Movement

sktr 1111, originally uploaded by crumplestiltskin.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the shortcomings of photography recently, in particular, movement. Can photos capture movement? We can freeze movement with flash or a fast shutter speed, but that asks the viewer to use their experience of the world to imagine movement; a before and after. Then of course there’s motion blur, which is a step closer to conveying a sense of movement, allowing us to see the subject’s trail from point x to point y.

Although a camera can capture movement in a basic way, it can’t capture more subtle movements. Imagine the gentle flickering of a solitary candle and the shadows its throws dancing on a wall. Or the slow happy blinking of a lover’s eyes, as if they have an eternity to open them again.

By nature photographs record instants, and whether that instant is 1/2000th of a second or 1/10th of a second, it’s still an instant, a finite moment in time. Even a movie, whether it’s 30 seconds or 90 minutes long, is a moment. Now I’m getting onto something more abstract.

Let’s think about movement in the sense of a dynamic; a sort of energy. Where does it start? Where does it come from? Where does it end? Is it possible that there’s a sort of movement that exists in the world that is ultimately uncapturable, invisible? Almost like we’re living on an ongoing timeline with no beginning and no end, and to isolate any part of it would be to take our whole existence out of context, because that would mean giving it a beginning and an end. In that sense, a photo, in fact, any instant, is invalid and irrelevant. It can say nothing, and the only thing that can mean anything is living on that timeline, moving from x to y, in fact just moving, time passing, being, letting time pass through you, and accepting that time cannot be stopped.

Black and White

nhc 131, originally uploaded by crumplestiltskin.

“Ladies and gentlemen, observe the contrast between age and youth, black and white, light and shadow. Admire too the subtle contrast of shadows – the tones on the white woman’s face are almost an inversion of those on the black woman. How clever that these women appear to be so different yet are drawn together in a celebration of diversity.

Equality manifests itself in the image’s composition. The tops of the women’s heads are in line, the curved shapes of their headdresses echo each other elegantly and the diagonal sweep of brocade shows a harmonious dynamism. At right angles to this, two more diagonal planes are established by the eyeline and their uplifted jawlines, drawing the viewer deep into the image.

Yet despite this structural display of balance, there is a reminder of historical inequalities suggested by the harsh shadow cast onto the black woman’s arm by the white woman’s costume. Perhaps more importantly, the white woman is the dominant subject, being in focus, in front, and taking up most of the frame. Is this really the happy, diverse image it seemed to be at first sight, or is it something more sinister?”

This could be interpreted as a very meaningful image. Symbolic. Metaphorical. A sign of our times.

But it’s just a snap I took at the Notting Hill Carnival. Where did all this deep meaning come from? It wasn’t like I got them to pose with their heads in line and a “diagonal plane drawing the viewer deep into the image”. It was complete chance. And for that reason I don’t think it’s justfied to assign any sort of meaning to it. Yes, it might happen to illustrate a particular political or moral point, but I can assure you that I wasn’t thinking about that when that shutter released. Perhaps I’d be a better photographer if I was.

I’m not going to trick you into thinking I believe all my pictures have some kind of profound, innate meaning, because very few of them do. Maybe it’s best that way – it makes the audience think more rather than giving them messages on a plate.

Images that speak

sc 3, originally uploaded by crumplestiltskin.

I often think that if I can make people think differently; if I could change something fundamental about the world, open minds, eyes and hearts, it would all be worth it. I’m not talking about education, voluntary work, medical care or anything like that. Although they’re incredibly important, what matters to me is more abstract.

When I’m reading about politicians and big companies, stock markets and world issues, I wonder how a single picture could ever stand a chance of having the power to change anything. A lot of my photos centre on the idea of beauty and visual niceness. Photos like this will never change the world.

What if I could combine beauty with the sort of moral and personal impact I want? The obvious way to do this is by presenting a problematic, thought-provoking subject in a beautiful way. But do ugly subjects deserve to be portrayed in a beautiful light? After all, the way I present my subject determines, to an extent, how I see it, how I want others to see it, and what it means. Would it be right to take a stunning picture of a woman smoking, let’s say? Would the image’s beautiful form mean that the content of the image – smoking – is good, simply by association?

How about the reverse – portraying a beautiful subject in an ugly way? To me, letting ugliness come into the form of the image just seems like bad photography, but there is always room for ugliness in an image’s content. Catching a half-made-up starlet or a beggar outside a plush hotel forces the viewer to consider the contrast between ugliness and beauty. But the bottom line is that, technically, a bad photo can never rise above being a bad photo.

Sometimes it’s easier just to take beautiful pictures of beautiful things. That makes me happy. It’s satisfying. But sometimes it feels incredibly empty, as if the dynamic in the photos is all positive, blinkered, overpowering. There’s nothing in them that engages the viewer; nothing to make you think. I want my pictures to speak.