A month ago I woke to a page of Saturday's’ Globe and Mail waiting for me on the kitchen table (thanks, Kiki). The title of the article: Six Billion Photos and Nothing to See. I was intrigued.
Ian Brown, a travel and documentary photographer who wrote the article, was a recent judge in an international photo competition in Banff, Alberta. After gazing upon hundreds of photos, which Brown described as technically ‘astonishing’, the judges decided to close the contest without declaring a winner. While this fact was surprising, Brown’s article was commenting on more than the lack of suitable first-place submissions in a photo contest. Brown was pointing to a larger issue in this golden age of photography where nearly everyone has an expensive DSLR slung around their neck and is snapping photos from their iphone throughout the day. Brown’s concern, and the question he asks, is this: what has become of the craft in an age when we’re obsessed with digital picture taking, but are producing images largely void of meaning and story.
As a student of photography, who currently feels unimpressed with my own body of work, Brown’s article speaks to the frustrations I’ve been experiencing in myself. I don’t know what I want to communicate with my images. Every few months I sit and stare at my artist’s statement and think, “is my work really about that?”
I’m as guilty as the next Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr user. I posts pictures of my morning Americano, my mid-day running scenery, the beach at sunset – and if I had a cat, I’d been posting those too.
For the past four months I’ve been spending 10 hours a week in photography classes learning how to sharpen the technical bits of my craft. Perhaps I am creating stronger technical images, but I’m not convinced I am creating better images.
My frustration lies here – finer tuning my technical skills is not finer tuning my vision.
I don’t know what story my work is trying to tell.
Aware of this deficit, I’ve been searching out resources for photographic and storytelling inspiration. At the top of my list of favorites is photographer, David Du Chemin. On the subject of creating better images, Du Chemin writes that a good photograph doesn’t just say, “I was here,” it says, “it felt like this.”
I’ve been in Alberta for almost two weeks now. Two years have passed since I made it home during the summer months. I had almost forgotten how good this place feels. Expansive skies. Weathered buildings that make my heart swoon. Golden fields of canola. The openness. The quiet. Slow, but fierce sunsets. The smell of the field in the evening. The dust on the gravel road. The thunderstorms. There is so much beauty.
Here is my attempt to say,
it feels like this.
2 Comments
Kalen
8/20/2013 12:20:21 pm
and like that, I can feel the dry prairie wind, the heavy air before a storm, the tireless heat on my skin, and the sky fill up my peripheral vision. it feels like this. thank you.
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Melissa Holderbein
12/7/2013 10:39:57 pm
Amber, I just read all of your posts dated from the present back to this one...you are so gifted. Every post had such meaning but this one especially explained your intent with all of this pictures and I LOVE it. I totally "felt" the Alberta pictures. You are such a beautiful person and I am so excited to see your life continue to unfold (now with a life partner!). God bless you amber; we are so happy for you!
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