A Slow Realisation

For a while now I’ve been trying to work out what photography means to me and where I want to take it. It’s been tempting at times to give up, choose the easy way out and focus on what the meaning of life is instead as it can’t be any harder and might, possibly, be even more fulfilling. However, I feel I’ve made a bit of a breakthrough recently, aided by something I read in a book that accompanied a gallery exhibition from 1977.

I’m 62 later this month and figured it was time I had something to show for all those years of wandering around - sometimes aimlessly, sometimes appearing to know what I was doing - with a camera. Like most photographers, I enjoy using different cameras and lenses, formats and films and I suppose I could just carry on in that way, gaining satisfaction from a good hobby. But photography has always meant more than that to me. It’s my one and only creative outlet and I get a little fed up when I’m not able to exercise that artistic muscle, wherever it resides.

Decking

It’s easy to have too much choice when it comes to equipment and I’ve fallen foul of that in a big way. Do “serious” photographers dabble with different formats on a regular basis? Does Ralph Gibson get his 10x8 camera out for a close-up of a woman’s bottom with a feather sticking out if it? Did Ansel disappear for a fortnight’s camping in Yosemite with his Kodak Retina in hand? (Ironically, I was reading last week in a 1936 edition of Camera Craft magazine of Ansel’s experiences with a 35mm Contax rangefinder which he seemed to enjoy.)

I get pulled this way and that by cameras and formats as each is better at one thing than another and what I have in my hand largely dictates the type of photograph I’m going to take. But if you think you do your best work with one particular format then, by definition, you can’t be doing your best work if you’re using a different format. And why wouldn’t you want to do your best work? If you don’t know what format produces your best photography then you’ve got an even bigger problem.

Through a Summerhouse Window

Garden, Hill of Tarvit

To my way of thinking, it’s important to decide what type of photography you want to concentrate on and that can mean picking a side - choosing a format and sticking with it. It was easy for me to rule out large format photography. Beyond the chimera of great sharpness and near zero grain, it does nothing for me. It’s static, boring and, most of the time, results in technically excellent record shots. I’m aware that some people produce great work with it but even when done well, the results seldom get me going. It strikes me the same way some digital photography does, clinical and a little soul-less. If you’re an LF photographer, don’t get upset: this is just my opinion.

So that leaves medium format and 35mm and this is where it gets harder. I love them both. In terms of the artistic quality of a photograph, I’m in the 35mm camp. Most of my favourite pics from the great photographers were shot on the small format. But there’s no denying that MF brings a hike in technical quality that can add an extra dimension to an image. It’s mainly in the tonality and the ability to retain more detail in dark areas of the print. It’s a little sharper as well but, from a sharpness point of view, I’m satisfied with 35mm at my chosen size of 10x8.

Breakwater

Coke Bottle

Since both formats are fairly versatile, 35mm more so obviously, it would seem to come down to whether I want to tip the balance in favour of aesthetics or print quality. That’s where the book I mentioned at the start comes in. It's called Reading Photographs: Understanding the Aesthetics of Photography and is essentially the catalogue contents from the exhibition at The Photographers Gallery in London with some minor alterations. It's largely the work of Jonathan Bayer who got me thinking with this passage.

"What does one look for in photographs and why do we look at certain photographs more than others? Why are some boring while others transcend the cursory glance to become an aesthetic object? Most photographs communicate the information they contain almost too immediately. They are universally understood, are high in 'human interest' and require little or no further explanation.

"...We glance at them quickly and turn the page. We have been told the story (most likely with the help of a caption) but the image itself need never be looked at again. However, the challenge is to venture among photographs that are more difficult to understand, images that enter the realm of art because they invite the viewer to participate and to decipher them.

"These stimulate the mind, assault it, amuse it, set problems for it and give it the sublime satisfaction of coming up with its own answers. 'Good' photographic images intrigue, present a mystery or demand to be read. They are constructs of frustrations and ambiguities which force the viewer to actively interact with the photograph."

Ramsgate, 1968. Tony Ray-Jones

Mr Bayer seemed to reach into my head and pull just those thoughts out when he wrote that. The images of which he speaks are exactly the kind I enjoy most. And they tend to be the domain of the likes of Ralph Gibson, Raymond Moore, Lee Friedlander, Tony Ray-Jones and a host of other (often) Leica-totting snappers. Mainly, but definitely not exclusively, 35mm users.

Cyprus, 1968. Raymond Moore 

So that's where I am now, leaning heavily towards calling myself a 35mm photographer even if I'm not quite ready yet to lock away my Rolleiflex or the Mamiya Press. I imagined that I might be able to wield the Mamiya in the same way I might do the Olympus OM2 but I can't honestly say they have a lot in common. Even the improved print quality courtesy of the larger negative area can have its drawbacks.

Parc De Sceaux. Erica Lennard

One of my favourite books is Classic Gardens by Erica Lennard, a slim volume of her 35mm photos taken at some of Europe's finest gardens. If you're looking for smooth tones, sharp, grain-free images with lots of shadow detail then you'll be disappointed - and not just because she employed under-the-enlarger diffusion to slightly bleed the blacks.

Rambouillet. Erica Lennard

Villa D'Este. Erica Lennard

But there's something about her low resolution images that capture and project an old-fashioned, dreamy, atmospheric past that seems perfectly in keeping with the formal gardens. I can look at the pictures again and again because they have soul. Sharp, grain-free and chock-full of shadow detail would make them less appealing to me.

This gradual tilt towards the almost exclusive use of 35mm has brought me to some strange places. My camera bag, at the moment, consists of a Konica Hexar AF with its superb 35mm f2 Hexanon lens and an Olympus IS-3000 bridge camera with a very high quality 35-180mm zoom. The Hexar is there because I can use it handheld in low light. It would be interesting to know if anyone else in the photography world is using that combination. I might supplement it with an OM2 and 24mm lens. 

There are two main, linked reasons for this outfit - I use a lot of different focal lengths in my photography and I don't like the inconvenience of switching lenses on a regular basis. When I don't want to carry a camera bag, I usually opt for a Minolta XE-7 with the 50mm f1.4 MC Rokkor. The three primes - 24, 35 and 50 - have all proved to have something a bit special about them. The jury is still out on the 35-180mm zoom but I have high hopes for it.

The future for me then is about trying to take pictures that are the antithesis of those that, paraphrasing Mr Bayer, tell the whole story and don't have to be looked at again. The fact that I find this easiest to accomplish using a 35mm camera handheld and loaded with Ilford XP2 Super is one of those things that I wish I'd figured out a long time ago.