For me, the intentional image really begins with the composition. While some may shoot from the hip or rely on processing to create impact, I feel that the heart of beauty in photography is defined by what is essential in the composition. There is little doubt in my mind that the world around us is absolutely loaded with beauty. Some of it is obvious and we can't help but notice, for example, a classical face or a striking mountain vista, but much, is less so. A great deal of the world's beauty tends to go completely unrecognised, sometimes because it isn't part of the common picture, sometimes because it is ubiquitous, sometimes because no one else has pointed it out, but most often because we really don't know how to see.
One of the greatest lessons any artist , or more specifically, any photographer can learn is how to see the world around them. It seems like a crazy thing to say, because the obvious answer is that unless one is blind, how can one not see? In truth, though, what most of us do see is the everyday; we notice what we need to as part of our routine and as part of our survival. Advertisers know this, which is why signs are big and bold. It is why corporations spend millions trying to get your attention by tailoring advertisements to appeal to your core survival instincts. They are flashy, quick and loud; they relate product ownership to your vitality, family, success and reproductive needs. It's actually amazing to think that so much time effort and money is spent making messages that are so base in their content. If you want to grow beyond the obvious, and if you want to make great art, you need to learn to see!
Really seeing, as an inspired artist does, means learning to see what isn't everyday. It is about seeing on a whole new level. When you walk down the street that takes you to work, instead of just noticing the traffic, or the buildings, or the people, you will begin to see other things that are not part of your need to move from A to B safely. You will begin to see things that aren't so obvious. You will see things that will register on the retinas of everyone walking down that same street at that same moment, but that no one else will notice. In a sense, seeing, in the visual sense that I am alluding to, is analogous to developing strong critical thinking skills...
Despite the best efforts of thousands of school teachers, most people, once they've grown up, have failed to nurture the kind of inquiring mind that will question beyond the surface of things. How many people do you know who will attempt to "read between the lines," or "dig just a little bit deeper" to synthesize prior learning and experience with each new "given?" How many people do you know who will attempt to find "a deeper truth," question "an accepted fact," or perceive "a bigger picture?" It is much the same way with the visual world. Learning to see requires effort. The intentional image is a considered image. It is the result of work.
Despite the best efforts of thousands of school teachers, most people, once they've grown up, have failed to nurture the kind of inquiring mind that will question beyond the surface of things. How many people do you know who will attempt to "read between the lines," or "dig just a little bit deeper" to synthesize prior learning and experience with each new "given?" How many people do you know who will attempt to find "a deeper truth," question "an accepted fact," or perceive "a bigger picture?" It is much the same way with the visual world. Learning to see requires effort. The intentional image is a considered image. It is the result of work.
When I was young, like a lot of young people, I figured that I knew most of what I needed to and it hadn't occurred to me that I was blind to much of the real beauty of the world. Fortunately, my first foray into higher education took me to Art School where I completed a three-year diploma in Fine Arts. We did all the usual things one would expect of art students - lots of drawing practice, painting, working with a variety of media, English, Art History. We had some very talented instructors and it was a time of life, and an experience, that I wouldn't trade for any other.
In addition to all of the formal instruction, projects and papers that helped define my art school experience, I remember one of the instructors talking to us on many occasions about learning to see. If I remember correctly, I think it was Eric Atkinson, an Englishman and a classically trained painter who had achieved some limited fame for his work. Naturally, I thought that I understood those lessons and was as observant as any other, but eventually, all the inspired instruction, exercises dealing with texture, colour, shades, composition, tension, and more, actually had the desired effect. To this day, I remember standing outside a gallery in downtown London presumably after a hard day of schooling, and ,suddenly noticing everything in an entirely new way. If there ever was a definitive moment, for me on the road to becoming who I am, it was that one instant in time when I suddenly became aware that the world was so much more than just what was plainly in front of me. Obviously, it isn't the only field stone or road sign I've encountered in life, but it was a profoundly important one. To use the parlance of that school, it was an epiphany.
Since then, I have been unable to look around and not notice things that are not obvious, or in my way, or crucial to my survival. I have become an active observer.
On the simplest level, a photographer needs to, as I once heard someone say, "look up, look down, look all around." In truth, one needs to do much more than this. Begin by looking at the best work of other photographers and artists. Take a look at your town's most impressive architecture. Read books on composition, light, and design. Take notice of simple textures, patterns and rhythms around your own home. Consider that even the simple weave of the fabric on an inexpensive chair was designed by someone somewhere, not just to achieve decently durable cloth, but also cloth attractive enough to recommend the finished product above its competition.
While it has been said that the devil is in the details, it is probably just as true that within the details can be found unseen beauty. While the flower is striking, a close inspection will reveal that the petal and even the aphid crawling on the petal are just as remarkable. Notice, too, that each petal may be attached the the centre of the flower by the slimmest of devices and that they radiate from the centre in perfect, or perhaps imperfect unity. Notice the relationship of the flower in space to other objects in the vicinity. Notice too how light falls with subtle difference of angle and intensity on each part of the bloom. Consider the texture of the petals against the texture of the stamens. Look for subtleties of tone and colour - it's all there!
Of course, just as one can find world within worlds if one looks closely enough, the same can be true from a distance. Our world is so alive and rich in its complexity, that, to paraphrase, it may be impossible to see the forest for the trees. Sometimes, there is so much happening in front of us that we fail to see the simplest and most elegant composition in the middle of it all. Learn to clear away the visual clutter competing for your attention and find that quiet gem - it may be a questioning look in a crowd, or a lone brick of particular character on a wall of red. - again, it's all there!
Practice looking and seeing. In time, it will become second nature; perfectly balanced and unified compositions will jump out at you from every corner. You will suddenly find balance, beauty and a mysterious wonder in a section of broken steel by a puddle and it will remind you of the way a mountain cast its shadow on a small lake beside the forest. It is all there. If you want it. Begin looking and you'll eventually start seeing...
