WYGIWYS

I’ve been wrangling the notion of capture of ephemerality as one of the essences of photography, trying to get beyond the obviousness of the observation to the vital idea beneath the cliche, which involves more than just the apprehension of a moment in the river of Time. It’s in the viewer’s mind (or Mind’s Eye, or is it Eye’s Mind?) that the ephemeral attains its significance, a sort of WYGIWYS (What You Get Is What You See).

This morning it occurred to me that the viewer may be transfixed (in the sense of ‘pierced by’ and ‘brought up short’) by an image, caught by a personal punctum, as Barthes names the hook that does the transfixing. Sometimes this transfixion is in fact a transfiction (“an aestheticized imagination of translatorial action”), an obvious product of the viewer’s imagination, an instance of pareidolia or apophenia in which the viewer sees or perhaps constructs meaningful patterns that are notional and may not be seen by others. This happens to me frequently, even incessantly.

Here’s an example, ephemeral because it’s a photograph of rapidly-melting ice:


DI27i18008

I read the two circles above the center of the image as eyes, fill in whiskers and a grinning mouth below the eyes, see the curve above the eyes as defining a head and body, note the ribbon floating off to the northeast from the eye on the right, see the whispy, murky, indistinct background, and label the image as ectoplasmic seal with monocle. The seal probably existed for only a few minutes (the eye on the left is a lacuna of meltwater in the ice), and I don’t think I saw it until I was processing the RAW file on the computer. Something surely drew me to the framed scene and provoked the release of the shutter to capture the composition, but I can’t reconstruct it now. All part of the grand mystery of the ephemeral.

There’s a Flickr Album of almost 600 images of ice from the last month or so, many of which have—or may have—resident creatures.

Marblehead 1965

I’ve been combing through my memories and photographic archives in search of traces of entanglement with rocks. The first photographic engagement that I can find came about as a result of an invitation to accompany a photography student named I think Shulman on an expedition to cliffs at Marblehead in the Spring of 1965. He was doing 8×10 color, as I remember.


Marblehead54a

I think these are the very rocks:


Lighthouse Point, Marblehead MA

I can’t remember if I had already encountered Aaron Siskind’s 1944 Gloucester rock photographs, or his 1950 Martha’s Vineyard series, but Len Gittleman might have shown them to us. I was certainly entirely susceptible to Siskind’s mode of seeing by Spring 1965, but I’m not sure if these are unwitting homage to Siskind or directly derivative from work of his that I’d seen. But there I was looking at form in rock, wrestling with light and shadow, putting a 2×3 frame around what seemed to be significant bits of lithoscape:


Marblehead 1965 42

Marblehead47a

Marblehead44a

Marblehead55a

Marblehead36a

Fifty years later I scanned those negatives and did some experimental tessellations of two of them:


illusionx4

I love the 3-D illusion that emerges, which suggests some lesson in figure-and-ground perception, and I love the notion that there are always more possibilities in an image than one first realizes.

I went still further with the second image, tessellating and then split-toning to create an image that seems not to be rock at all:


carpet design

In the same cache of negatives I found these two: Shulman himself, and Shulman’s spouse dealing productively with the boredom of waiting for him to finish playing with the huge camera.


Marblehead25a

the photographer's spouse

Another sector of the Territory

I’ve been thinking about the term abstract and its cousin abstraction, and considering how they relate to my engagement with rocks. I don’t have a sophisticated grounding in the use of the terms in writing/talking about art, so I begin with a collection of my own thoughts and work outward. The 5 AM summary today, which will be refined as I read and consider:

abstract (v): pare down to or extract essentials; take away from, purloin, haul away

abstract (n): without obvious representational form; an unparsed collection of design elements

abstract (adj): in which the representation of Reality requires explanation; as opposed to ‘concrete’; loosely, non-representational

Quite a few of my photographs of the last few years have been non-representational captures of forms and patterns, in rock, in wood, in ice and cloud forms. Often I only begin to grasp what they contain when I process the RAW files and have a chance to see what I saw when provoked to click the shutter and capture the momentary conjunction of light and materials. Here’s an example:

MarshallPoint28

Marshall Point 20 ix 2017

The scale might be anywhere from close-up macro to aerial landscape (in fact it’s a stretch of magnificently folded rock about 2 feet from top to bottom, as I recall), and the absence of identifiable features nudges this toward ‘abstract’. Trying to parse the patterns for meaning, I see overlapping faces in profile, but know that I’m imagining that.

So I tessellated the photo and flipped it vertically:


god of headaches

…and the resulting coherent image immediately announced itself to me as The God of Headaches. In my reading, this is himself:
the god of headaches cropped

and he perches on the forehead of the sufferer.

This reading is entirely a product of my imagination, and the unpredicted outcome of a simple algorithmic manipulation [copy-mirror-join-rotate] of the seed image: an abstract made concrete, a form found, a Story unleashed, a divinity called into existence by an act of naming. Magic, of a sort, relying on instinctual/hard-wired response to bilateral symmetry, in which the viewer seeks coherent patterns and projects them into conjunctions that appear to be representational: those are ears, those eyes, oh look, there’s a mouth…

The wonder is that different viewers find their own figures within the created images; the glory is that people are easily trapped into the engagement, and clearly love the exercise of hunting for coherence. And, as Yogi Berra said, the more one practices, the more one sees. You can see a lot by looking.

Lighting Out for the Territory

I’m in the early stages of thinking my way into a book project dealing with photographs of rock, provisionally titled Just Rocks: A Lithic Menagerie, including work I’ve done in the last few years and continuing some lines of thought I began in YMMV: Studies in Occultation [right-click to download large pdf].

Just Rocks will include rock portraits and tessellations which disclose creatures and designs hidden in geological formations. Most of the images are exercises in visual imagination, and address the process of developing and augmenting the capability to see forms and patterns that are not objectively there, but are imaginary tracings that abstract lines and shapes from background complexities.

A few examples:

Great Wass rock 25

a sardonic grin


A wave-tumbled rock on a beach at Great Wass Island, less than 4 inches across and weighing perhaps half a pound. Ephemeral in that it was captured in the camera but not brought home, and is now lost forever. An object of contemplation, an exercise in naming (‘sardonic’ is my subjective reading, but you may see something else—and that’s the whole point).

Beaches along the coast of Maine are the locus of many of the rock portraits, and the process of discovery is worth some attention. The scatter of beach rock is a stage in a random process of erosion driven by twice-daily tides, which eventually produce sand and so recycle the minerals locked up in stone. This is a view of a small part of Drift Inn beach, a couple of miles from home:

wide view of Drift Inn

In the last 10 days or so at Drift Inn I’ve done scores of photographs of rocks that seemed to have personalities, to express imaginative creaturehood, to be more than just rocks. Each day I’ve found new examples, though I’ve also returned to several to try to capture them better. Here’s an example of the process:

cubist1

In the midst of the chaos of scatter, we observe a rock that has been broken into five squarish pieces. Bits of pebble and shell have found their way into the interstices

cubist2

and were awaiting my discovery:

Cubist portrait

cubist portrait

Braque or Picasso would have been delighted. A West African mask maker might have imagined such a fetish. But it was simply time and tide that made this conjunction, and that will erase it before long.

Another example, this one a tessellation that unfolds a geological mini-saga of marble inclusion


DI2i1831

to produce this:

female avatar of Poseidon/Neptune bracketed by White Whales

female avatar of Poseidon/Neptune bracketed by White Whales

As I’ve noted elsewhere (see Tessellations [right-click to download large pdf]), one may well ask if the avatar and the whales were there all along, waiting to be liberated, or if I created them by digital legerdemain, and/or called them into existence by an onomastic hey-presto…

So that’s some of the territory I’m lighting out to explore this winter.

and now what?

The last three months has seen an intense engagement with photography, largely because of my participation in an online workshop with Andy Ilachinski, whose work I’ve been following for ten years or so. The six weeks of the workshop are now at an end, and I’ve written my last response to the exercises Andy offered. I’ve just read through all of my postings and am pleased with their range and consistency. It’s difficult to say what I learned in the six weeks—or indeed in the three months—of reading and photographing and processing and writing, but it’s been a delight. I’m surely even more committed to the practice of photography as an integral element of my life, and even more engaged in looking and perhaps a tidge better at seeing. So now what? There’s a mountain of photobooks to read and re-read, and projects to begin, to continue, and maybe even to finish. There’s software to explore in greater depth (Lightroom, Photoshop, InDesign), and books to fashion… and of course more photographic adventures to undertake. Never a dull moment.

Daido Moriyama



One of the delightful photographic discoveries of the last week or so is the work of Daido Moriyama, of whom I should have known lo these many years. Posts in the online photography workshop I’m participating in encouraged me into the beginnings of an exploration of Japanese photography, and that led to Moriyama, and indirectly to this 12-minute video, which showcases Moriyama’s unique kinetic approach to photography:



I would like to cultivate the freedom of gesture that is part of what makes Daido Moriyama such a remarkable photographer, a veritable dancer in the urban kaleidoscope.

Another of his remarkable captures:



Simplifying, symmetry, the Elder Gods

Terry Pratchett puts it very succinctly in Small Gods:

There are billions of gods in the world. They swarm as thick as herring roe. Most of them are too small to see and never get worshipped, at least by anything bigger than bacteria, who never say their prayers and don’t demand much in the way of miracles.

They are the small gods—the spirits of places where two ant trails cross, the gods of microclimates down between the grass roots. And most of them stay that way.

Because what they lack is belief.

…what gods need is belief, and what humans want is gods. (pg. 11)

The big thundery gods stay visible, buoyed by legions of believers and serviced by hiererchies of acolytes. The lesser gods may be shrunken, and many are simply in occlusion, mostly hidden from sight and sometimes shrunk to vestigiality by dearth of believers. Sometimes they can be found in the interstitial spaces…

Here’s one:


god of headaches

It was immediately obvious to me that he is the god of headaches. I winkled him out from his hiding place by performing a symmetrical transformation on this image:

MarshallPoint28

I had revealed the vice-like horror of the migraine god only a week or so before:


migraine god

And now gods seem to be cropping up pretty much wherever I look. Here’s a nameless Elder God, clearly not to be messed with:

elder god

and a mesomorphic god, who has obviously worked out a lot:


mesomorphic god

and a miscellaneous green godlet, who may be angling for an appearance as an alternative salad dressing:

godlet

the Lane Collection at MFA

Last week’s visit to Boston Museum of Fine Arts to see the Sheeler and Stieglitz shows, all images drawn from the MFA’s Lane Collection, reminded me of the book An Enduring Vision: Photographs from the Lane Collection which I bought a couple of years ago after an earlier visit to the MFA. I sat down to read Lyle Rexer’s introductory essay, “A Widening Circle: some images from the Lane Collection” and was brought up short by the eloquence of its first paragraph, which seems to directly address issues I’ve been thinking about:

Photographs are perhaps the most peculiar art objects because their invitation, apparently so literal, is really open-ended. Severed from the flux of temporal experience in which they originate, increasingly cut off from the rich context of historical meanings as the moments and situations they capture recede in history’s rear-view mirror, all photographs are orphaned, telling us, as Diane Arbus once remarked, everything and nothing. At the same time, the simple fact of putting a frame around a scene can suddenly invest its contents with urgency, demanding we pay attention to a set of visual relations that might otherwise have gone unnoticed—or that in truth did not even exist until time was stopped and they were framed. In a photograph it can seem as if the world is speaking to us directly of some truth, but that truth is obscure and hard to decipher, like an oracle. In the presence of a mystery that hides in plain sight, photographs solicit us to provide captions, to invest our own surmises and explanations, our own stories. (pg. 25)

Rexer goes on to tie together a number of the dominant figures of 20th century American photography, and points to a Bullock image I’ve never had occasion to study before:

(Adams, Weston, White, Sommer, Bullock, Sheeler) …all shared the notion that form is a universal constant of the world and our experience, the expression of a fundamental principle of order uniting all levels of phenomena. Form is inherent in the nature of things but obscured by circumstance. It is identified by the intuition of the photographer and fixed objectively in the composition and attributes of the photograph. The expressive photograph, then, is one that mediates a recognition of connectedness between the viewer and the greater order of the world through the artist’s artistic sensibility. The meaning of the photograph is open-ended in that it suggests connections that can be both psychological and natural, if not spiritual, as in Wynn Bullock’s famous Tide Pool (1957), an image that sets up a chain of associations from the microscopic to the heavenly. Specific place and time, the anchors of photographic reference, are only points of departure. (pg. 26)

(snagged at
http://wynnbullockphotography.com/featured/2013-01/images/pointlobostidepool700.jpg)


This photograph reminds me that I’m forever finding new photographs and photographers to explore, and thus greatly complicating the question of what/who my favorites might be. This is a good thing, and not a bad thing.

Another realization: I’ve always been mostly interested in photographs and their social and historical context, and never had occasion to think much about collectors of photography, who these days pretty much have to be deep-pocketed high-rollers. I begin to see that I might owe a debt of gratitude to those who underwrite my pleasures by their support of artists and the museums that acquire their works.

So I googled Lyle Rexer and found The Edge of Vision: The Rise of Abstraction in Photography, and (almost needless to say) ordered a copy. Will it ever end?