This seems a timely time to make a little suggestion. At such an early stage of my career, I am fully aware that I am no voice of authority in any capacity on matters in photography, and I must add, and emphasise, that the suggestion doesn’t even need to be made to most photographers who may read this post, but I do feel justified in commenting on this one bugbear.
The launch of the Norfolk & Norwich Festival last Friday was a wondrous event, such enjoyment, excitement, enthusiasm amongst both the crowd and the performers. The Festival really did get off to a flying start (of which, plenty more later). Like tens of other photographers and hundreds of people, I was there, sometimes joining the crowd to sample that magnificent atmosphere, sometimes running ahead of the performers for action shots. It was cracking fun to be amongst the audience and amongst the other adrenaline-fuelled photographers, as it always is, although I was a trifle saddened to observe one or two children being shoved forcefully out of the way for a couple of shots. This is no reflection, you understand, on the jovial spirit on the part of almost every single photographer present, and I do sympathise entirely with the desire to get shots right – but surely attending an event such as Friday’s launch must carry with it a responsibility to allow other people to enjoy themselves, not to sully their experience, and especially not to cause actual upset to the young children that the performance was in no small part created for.
The three things I always say to budding new photographers are to learn the camera’s functions inside out, to get used to embarrassing themselves and, above all, to endeavour to be good company when photographing. Good photography is often intrusive, and often does involve a degree of self-centredness, of course, but I think I have good grounds to say that there is very, very rarely any need to behave like a churlish wet blanket - particularly to children.
I do hope that the rest of the Festival goes as swimmingly as it has so far – and I am very sorry to have magnified and scrutinised one or two small actions, when the attention should of course be on the hundreds of wonderful acts dotted around the fine city – it just seems a pertinent time to encourage people to enter the spirit of the most enjoyable two weeks of the whole year – or at the very least, not to prevent other people from entering that spirit.
Wednesday, 12 May 2010
Tuesday, 4 May 2010
...and the mystery photographer is...
Many of my favourite artists, writers and musicians tend to make eccentric choices. From the melancholic atmospheres of Caspar David Friedrich, to the tickling wordpsmithery of PG Wodehouse, via the outright gut laughter inspired by Jerome K Jerome and the veering imagination of Tom Waits, they are masters of their chosen arts. As far as photographers go, other people will know far more than I do but you would have to dig really rather deep to come up with a photographer whose work would captivate my attention, and have me poring over every minute detail, more than that of a comparatively little-known German called Hans Göhler.
Göhler – or John Gay, as he anglicised his name after fleeing to England with Jewish friends in the 1930s – showed a wonderful blend of technical mastery, flair, vision, empathy, humour, imagination, individuality and, above all, understanding in every image he captured. Judging from the tremendous book of photographs I have in front of me, whether adults, children, animals, rural scenes, railway stations or even cast iron were his subject, Göhler demonstrated that he could set up a scene with playfulness and skill, or disappear into the background with equal ease; his understanding of types of light allowed him to create atmospheric photographs in all conditions, while his ability to capture multiple significant details in the same image – a vision he demonstrated time and again – is something that all photographers, at all levels, could learn from. I could, of course, gush on all day about the output of this wonderful photographer, but to do so would a) do a massive injustice to his work and b) bore you to tears. Here, then, are some examples to set you on your way. Enjoy Hans Göhler in what would have been his 100th year.
I think you'll agree. Superb. He will influence my work for years and years to come.
(Photographs appear courtesy of English Heritage)
Göhler – or John Gay, as he anglicised his name after fleeing to England with Jewish friends in the 1930s – showed a wonderful blend of technical mastery, flair, vision, empathy, humour, imagination, individuality and, above all, understanding in every image he captured. Judging from the tremendous book of photographs I have in front of me, whether adults, children, animals, rural scenes, railway stations or even cast iron were his subject, Göhler demonstrated that he could set up a scene with playfulness and skill, or disappear into the background with equal ease; his understanding of types of light allowed him to create atmospheric photographs in all conditions, while his ability to capture multiple significant details in the same image – a vision he demonstrated time and again – is something that all photographers, at all levels, could learn from. I could, of course, gush on all day about the output of this wonderful photographer, but to do so would a) do a massive injustice to his work and b) bore you to tears. Here, then, are some examples to set you on your way. Enjoy Hans Göhler in what would have been his 100th year.
I think you'll agree. Superb. He will influence my work for years and years to come.
(Photographs appear courtesy of English Heritage)
Vicki Johnson & Jo Stafford @ STEW
My pleasure yesterday to photograph an exhibition of prints and textiles by NUCA alumni Vicki Johnson and Jo Stafford, on throughout this week and intermittently for the next month. Talent in profusion (and they haven't asked me to write this, by the bye) - do head along to STEW gallery (not far from Norwich Cathedral) and have a look for yourself. Have provided a couple of taster images, if you're interested.
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
Creativity & Depression
Not sure how this entry will be received, it’s more than a little personal, will almost certainly be speckled with inclement language, and whether it actually has any place in this blog depends upon the conclusion I have yet to arrive at, to a question I’m not sure is worth asking. If that isn’t tantalising enough for you, I have absolutely no idea where to begin. Still interested? I’ll give it a go…
I am thinking about the link in mine and others’ character between creativity and depression. As a creative type, one or two people have spoken to me about where it all comes from; as a diagnosed depressive of more than half my life, one or two other people have spoken of whether my condition fuels my creativity. There are certainly reasons for believing that depression does fuel creativity: speaking simply from my own experience, the gradual recovery following an episode can lead me to appreciate some of the smallest gestures from people, or the smallest detail about something I see during a walk, for example. This isn’t directly connected to the actual state of depression, but I would certainly say that I observe more when my mood is on the way up again, if only as a reaction to the fact that during an episode, the degree to which I am observant to these things drops almost to zero. It may well be that the relief of no longer being numb and unresponsive to the things around me heightens my senses a little more than usual.
That would be my argument for making a connection between depression and creativity. There is evidence for it too: at the time, and certainly now, I thought that these photographs from a weekend in Southwold in November 2009 had more than a slight undertone of my mood at the time about them – on the day they were taken, I was beginning to lift out of a trough following some profoundly sad news. (Feel free to turn away if this becomes uncomfortably personal to read. Such a personal subject is bound to be as difficult to read as it is to write about, it’s only really aimed at people who are genuinely interested.) At the time of capturing the image of Southwold Pier, I was aware that I would darken the afternoon sky and make the most of that rushing seawater (clichéd as I’m sure those effects are), bringing through the dark tones for that moody effect. Gosh, writing about it like that makes it sound pants, doesn’t it? As for the image of Stacey, my girlfriend, I am quite certain that I would never have taken that melancholy shot if I’d been feeling more chipper.
Of course, during a full-blown episode of depression, creativity, like all other thinking and even movement, shuts down, overtaken by a foul manner of thought that rears its ugly head, eating away at its victim. If you will, please understand that I am writing this in an effort to be helpful to other sufferers, and to help non-sufferers to understand the condition a little better. For the sake of openness, I am going to quote from my diary, to which I forced myself to contribute during my last episode, and as I pointed out before, it is going to be excruciating to read, just as it was excruciating to write:
‘Black, black mood came over me this afternoon. Numb feeling of nothing…’
‘Such a massive twat, a big, responsibility-shirking, spineless, selfish twat. Cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt. Got your own fucking way, didn’t you. Cunt. Doesn’t fucking matter whether anyone else is happy or not, does it? Cunt…’
‘Mood has picked up just a smidgen – I now have the light on (the act of which had taken me over two hours)…’
Oh deary Lord. In my present state of mind, which, by the way is very much improved, none of this makes any sense. I cannot explain to you what caused the mood, nor can I justify those Tourette’s-like comments about myself. I don’t recognise those comments as coming from my pencil, and curiously, I barely even recognise the actual handwriting as my own, scrawled and messy as it is. I spent almost all of two days in my bed. That is my approximation of what depression is – as I mentioned earlier, depression itself has nothing to do with creativity, and everything to do with its polar opposite – a total poleaxeing of the mind. If there is a link between depression and creativity, it is in the recovery from it, and in the motivation to move away from that dank, stagnant, harrowing cycle of self-blame and irrationality.
Having said that, though, given that I was very creative before my depression actually set in (at the age of, ahem, twelve), who is to say that I wouldn’t have been creative anyway? Is it really so necessary for pleasure to disappear completely, for someone such as myself to notice it when it’s there? Of course not. I point you towards the millions of people who live relatively happy lives without ever experiencing this condition. What about the millions of depressives out there who wouldn’t consider themselves to be especially creative? No. Perhaps it’s supposed to be a comforting thought, that depression will at least encourage creative output in the long run, but if you ask me, it’s the recovery, the return of the rational and normal state of mind that should be encouraged for its creativity, not depression itself.
Dedicated to Stacey & Robin for their kindness, and to your good self for following this post through…
I am thinking about the link in mine and others’ character between creativity and depression. As a creative type, one or two people have spoken to me about where it all comes from; as a diagnosed depressive of more than half my life, one or two other people have spoken of whether my condition fuels my creativity. There are certainly reasons for believing that depression does fuel creativity: speaking simply from my own experience, the gradual recovery following an episode can lead me to appreciate some of the smallest gestures from people, or the smallest detail about something I see during a walk, for example. This isn’t directly connected to the actual state of depression, but I would certainly say that I observe more when my mood is on the way up again, if only as a reaction to the fact that during an episode, the degree to which I am observant to these things drops almost to zero. It may well be that the relief of no longer being numb and unresponsive to the things around me heightens my senses a little more than usual.
That would be my argument for making a connection between depression and creativity. There is evidence for it too: at the time, and certainly now, I thought that these photographs from a weekend in Southwold in November 2009 had more than a slight undertone of my mood at the time about them – on the day they were taken, I was beginning to lift out of a trough following some profoundly sad news. (Feel free to turn away if this becomes uncomfortably personal to read. Such a personal subject is bound to be as difficult to read as it is to write about, it’s only really aimed at people who are genuinely interested.) At the time of capturing the image of Southwold Pier, I was aware that I would darken the afternoon sky and make the most of that rushing seawater (clichéd as I’m sure those effects are), bringing through the dark tones for that moody effect. Gosh, writing about it like that makes it sound pants, doesn’t it? As for the image of Stacey, my girlfriend, I am quite certain that I would never have taken that melancholy shot if I’d been feeling more chipper.
Of course, during a full-blown episode of depression, creativity, like all other thinking and even movement, shuts down, overtaken by a foul manner of thought that rears its ugly head, eating away at its victim. If you will, please understand that I am writing this in an effort to be helpful to other sufferers, and to help non-sufferers to understand the condition a little better. For the sake of openness, I am going to quote from my diary, to which I forced myself to contribute during my last episode, and as I pointed out before, it is going to be excruciating to read, just as it was excruciating to write:
‘Black, black mood came over me this afternoon. Numb feeling of nothing…’
‘Such a massive twat, a big, responsibility-shirking, spineless, selfish twat. Cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt. Got your own fucking way, didn’t you. Cunt. Doesn’t fucking matter whether anyone else is happy or not, does it? Cunt…’
‘Mood has picked up just a smidgen – I now have the light on (the act of which had taken me over two hours)…’
Oh deary Lord. In my present state of mind, which, by the way is very much improved, none of this makes any sense. I cannot explain to you what caused the mood, nor can I justify those Tourette’s-like comments about myself. I don’t recognise those comments as coming from my pencil, and curiously, I barely even recognise the actual handwriting as my own, scrawled and messy as it is. I spent almost all of two days in my bed. That is my approximation of what depression is – as I mentioned earlier, depression itself has nothing to do with creativity, and everything to do with its polar opposite – a total poleaxeing of the mind. If there is a link between depression and creativity, it is in the recovery from it, and in the motivation to move away from that dank, stagnant, harrowing cycle of self-blame and irrationality.
Having said that, though, given that I was very creative before my depression actually set in (at the age of, ahem, twelve), who is to say that I wouldn’t have been creative anyway? Is it really so necessary for pleasure to disappear completely, for someone such as myself to notice it when it’s there? Of course not. I point you towards the millions of people who live relatively happy lives without ever experiencing this condition. What about the millions of depressives out there who wouldn’t consider themselves to be especially creative? No. Perhaps it’s supposed to be a comforting thought, that depression will at least encourage creative output in the long run, but if you ask me, it’s the recovery, the return of the rational and normal state of mind that should be encouraged for its creativity, not depression itself.
Dedicated to Stacey & Robin for their kindness, and to your good self for following this post through…
Monday, 26 April 2010
Entering Photography
Someone just asked if I could recommend an entry-level digital SLR to them. After a little ruminating, I suggested a model not dissimilar to the one I cut my own teeth on, but I have to say that I didn’t think about it an awful lot. I meant no disrespect in not giving it a great deal of thought – I just don’t think it’s quite as interesting, useful or helpful for a budding photographer to ask as people seem to think.
Let me explain. My first SLR camera was a graduation present two years ago. After looking through the specifications of dozens of models, I was left bewildered and no better placed to make a decision. I knew about most of the features and functions that were described, so my bewilderment wasn’t borne out of ignorance – all the cameras just seemed much of a muchness, each of them would have been good enough. Eventually, I whittled my choices down to two and picked the one that felt most comfortable in my hands.
How very professional, you might snort. Well, be my guest and snort away, if you wouldn’t mind just going away over there while you do so. Simply put, a good photograph needs the right camera (or does it?) – but an interesting photograph needs the right photographer. That photographer will understand f/numbers, film and shutter speeds and light metering, and everything else that comes with, *ahem*, any SLR camera. Sure. They will also understand light, shadow, tones, colours, composition. They will understand details, they will understand when to step in, and when to blend into the background. They will risk all manner of embarrassment in the name of getting that image. Above all, they will understand emotion in their work, whether their subject is a child or a brick wall.
Observant readers will have noticed that not one whit of this is specific to any particular brand of camera. All this is a way of saying, of course, that the best thing you can do is keep your decision simple, make it as quickly as possible and spend your time learning to use your camera. The Nikon/Canon debate that rages amongst dullards is so often (not always, of course, but often) a sign of a person who talks more about photography than they’ve actually learned; next time I shall introduce you to the best photographer I’ve ever come across, who used neither a Nikon nor a Canon, and indeed didn’t even use an SLR at all. He used his eyes.
Let me explain. My first SLR camera was a graduation present two years ago. After looking through the specifications of dozens of models, I was left bewildered and no better placed to make a decision. I knew about most of the features and functions that were described, so my bewilderment wasn’t borne out of ignorance – all the cameras just seemed much of a muchness, each of them would have been good enough. Eventually, I whittled my choices down to two and picked the one that felt most comfortable in my hands.
How very professional, you might snort. Well, be my guest and snort away, if you wouldn’t mind just going away over there while you do so. Simply put, a good photograph needs the right camera (or does it?) – but an interesting photograph needs the right photographer. That photographer will understand f/numbers, film and shutter speeds and light metering, and everything else that comes with, *ahem*, any SLR camera. Sure. They will also understand light, shadow, tones, colours, composition. They will understand details, they will understand when to step in, and when to blend into the background. They will risk all manner of embarrassment in the name of getting that image. Above all, they will understand emotion in their work, whether their subject is a child or a brick wall.
Observant readers will have noticed that not one whit of this is specific to any particular brand of camera. All this is a way of saying, of course, that the best thing you can do is keep your decision simple, make it as quickly as possible and spend your time learning to use your camera. The Nikon/Canon debate that rages amongst dullards is so often (not always, of course, but often) a sign of a person who talks more about photography than they’ve actually learned; next time I shall introduce you to the best photographer I’ve ever come across, who used neither a Nikon nor a Canon, and indeed didn’t even use an SLR at all. He used his eyes.
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
Look Before You Leap...
Almighty Lord, somebody got my back up the other day. Introducing myself as a professional photographer, I was greeted with a comment that I’d imagine many other photographers get levelled at them. ‘What was wrong with a proper job then?’
I wonder if anyone else gets as peeved about remarks like that as I do. Among some people lurks a preconceived idea about my profession being some manner of airy dreamland for bored and divorced city workers. They’re out there, of course – oh, they’re out there – but what I would genuinely like to know is:
a) for those who did it, what is actually wrong with deciding you’ve got enough out of working in the city, and moving on to something new;
b) what their impression of the photographic profession is actually based on.
Deciding on photography for a living is quite some commitment. Whether or not you decide to take a lengthy course for a qualification, there is networking to do, there is marketing to do, you have to fork out an inordinate amount on equipment you can depend upon, you spend hours and hours (and hours) processing images to the last detail before handing them over, you manage and maintain an ever-growing library of images, you get asked to do a great many jobs that are anything but glamorous (I was once commissioned to photograph a BIN), you do those jobs under intense pressure and, to top it all, the person hiring you occasionally regards you, a trifle disrespectfully, as a dreamy, bored former city worker.
Let me tell you, if you are under any illusion that the photographer’s profession is somehow an easier one than yours, you are wrong. I chose to pursue photography not because I dreamed of being there on the Norfolk coast every morning, capturing boats at sunrise and then selling prints on a daily basis for £250, but because it is something that I am good at, in the same way that anyone does a job based on the skills that they have. Would you accuse a lorry driver, a librarian or a graphic designer of not having a proper job? Of course you wouldn’t.
There is a world of difference between taking a camera to the countryside of a weekend and doing photography for a living. Of course it’s a great pleasure, but it’s also a very difficult pleasure, just like many less 'glamorous' professions. Please understand that, and bear it in mind next time you ask one of us what was wrong with what we did beforehand. If, after that, you still have to ask, there is no hope for you.
I wonder if anyone else gets as peeved about remarks like that as I do. Among some people lurks a preconceived idea about my profession being some manner of airy dreamland for bored and divorced city workers. They’re out there, of course – oh, they’re out there – but what I would genuinely like to know is:
a) for those who did it, what is actually wrong with deciding you’ve got enough out of working in the city, and moving on to something new;
b) what their impression of the photographic profession is actually based on.
Deciding on photography for a living is quite some commitment. Whether or not you decide to take a lengthy course for a qualification, there is networking to do, there is marketing to do, you have to fork out an inordinate amount on equipment you can depend upon, you spend hours and hours (and hours) processing images to the last detail before handing them over, you manage and maintain an ever-growing library of images, you get asked to do a great many jobs that are anything but glamorous (I was once commissioned to photograph a BIN), you do those jobs under intense pressure and, to top it all, the person hiring you occasionally regards you, a trifle disrespectfully, as a dreamy, bored former city worker.
Let me tell you, if you are under any illusion that the photographer’s profession is somehow an easier one than yours, you are wrong. I chose to pursue photography not because I dreamed of being there on the Norfolk coast every morning, capturing boats at sunrise and then selling prints on a daily basis for £250, but because it is something that I am good at, in the same way that anyone does a job based on the skills that they have. Would you accuse a lorry driver, a librarian or a graphic designer of not having a proper job? Of course you wouldn’t.
There is a world of difference between taking a camera to the countryside of a weekend and doing photography for a living. Of course it’s a great pleasure, but it’s also a very difficult pleasure, just like many less 'glamorous' professions. Please understand that, and bear it in mind next time you ask one of us what was wrong with what we did beforehand. If, after that, you still have to ask, there is no hope for you.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Digital Economy Bollocks
Well, all in all, this has been an infuriating evening for me, following as I was the mindless passing of the Digital Economy Bill by the small minority of blithering idiots who actually turned up to the Commons to deal with the matter. As if the evening couldn’t get any worse, I was following the whole palaver on the Grauniad website, which, being the Grauniad, was as lucid about the whole thing as my grandma’s tights.
My interest in the Digital Economy Bill began, really, out of curiosity for the fate of fellow photographers, some of whom rely upon selling stock photographs for publications. If the 43rd clause had been passed, publishers would have effectively been granted free licence to print photographs without credit or payment to the photographer, so long as they could reasonably prove that they’d made an effort to contact them first. The clause was not passed, I am delighted to say, and cameras were tossed gleefully into the air across the United Kingdom.
It’s the rest of the Bill that concerns me, though. It appears that some slippery laws have just been passed. Legislation over copyright infringement could lead to many, many people’s internet connections being limited and even disconnected. All right, all right fair enough. You can get a lot of things on DVD now, piracy costs billions, why should musicians bother making music if you’re not going to pay for it, chunter chunter chunter…
I’m quite sure you don’t need me to cough all those hackneyed, unimaginative, frigid arguments at you. They have become as familiar and irritating as the Kaiser Chiefs over the last decade. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll err on the side of logic, and think about the implications of what has just been passed.
One: Cutting off an internet connection is one thing, but you would, surely, need proof that the concerned property’s wi-fi connection hadn’t been hacked, a phenomenon which I fully expect to increase as, erm, as a direct result of this legislation. Additionally, what of shared houses such as student accommodation? If one tenant gets caught, is it right that everyone should suffer?
Two: Is this Government not a part of the same UN organization which has previously argued that internet access should be regarded as a basic human right?
Three: The inevitable legal fragility of public access to online material is bound to have a profound negative effect on wi-fi connections in city and town centres, universities, airports, trains, hotels, bars, cafés and even, it delights me to say, the Houses of Parliament. Come on, MPs. Which one of those were you in this evening, when the votes were being cast? Wasn’t Parliament, was it? Choads.
Blogs will doubtlessly crop up frantically over the next two or three days, on this subject. I’ll have a keen eye open for anybody who can logically justify this legislation, as I’m sure you will too. I shall sign off to torrent an informative television documentary, mercifully available online, that has never been released on DVD - while I still can. Thanks to politicians who couldn’t be bothered to turn up to the debate, the United Kingdom has just became an altogether muggier place to live.
My interest in the Digital Economy Bill began, really, out of curiosity for the fate of fellow photographers, some of whom rely upon selling stock photographs for publications. If the 43rd clause had been passed, publishers would have effectively been granted free licence to print photographs without credit or payment to the photographer, so long as they could reasonably prove that they’d made an effort to contact them first. The clause was not passed, I am delighted to say, and cameras were tossed gleefully into the air across the United Kingdom.
It’s the rest of the Bill that concerns me, though. It appears that some slippery laws have just been passed. Legislation over copyright infringement could lead to many, many people’s internet connections being limited and even disconnected. All right, all right fair enough. You can get a lot of things on DVD now, piracy costs billions, why should musicians bother making music if you’re not going to pay for it, chunter chunter chunter…
I’m quite sure you don’t need me to cough all those hackneyed, unimaginative, frigid arguments at you. They have become as familiar and irritating as the Kaiser Chiefs over the last decade. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll err on the side of logic, and think about the implications of what has just been passed.
One: Cutting off an internet connection is one thing, but you would, surely, need proof that the concerned property’s wi-fi connection hadn’t been hacked, a phenomenon which I fully expect to increase as, erm, as a direct result of this legislation. Additionally, what of shared houses such as student accommodation? If one tenant gets caught, is it right that everyone should suffer?
Two: Is this Government not a part of the same UN organization which has previously argued that internet access should be regarded as a basic human right?
Three: The inevitable legal fragility of public access to online material is bound to have a profound negative effect on wi-fi connections in city and town centres, universities, airports, trains, hotels, bars, cafés and even, it delights me to say, the Houses of Parliament. Come on, MPs. Which one of those were you in this evening, when the votes were being cast? Wasn’t Parliament, was it? Choads.
Blogs will doubtlessly crop up frantically over the next two or three days, on this subject. I’ll have a keen eye open for anybody who can logically justify this legislation, as I’m sure you will too. I shall sign off to torrent an informative television documentary, mercifully available online, that has never been released on DVD - while I still can. Thanks to politicians who couldn’t be bothered to turn up to the debate, the United Kingdom has just became an altogether muggier place to live.
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