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Monographs addendum

Since I published the previous article, Bruce Percy has published a very interesting and revealing piece on his blog describing the overall process of creating ‘Iceland: A Journal of Nocturnes’. It considers the organic development which leads to a finished artefact.

In my article, I concentrated on why photography monographs are intrinsically attractive to the viewer. Bruce touches on some aspects of why that might be too, but the main focus is on how their creation benefits the photographer themselves, as well as on the process; a process which is considerably more involved, subtle and recursive than might at first be obvious.

Very much worth reading, especially if you’re considering producing a book yourself!

Musings on: the allure of photographic monographs

I received Bruce Percy’s second monograph book today: ‘Iceland: A Journal of Nocturnes’.

At first I thought I’d write a review of it and to some extent this is a review, though it’s a rather short one, intermingled with the main topic of the musing which is photography books as a medium: it’s a medium that I like.

I should start off by declaring an interest:

I was involved in the production of ‘A Journal of Nocturnes’ to the extent of reviewing the text and making some suggestions on flow, language and sequencing of images; Bruce even used some of those suggestions. Additionally, when I saw a near-final proof of the book, I wrote Bruce a letter describing how I saw it as a piece of art in its own right, something greater than the sum of its parts, rather than as ‘merely’ a collection of photographs and short, poetic essays; Bruce was kind enough to include the letter as a form of epilogue to the book.

So, I am clearly somewhat biased in the context of a review! I’ve also said before that I’m very keen on Bruce’s images and these of Iceland, in particular those made on the coast, are my favourite from his portfolio to date (though I think his Bolivia images vie with them for coherence as a place-based portfolio).

That last point, coherence, is important and I’ll come back to it as I think it’s a major benefit of photographic art books: it’s what, for me, gives them their allure – at least in part.

What of this, specific book then?

It’s an object of beauty! That’s not something I say at all lightly, I can assure you. The finished product is superbly printed on excellent paper and each of the embossed cover, the paper cover and the slip-case are themselves very fine indeed. Plus, the fonts used are gorgeous. I’m a fan of fonts and those in ‘Nocturnes’ are just right for the subject matter.

As to contents: clearly, I like Bruce’s images very much and this collection has a strong theme which give the book a good structure; I also enjoy the short essays which relate to the making of those images. Often, monographs are simply collections of images. That’s an elegant approach, but in this case Bruce has also interspersed the photographs with a few essays stimulated by, or pertinent to the creation of, the images in the book. This, for me, makes it even more interesting and attractive as an artefact. ‘Nocturnes’ does not rely solely on images to communicate, it also gives some insight into the creative process and, more widely, into Bruce’s development over his several visits to Iceland. This seems to me to be a great addition to – again – the book as a piece of art in itself which extends it beyond simply ‘a collection of excellent photographs’ and makes it something richer and deeper.

Photographic art books more generally

So yes, I can enthusiastically recommend ‘Nocturnes’; but what of the more general point about the allure of books of images?

I very much enjoy looking at images on a screen. Like many photographers, I’m fortunate in having large, high resolution monitors and photographs look excellent on them. It’s not the same as holding a book though. It’s not even close.

Holding a book, turning the pages, feeling the texture of the surface and perhaps the weight of it, even taking it down from a shelf and removing the slip-case, smelling the distinctive, subtle aroma of high quality print and paper even before you start to visually examine it and hear the pages turning; they’re all sensual involvement with the work which leaves simply seeing an image on a screen as a somewhat sensory-deprived shade of ‘the book experience’.

Beyond that, taking the nearest parallel as viewing and reading a pdf version on a large screen, the obvious, increased, almost intrinsic coherence of a self-contained object, the book itself, encapsulating all that the artist intended it to contain and no more, is also alluring. Yes, a pdf on a screen may have the same content, but unless you’re unnaturally talented at checking the file size and predicting the contents, or unless you study the table of contents carefully to start with, it can be somewhat ill-defined until you reach the end.

With a book, the wealth of sensory inputs to the experience of reading it means that you build up a feel for how much it contains, of what nature, and where you are within it as you read further; it’s an holistic, multi-sensory experience, not a slightly sterile one where the reading device is at best transparent to the process and at worst an intrusion.

With a book, you’re connected via multiple senses as you examine it.

And what about prints?

Prints are great. In terms of pure presentation, a well-mounted / framed print at the right size for the subject, hung in a suitable environment, is a marvellous thing, and perhaps an exhibition of coherent work rivals a quality book for overall experience; certainly it does so in terms of sheer visual impact. It’s a one-off or occasional experience though: with a book, the experience can be repeated and is more ‘intimate’; arguably more involving.

I should make it clear here that I’m not suggesting that books are ‘the only way’. I enjoy photographic exhibitions; I have a Kindle on which I read text; I use a tablet, laptops and a static computer; I even view things on a TV monitor once in a while – all those devices have their place, and if the only thing I had to view a set of photographs on was the tablet, I’d use it (I’d draw the line above using a ‘phone though!). Given the choice, however, I’d choose a finely printed book over any of those things as the best way of enjoying photographs and as the highest level of artefact which can be created from the starting point of a set of images.

I started off attempting to be analytical here but have largely failed as I’ve found myself so enthused by this type of book. No matter! ‘Iceland: A Journal of Nocturnes’ is a really lovely art object and exemplifies the somewhat lyrical comments above. I’m grateful to Bruce for having brought me to recognise the beauty that can be found in this type of photographic monograph.

A review, of sorts

Finally, since the above is not strictly a review, I’ll quote my letter from the book below. In it I tried to encapsulate what, at least as I experienced it, the book is about.

“Your journey from image inception to this book’s production parallels your artistic journey: your subconscious visualisations of the landscape have grown to encapsulate both the story of your visits to Iceland and the water-cycle of the island.

The book can be seen as describing a photographic day.

It dawns, calm and muted, on the black beaches with their isolated, glacial debris. It progresses along the coast to the sea-stacks, and thence inland to the vibrant drama of the cascades. It touches on the inland glaciers that are the source of the translucent ice-jewels, and on the rock over which they flow. And then it returns to the dark sand, this time with richer, optimistic blues as the ice reaches the coast and slowly melds with the ocean, ready to return to the glaciers.

It’s a wonderful, elliptical path through the iconic features of this harsh land and shows how an artist’s growth can mimic the cycle of nature. In this case, water and ice: same materials, different facets.

Journeys entwined with journeys; fascinating to observe and unequivocally inspirational.”

Now to make some more shelf space: paper may trump screens, but electronic media really do have the advantage when it comes to storing things!

Addendum
Since I published this, Bruce has published a very interesting and revealing article on his blog describing the overall process of creating the book. It considers the organic development which leads to a finished artefact. Very much worth reading, especially if you’re considering producing a book yourself!

Musings on: the benefits of a photography workshop

I thought I’d write a short piece on the single photo workshop I’ve taken part in so far. The idea of these musings is primarily to consider those things which have a significant influence on my development and ability as a photographer: I suspect that this was the most important to date. I say ‘suspect’ since I don’t think I can say anything of that sort entirely unequivocally, but I can identify several beneficial changes in my approach as a result of the workshop, so it’s certainly a strong candidate.

The workshop in question was five days on the Isle of Harris, in the Outer Hebrides, led by Bruce Percy. Given the benefits of the trip to my photography, I can thoroughly recommend the investment in time and money. Even ignoring these benefits, the experience was very enjoyable. Bruce is an inspirational photographer to spend time with, as well as a thoroughly nice chap, and hence good company. Adding all that up means that the week was excellent fun if taken solely as an holiday, and very good value when considered as a whole.

'Pointing'

The nature of the workshop

Bruce’s workshops are pretty busy, intense even; just as I hoped. This is excellent since being immersed in photography for a few days is a luxury few people can enjoy more than rarely. At that time of year, in the north of Scotland, daylight is restricted to only eight hours, and we were out on location before dawn and after dusk each day. Somehow, we also fitted in breakfast, lunch and dinner, as well as around three hours of critique. Given the time of year, the critique tended to be between morning and afternoon shooting sessions, though this varies when the hours of daylight are different. Reviews of the day’s captures are a key part of Bruce’s approach to workshops since he critiques some of the images captured during the last session and constructively analyses them, including the good and the ‘less good’. I personally found this immensely useful, both the reviews of my own images and those of the other participants.

Bruce also uses these review sessions to demonstrate some of the techniques he uses in post-processing by editing the participants captures. Prior to the workshop, I’d never really considered dodging and burning; now, I do something to virtually all of my images. See my previous article on digital manipulation for a rather longer discussion on this, but suffice it to say that the critique sessions convinced me of the idea that most images benefit from some subtle, selective brightness and darkness changes after raw conversion, but usually no more than that.

There was also – and my understanding is that this is always the case – much discussion about aspect ratios throughout the workshop. I was already happy to compose with the intention of cropping from my dSLR, 3:2 frames in post-processing, but the opportunity to debate the merits of various aspect ratios with both Bruce, who has strong views on the subject, and the other attendees, was invaluable. It has made me think a great deal more about exactly how an image will look and how its dynamic can change by consciously composing in something other than 3:2. Looking back over my post-workshop images, I now have relatively few in my camera’s native ratio, and those that are I do feel ‘need’ to be that shape.

'Misted rocks'

Shooting session format

Shooting sessions each day were as flexible as we, the participants, wanted them to be. Bruce moved between participants and provided assistance with composition, use of filters and the relative merits of alternative camera settings. As with any self-selecting group of people, the level of familiarity with cameras, compositional technique, and all the other things which go to make up photography, varied; but Bruce’s one-to-one guidance meant that everyone could benefit in the way they personally needed from the shooting sessions. Equally, we could all ‘do our own thing’ if we so wished.

In particular, I learnt a great deal about making simplified compositions. Since that was the primary reason I’d booked on the Harris workshop, specifically, this alone was well worth it for me. Harris is a marvellous place, but the extensive beaches can appear dauntingly empty at first. Everyone commented on this during the first dawn shoot; after a few sessions, however, we all had a much better appreciation of how to use relatively subtle features of the foreground to complement the mountainous backdrops across to the smaller islands. The two images I’d made on the island prior to the workshop starting are pleasing (see my earlier article about the making of ‘Feathered beach’), but I was ultimately better satisfied with some of the more pared down captures I made during the workshop itself, once I’d appreciated how to combine seemingly insignificant features on the beach with selective tonal modifications in post-processing to produce something which, at the very least, has shown me what can be achieved from apparent emptiness.

I also learnt how to use even, shadow-free light. I’d previously tended to assume that an image needed the drama of shadows, or the potential ‘wow’ effect of sunsets. My time on Harris illustrated superbly how colours and contrasts can often be much better captured when the light is more evenly distributed. Unfortunately for me, I also became reasonably convinced that I prefer morning light to evening light; a useful piece of learning, but not a welcome one in many ways, since I’m very much a night person. Nonetheless, it should lead to better images in the long run, if also to greater tiredness. Right now, I’m looking forward to the summer, when an horrifically early morning can easily be avoided by making it a moderately late night!

'Calm'

Lively debate!

Finally – and this is a facet of the workshop I’d not anticipated fully – I gained a great deal from the discussions which result from being in the company of other photographers at various levels; not just Bruce, who is both highly knowledgeable and an excellent communicator of both technique and ideas, but the other participants. People asked many questions which I’d not have asked myself, and the experience of coming to understand someone else’s perception of a scene, their point of view on various compositions, and their general views on photographic art, was immensely useful and rewarding. The way the workshop was organised meant that we were all learning through interaction and exchange of ideas, not ‘merely’ through being taught, though clearly Bruce did teach certain techniques and approaches.

In summary…

To return to my original thoughts: this was an extremely enjoyable and productive week for me and I recommend it strongly. I shall be attending another of Bruce’s workshops and fully anticipate both learning more and having a great holiday at the same time!