see2think

thinking with pictures


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The “Leica-look” and life outside the lens

screenshot of leica lens photo in low, contrasty light

example of leica-look 3 factors, flickr.com/photos/kintagogo/859173959

Relying on the search algorithms of Google to turn up some clues to the praise that many photographers have for the ancestor of most 35mm cameras of the 20th century, and now also a non-Asian contender among top digital cameras, I typed into the searchbox “leica-look” and found a handful of articles in the first screenful of results. One writer summed things up nicely and even identified particular legacy and currently produced lens with express these attributes: sometimes using a very shallow depth of field (setting the aperture wide-open for lenses built with f-stops bigger than average), higher than average micro-contrast that heightens the separation of subject to background, and glow produced in highlights due to the lens glass, polishing, and arrangements of the elements in the lens. Photos that have these hallmarks usually are what people’s emotional response comes from in certain photos, whether made on film or digital sensor.

In the spirit of this blog that blurs literal vision by camera and more philosophical vision by thinking, this “leica-look” seems to lend itself to the wider arena of lived experience. The times in one’s life when the above factors come into play seem to create a sort of magical perspective or look, too. For example, a shallow depth of field in a photo boosts the visual experience of the subject, since the context fades from focus, making the central subject feel hyper-sharply focused. By contrast, the same frame and subject with deeper or even total depth-of-field from foreground to background may present the central subject with the identical sharpness as before, however because everything in the frame now is clearly in focus, the central subject no longer stands out relatively speaking. And so of one’s lived experience, too, when an event is unfolding or when one revisits it in hindsight (or looks forward to some future event imaginatively), then it will become relatively more intense when one’s mind’s eye perceives with shallow depth of field.

Similarly of the next attribute of the “leica-look,” micro contrast, it can be said that small degrees of contrast around the edges of lived experience produce larger feelings of significance, purpose, or value by comparison to the same lived experience in which no extra emphasis is added to define the edges of the subject. I can’t understand the optical calculation or mathematical narrative for what happens to light as it enters a certain lens having this high micro contrast, but the eye can see relative differences between such lenses.

Finally of the “leica-look” there is a hint of diffuse brightness in the highlight areas of certain pictures, especially for contrasty or point-source lighting conditions, and especially for shallow depth of field (wide apertures). In lived experience, too, the times when something is glowing (light, emotion, ambient praises or auspicious circumstances) contributes to the resulting memory and mental image of the subject. In combination with the other factors found in the “leica-look,” the total effect of these factors is to make the subject recorded in 2-dimensions somehow gain volume or mass and feel almost 3-dimensional. And also of lived experience, when these factors are present alone, or in combination, then the result is to make ordinary experience somehow richer, or somehow to gain volume and mass, standing out from the surrounding conditions.

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Light of limbo; time traveler

early evening photo of waterway and group of ducks

ducks at dusk near Funaoka shrine, Echizen-city, Fukui-ken, Japan (click image for full view)

Dusk is such a mysterious time The shadows and luminosity change perceptibly; and within just 45 minutes full daylight turns to semi-darkness. So one’s sense of time is challenged: no longer is there a feeling of ‘eternal present’ and the ordinariness of normality. Instead it becomes effortless to blur the boundary in one’s waking consciousness that usually so sharply separates present from past and future. This scene could easily be 2015 or 1950 or 1815, apart from the paved road and utility poles and wires.

Perhaps something similar happens in language learning. Once the fundamentals are mastered and one can interact with little effort in the new language, then a bit of blurring begins in the line that used to separate “us” and “them,” or “foreign” and “familiar.” It may become hard to remember whether a given conversation or source of  an idea was conducted in one’s first or second language as the two become more porous in one’s mind.

And again, from a different field for analogies, perhaps something similar happens in rising levels of proficiency and fluency in a sport, hobby, or other skill-based form of expression. As one picks up momentum, eventually the static parts begin to blend and produce a certain rhythm and pace which one can effortlessly transpose or move across and within. A dialog begins between oneself and the particular medium one is working in. In all these cases a similar blurring effect happens – blurring of chronological moment (orienting one’s place in the flow of time), blurring of self-perception in first and second languages, or the power of mastery that results in “flow” or effortless fluidity in the particular field of actions.


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Beckoning light – chase, capture, or admire?

photo of noon light on low table at Nepali restaurant in west Japan

gleam on restaurant tabletop at lunch (click image for full size)

Light calls one’s name from time to time in unexpected places, such as this restaurant table flooded by lunchtime light of a glorious fall day. The gleam of the sun on the chrome table service bell is particularly eye-catching, but the foreground subdued patches of light have a mellow charm, too. Soon after my eye landed on the strong shadows and pattern of light on the table almost immediately the impulse I felt was to go closer and soak up the splendor; but almost at the same time as I felt drawn to the brightness, I also reached from my cellphone camera, thinking to make an effort to frame the central subject with some care and without alarming the restaurant owners working in the adjacent kitchen.

 

On second thought, though, I realized that not all light beckons for the purpose of chase or capture. There are times when the light only calls out to be admired; not confined to a composition or shutter release, but instead simply to be studied and enjoyed as it tickles the light sensors at the back of one’s eyes before being communicated to the brain’s visual cortex for interpretation in pictorial sense. And so I settled on a quick grab shot to serve as a visual prompt for this brief epiphany: light beckons day and night, but does not always require a photographic response. Nor is it always technically possible, socially or culturally convenient to transpose a mental composition into a photograph; although as a thought exercise, there may be merit is thinking through the settings and considerations to take into account if one actually were to commit a moment in time into photographic form. So when you next hear the light calling out to you, consider if the subject is meant to be photographed, or simply scrutinized with eyes trained in seeing pictures and enjoyed as a passing moment amid the hurly-burly of one’s waking hours.


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Quick camera finger ready to release the shutter

dumping rice chaff at side of garden

There is an adage dear to the hearts of designers, maybe some would say also of the Creator of the Universe, “Form Follows Function”; that is, the first principle should be the purpose, use, or function to be accomplished. And based on that goal, the structure that enables the process or function will come out of those defining conditions. In the arena of composing and capturing a still or moving picture, there is also an intimate relationship between form and function.
These days “form-factor” is used to refer to the physical characteristics of a product like a camera -its weight, the number of exposures from its battery, whether or not it comes with physical or touchscreen controls, and so on. One consequence of form factor is that big gear tends to left at home, unless there is a pre-determined, scheduled subject to record. Otherwise it will be the cellphone camera or pocket-sized enthusiast model that is within reach for catching moments that arise unexpectedly, or arise with only a few precursor clues that a prize composition is about to come together in front of one’s eyes.
The story about legendary landscape artist and concert pianist Ansel Adams comes to mind: for some of his courses he challenged students to use camera of their own choosing, while he restricted himself to a point and shoot model. Among the final assignments and display of best work, he often stood out for his eye and the darkroom magic of experience he applied to a composition. That echoes the saying about “the best camera is the one you happen to have in your hand.” Even if you have a powerful, advanced piece of technology in your cupboard, it is not much use when not within easy and immediate reach.
Another adage comes into play here, “Luck is when opportunity meets preparation.” This one has been attributed to the man on the U.S. legal tender, the $10 bill (Alexander Hamilton, the first national Treasurer). It means that the flush of serendipity one feels when the planets align and one is recipient of great good fortune requires two things – preparation & opportunity: one’s mind, experience, gear all has to be ready to seize an opportunity in the event that it appears. When those two things come together, one is overwhelmed by a feeling of having been blessed; magically the recipient of “luck.”
In the arena of composing and capturing a moment in time, this means being prepared mentally and technically to recognize the potential for a great photo as it comes into being (quickly drawing the camera, making any fine-tuning adjustments of focus, exposure, or framing before releasing the shutter) or, better yet, being able to divine the elements coming together ahead of the moment they will intersect and one will be ready to capture the composition as the clouds drift from the sun and produce the desired shadow play, or the second when the figure and ground line up, for example (Henri Cartier-Bresson’s “decisive moment”). This foreknowledge or premonition corresponds with the celebrated hockey player’s knack for being at the right place at the right time. Wayne Greztky famously explained his success this way, “You don’t skate to the puck; you skate to the place where the puck is going to be next.” The same can be said of Preparation Meeting Opportunity with camera in hand and composition in one’s mind. Look to what is coming next.
Pedaling along the skirt of a mountainside in rural Japan (above video clip), the scene ahead of me was unfolding. In a trice I could see the farmer in the middle of the process of offloading heaps of rice chaff at the roadside of his field. My mind was on the lookout for “video snapshots,” scenes that are mostly static, but are recorded using the video function in order to present the soundtrack for that composition, sometimes with a bit of motion to tease the viewer’s eye. So in this instance an opportunity was met by preparation as I reached into coat pocket, launched the camera/video app of the cellphone, positioned my bike for the composition, pressed record and then waited for the anticipated sequence to play out. This clip is not a spiritual revelation or moment of profound significance, but by its ordinariness it merits a kind of meaningfulness of its own. Being alert for social or cultural meanings that (are about to) present themselves, and being ready (and practiced) to compose and capture them can be very satisfying. It is a visual way to engage with the flow of significance all around and to escape from the dull routines that form when taking for granted one’s surroundings, blind to what is happening, desensitized to the many meanings in play.
Traveling around the valley in the early Saturday morning of harvest time by car or by foot would probably make this video snapshot unlikely since the speed of car forces one’s eye to the center of the road. On the other hand, travel on foot means one’s circle of awareness tends to be arm’s length or perhaps 50 or 100 meters to the front and sides, occasionally backwards if one turns full circle to take in that prospect. But the variable speed of bicycle (lazily drifting at foot speed, pressing ahead at full-speed to cover some distance, or somewhere between) means that one’s ears and eyes and nose can take in all the clues to what is going on across the surrounding space of land and sky, or (better yet) clues to what is ABOUT to go on across the surrounding landscape with time enough to compose the shot and wait for the moment of shutter release.
Stretching the analogy of seeing as a form of thinking and being, perhaps one’s passage through the day or indeed through an entire lifetime really is shaped by one’s vehicle; the form-factor of one’s camera (well matched to one’s needs, automatic in one’s reflexes and ability to capture what is in the eye of one’s mind) and the form-factor of one’s vehicle (passing along life’s byways on foot, bike, car or by hot-air balloon).
The adage about “Life is a Journey” can be read in reverse, as well; “Journeys are a lot like life.” The means of transporting yourself along the way can determine what comes into view and what passes in a blur. The gear one carries to pass the time and engage with the social and physical environment also shapes what one sees and records, seizing on what is significant now, or was significant in the past, or will one day come to be significant. Things like framing selected parts and excluding others; centering a particular subject or using focus, exposure, leading lines, light and shadow, color and contrast to represent a scene visually also affects the way it is perceived and remembered in one’s mind, too.
So give a care to choice of gear, choice of transport, and the nimbleness to read the scene not just for what is at play in the meaning of the scene at that moment, but also looking for what is in process and is about to take place in the moments to come, or at a slower timescale, in the process for taking shape over the full season, an entire generational time frame, or indeed a lifetime to which one is witness.


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Bird in the distance gives me a flight of fancy

big heron looking for breakfast in the Hino River, Fukui-prefecture, Japan

This morning while I walked across the bridge for early morning exercise I saw a great blue heron in the shallows of the river with morning light shining off the surface and giving partial silhouette, while not completely blotting the color and detail of the bird’s body. Something about the light or the large bird’s slow, deliberate movements attracted my eye caused me to wonder what sorts of triggers were in this tranquil scene to captivate me. Several elements came to mind, step by step as I mulled over the image in my mind and walked on. The volume of the bird just taking up space on the blank canvas of the lit up water surface is one thing; that is a visual appeal. The mass of the bird; the pull of gravity between the bird and the Earth and theoretically between the bird and my own mass is another sensory layer that stirs in me – feeling or imaging the bulk of the living creatures as it breaths in and out while I stand by to observe. Besides the visual contours and the physical presence of the bird, its behavior or seemingly intentional search for food, awareness of fellow herons, and lookout for possible threats in the sky or on the ground (or in the river), all these things seem to animate the tall animal. Merely watching it turn this way and that, later to crouch and bring the big wings into play and then lift into the air, this, too, is a magnet to my eyes.

When we talk of passing the time before a flight or some event by “people watching” perhaps that means a mix of entertainment or info-tainment. One part of the appeal of looking at fellow people is to benchmark or compare to ourselves and those we love and respect: are these strangers conforming to the range of normal and expected ways of walking, sitting, talking, dressing, eating, and so on? By extension, any behaviors that fall at the margins of our own definition and experience of “normal” become tacit challenges – is this difference a threat or rebuke to our own “normal”; or the novelty may be a source of delight, stimulation, or insight. And anything that goes past these outer boundaries of what is known, expected, allowed, or (culturally) normal becomes a fascination to watch because it is alien; an outlier, or outlandish in a literal sense of “not from around here.” So there is people watching that interests us much like TV or movies or novels (even non-fiction, perhaps). It is this endless appetite for comparison and reminding ourselves about what is normal, desired, trusted, worthy of respect or aspiration, and so on.

But as with the great blue heron turning his glance this way and that way in the cool still September morning, also with people watching there is interest in observing intentionality play out. We watch to see if we can grasp what the others are doing, are about to do, or meant to do. In other words, we like to supply captions to the images that present themselves before our eyes. There is comfort in knowing (or telling ourselves that we know) what is happening in a given scene. On familiar ground and among one’s own cohort probably the accuracy for interpreting what is going on will be very high. But among strangers in a strange context, the chances of understanding the meaning or purpose may be very mistaken, particularly when there is a different language or society involved.

These things, then, seem to be what was speaking to me as I walked across the morning bridge over the Hino River this morning before cars filled the road. There is the visual presence of the bird occupying the space of the bright surface of the water. There is the physical mass of the bird as a fellow creature with beating heart and lungfuls of air. There is the purposeful movements and pauses that comprise the bird’s minutes there in the water before setting off for another location upstream 100 meters. But unlike “people watching” this bird is not a peer reference group (nor do I know enough herons to watch this one as point of comparison to those others to judge if this one is ‘normal’ or an outlier). However, just about the same was watching people, I did look at the sequence of movements and try to imagine some realistic interpretations to tell myself “I know what the bird is trying to do; what the bird’s goal is.”

Having distilled some of the layers of interest in the scene that caught my attention this morning, I will look at other times when I am drawn to the light or shadows filled indirectly by skylight or other sources and ask myself analytically what sorts of things tug at my heartstrings and cause me to pause and frame the subject just so before releasing the shutter.


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Light values (dynamic range) vs. slight values (preoccupations)

In summer the early morning is a good time of day for walking around the town –cars are few, light is warm, air is cool, and thoughts are clear. Moving along the sidewalk the angled light casts long shadows and touches the surfaces of things in a glittering way. Even without looking through a camera lens the familiar elements of composition come to mind as I mentally form some scenes in passing. The colors of store fronts, the texture of weathered wooden walls and rusted metal sheathing, the warm tone of the first hour of daylight, the line of one subject in foreground and another in background to give shape to the composition, and the play of shadow and light values brightest to darkest all come to mind in the morning walk as one subject after another comes into view.

bright sunlight on streetscape surfaces

looking at line, light, texture, color, juxtaposition

For a person of school age there will be other concerns and interest to fill their minds than the light talking to the streetscape. So, too, of a parent taking care of a household with people of younger and older generations. For a retired person there will be still other interests and preoccupations. Perhaps only someone in a contemplative, reflective, or philosophical frame of mind will pass these shops and houses along the street and think about the composition of light values, textures, colors, and lines of foreground and background. Instead the young or old will be too busy paying attention to costs, time, safely crossing the street, making sure not to forget to return a phone call or avoiding peer criticism for overlooking one’s obligations. In other words, more attention goes into safely crossing the road than in pausing to really see the road: its color, texture, line, and lighting. Most people are too busy with actively playing the game of life to be able to stop their forward motion long enough to look around and see exactly how things look and the way that light abundantly touches most everything directly, or indirectly, or how it is suggested by its absence (shadow). We readily emphasize the BUSINESS of living instead of the business of LIVING.

Perhaps the recent attention on “mindfulness” associated with Buddhism and specifically the writings and recordings of Thich Nhat Hanh when one is walking, eating, meeting others, and so on can also be applied to this situation of walking early in the morning and really seeing, touching, smelling the passing views from one minute to the next. Too often in a conversation the listener is not hearing the meanings but instead is dwelling on the next question to ask, the reply to the speaker’s point, and so on. Too often in walking through one’s day, similarly, the person is too busy dwelling on what comes next rather than to abide in the present moment and to see all there is to see of a place. “Wherever you are, BE there,” is one form that the mindfulness instruction takes. Notice the shapes, color, light, and light. Hear the summer morning sounds of cicadas. Smell the breakfast cooking, the wisp of tobacco smoke in passing, or the river smell as you walk its bank.

So there is a basic tension between looking that just skims the surface in search of familiar cues and landmarks in one’s hurried routines, but does not deeply look at what is there –on the one hand; and the inverse: looking past the surface and seeing the complete context with the sort of augmented* reality of an experienced archaeologist excavating, a forensic specialist reading clues, or a hunter tracking the signs of what happened earlier at a location. In the typical mindset, much in a rush to accomplish the day’s plans, there is usually little extended reflection on the flow of events, since the biggest consideration is instrumental or functional; getting something done, paying debts, meeting the deadline, avoiding liability, putting food on the table. In the inverse, the task accomplishment is secondary, while the reflecting about the way things are takes priority. One extreme is to be a walking canvas, sensitive to the visual details and meanings, in and of themselves of value and interest. The other extreme is to be blind to these visual values and instead be preoccupied with “things to do,” including places to go, people to meet, money to spend. Surely somewhere in the middle is best: busy with normal life, but also filled with the beauty and feeling of awe from the wonder of light all around you. Go forth with list of errands in one hand, but with camera in the other hand to make a record of what you see and think along the way.

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* Augmented by seeing history, past circumstances, and individual aspirations, as well as futures circumstances that may be probable in a location; seeing whole generations expressed in material forms; visualizing social networks and burdens of ownership in caring for property, businesses, or fields and forests; imagining dreams achieved but also plans gone awry; envisioning cultural expectations and ideas that shift sometimes in a single generation.


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Reading the cityscape, reading the social’scape

photo of public tour of castle excavation, Echizen City, Japan

Edo-period Lord Honda’s castle moat under the 1950 city hall parking lot (Echizen city, Japan 22 July 2017).

The photo shows buildings from many generations all within the frame, starting with the current deposition layer exposed in the multi-year excavation at city center in Echizen-shi, Japan, and then the traditional tile roof of the private residence at the right, as well as the steel I-beam white faced multi-story building containing retail at street level and residential space above. By walking or biking the old grid of narrow streets of this very old city, it is possible to see generations of buildings. Apart from temples, most buildings range from the 1880s to the present, since fires (from the days before gas to cook and heat with) periodically destroyed sections of the town historically, and the custom of rebuilding every 50 or 75 years to freshen things up, rather than merely to remodel also reduces the oldest physical traces around the city.

With more and more walking and viewing experience, small details and reminders of earlier worldviews, values, motivations and cultural assumptions appear at unexpected moments or in the fertile imagination that comes in the twilight of dawn and around dusk. A local historian is likely to be less free in picturing what might have stood at a certain location and time, and the activities one might expect to see there at certain seasons or calendar dates, and even much less be willing to stretch the imagination to visualize what sorts of lives, habits, aspirations and burdens the people of a given place and time lived. But for someone trained in social science with a hobby interest in genealogy, tracing these connections of long ago to the point we have come to now is entirely possible, conjecture though it may all be.

And so, to set forth with camera in hand, looking for clues to what once happened here, or even to know what the meaning and activity of a location is nowadays, is a rewarding sort of visual exercise. Much like hunters who pick up small signs of the life they are tracking, or the way that a detective seizes on clues that together form inductive reasoning and from there extending to deductive reasoning, so also can a person walk the streets and bike the fields and read the terrain for clues to meaning, changes from then that still exist now, and possibly portend things to come – a nod to science-fiction writer William Gibson who is attributed with – “the future is already here; it is just distributed unevenly” (some instances are easy to see, but in other settings maybe there is less to recognize as belonging to future generations).