A Convincing Photograph

Today, I’d like to think aloud about making a convincing photograph, on presenting photographs, on being intentional with our work. All with the caveat, I have no idea what I’m doing and am really just learning this all as I go. But what I’m learning about photography might also apply to the practice of writing, or painting, or making any art, and maybe even life, so here are some things that I’ve been reading:

 “Making a convincing photograph of a beautiful place is as hard as writing a convincing story about good people. We want to believe, but a lot of evidence stands in the way.”

—Robert Adams, in Art Can Help.

And then with Edmonton, there is beauty here, but a lot of evidence stands in the way of that too. Part of me thinks that before sharing a photo I should ask myself certain questions: is the photograph convincing? Is it beautiful? Does it astonish? What am I hoping that the photograph will convey? Is it worthy of taking up real estate on the internet, the feed, the flow? Is it part of a conversation? What does it say?

What happens anyway if we just assume a place has beauty? Take that as a given?

But then I remember that sometimes we learn the answer to these questions, only by throwing our work out there. When we allow our work to be seen, it changes how we see it. So, when we steadily share work that maybe isn’t always stellar, there are a lot of things we learn about how we wish to proceed. Complicated and contradictory at times, yes?

Why not have lofty goals though? Why not try for astonishment?

“What does the photographer help us find? First of all, astonishment.”

—Robert Adams

I had been looking at the images of Helen Levitt and came across a post by Eric Kim “7 Lessons Helen Levitt Has Taught Me About Street Photography.” In it he says, (number 7), only show photographs worth showing. He talks about her process, and then says, “When it comes to the editing process (choosing your best images to publish) ask yourself, “Is this photograph worth showing? Based on my studies on great street photographers, most admit to only taking around 1 good photograph a month. Martin Parr, one of the most prolific photographers, admits to only making 1 good photograph a year.”

What happens if we hold back more of our work? If we give it more room to breathe? I think the whole idea of Instagram is fun, yet, just the idea that an image is supposed to be “insta” is weird and limiting. Of course, I know people posting there don’t always adhere to the idea of the instant (which can actually be exciting and cool) — it’s still there maybe in the back of our minds? (Also please note that I say this as a chronic over-poster lol).

There are all sorts of reasons for a photograph, though. And not every one of our photos is going to be a work of art. The above photo I like because it shows a slice of life in Edmonton. It shows a particular moment in time. It’s the summer of 2021, near the end of the pandemic, and of course there is construction on Jasper Avenue. For me, when I look at an image of Jasper Avenue, I remember walking to jobs in my early 20s at the other end of the ave from one of the crumby walk-ups I lived in at at the time. And then much later in life, I remember when the Nobel laureate, Derek Walcott, lived in the Canterra Suites Hotel when he came to teach here, and sometimes Rob and I would pick him up and drive him to whatever social event or dinner. So Jasper Avenue has all these memories for me. The point I’m making is that a photo of a place holds all sorts of memories and connotations and we don’t even know what they’ll be for someone, or even our future selves. So there’s worth in that.

Let’s say that the above photo is my one good photo that I take a month. Let’s give ourselves that much, yes? That we could conceivably take one quite okay photo per month. One quite convincing photo. Moderately convincing, if not astonishing.

Isn't that enough, then? Wouldn’t that be worth something?

And maybe I love the photo, but not everyone else cares much about it? Who cares, really, right? It has meant something to me, to take that photo.

Lastly, a word on the top/cover photo (which if you’re reading in the newsletter, you’ll need to read in the browser/online to see): I keep trying to take the “perfect” photo of Edmonton’s flatiron building. And of course, that doesn’t exist, but wanting to take it means that I have a lot of interesting enough takes on it. And this one I think is interesting because of the woman walking in the bottom left of the frame, the old blue truck that seems to arrive from another dimension or having time travelled. But that we know it’s now because of the garbage bins and the newer architecture. And that juxtaposition to me is a bit delightful. And so if we can delight ourselves a little, too, that gives the whole practice meaning, I think.