Following on from my previous two posts (white Canvas and then Black Canvas) where I discussed the use of snow (white canvas) or black sand (black canvas) as a blank canvas in which to place isolated objects thus creating a simplified composition / photograph, it’s time to talk about incorporating the two.

Of course, the title of this post suggests I’m talking about black and white photography. I’m not. I’m just amalgamating the previous two posts together. If you’ve not read them, then I suggest that you do, as they are really the foundation to where I’m going with all of this.

You see, for me, photography is not about great scenery. It’s about tonal compositions. If we abstract a scene down to the basic building blocks we have tone and form. That’s all we have. We don’t have trees, we don’t have rivers, we don’t have beaches. Forget all those ‘meaningful’ handles we have for things out there in the world. They’re really irrelevant and a massive distraction to what we’re really doing in photography. So what is it that I think we’re trying to do in photography?

Well, a number of things actually. But perhaps the most important one is that we’re trying to make sense of the world, to distill what we see in front of us, down into a digestible, accessible message. We wish to compartmentalise what we see down into something we can understand, and that hopefully everyone else will too. We do this by using maths (spacial distances between related objects within the frame), and by mood (dark tones convey a sense of mystery or low feelings, while brighter tones are more uplifting and transparent).

But ultimately, everything we see within the frame is a tone. It is somewhere between absolute black and absolute white. I honestly wonder sometimes – if we could paint onto the sensors / film of our cameras what we want, we would. We’re just dealing in tones.

So am I suggesting we all start working in black and white? Sort of, but not quite, but yes. I am.

Recently, while I was in Lofoten, one of my clients – John – was working with his D800 camera and I noticed he was working with his live-view screen set to black and white only.

I loved this.

To me it was the perfect summary of what it is we’re trying to do as photographers.

What John was trying to do, was consider the tones in front of him. By removing the colour element, he was able to be more focussed on the tonal relationships before him, and the form they convey throughout the scene. By working with a black and white preview screen, he was abstracting.

Photographs aren’t about scenery, they’re about form and tone.

I began this discussion by presenting a white landscape (snow), to illustrate how we can reduce our photography down to the absolute zero in terms of content to a frame, and if we’re good at it, we can make stronger images. I feel working in blank landscapes such as snow and beach locations can help us fine tune our photography. We start to realise we don’t need much, and everything that is put into the frame should have a purpose.

Like Mark Hollis fromTalk Talk said “Before you play two notes learn how to play one note – and don’t play one note unless you’ve got a reason to play it.” The same holds true for photography. We must distill our image making down to what it really is, and it’s not about scenery, it’s about form and tone. Start with less form and work up from there is my advice.

Several months ago, I wrote a blog posting about tonal relationships in photographs, and how dark areas of a frame create mystery. This was all spurred on by something I read in Galen Rowell’s excellent book ‘Inner game’. In it, he had envisioned a time in the future when something like HDR would arrive and he (correctly) suggested that with the power of such a tool, it would be very easy to remove all depth and mystery from an image. He died in 2001, so this was well before the advent of HDR.

But the main point that Galen wrote about in his article, was that he felt that dark areas of an image convey a sense of mystery, because as part of our primal instinct is to associate dark with danger. For example a dark cave or a dark forest would be considered a possible threat to our ancestors.

I bring all this up, as a precursor to what I’d like to discuss in this post.

Dark areas in a photograph should be considered as a welcome dimension, if they do not disturb the harmony of the rest of the image.

A few days ago, I discussed how using Snow in a photograph can create a sense of having a blank canvas, a space where the eye can float freely away (or over). Snow can simplify or distill our compositions down, reduce the landscape to the core elements that we wish our viewer to be attracted to. Similarly, black areas of a frame can be used in exactly the same way.

Take the above shot of my ‘ice seal’, shot in Iceland in 2011. Part of my attraction to a scene is often the lack of clutter around any interesting objects. This little sculpture was sitting on the beach separated from other ice debris. The black beach acts as a kind of ‘filler’ or blank canvas, pretty much in the same way as snow does. If anything it seems that there is a rule here – large areas of black act exactly the same way as large areas of white snow do. What this comes down to is recognising that spaces we encounter in a landscape can be put to just as much good use as the main objects of interest. If a photograph could be compared to a musical score, we would say that it’s not just the notes of the melody that are important, it’s the spaces between them as well.

I’ve always been intrigued that most photographers go looking for scenes with far too many things going on in them. It seems to be a natural conclusion that when we first think about landscape photography, we think about what we want to include in a shot, and seldom do we consider what we wish to exclude. Composing is partly an act of editing on location.

But when we do find good compositions, it’s often because we have isolated out a few key objects in the scene for interest. It takes us a lot longer to learn to really see all the remaining clutter that was also present in the scene. So often do we return home only to discover that the scene we recorded, contains additional distracting elements that we never saw whilst there. This happens because we are selective in what we choose to ‘see’ at the point that the image was made. It takes years to begin to really see beyond what we have been attracted to, and notice subtexts. So in essence, landscape photography is a difficult thing to master, mainly because we have decided to start off with too many things competing for our interest within the frame. This is at odds with how many people find empty landscapes intimidating. I’ve often heard participants express a feeling of being overwhelmed by too little going on in the frame, when I have often believed that the less you have to worry about – the easier it should be to make an effective photograph.

Blank empty spaces in our landscape should be considered as inviting spaces to work in. They should be easy to work with, rather than hard, because we are trying to juggle a lot less than we would be, if we had to worry about numerous objects, each with their own conflicting shapes and tones.

Lastly, let’s consider what a black canvas is for us, compared to a white canvas. I find snow scenes generally uplifting. The degree of bright tones within the frame convey a sense of openness and transparency. Darker images, like my ‘ice seal’ photograph do not. The adage that ‘white reveals, and black conceals’ is true. Black presents a less optimistic mood, and I often feel the images convey a less uplifting mood to them. So tones are an important element of our compositions, but I often feel they aren’t considered until we are back home, viewing our image on a screen. It seems that while we are out in the landscape, we aren’t entirely able to convert what is in the frame of our camera’s eye piece into an abstraction (i.e photograph). We’re still holding on to the notion of scenery to a degree. We may recognise objects, shapes and patterns and may have constructed a meaningful composition around what we’ve found, but all too often, we don’t recognise the tonal aspects of what we have. A tree line across a snowy landscape can look like a line of trees while we are there, but when we’re back home looking at the image on a computer screen, we see a black caterpillar crawling across a white piece of paper. Our line of trees have turned into something all together different from what we saw, because we did not understand that trees will render muddy and dark when encompassed by a much brighter tone (in this case, snow).

Maybe that’s something for a further post.

Last year, on my Bolivia trip, Jezz said to me ‘it’s not that you like snow Bruce, it’s just that you like white’.

I think Jezz hit on something with his humorous comment.

I do like white.

Over the past few years, as my photographic style has simplified, it’s as if that ‘white’ that Jezz speaks off, has become something I seek, because it has a few properties about it that I find are an aid to my compositions and inspiration.

Like a blank canvas, these white spaces allow me to reduce the content of the frame down to the most elemental building blocks. Less objects in the frame can often suggest a much simplified view.

But these white spaces also allow the objects that I do include in the frame to be more separated out; for them to have breathing space around them. This breathing space implies a sense of calm to the photograph.

Snow is the epitome of space and ‘nothingness’. Which is why I think I’m often attracted to the colder regions. There is something unblemished about Snow and Ice. It rarely has the mark of man on it, and through it, we are allowed to place upon it our own visions of what is or isn’t there. And that’s what space in photographs does for us – it allows us to have more freedom to conjure up our own thoughts and dreams.

So although Jezz thinks I like white, I really like space. Space in a photograph allows for things to be more calm. Space also allows for the image to be more simplified. Space is good.

But it’s not just Snow that gives us this. We can reach similar levels of space and simplification by using other surfaces. Large areas of sand on beaches is another example, and so too is anything that has a simple texture and area to it with almost no break to its own continuity. This continuity I speak off, allows the eye to pass over, to float by and head towards the subjects we do wish the viewer to rest their eyes upon.

By isolating out regions of the landscape where it seems as though nothing is going on, we can create images where it feels as though there is more going on than meets the eye. Less is more. And by removing distracting tones, or overly complex structures in our images, we reduce our message down to one that is concise. Our message becomes much easier to digest, and more coherent as a result. Good images have often simple, but strong messages.

Yes, space in the landscape is good.

One of the things I love about square aspect-ratio right now, is it’s ability to help project the ‘graphic’ elements within the frame.

I found these dark sand lines – from a river outflow on Lagg bay on the Isle of Eigg during last April’s workshop there. I was showing others how they act as a beautiful lead in, so long as we could distill it down to the most elegant sections of the ‘fingers’ – i.e, not have too much of them in. I felt I wanted to get closer, but as you’ll see if you look at the final image in this post – that didn’t quite happen when I tried the same shot with the Hasselblad 40 mm lens. So I think this 50mm version works the best.

But this image is really about reading from right to left I feel. Let’s now look at an image shot from up on Pescado island, on the Bolivian Altiplano Salar de Uyuni….

My eye walks into the frame from the bottom left and then up to the mid far right. Your eye may walk the scene differently, as I’ve discovered during my workshops that everyone has a different way of interpreting images.

While we were on Pescado island, I was really drawn to the colour of the sky, and it’s so hard to get a nice shot of the cactus, when Jezz, on the trip pointed to what was happening behind us, I could sense that I should use the curve in the foreground to lead up into the frame. It was also a great opportunity to show the cactus on Pescado island too (so that made me very happy).

And returning back to Eigg, I loved the arc in the sky – that red cloud banding across the landscape like a vignette, it helps keep my eye inside the frame. I feel a flow between the cloud and the dark sand bars in the foreground, each guiding my eye back towards the horizon, while the isle of Rum sits nestled in between the space between cloud and sand pattern.

I often see my compositions like that. There has to be a sense of flow to the objects and the tonal relationships as they work together, hopefully to produce a nice image or two.

A few days ago I titled a blog entry ‘finding the essence’. I felt the title was apt at the time because my posting was about objectivity. When reviewing your own images after a shoot, being able to see the essence or beauty that is there, rather than being blinded by a desire to see what we wished the image to be.

Well, I’ve been thinking about the word ‘essence’ and also the particular image of Harris I showed on the blog in that particular posting.

I responded to that image of Harris (reproduced here – image #1), because there’s a lot of harmony going on in it for me. The tones really resonated with me and I also felt the composition was very simple too. When these two elements are married together, often the resulting image seems to be a more powerful statement. I think this image works so well for me because the ‘essence’ of the landscape has been conveyed very clearly – the message is strong.

Compare image #2 that you see further on in this post. It’s got similar light, and was shot on the same evening. Except I think this image does not work so well. It’s missing that extra ‘something’. I think it’s failed to reveal the ‘essence’ of the landscape.

I often feel that simplification is a complex thing to pull off. What looks simple is often harder than it appears. Landscape images for me, must contain a soul, they must resonate with you on an emotional level, and breaking things down to colour, tone and form is the best way forward to make images that do that.

Image #2 is too clever. There’s too much going on in it, even though there’s not that much at all in the shot. But things are competing with each other. There’s perhaps too much texture in that sky to sit in the background and let the eye fall on the patterns in the sand in the foreground. It feels as if I’ve put the wrong sky in with the wrong foreground. Both are not working in harmony.

Image #1 on the other hand is a different case. That sky sets a mood, but there’s almost no texture in it. That lack of texture complements the lack of texture in the sand in the foreground. It is as if the sky and ground are working together – a form of visual empathy. And then we have that diagonal streak in the sand. It’s allowed to be the focal point of the image and everything else around it is there to support it – not take away from it.

As much as I’ve tried to explain the images, and get you to think about why one works better than the other, I don’t think there’s such a thing as a rule book, and I have to confess that although image #1 is my favourite – it was a complete surprise to see it in my processed transparencies. In other words – I did not plan it. And i don’t think I could have.

That’s what I love about photography. It’s those surprise elements. You only know what it was that you were looking for, once you’ve found it. That was certainly the case with this image.

This past weekend, I was in Torridon conducting a weekend workshop. We had some very rainy weather, and one of the group – Steve – mentioned to me that he was glad the weather had been bad, as it gave him a chance to see he could actually make some good images despite the weather.

I often feel, that the reason why Scotland is so photogenic, is because of the changes in the weather. One minute it’s misty, the next it’s clear. And fog or low cloud levels can be a great way of making simpler images. Take the shot above for instance. This is Loch Maree. Normally, this group of trees have the massive Slioch mountain dominating the background. But with a bit of rain and poor visibility, Slioch was invisible. We were left with no horizon – nothing to give the shot context.

I loved the group of three or four trees clumped together. They were actually a subset of a larger group of trees, but I felt that we could easily ‘remove’ the rest and keep the entire shot very simple if we just had this small gathering of trees.

I made this shot on my little Lumix GF1. It’s a great camera because it has interchangeable aspect ratios. I felt that square worked really well for this shot, as I could easily place the trees in three quadrants of the frame – top right, bottom right and middle right, as you can see in the above triptych. Question is, is one better than the other? And I like to consider that there is always more options than just one. So I guess the answer is ‘it depends’. My personal favourite composition out of the three images is the first one. I feel the picture has a more ‘uplifting’ feeling than the rest, and it has more presence, because I’m really exaggerating the empty space in the frame more than the others. I also love the reflection of the trees…. I feel they have space below them to ‘breathe’.

The middle composition, where the trees are placed in the bottom right, is perhaps less engaging for me, because the trees aren’t so tight against the bottom of the frame. The picture feels less focussed for me, in terms of composition. I’d liked to have moved the trees even further down the frame, but I felt the reflections would not have enough space. I felt I had to keep moving the trees further up the frame. But it’s a more relaxed composition than the first one – which I feel is more ‘graphic’ than being a photograph.

The far right composition is perhaps my less favourite. It is more of a ‘standard’ composition. I feel the horizon has been carelessly composed – for my taste. It’s just a little below centre, and I think it might have benefited from being slightly above centre – giving that ‘uplifting’ feeling I was talking about in the first image, while at the same time, being more in-line with a ‘standard’ landscape image.

As much as I love square, maybe it might have suited more a 4×5 aspect ration as seen above?

Ultimately, when you have a simple subject such as this – trees and reflection, and nothing else, it’s much easier to get down to the basic tasks of composition and placement in a frame. The less objects you have in the frame – the better, I feel.

I was immediately attracted to this scene when we were driving past, because there’s little in there to distract. When was the last time you went out with your camera to shoot when the atmospheric pressure is so low, that almost nothing is visible?

When Andy Gray balances stones to make his beach sculptures, he says he listens to the stones with his hands. I feel I know what he means. He becomes very focussed on the weight of the stone in his hands and how the balance moves and rolls around, until eventually, he finds that magic spot where the stone will balance all on its own.

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I see a symmetry with composing images. When I look for compositions, I feel when the composition is just right. A step to far forwards, a slight movement of the tilt of the tripod, a millimetre adjustment, is often all it takes to make something feel right.

Andy Gray’s sculptures are the best analogy I can come up with, on how one should know when a composition is right. Your attention to detail and to a gut reaction, are essentially all you need.