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Musings on: the allure of photographic monographs

By Mike Green on 8 November, 2012

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!