I don't particularly enjoy the kind of post-processing needed to combine different images into one. I enjoy combining pictures into a cohesive series.
A noble undertaking, Jerome: one that requires different mentation from that described earlier in this thread.
Things that fascinate me about creative work of any kind include awareness of when to stop - knowing that the product is as good as its going to get, given practical constraints - and whether such knowledge comes from a prior template about what constitutes a good product or insight (a best guess) that occurs after experimentation, which is another word for play. I suspect that Jerome creates a template before producing his series, with mentation by most photographers proceeding along similar lines. Probably the most common type of template is to copy or adapt the style of this or that famous photographer or to follow received wisdom from this or that set of rules.
Were this discussion about creativity in science instead of photography, the typical product would likely be just another ‘parametric study’ with marginal, rather than ground breaking, significance: ‘Just another brick in the wall’, to quote Pink Floyd. In the photographic field, however, preferences of the intended audiences (other photographers, clients) veer toward the traditional and conservative. They like pretty bricks in walls.
The pressures in ‘art as a business’ are toward conformity; works with minor departures from standard stuff get ‘likes’ on Internet sites and bought by clients. Some photographers broke with tradition but few gained credibility. When they did, it was often because an influential critic wrote something provocative – think of Mapplethorpe, Goldin and Arbus in the pre-Photoshop days. It’s not a much different story among other forms of art – think of DH Lawrence and James Joyce in literature. These chosen few differed from the horde of artists because they did not follow received wisdom, were their own primary audience, and endured long hours in effortful play that ended in a ‘ah ha’ moment when the created product seemed as good as it could get.
My guess is that most of us at different times are both kinds of photographer. I do conventional work; some of which gets posted here, but every now and again a playful muse arises. But what happens to those playful images – the ones meant for me rather than an audience? The answer is that they usually reside unseen on my MacBook Pro. Except for this one, which I now happily think of as ‘an unholy mess of colour’
Some photographers consider that an image should stand by itself, maybe even without a title. I disagree, especially when the meaning of an image is likely to be obscure to everyone bar its creator. The act of creation involved three photos chosen for reasons that seemed random at the time. I won’t boor you with technical details, but the process took seemingly random twists and turns for about an hour. When the image was done, I liked it but didn’t know why. Because the image needed a title, Matthew 3:17 came to mind: “
This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.’ Well, since the image was my creation and I liked it, I was well pleased.
Some days later, I looked again at the image, considered some minor clean-ups, still liked it, but wondered why. Moreover, why had I chosen to post this image intended only for personal consumption? So I started a retrospective analysis of the creative process to try to figure it out. Two resonations that came to mind were lines of poetry that I’ve always found impressive:
Dylan Thomas: “
Do not go gentle into that dark night … Rage, rage against the dying of the light”;
Sylvia Plath: “
Dying is an art … I do it exceptionally well … I guess you could say I’ve a call”.
Wow! Now I understood the meaning of the image. The base photo was of shrieking seagulls flying overhead. The portrait was of someone I’m close to, now in palliative care. The random array of saturated colors in the third photo annulled the dying of the light, which enabled the dying woman to exert artistic control of her last domain. She would like that. This insight that I'd unknowingly composed a requiem was why the image seemed right
because of an unholy mess of colours.
Cheers, Mike.
