The Beauty of Color in Photography

            Why do we like the fiery colors of a sunset? Or my favorite, the pastel pink of the clouds in the blue hour?  Especially against a soft blue sky.  My hunch has always been that it is evolutionary.  There has to be some built in relax factor to see a calm blue sky with harmless white puffy clouds towering over fields of green.  I can get that.  Gold and brown hues confuse me a little though.  It seems we would shy away from them as they represent arid, scarce environments.  It does make sense to me that people don’t always gravitate towards desert type views.  But why then do some (like myself) absolutely adore them?  These are definitely ideas I like to explore in photography.

            I’m a big fan of taking pictures of chaparral.  An ecosystem found in Mediterranean climates like Southern California.  It’s actually my practice grounds.  I love the challenge of making beautiful images out of scenes many find pedestrian at best, ugly at worst.  But, even though I like the natural flora of Southern California, I still find it difficult to capture pleasing images that are also true to the form of the plants I’m photographing.  That is to say not using them for some sort of abstract look.  Or, I’m also guilty of pulling in dramatic skies any chance I get, cheating the emotional response by adding in a reaction to the sublime.

            The reason for my trouble is that chaparral plants are largely a dirty green, rusty red and brown.  The soft pastel greens that so many are drawn to don’t exist in this environment.  Other bright, eye-catching colors are hard to come by even in wildflower season.  It’s an acquired taste for color palette of the chaparral.  The desert, as monotonous and dry as it may seem at first glance, has an incredible array of color, especially in spring.  Rare is the occasion where you can find wildflowers carpeting vast swaths of land, but they are there every year if you get out of the car and take a look.  Brilliantly colored wildflowers tug at our most ancient impulses towards nature’s hues.  You can easily find photographic compositions with complementary colors, and with a little work maybe even some advanced color theory like triadic or split complementary combinations.

            Landscape photographers do most of their work during the golden hour- that time just after sunrise of just before sunset.  The soft gold light illuminating a scene from the side makes for the most popular color images.  I don’t disagree that that’s the best time for landscape photography but I do think there’s much to explore in any lighting under any conditions.  Take the time to study the color wheel, color theory, and see what you can combinations you can compose in a scene.  Learn a little but about the psychology of color as well.  Do you want an excitable response (think reds and yellows), or a subdued one (blues, greens, and pastels)?  There are infinite opportunities for you to create the imagery you want.  Go out and do it.

The Yucca Man

The legend of the Yucca Man, often referred to as "California’s Bigfoot," is a chilling tale that has circulated among locals in the desert regions of Southern California for decades. Sightings of the creature are most commonly reported near Joshua Tree National Park and the expansive Mojave Desert. Described as a towering, ape-like figure with shaggy, dark hair, the Yucca Man is said to emit an overwhelming, foul odor. Unlike its northern cousin, Bigfoot, the Yucca Man is often characterized as more aggressive, with glowing eyes that pierce through the desert night.

The origins of the legend are unclear, but stories gained traction in the 1970s when Marines stationed at the Twentynine Palms military base began reporting unsettling encounters. Guards on night patrols claimed to see a massive humanoid figure lurking near the base perimeter, moving with unsettling speed and agility. Some accounts even suggest that the Yucca Man would rattle fences and emit guttural growls, sending shivers through the desert silence.

While skeptics attribute the sightings to misidentified animals or desert mirages, the stories persist, adding an eerie layer to the vast, desolate landscape. For many, the Yucca Man serves as a cautionary tale, a reminder of the mysteries that may still dwell in the uncharted corners of the Californian desert.

What’s in a photograph?

What’s in a photograph?

Is it merely the record of an event that happened to occur in front of the camera? Is it an expression of the photographer’s vision, or more so, the interpretation of the viewer? 

Where does its value lie? 

In the intent of the photographer, the craft of the image, or the attractiveness to the consumer?

The answer to these two questions is probably all of the above. I think though at its deepest level the answer is the information in the photograph. Something occurred in the mind of the photographer that compelled them to take a picture and then massage its traits so as to best represent the feeling that photographer had just before the moment of capture. The information describing that feeling is wrapped up in the fundamental building blocks of the image and delivered to the viewer so that they may share in that feeling.

There are problems with this transfer however. Despite the inarticulate nature of visuals as a pure conduit of emotion, I think the bigger challenge is actually in the differing life experiences of the photographer and the viewer. The environmental conditions that trigger an emotional response in one person do not always do the same to another. So, even if the message is pure, the intended emotional impact may not be there.

What I think this ultimately means is that the value of the photograph is registered in the viewer. Now, the photographer is a viewer too and “gets it” better than anyone. But, for any given photograph to impact a wide number of people it has to speak in a language common to most people. That’s a double-edged sword. Qualities that appeal to the masses aren’t bad, but crafting imagery to meet this appeal leads to prosaic, cookie-cutter work. Individuality must be measured.  Too much and nobody gets it. Too little and everybody gets bored.

Are my photographs art?

I know in the strictest sense yes, they are works created by a human. But, that’s not what I mean. I’m thinking in more normative or comparative terms. Do my photographs stand as worthy examples of art and culture the way others’ works do?

I don’t know. I have always felt this sense of inadequacy when it came to taking pictures. Mostly because the act of taking a picture- pressing the shutter button, seems so easy when put up against the skill of painting or musicianship. Yes, I have taken tens of thousands of pictures, edited thousands of them with sophisticated and complicated software, and spent countless hours studying both the technical and philosophical aspects of the medium. Still I have this sense that it’s not enough.

I think photography is art in a general sense, but when it comes to me specifically, am I there yet? I like my pictures and so do most others that see them. But, I have this nagging worry that that doesn’t scale. Only one of my images has ever gone “viral” and I could not tell you why. It was just a phone shot I was sending to show a friend where I was. It was a sunset picture and happened to look cool so I posted it on Twitter. It ended up getting over 200 shares, over 1,000 likes, and over 60,000 views. Not one extra follower though. If social media proof is the currency in which artistic value is measured, I have fallen painfully short time after time. Do likes equal quality?

In my other blog post, “What’s in a Photograph?” I look at the question of value in the picture. I do think the viewer makes the final assessment on that, but it’s very personalized. A wider audience demands wider appeal and therefore more simple elements. It’s a delicate balance the artist must make in order to receive wide approval. Be different enough to stand above the noise while retaining the traits of that noise.

One final wrinkle. Is a photograph art because the work in itself is so, or because the creator is an artist? We should all hope it’s the former, but when it comes to value (definitely economically) it seems to sit firmly on the side of the creator. A well-known artist creates a work- art. An unknown person creates a work- hmm? That’s not to say there isn’t a lot to being established as an artist. Of course there is. But isn’t being creative core to the human experience? Isn't real art, and real art that has value in people’s lives, far more prevalent than we give ourselves credit for?

Editing photographs

Editing photographs comes with baggage. Though it's been happening from the start, mainly in darkrooms, digital tools like Photoshop have brought up questions of accuracy, authenticity, and expression in the modern photography scene. 

I fall squarely on one side. Do whatever you want! That is to say, if you are creating art then do so. The way in which the sensor detected light waves and the processor drew out an image should not lock you into the final work. Yes, photography as a documentary record should strive for truth in representation, but outside of that just go for it. (I know that sentence could use some unpacking, but that’s not my goal here.)

In my Substratum project I am taking editing further than I have done before. Beyond my typical exposure adjustments and color grading, I have split the image between its form and its color, simplifying them to a more pure state and recombining them in a way that gives an illusion of depth. Beyond simply liking it, I think it helps me understand how I bridge the real and digital worlds. I don’t create native digital art but love Photoshop and Lightroom. I have always tried manipulating my pictures in myriad ways and over time have found myself “toning it down” if you will.

It seems to be a common trope in life that as we age we “pull it back” a bit and stabilize ourselves in all that we do. We aren’t as energetic and playful as children. We moderate our engagement in activities of all types (read between the lines). Art usually follows a similar pattern. As we refine our technique, we hone our craft through the shaving of excess. However, even moderation should be done in moderation.

That is what my current project is about in part: pushing past the self-imposed limits I have developed in editing my pictures. I used more contrast than usual. I used more vibrant colors than usual. I ramped up the Gaussian blur more than usual. I know the charge that this could be simply done to satisfy the popular commercial palette for imagery, but it's not why I did it. I wanted to venture into the unknown, the uncomfortable, and see where it could take me.