LensWork Vision of the Heart

We're Moving!

Announcing Our New . . .

We're not sure what to call it. Compendium seems the best term, but a bit over the top. Amalgam — too dental. Blog — too, well, bloggish. Corpus — creepy. Assemblage, collation, accumulation, gathering — oh, heck with it.

How about — Where We Put Lots of Miscellaneous Stuff We Think You Will Be Interested In.

Essentially, we are doing a bit of E-C-R-S, which stands for Eliminate, Combine, Rearrange, and Simplify.

The idea is simply this: we are combining all the multifarious email and web communications we have with LensWork readers into one compendium. Rather than having separate . . .

• Podcast
• Tech Blog
• Ask Brooks Blog
• Weekly News & Info Emails
• Alumni News emails
• Twice weekly Alumni Spotlights
• Vision of the Heart blog
• Alumni Spotlight
• Podcast email announcements

. . . we are combining all of this into one, new project called LensWork Daily. This combined whatever has the advantages of:

• Giving our readers a single location for everything
• Much easier for us to create and post
• Design consistency
• Category tagging so you can see only a filtered subset of posts that interest you
• Cross-fertilization of our various reading groups
• Automatic RSS feeds to email, browsers or other aggregators (and we'll be providing tutorials for those of you who are not familiar with this)
  • You can receive new posts in your email
  • You can monitor new posts using your browser's RSS tracking
  • Or you can bookmark the main web page http://daily.lenswork.com and stop by whenever you want to catch up.

And most importantly, because LensWork Daily uses a post/comment format, you can add your thoughts to the discussion via comment posting and share ideas with the community at large.

http://daily.lenswork.com

We call it LensWork Daily because we have so much content to share that it works out we actually do something everyday  — well, at least Monday through Friday. Because these things have been scattered in a number of different areas, we know some of you haven't been aware of all the content we publish. Now, with this unified approach, you'll be able to more easily keep up with all there is to see.

So, this blog — visionoftheheart.lenswork.com — is being terminated and all it's previous and future content can now be found at http://daily.lenswork.com. Pop over there and reset your bookmarks, RSS feeds, and take a look at our new combined, amalgamated, unified whatever-we-should-call-it!

Enjoy!

Brooks Jensen
Editor, LensWork Publishing

P.S. By the way, our regular website (www.lenswork.com) is still where you can go to learn all about the various products we sell, subscription information, etc.

And www.lensworkonline.com, our new membership website with content galore, is where you will find downloadable publications, full-content video workshops, the podcast archives going all the back to podcast #0001, epub and Kindle ebooks, audio and video interviews with photographers, iPad and Android editions of both LensWork and LensWork Extended, and lots more.

Diary by Richard Newman

From a portfolio titled Diary by Richard Newman
Available in LensWork #33

© 2001 Richard Newman. All rights reserved.
Reproduced with the permission of the photographer

This is a deceptively simple project — use your camera to create a running memory of your life, a diary as Newman titles his project. But in one sense, that is what we do with a camera no matter what we photograph, no matter the "official" purpose. Test to see if I'm right here: do your negative files help define your personal history?

That was when I was on that trip to . . . This was just after my graduation/wedding/daughter was born/my parents died . . . Joe/Mary/Fred was with me when I made this image . . . This was when I had that camera/car/dog . . . Lived in . . . Was working at . . .

When reviewed over the years — or decades — our photographs identify mileposts in our lives. Great as this is, as fun as this is, it doesn't, however, ensure a photograph that others can identify with and appreciate without sharing our life experiences. There has to be something else that makes the photograph interesting besides our experience of having made it, even something quirky like, say, why are there five place settings but only four cups? That simple element in this image makes the photograph work on two completely independent levels — the personal (for Newman) and the symbolic (for the rest of us). I like the idea of photography as diary, but it's necessary to have that other element for it to rise above a mere personal memory aid.

Richard Newman is featured in this LensWork Alumni Spotlight.

Midnight Carnival by Chris Raecker

From Midnight Carnival by Chris Raecker
From LensWork and LensWork Extended #69
© 2007 Chris Raecker. All rights reserved.

Reproduced with the permission of the photographer.

Chris Raecker gave himself a very difficult challenge. He wanted to photograph carnival rides so that the viewer of the photograph could have, to some degree, the same emotional experience that the rider had while riding the carnival rides. Now that is a difficult challenge. A carnival ride is moving — up and down, left and right, spinning back and forth — it makes us dizzy. It makes us have an adrenaline rush; that's what carnival rides are all about.

And what does a photograph do? Well, by contrast, it sits there on the paper. It's two-dimensional, it's flat, it doesn't move, it doesn't do anything but allow us to look at it. These are about as opposite end of the spectrum of personal experience as one could imagine — looking at a photograph or experiencing a carnival ride. But nonetheless, that's the challenge that Chris Raeker gave himself is to make photographs that would give us the feeling of being in a carnival ride.

Fascinatingly enough, I think he succeeded. By choosing a camera angle that look up to a dramatic sky, by careful timing where both feet and hands are launched off the ground, by making the ride structure itself disappear into the blackness of the corner of the print, we do get a sense of that moment of airborne freedom that is the purpose of the ride. When I look at his photographs I know what it's like to be on that ride. They are dramatic and so is a carnival ride. We seen lots of portfolios of carnivals, all of which visually emphasize the colorful machinery, lights, and vibrant colors. This is the only portfolio we've seen that shows us the experience of the carnival rather than the appearance of it.

Chris Raecker is featured in this LensWork Alumni Spotlight.

Along the Way: My Life as a Dog by J. Kevin Dunn

From a portfolio titled Along the Way: My Life as a Dog by J. Kevin Dunn
Available in LensWork #38

© 2001 J. Kevin Dunn. All rights reserved.
Reproduced with the permission of the photographer

It has often been observed that artmaking has the important role in life in that it is one activity in which we are free to pursue perfection regardless of costs. We all spend inordinate amounts of money — and time — in our photographic endeavors. We tweak and fuss, fret and sweat bullets over the next smidgen of improvement we might be able to squeeze into our prints. Artmaking is a competition with perfection in which we will always come up short but knowing so does not deter us. We plod on.

Perfection, however, comes in many scales. There was a time in my life when I would have rejected this image — as a viewer or as a maker — because of that flare in the upper left corner. But the perfection in this image is not in the technical accomplishment, but rather in the moment. As an image in the portfolio titled My Life as a Dog, each of the images are photographs of dogs, not surprisingly. So we flip the page and here are a bunch of sheep. A "Where's Waldo" mentality kicks in and we start visually searching. There he is — and the perfection of the moment is revealed. We not only see the dog, but we see the dog's expression — a downtrodden look of canine humiliation. I was instantly reminded of one of my favorite lines of humor from long-forgotten comedian George Gobel who once asked, "Did you ever get the feeling that the world was a tuxedo and you were a pair of brown shoes?"

And the main sheep, stares at us so enthusiastically. We can see a sense of sheep pride in that face, which makes the dog's sideways glance seem even more despondent. Sure, there is flare in the corner, and the sky is overexposed, and the print might be a little contrasty, but all of that is of secondary importance to the moment. When we are too focused on photography, we run the risk of missing life and it is always in life where we find the best that photography has to offer.

J. Kevin Dunn is featured in this LensWork Alumni Spotlight.

Under Wraps: Buildings in Transition by Loren Nelson

From a portfolio titled Under Wraps: Buildings in Transition by Loren Nelson
Available in LensWork Extended #73

© 2007 Loren Nelson. All rights reserved.
Reproduced with the permission of the photographer

Without question, one of the greatest virtues of photography is that one can point a camera at anything. There are subjects that recur with frequency on the walls of fine art photography galleries, but the world is so much more interesting than that. Take wrapped buildings, for example, as Loren Nelson did. What an unlikely subject for a photography project, but that's precisely what Nelson chose. How is this any less a fascinating subject for photography than, say, a pepper or rock?

And here is where the real magic of photography lies. After seeing his portfolio, I started noticing wrapped building everywhere. They are ubiquitous, but I had ignored them. Not long after we published his portfolio, I found myself driving past them wanting to pull out my camera. What greater gift can a photographer provide to all of us other than new eyes with which to see the world afresh! From time to time we all get bored or run down by the routine of existence. Make art! Look at the world. Look — really look — at anything and you cannot help but find something curious and engaging.

We are often surprised by this kind of portfolio when doing our submissions reviews. "Wrapped buildings." Huh? Then we look at the work and slap our foreheads. Of course! Obvious! How could we have missed it? The magic of photography.

Loren Nelson is featured in this LensWork Alumni Spotlight.

La Vida Traditional: San Miguel de Allende, Mexico by Terry Vine

From a portfolio titled La Vida Traditional: San Miguel de Allende, Mexico by Terry Vine
Available in LensWork #31

© 2000 Terry Vine. All rights reserved.
Reproduced with the permission of the photographer

One of the most valuable lessons I've learned and used in my photography came from Terry Vine and this photograph. In my interview with Terry, he mentioned — almost offhandedly — that this image was on his "shot list." His what? What's a "shot list"? My ears perked up.

This is, I'm sure, very old news to even beginner commercial photographers who are given assignments from art directors, clients, etc. But for someone who has never done work other than self-directly PBWA (photography by wandering around), this was a revelation.

Terry went to San Miguel de Allende on a personal project. It's not surprising that tools of his trade as a commercial photographer leak over to his personal work — including the use of a shot list. In the months before his trip, he did research, thought about what he wanted to accomplish, and compiled a list if things he wanted to photograph. His shot list was detailed rather than general — not "photograph the city" but rather "photograph X," some specific thing. One of those things was a long braid of hair.

Once he was there, the shot list expanded some and contracted some. It didn't rule him, but it helped him focus on the project's diversity and also helped him to see the larger context of the project so he didn't become overenthusiastic about any one kind of image or subject in the heat of the moment. The shot list guided his work and helped him stay on track in the midst of the excitement of the exotic location.

This idea of the shot list has become a standard in my working method, too, thanks to Terry's experience and sharing of his process. If you haven't tried it, I highly recommend it.

Terry Vine is featured in this LensWork Alumni Spotlight.

Flint Hills, Kansas by Brian D. Smith

From a portfolio titled Flint Hills, Kansas by Brian D. Smith
Available in LensWork Extended #74

© 2008 Brian D. Smith. All rights reserved.
Reproduced with the permission of the photographer

The pull of an abandoned place must be incredibly strong or we wouldn't see so many photographers using these places as the subject of their artwork. Whether it's memory or nostalgia, an issue of access without confrontation, or the compositional virtues inherent in these places is beyond my understanding. Nonetheless, I feel the pull and do enjoy this kind of photography.

Not everyone does. Brian Smith clearly does and he understands one of the most important aspects of making this work successful: he gave us more than just pictures of buildings. Far too often we see the distant, decaying building against some sort of appropriate backdrop. Few photographers venture close, even fewer venture inside, but when they do the work becomes much more interesting. I believe it does so because it always introduces the human element.

This image has always appealed to me because it adds the human element even though it's an exterior shot. The precarious angle of the snow laden porch roof is compelling. We almost want to wait for it to collapse. The danger is imminent, momentary, palpable. The gutter hanging down from the second story emphasizes the line and points the way. We feel the danger, and that is a unique introduction of a human element into a photograph of an abandoned place.

Whether done purposefully or not, one of the most effective graphic elements in this composition is the vertical support pole just to the left of the front door whose angle is emphasized by the sliver of dark shadow seen between it and the doorframe behind. This left-leaning element provides such a compositionally powerful counterpoint to the right-leaning roof and gutter that it brings compositional balance to the photograph and emphasizes the precarious gravitational balance that is holding this abandoned building from the inevitable effects of gravity. Marvelously done.

Brian D. Smith is featured in this LensWork Alumni Spotlight.

Gradations and Geometries by David L. Smith

From a portfolio titled Gradations and Geometries by David L. Smith
Available in LensWork #39

© 2002 David L. Smith. All rights reserved.
Reproduced with the permission of the photographer

At its core, photography — in fact, all art — is about imagination. A photograph that is all facts is a rather dry thing. But, introduce a leap of imagination and that flat, monochromatic thing we call a picture can become as large as the sun.

It is the imagination that truly differentiates us from the animals. We read a book and can imagine that the fiction before us is real. We see a play (I saw Chicago last night at our local community theater) and we can be convinced that people sing and dance their way through life. The photographer/artist who does not tap into our collective willingness to be swept away by our imagination has left a most important tool in the camera bag. We see, we think, we interpret, we imagine. (This, by the way, is also one of the Achilles’ heels of photography; that we imagine and then presume we know/have seen some sort of truth. Read Errol Morris’ great book about this, Believing Is Seeing: Observations on the Mysteries of Photography.)

 

David L. Smith has photographed drops of water. That’s it. Drops of water, but what a series of imaginative images they are! Some — like this one — are galactic in scale; others take us to the moment where egg meets sperm in the microcosm. Just drops of water, but even drops of water can show us the world — when combined with our imagination coaxed into believing. It’s art and it’s such fun.

David L. Smith is featured in this LensWork Alumni Spotlight.

As in a Mirror Dimly by Andrew Beckham

From a portfolio titled As in a Mirror Dimly by Andrew Beckham
Available in LensWork Extended #70
© 2007 Andrew Beckham. All rights reserved.
Reproduced with the permission of the photographer

Just in my home country (America), there are 300 million people. I would wager that over half of them saw something like this in their home yesterday. In fact, more than half. A shaft of sunlight, a window, a wall. Well over half. But, I wonder how many of them noticed and really looked?

Light is such a wonderful, magical thing. Eyes are such a wonderful, amazing organ. How could we not be photographers — at least those of us who wonder at the marvel of it all. This is such a simple photograph; nothing really noteworthy at all, yet marvelous in the simplicity of that arc of refracted light arriving at this wall after its 93 million mile journey.

What is the art here? Clearly, Beckham's photograph would be the answer given by conventional wisdom. I would propose that Beckham's real art is the fact that he noticed and paid attention to this fleeting moment. He realized it is for the moment it is and the moment he could capture with his camera.

He may have even planned this image, perhaps as a result of having seen this arc of light on a previous day. But, as the Earth traverses its orbit, the angle and existence of such light changes a little each day. Wait too long, and the opportunity is gone. Sort of like life itself. What have you really seen today?

Andrew Beckham is featured in this LensWork Alumni Spotlight.

Cotillion by Mark Edward Harris

From a portfolio titled Cotillion by Mark Edward Harris
Available in LensWork #40
© 2002 Mark Edward Harris. All rights reserved.
Reproduced with the permission of the photographer

I'm always amused when photographers tell me they can't find anything to photograph. It always seems odd to me, I guess because I find the world such an entertaining place. Perhaps what these photographers mean is that they can't find anything that they think is important, or perhaps meaningful, to photograph. But, does every photographic project have to be serious, earthshaking, monumental? I think not. In fact, some of the most interesting photographic projects I've ever seen are ones that take a tiny slice of life and present them in a way that provides us a moment to simply stop and reflect on the world in which we live.

This project, Cotillion by Mark Edward Harris, presents a slice of life — a small peek into culture that brings both a smile and (at least for us former boys) perhaps a grimace. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that the real subject of this project is not the event but rather the difference between boys and girls at this awkward preteen age. There is subtlety in the facial expressions, the body language, the smiles and half smiles. It would be so easy to turn this subject into simple family snapshots. But Harris takes us beyond photography-as-memory and moves the project into something far more interesting.

If I can be allowed a moment of self-indulgence, this portfolio is a terrific example of why LensWork exists. This is a beautiful little project, but not one that is likely to conclude in a commercially printed book; there simply wouldn't be enough market to justify its production. I doubt this project would have much future on the walls of fine art photography galleries. It's a perfect fit, however, for a photography magazine that celebrates the creative and inquisitive eye and whose format allows the presentation of a portfolio of work that goes beyond an image or two. We love that we can present these kinds of portfolios and give them space where the photographer can connect with an audience.

Mark Edward Harris is featured in this LensWork Alumni Spotlight.