Looking up from the living room chair, the framed picture by chance reflected the reading light’s bright lampshade and nearby reference globe. Since lens, wall art, and the room lamp formed a perfect alignment, the effect is to put the lamp and globe into the golden picture frame. A different relationship of the three parts would give different results. The ghostly image might be out of the frame in part or altogether. So this happy coincidence of composition leads to the observation that borrowed frames, reflected subjects not actually located in front of the lens, and carefully juxtaposed compositions can produce a kind of serendipity; lending a feeling of amplified significance and turning an ordinary view into something more than that, possibly looking extraordinary for a moment.
By analogy to the experience of thinking and seeing the world or solving problems that come to one’s notice, perhaps there is a similar process of amplifying ordinary situations into something out of the ordinary. It could be one or more of these same properties – planned or serendipitous: fortunate alignment of elements to suggest a meaningful relationship (e.g. ‘halo effect‘ when juxtaposing A with B), or the increased attention that comes from a frame placed around the subject to detach it from the surrounding context, or it could be the effect of reflecting the matter from the nominal subject being discussed or wrestled with. In each case, alone or in combination, as in the illustration above, the result can be unexpectedly pleasing.
Some shots are chased, or premeditated, or caught unexpectedly; others are designed or manually shaped.
Looking at this bank of thumbnails, none seem to be recorded “as is” such that the composition presents itself ready arranged for the height and viewpoint of the photographer’s own eye. Instead, they begin by catching the eye, then pulling out the camera or app, and finally some fine-tuning to dispense with some distracting lines or lights, and by framing particular parts in and out of the picture. Perhaps some consideration is given to aperture (how much depth of field around the plane of focus) and shutter speed (trip the shutter by remote control or using the built-in self-timer versus careful finger-press). Possibly some care is put into the camera height and what can or cannot by usefully juxtaposed to the main subject (e.g. putting a white subject against a nearby dark background) and whether some merit comes from waiting for a specific moment (e.g. including or excluding a passing person, car, or bird) before completing the photo.
More than 100 years ago a segment of the professional and enthusiast photography community decided that the camera should be akin to the canvas and paintbrush of visual art colleagues; not emphasizing the crisp verisimilitude of optical physics, but instead aiming for atmospheric and slightly unfocused compositions that could pass for painted compositions in look and feel, but also in conventions for posing a portrait or making a bucolic landscape scene. The movement is known as pictorialism and eventually faded away as cameras evolved smaller form factor, quicker shooting, increasing number of shots, and brighter lenses for lower light conditions. When a photographer intervenes in the scene to place things that suit an imagined composition, much like making a still life but in this larger sense inserting oneself into the subject matter, then it can be called “making a photograph,” because the scene is not framed and recorded as it is found (“taking a photograph“), but has been manipulated to the tastes of the person behind the lens.
As for the distinction between “giving” a photo and “receiving” a photo, that pair of terms can be illustrated in the practice of Photowalking, wandering in a semi-organized group or on one’s own, on familiar ground or in a place never before seen. By letting the surroundings call out to one’s own sensitivities or interests, a set of photos results at the end of the day that shares the common denominator of having caught the eye of the photographer. Another person may have also noticed some of those same lighting conditions, patterns of color, or unusual textures. But probably there is just one person who responded with photo composition and capture to that particular sequence of subjects and sights. When a picture presents itself “ready made,” requiring only the basic technical competence to aim and shoot, that photo can be called a gift; receiving a photo. But, as above, if the photowalking or other reason to record pictures is only a series of moments triggering the full experience of fine-tuning and thinking through the options to capture what is in the mind’s eye also on the image sensor (or, indeed, film stock), then the picture is once more “taking a photo” instead of “receiving a photo.”
By contrast to receiving a photo, the counterpart is giving a photo: hunting down an image or group of images that tells the story on one’s mind. Not “reading” the situation as it presents itself in its own way, for its own purposes, but “writing” the situation – using the scene as one’s own raw material to express things on one’s own mind, things to give to one’s viewers. And while these analytical distinctions allow new ways to separate one approach from another, in real life the same photograph can fulfill more than one of these meanings (snowy photo, below). “Making” by direct manipulation stands apart, perhaps, but that also can be a matter of degree: removing a distracting leaf from a puddle of leaves otherwise forming a complete picture is not too heavy handed. Putting words in a person’s mouth (e.g. a caption of one’s own making, not organically related to the actual moment), or putting props in the subject’s hands to give viewers an unexpected impression (possibly misrepresenting the elements in the frame) is much different than pushing aside a leaf or snapping off a branch in the lens sight line.
Light and snow and rooflines present a ready-made composition: photo taken, received, and/or given?
In parallel to writing fiction and non-fiction, maybe there is a middle space like “historical fiction” in which much is based on actual events and great care to get period pieces in the right context. For a photo project that comes entirely from the artist’s imagination, this “made” photo does not try to persuade viewers that it was truly found “as is” out in the raw, unprocessed push and pull of daily life. When everything is staged, but is massaged to recreate an authentic, archival (visual) record, then viewers might be glad for the vivid re-creation. But when post-processing changes the light temperature, the brightness or darkness, then the composition drifts from “as is” (non-fiction; “taken photography”) to something in the creative visual artist’s own tastes and fancies (fiction; “made photography”).
Leaping from matters of the lens and matters of written work into the arena of lives spent across time, maybe there are similar distinctions worth noting, but also accepting that more than one way of seeing and thinking can occupy a person’s mind simultaneously. In particular, “making” versus “taking” seems to apply to people who “make” their reality and worldview, imposing and insisting and rearranging things to fit their vision. By contrast there are other people who “take” their reality and worldview as it comes; on its own terms; not insisting on just one version of events that must conform to the views in one’s own mind. This is the “warts and all” approach, not looking away from things that are ugly, don’t make sense, or contradict one’s own assumptions.
As for the “give” (chase and capture in order to use for communication to others) and “receive” distinction as it is applied to a person’s lifetime, every so often the feeling of serendipity arises; things turn out unexpectedly well, a surge of lucky feeling or blessed gratitude colors one’s world. That sounds a lot like “receiving” something ready-made and tailor-fitted. The counterpart to something already completed and perfectly suited is a situation that requires a person to sift through all kinds of material, searching high and low, hither and yon, before finding the right item; that scratches the itch that one feels. Once the person finds the right guru, weight-loss program, Bible verse, yard care implement, or pest control solution, then they can communicate this to others, saying Eureka! I have found it, I have it, this is the one. “My life is complete.”
All together, as the collage of thumbnail pictures demonstrates, most photos come from an initial spark or seed of an idea. Then with a few adjustments the photographer can record a few different frames before choosing the one or ones to keep and display. By this description, “writing with light” is only part of the meaning of photography. Before a picture is “written with light,” first it is a moment when one’s eye is caught and a hint of possible beauty arrests one’s attention. So photography is“the art of noticing AND THEN writing with light. Occasionally there will be a composition that cannot be improved upon; it fits the photographer’s taste like hand in glove. And also occasionally, the photographer goes out in search of a particular sort of picture to answer the challenge or idea that is in mind. And if she or he is able to satisfy that search, but it requires intervening in the frame to shift an element slightly, to remove something minor, (but not to insert something not original to the place such as garden gnome, mascot, or product placement), then the picture turns out well. Edits like cropping or straightening (or the reverse, deliberately slanting the frame) may not cause harm or misrepresentation. But removing parts or injecting details certainly does affect the accuracy of the picture. But if the exercise is intended to mirror the photographer’s imagination rather than to represent the scene on its own, “as is,” then the boundaries of what is desirable or acceptable become infinitely more porous and flexible. It becomes a personal interpretation, representing only the mind of the maker.
As with photos, also with lives, the proportion of fiction to non-fiction, what flows from the person’s mind instead of the surrounding scene, will vary. So long as all parties understand the nature of the matter – purely fiction, partly fiction, excluding fiction as far as one is able and aware – then all is well. However, presenting one’s own fevered dream as non-fiction causes difficulties for others and also for self as a result.
table shadow on cracked driveway prompts this close look at the tension built into the contrasting lines
Looking out the kitchen window this morning, what presented itself was a pattern of table slats in silhouette on top of the broken cement of the driveway. Wondering why this juxtaposition drew my eye for a closer look, the first impulse may be the contrast of the shadow’s geometry (human hands made this shape on purpose; by design) to the cement’s broken line (caused incidentally, not due to anyone’s purpose or intention). The one pattern is ruler straight; the other pattern does have a definite direction but that is by coincidence, not on purpose. Therein comes the tension: rows of identical parallel lines versus the wavering diagonal that overlaps the shadow lines.
Now a few hours after snapping the photo, other, less visible dimensions of tension come from this scene. Not only is the juxtaposed geometry a source of difference and tension, but also there is difference in texture (smooth wood of the table versus bumpy cement surface), in longevity (exposed to the elements, cement usually outlasts wood), in hardness (wood that can be worked into many shapes; cement that can be poured only once before turning rigid for all time), in density or weight (table easily lifted versus heavy cement), and in portability (movable table versus fixed cement). While it was the geometry that caught my eye to begin with, these other factors now add to the impression of tension between the table and the ground.
These days public conversations and political discourse is filled with extremes, outrages, truthiness and crafted disinformation, and soon AI-generated facsimiles of standpoints. So the tension that people feel is adversarial and sometimes personal, rather than professional or conducive to dialogue. In this photo, though, the tension of parallel shadow versus wobbly diagonal (as well as the other contrasts between the table and driveway) is not combative or defensive. Instead, the tension is creative and leads to further exploration of the interplay of the two parts. If only public discourse tension were more like this, then outcomes would benefit one and all, rather than the “winner take all” exclusionary assumptions drowning out ordinary voices and the leadership of those at the top, too.
Sharp contrast of natural branching pattern versus the rectilinear geometry of the tower (Grand Rapids, MI 1-2023)
This photo presents many contrasts, each accentuating its opposite so that each side stands out all the more as a result. Snowflakes are ephemeral, while building materials are durable. The foreground sidewalk tree is living and breathing, while the built landscape exhales and inhales, but is dead. The geometric grid of the glass-faced high-rise is an unrelenting view of repeated perpendiculars, while the bare-branched tree is organized on very different principles. The vertical elements and horizontal surfaces present something impermeable and hard for precipitation to run away from, while the sparse trees drink in the moisture through relatively soft surfaces. But from a visual point of view it is the tension between the grid in the background and the branching lines in the foreground that is most intriguing psychologically.
The human delight in symmetry and ruler-straight lines, roads, texts, and so on seems to define “art,” as in artifice, artifact, artificial. It is hard to imagine something created by people that has the elegance and physical performance strengths of a mature tree, for example. Living things that respond to location and events on the time-horizon develop in particular ways, seemingly automatically or by instinct or another internal source of direction. For a rational thinking process to determine something as beautiful as a tree (not a facsimile that is mimicking a model, but one growing from thin air of the person’s imagination) is unlikely. And so, whether it is this definitional conflict between ruler-straight versus the absence of rectilinear shapes, or it is something else, by looking at the juxtaposed tree and shiny building in this photo, the geometric tension can be sensed. One is the sum of a particular engineering and architectural calculation; there can only be one correct answer to the design problem. But the other can grow and twist and bend within certain limits; there is not just one answer that is mutually exclusive or any other possible ones.
Each form has a kind of beauty: the grid turning a blueprint into physical fabric to serve its designed functions for many generations. Or the beauty of branching lines always reaching for light and gaining stature day by day, summer after summer. But when the two differing aesthetics intersect, as they do in this composition, then each form makes the other seem somehow heightened perceptually: the tree is more tree-like (and altogether not-artifactual) and the building is more architectural (and altogether non-organic). Visual tension and visual heightened impression come about not only in pictures taken in city settings like downtown Grand Rapids, Michigan, but may also be true outside the arena of seeing and thinking. When ideas derived from contrasting sets of assumptions intersect, then the difference of one makes the other’s character amplified somehow. And when holding the two uneasy neighbors side by side there is an element of tension in play, too. Carnivores and vegans can dine at the same table, so can people following a Halal dietary ethic and those not doing so, or social conservatives and liberal fellow citizens. In each case, as in the above photo, there may be a perceptible tension in the inherent logic of the one versus the other, and at the same time, the nature of each somehow is amplified as a result.
Predawn dusting of snow in the Christmas run-up brightens the dull black stylish curves, ZIP 49503
Jack Frost is credited with covering the windows, blades of grass, and car windshields with delicate fractals of ice crystal on very cold nights when the humidity level of the air allows this artistry to transform ordinary surfaces to temporary works of art that are one of a kind. This photo is another kind of emphasis that can be added to surfaces taken for granted and invisible in the background to one’s daily routines. It comes from the brief snow shower just before daybreak on a quiet Saturday morning. Gravity holds the accumulating flakes of snow to the (nearly) flat horizontal surfaces, thus marking them something like a highlighter on the printed page draws the person’s attention to particular passages. There are other ways to add emphasis to a scene besides frost and the many forms of snow, sleet, and ice (freezing rain layered onto surfaces both vertical and horizontal). In conditions above freezing the case of high humidity and haze can dull the subject, but the reverse is true, too: minimal humidity and haze make the subject stand out with added emphasis. And light, moderate, or heavy rain can give viewers a palpable or tactile sense of the texture of the subject’s surfaces, thus adding a kind of emphasis that otherwise would not stand out.
Lighting arrangements can completely alter an interior space, whether predominantly lit by direct or indirect sources of light, natural or artificial illumination, intensity levels dim or blinding or somewhere in-between. Outdoors, too, the same scene and subject can take on very different tone and character according to light amount (twilight versus mid-day; overcast or cloudless daylight or mixed-light), light temperature (Golden Hour that is warm and orangey, neutral, Blue Hour that is cool tones), light angle (low winter light versus high summer light) and light direction in reference to the lens or the viewer’s eyes (backlit, sidelit, frontlit).
A third category for adding emphasis is the background or foreground to juxtapose with the main subject. Without a contrasting color or texture or shape or concept, the main subject all alone is less interesting; less well defined against its context. A dark dog against a light background stands out more than when juxtaposed against neutral, semi-dark surroundings, for example. The field of focus (depth of field) manipulated by choice of lens focal length or selection of aperture is another way to introduce a sense of separation of subject from its surroundings. Post-processing techniques or use of filters at the time of making the photo can sometimes add emphasis that makes the otherwise unremarkable subject stand out for the fraction of a second in the shutter’s release.
Turning to some analogies that jump from the world of lenses and subject matter with special emphasis added to the world of thinking, perhaps the closest comparison is adding temporary emphasis to a subject by looking at a problem in a new light (figuratively: warmer, colder, brighter, dimmer, indirect or direct, from one angle or another), or by foregrounding it against a new background. While the lighting analogy is fruitful for playing with figures of speech, and so is the juxtaposition analogy, the snow or frost or rain imagery does not suggest a counterpart for the world of thought, reflection, or projection.
In conclusion, though, whether it is taking pictures with added emphasis (thanks to weather, lighting, or juxtaposition and camera technique) or it is thinking through solutions to a problem the observation is unimpeachable: that temporary emphasis – deliberate or serendipitous – is able to show new meanings, patterns, and relationships that were already present, but which did not stand out clearly enough to be noticed. So while the frost soon melts and the light in the sky shifts from one minute to the next, during the instant when the viewer pays attention, or the time when the shutter makes an exposure, that added emphasis can be revelatory indeed. The prospect of discovering something new that had been hidden in plain sight all along is one of the things that makes repeated visits to a place or subject, or a photowalk again and again, slightly thrilling!
Mid-October weekend walk in the woods with fall color in plain view along the trail-arranged on purpose or by chance?
To the inexperienced eye the forest scenery along the cool damp trail is much the same. Scattered mature trees beginning to drop their fall leaves, some more brightly colored than others, mosses happily thriving in the wet shade, an occasional bit of rubbish discarded by people unmindful of the incompatibility of plastic, glass, or aluminum with the business of life in the wild. But against all the browns and greens, the splashes of color contrast vividly. This photo was only 2 meters from the path. It appears to be a careful composition. The stem is angled just so. The outlines of the maple leaf are sharply defined. The color stands in stark opposition to the surroundings. And the tilt of the leaf as it leans on the tree trunk seems perfectly balanced. In short, it is not too likely that a passing artist carefully arranged the view, but yet that is what it looks like, a purposeful expression of abstract beauty involving geometry, color, light, texture, and lighting.
Such things as natural beauty, ephemeral or more durable, can speak to the eye of those who see them; some sort of meaning can be communicated by accident or chance. And the folk wisdom states that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” One person stops to admire a scene while others wander by unseeing at that moment. But leaving aside the dimension of sensitivity, perception, or receptiveness that distinguishes one viewer from another, it is worth considering what exactly seems to lend a feeling of meaning, intention purpose, momentousness, or significance. In this photo, why does it look as though an active intelligence of a creative person has propped a particularly beautiful fall leaf against this backdrop that woods walkers and forest bathers conveniently see?
One aspect of the picture that makes it look deliberate or intended is the standing position of the leaf. Most others lie flat, but for the moment this one is different by defying gravity for the time being. Secondly, the stem seems to point purposely in one direction, almost like the hands of a clock. Such straight pointers seem to belong to human activity, rather than the natural growth of plants. Finally, there is the way that the color and outline so clearly contrasts the surrounding space. It is not unnatural to see such clear definition (and probably no human hands touched this composition; it just happened to arise this way), but the odds of a perfectly balanced picture appearing without human intervention seem low. Without looking for fingerprints or boot marks it will be impossible to prove that the meaningful positioning of the leaf is all natural, rather than the whimsy of a passing artist. Whether aided by a person or not, the view is a pleasing one that somehow conveys a deliberate pose of tension and flair. If nothing else, it provides a writing prompt to think about what makes a composition express some sort of significance or purposeful statement. Perhaps the same three aspects, above (standing out, pointing purposely, clearly contrasting), also can be found outside the arena of visual composition. Groupings of people, flights of birds, schools of fish, and patterns of wild plant colonies all may give the viewer a feeling of purpose and meaning, too.
Juxtaposing angular geometry of floor shadows to elegant bones amplifies the whale’s beauty
How curious that the architect, builder, or innate structure presents something of beauty in isolation; of visual appeal in and of itself. But it takes a photographer or another visual artist to take up that structure as a compositional subject and then frame it, light it, and time it to add another layer of beauty; not simply putting the subject in a flattering light, but giving the viewer a wider frame of meaning for the subject now.
This photo in the entry hall of the Grand Rapids Public Museum early on a sunny weekend in September shows the body of a Fin whale killed around the beginning of the 1900s or earlier and donated to the museum, according to the label text, by a private donor near Jackson, MI who had kept it for many years. The centuries and millennia that shaped the curving, streamlined shape of the skeleton present a natural, unvarnished elegance. Seeing the bones with all background elements photoshopped out would produce a pleasing statement of beauty. But by composing this subject in its present-day context, far away from any beach or coastal region, adding shapes, light, and geometry adds to the cumulative image that is presented here. In other words, the curves of the bone seem all the more curvaceous when set against the rigidly straight lines of the floor shadows. The photo representation adds emphasis or attention to something of innate, natural beauty. Far from “gilding the lily” with gratuitous drama or superfluous and distracting “eye-candy,” this way of expressing the skeleton shape enhances what is already there in the bones.
There are times when natural beauty of a subject does not call attention to itself. That is when a frame or juxtaposition or flattering light can put the subject “on a pedestal,” so to speak. In other words, it is not enough to be outstanding in some respect. Only when those qualities or features are presented in an effective and engaging way will the true worth be apparent. Likewise, even the greatest idea will go unacknowledged and unused unless it is presented in such a way to attract interest and attention. Many wondrous subjects are waiting to receive the kudos that they are due. But only when a photographer or another visual artist can present the subject so that others finally view it clearly will the thing claim its full meaning and value.
Several points in the juxtaposed foreground bike and background ballot box create tension in the contrasting lines.
Looking out the library window the drama produced by the slight separation in lines of different angle and color and light stand out in this photo. Beginning at bottom left there is the tubular shape at the end of the red handlebar versus the blue boxes framed in yellow beyond. Maybe most tense of all is the point along the left border where the handbrake of aluminum slopes gently against the rippled red rigid horizontal line behind it, paralleled by another ripple in dark blue above it. Less dramatic, but still presenting a little tension is the top right corner where the picture edge offers a sharp horizontal in dark color to contrast with the fabric “no parking” hood in light color. In each case the contrast of curving versus rectilinear geometry creates tension in the viewer’s eye. Each element in isolation, taken away from the juxtaposition here, still has some degree of tension in the flow of the line. But placed in contrast to one another the effect of their differences seems to be amplified and gives each part of the equation a louder voice.
Something similar happens when contrasting things are placed close together. Sounds like loud and quiet. Audio pitches that are only a 1/2 half-step apart (7ths, 9ths; not a simple octave). Flavors like sweet plus salty. Mouth-feel like silky and crunchy. Character development that includes good and evil. And perhaps also in the realm of ideas: simple but also complex, or ancient but also modern, masculine but also feminine. Again and again, placing these contrasting elements almost side by side enhances rather than slights each part. On the other hand, there are times when too much drama detracts from the effect produced by undistracted, undiluted composition that features a single subject to savor in its own sublime singularity. Ending with a summertime reference from the realm of ice-cream, there really are times when nothing tastes sweeter than plain vanilla ice-cream; the other 32 flavors on offer will have to wait for another day.
Street line near base of parking meter makes visual tension, but the yellow line marking the lane runs through the meter to worse effect.
Usually the expression of “forgetting lines” or memorizing lines is about stage dialog. But in this photo the lines are visual geometric elements. Newcomers to picture-taking often concentrate on the subject in front of them, blissfully unaware that a distracting background line or light or shape is intruding into the frame. The opposite extreme is the photographer well aware of the sometimes comic overlap between near-ground subject and something in the distance. There may be times when it makes sense to deliberately put the foreground subject in front of a particular framing element or something that stands for a larger meaning, imputing or “borrowing” the halo (or the outrage or the holiness) from the background to shed a favorable light on the subject. Gag photos at famous landmarks sometimes show the tourist with hand positioned in such a way that it appears that the Eiffel Tower or the Statue of Liberty rests lightly on the person’s palm.
Whether the juxtaposition of subject and its background improves the picture or worsens it, to the viewer’s eye those lines cannot be “unseen” after they have once been glimpsed. Accidental or purposeful, playful or insightful, the total impression that comes from a picture comes from its geometry, the patterns and relationships visible to a viewer. But why should a person’s eye look for organizing lines and shapes when seeking to identify the subject? In this photo even when there is no organic, direct connection between the background lines and the parking meters in the foreground, still the eyes insist that some relationship must exist there; some significance or order. This thirst for order and meaning seems to be the foundation for interpreting a scene in the person or by means of a camera lens. After all, there is so much in the world that is disorder or at least lacking in shapes and relationships that can be recognized and appreciated. When the bulk of (visual) experience lacks any apparent pattern, then whenever some juxtaposition does stand out, then by that salience it is regarded by definition significant; not disorder but now instead meaningful.
The great street photographer and interpreter of human experience, Henri Cartier-Bresson, was a geometry buff before he ever held a camera: seeing angles, shapes, and patterns endlessly held his interest. Later the same thing happened with lens and film: he composed scenes using strong, noticeable geometry. For non-professional photographers, whether equipped with a camera or relying only on one’s “mind’s eye” (imagination), it is possible to see lines and shapes that touch, overlap, intersect or fail to do any of these things. Arranging subject and the lines nearby in certain ways (bottom right corner, above photo) imposes a slight tension or expectation. Incidental lines in the background may not seem important when releasing the shutter, but in the eyes of viewers there WILL be meaning reckoned from those places that touch the subject. Likewise in the picture that follows, the geometry of perpendiculars and angles, light and shade impose a fixed order in the scene, but the curving branches of the Croton potted plant do not conform; a tension arises from this contrast.
Built-in tension between perpendicular (man-made) and curving (botanical) lines.
Turning from photographic vision to ways of seeing life in general, there seems to be something similar that happens when a person gains life experience, year by year, sometimes growing up faster than normal when conditions are especially demanding. The newcomer to life (or to a new country) tends to focus on what is in the foreground (ego), but by gaining more experience from others or in one’s own actions and thinking, then a bit more of the middle background and distant horizon of life comes into view, making the foreground (self; ego) juxtapose clearly with the lines and shapes located in the middle distance or far in the future. In other words, the longer one lives, the more often that one can see both the foreground and what lies behind it in the distance; a certain geometry or connection comes to mind. So whether it is looking through a camera or it is looking across the years of one’s life and the decision points along the way, it makes sense to pay attention to those lines and shapes that come into view with practice, adding meaning to one’s days.
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