photos taken on these trips here.
Another thing Skye has is artists of all kinds. There is a very vibrant artist community here. I, naturally, tend to go and visit the photographers who nearly all take landscape shots. This year I have been struck by how similar these landscape shots look- you know, rocks in the immediate foreground, loch or river leading the eye to the mountains lit by either the setting or rising sun, perhaps with some snow. A wee white cottage or a lone dead tree the icing on the cake. Personally, I've yet to capture such a 'perfect' shot and I have no doubt that if I could see one and I was skillful enough to capture it as well as these photographers do, I would take such a shot. But why?
Just to see if I can. Just because it is recording the beauty of the island I visit so often. People buy such pictures. And why not?

Not very original though and in a crowded, networked and technically advanced environment, how do you stand out?

How can you be original these days when there are so many competent and enthusiastic photographers out there (and the numbers keep increasing!)? I was thinking about this last night whilst watching a BBC4 documentary on the great Neil Young who is well known for experimenting, for exploring new forms of musical expression, for putting the music first. Even though one musical 'formula' was highly profitable and popular, it was not to be repeated as far as Neil was concerned - often with disastrous consequences, losing sales and fans. Neil was not trying to make his music popular or interesting, he was making music that interested him, that stretched him, that advanced his craft and got him out of a comfort zone.

Neil isn't short of a bob or two, so having talent, being true to your craft, getting out of your comfort zone and working hard can be profitable, even if you lose fans and friends along the way.

Bland, unoriginal music also survives and makes money - and so does bland, unoriginal art.

Is this how photographers make enough money to live these days - produce the 'goods' that sell but try to be original in your free time in the hope that some people may love your original and personal work? Probably. But I also wonder if other employment is needed such as running courses, giving talks and, who knows, some other part time work.

I enjoyed David Fleet's blog post this morning on the viability of being a landscape photographer (you can read it here, as well as my comment). His post, as well as the Neil Young documentary, inspired this rambling entry today. I hope you followed my train of thought and what I was trying to say. I've said similar things here, here and here.

Please feel free to comment, especially if you are a full time photographer.

Does your photography reflect your passions or the world you live in or both?

Last Friday, I set up my photography exhibition as part of the NEOS 2011 exhibition alongside fellow photographers from Deeside Camera Club. There was a real eclectic mix of styles and range of subjects - a healthy, interesting selection.
I've heard it say that the pictures you take of subjects that interest you are nearly always better than trying to make interesting pictures. Abandoned communities in the area where I live interests me. These images are becoming my most viewed, most talked about and most lucrative aspect of my work.

Exhibiting alongside some of your peers can also let you see how your images come across to the viewer. I was emotionally taken by the work of Lucy Telford who uses old cameras, 'toy' cameras, homemade cameras or no camera at all. I loved them. It got me thinking. What do my and my fellow photographer's pictures say about the world today? Should they say anything about the world we live in? What if your interest say nothing about the world you live in? Does it matter?
Today is the 10th anniversary of 9/11. There is much reflection and consideration of the actions taken since then. Have photographers represented, recorded, reacted and reflected the last 10 years?

To help me answer that question, I listened to Jeff Curto's class on 'The Atomic Age and New Frontiers' which looked at the work of photographers and artists who worked in the changing world after the dropping of the atomic bomb and the post war world. This was a world of abstract expressionism, be-bop jazz, anti-communism, rock 'n' roll, beat generation poets, civil rights, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the Cold War and growing mass media.
Having looked at some of the photographers in Jeff's talk, I personally think the images reflect the photographer's passions and interests that have been used, if that's the correct word, to reflect the times by others. Some photographers have documented their world, some have picked up on the mood of the times and others have used the technology and media of the time. It all adds up to a great and exciting body of work.

Take a look at this selection and ask - 'do they reflect those post WW2 changing times?'

Aaron Siskind:

Frederick Sommer:

Bill Brandt:

Wallace Berman:

Richard Hamilton:

Robert Frank:

Gary Winogrand:

Bruce Davidson:

Danny Lyon:

William Klein:

Roy DeCarava:

Duane Michals:

Ralph Eugene Meatyard:

Jerry Uelsmann:

The key to failure?

I subscribe to a UK magazine called 'The Word' and this morning I was enjoying Robbie Robertson (he of The Band) having a snigger at all the young bands (Fleet Foxes, Midlake, Iron and Wine, etc,) trying hard to look like The Band did on the cover of the Album 'The Band'. 

The photographer, Elliot Landy wanted to shoot them at a spot in Woodstock. It was raining that day and the members of The Band just look pissed off at being there. They were wet and bedraggled, mostly bearded, unshaven and looked like backwoodsmen after a good night out. This 'look' has become the thing to aim for by some young new bands, much to the amusement of Robbie Robertson. He states, "I'm somebody who was always looking for what was not going to be trendy..." He goes on, "We just wanted to be learning our craft and absorbing enough music so we could make something with it's own character."

I thought that last statement should be the 'mantra' for all creative people.

I also read Scott Bourne's blog which echoed these sentiments. He wants us creative people to plough our own furrow and ends with the great Bill Cosby quote which I have used in the title of this blog:

And remember what Bill Cosby said…
“I don’t know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody.”

Think more, think less or let others think for you?

I recently watched the documentary on the making of Bruce Springsteen's album Darkness on the Edge of Town. I was moved by it in many ways. Bruce was only in his 20's when he made the record but his philosophy, work ethic and vision seemed to me to be so mature. He was trying to come to a reckoning with the adult world; dealing with a future life of limitations and compromise but finding the resilience and commitment to still embrace life. He also was considering what is sin in a good life and how do you carry that, deal with that? Thus, he wanted the album to be stripped down to its barest and austere elements with no distraction to the narrative.
When it came to deciding on getting the photograph for the album cover, Frank Stefanko was chosen. Frank had just moved into a new apartment so it had little furniture and old wallpaper on the walls from the previous blue collar working class family. Bruce just took a sample of his usual clothes and Frank took a few test shots.

© Frank Stefanko,

Of course Bruce chose those test shots as they were very stripped down, revealing and 'blue collar' - just what he wanted for the album. Fortuitous for Frank but what if he had found out more about Bruce's vision for the album? Would he have done something similar or entirely different and perhaps cliched? Who knows, but a good story and perhaps a lesson to photographers - show the client all your shots?

Back to Bruce; his maturity at such an early age stunned me. He seemed to see that as you get older, you can end up in a life in stasis, shackled by memories and hurt. Old habits die hard and patterns repeat themselves and you can unintentionally let past disappointments effect your present and it can be difficult to move forward.

I'm listening to that album with new ears whilst smiling at the cover shot by Frank Stefanko.