Noticing the patterns of light and the relationship (spatial or symbolic) between subjects motivates some of life’s passers by to pause and admire the view presenting itself for any who cares to see. At times the person will consider how a picture (photographed or recorded by hand) could be composed, if one were so inclined: holding up fingers to form an imaginary frame, or shifting left or right to bring elements into alignment. These days, with seemingly ubiquitous cellphones carrying high-quality camera lens and apps, that same person may well be accustomed to snap a photo and mull it over later, either to refine it or perhaps as a prompt to write about or to make into visual art. But in all these cases, the first step is noticing things.
When the days are full or burdens are many, perhaps the mind is preoccupied with too much to spare the attention or intention of seeing what is within sight – either visible physically, or something more intangible that can be interpreted and extracted from the scene by induction, experience, or deduction. The reverse frame of mind is most conducive to noticing things small or large in one’s surroundings, whether it is a familiar route in one’s routines, or it is the first time to see a particular place. Setting off with a mind to spot geometry, texture, parody or irony, color combinations or patterns and so forth does predispose one’s eye and attention to noticing things unobserved by others. And the custom of photowalking also provides a similarly semi-structured occasion to take a picture-recording device for a stroll for no other purpose than the joy of looking (and sharing with others the treasures that reveal themselves). In other words, when one’s heart is not filled with preoccupations and time is not pressing, even if it means just an hour carved out, or comes like a breath of air for a moment in an otherwise tense day, then in that creative space the light and everything bathed in it (or shadowed from it) can present a potential composition.
By reading authors who reflect on the making and meaning of photographs, as photographer or art critic or social observer, the titles of classic books and essays, as well as published books of images come up. It was in an article about a documentary photographer observing uneven development in Chinese cities and outskirts published online at Trans Asia Photography that the work of Stephen Shore came up. After seeing his oversize book of USA images made with 8×10 view camera, Uncommon Places (1982), I looked for other titles of his, not only images but also photography writings relating to his years teaching in New York at Bard College. In The Nature of Photographs: A Primer (1998) he has a few words to say about ‘noticing’.
The quality and intensity of a photographer’s attention leave their imprint on the mental level of the photograph. This does not happen by magic. A photographer’s basic formal tools for defining the content and organization of a picture are vantage point, frame, focus, and time. What a photographer pays attention to governs these decisions (be they conscious, intuitive, or automatic). These decisions resonate with the clarity of the attention. They conform to the photographer’s mental organization –the visual gestalt– of the picture. [page 65]
Turning to the photos at the top of this blogpost, the Sunday morning light on this unseasonably mild day early in March, invited unhurried looking around the botanical garden and sculpture park. Had the wind been blowing or the normal winter weather been attacking anybody outdoors, then attention would be focused on minimizing exposure to the cold rather than lingering over the halo on the smooth bronze cow and the way that the wooden bench backs cast their patterned shadows onto the pavement. What Stephen Shore writes about attention seems equally true of noticing things: what fills the photographer’s mind affects what looks significant or worth trying out compositions from the scene. And by extension from seeing to knowing (thinking) that characterizes this blog, what a person is thinking about affects what he or she notices. What the person notices affects what he or she is thinking about, too: environment that is perceived > views seen > thinking > perceived environment.
See also The Art of Noticing, 131 Ways to Spark Creativity, Find Inspiration, and Discover Joy in the Everyday by Rob Walker (2019).
Magnet for eyes is the bright center surrounded by dark, and the doorway frame centered on distant boulder
On this bright Sunday morning in early February at the Japanese-style garden within Meijer Gardens and Sculpture Park the gate for the wall that surrounds the Zen-style raked dry stone garden presents a square frame for the one boulder that is visible from this standpoint. Imagining the composition cropped to the inside of the frame, thus making visible only the boulder and surrounding gravel, the power of the frame to amplify the viewer’s attention is much reduced. In the same way that a funnel directs the flowing liquid into a narrower passage, so does the frame separate the framed subject from the adjacent context, thus directing the attention of the viewer into a narrower space.
A framing device can come in various ways: a dark border to the central subject, a textured or colored border that separates subject from surrounding milieu, or geometry that stands outside the subject and cuts it off from nearby things. In each case, though, the viewer’s attention is streamlined and sharply focused on the main subject itself. Perhaps, by logic, the reverse visual experience obtains, too: by removing, downplaying, or muting the sense of separation, thus the viewer’s focus on the central subject will also blur and attention can more easily wander to adjacent parts of the scene. In effect, unframing the subject does the opposite to amplifying attention. A subject with framing elements absent now is able to communicate seamlessly with its context; no longer on a pedestal or spotlighted by powerful beam, now it rests on the ground, barely distinguishable from its surroundings.
Perhaps the same visual phenomenon also applies outside the world of optics and principles of composition. When a person, place, or thing is framed, boxed, packaged, or put onto a pedestal, then it stands out; literally, it is outstanding. And the opposite is just as true: taking the subject of conversation, the line of sight, or the artifact in question away from its frame or pedestal, then it loses some of its mystery, lustre, or elevated status. Somehow, it becomes much more ordinary and hardly remarkable from neighboring matters, whether intangible things like ideas and tastes or more physical things like landscapes, workspaces, or locations of recreation and play. Thus, a guest presenter who just stands up from the audience and begins to speak (lacking a framing device) is much less impressive that one who is introduced by someone notable or by a person whose own halo of status glows enough to bathe the featured presenter in reflected glory.
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.
The trail at North Ottawa Dunes county park follows the curves of the land [Memorial Day 2022]
The hiking path rises and falls through the lakeshore woods near Ferrysburg, Michigan. Sometimes it follows high ground, other times low terrain. This photo shows one of the many strong geometric shapes that invite composition. The verticals of the tree trunks follow a linear movement in contrast to the curvilinear shape of the horizon line as it rolls down one bank and up the other side. The master of seemingly serendipitous street photography, Cartier-Bresson, was interested in geometry and drawing before he took his first photograph, according to his writings. Other visual artists, too, have a habit of noticing strong shapes, patterns, leading lines, and interplay of curves and perpendiculars. While a line, curve, or triangle may not be enough to form a complete visual thought, seeing such prominent parts of one’s surroundings gives some order, meaning, and sense to the scene. Probably this is true not just of camera work, but also in other spaces for daily life and thinking, too: noticing structuring elements helps to organize the subject in a recognizable way.
Something similar happens when responding to prominent textures within a scene. Just as the geometry defines what is there to see, the texture that stands out will also add character to the view. This photo from the same woods walk illustrates both the eye-catching effect of side-lit texture in an otherwise shaded interior of the woodlands, and the interesting pattern of shadows cast by overhead leaves.
Besides shadow prints and the contrast of dark woods to bright trees, the bark surfaces are pronounced.
Angle and intensity of light play a big part in bringing the texture into prominence, but once the surfaces begin to catch one’s eye, then there is surprisingly more and more to see. Perhaps it passed unnoticed before, but once an appetite for texture is stimulated, then it becomes a source of endless looking and finding. Inasmuch as texture derives from surfaces and tactile experience (touching, but also by sight), what this corresponds to in the world of thinking is something poetic and sensory; maybe the “texture” of an idea is its gravity (weightiness versus lightness), its family resemblance to other ideas triggered by its shape or tone or context. Lumbering or lithe, ideas can run about in different rhythm and stride.
Taken together, geometry (major structural elements) and texture (tangible surfaces or impressions) orient the viewer to lead them in one direction or another. Without these dimensions of a composition the visual rendering of a subject would be much less vivid and engaging of all senses at the moment and also for engaging memories tied into the shapes and textures.
Window panes stand out in shadow form; looking at & through the window, the panes go unnoticed.
Many times it is the geometry standing out that draws a photographer’s eye and lens. Recognizable shapes formed by contrasting color or texture or light/shadow, or angles and lines that connect one part of the image to another can initiate the photo-taking sequence of events. In the picture, above, the strong morning light shines on the window blinds to form repeating parallel lines of light on the dim shower curtain at the left. The shadow cast on the slats of the blind by the window panes dominates the composition. By comparison, the same brightly-lit scene sans window blinds (or rotating the angle of the slats to allow maximum sunlight in) would somehow make the window panes less noticeable, relegating them to their integral role in supporting the glass in the frame of the window. The eye could well search for meaning by looking through the panes to discover what is outdoors, ignoring the panes themselves. But thanks to the “shadow puppets” effect of putting the panes onto the brightly-lit, closed window blinds the viewer can see the geometry made by the panes as something separate from the window’s physical structure. No longer object, but now hinted subject, the shadow cross is significant for its own sake.
Extending this observation made by shadow and lens and composition more widely, perhaps there is a similar “shadow puppets” effect in other places in one’s life. It could be religious tradition: indirect and inferred testimony that speaks more strongly than direct witness. It could be workplace problems to solve: seeing the problem more clearly by the “shadow” it casts or footprint it leaves behind, rather than to wrestle with the thing directly. It could be interpersonal relationships: viewing another person’s words and actions indirectly instead of interpreting things at face value; on the surface. In all cases, sometimes the best way to go forward is by going the long way around, choosing in indirect path instead of a direct one. For young soccer players, too, it can be hard to see the sense of passing backward to a teammate rather than to press the attack directly forward to the defended goal. Just so in the many other fields of play in social living, sometimes you can see things most clearly by not looking directly at them.
The term ‘enthusiast’ combines positive (earnest, eager, motivated to grow and master the craft but without professional burdens, intention, attention, or pretension) and negative meanings (dilettante, not quite rigorous, making up for shortcomings in expertise by abundance of enthusiasm). But for the purpose of this article, ‘enthusiast’ is being celebrated above all else because it occupies the middle ground: neither as expert who also runs a business, nor as a beginner impatient for high quality pictures or video without having the learn the gear inside and out.
The first reason why this intermediate status is so fine is form factor. The pro may carry the gear needed for the subject expected and even some added supplies and equipment for unexpected situations. Besides professional camera, more and more also rely on cellphone to produce a casual effect, for not arousing bystander notice, or for quick response to an emerging composition. By contrast the casual photographer may rely exclusively on (increasingly pricey and sophisticated) cellphone camera to grab the likeness of a moment with a lot or a little concern with composition and control variables of color temperature, purposefully chosen exposure mix of ISO+shutter speed+aperture. The reason these differing form factors is important is that one’s eye is partly influenced by lens and gear: lots of gear means lots of creative control, big production values and time needed to create what the photographer envisions, simple logistics of trudging with the aggregate weight, and so on. The point-and-shoot beginner can reach for cellphone and shoot a burst or video clip or simple one-frame photo in the time it takes to breathe in and out. Differing form factor means different universe of possible subjects to notice and to record and share. The pro may respond to technically more difficult lighting or framing compositions than the casual photographer. In between these extremes, the intermediate position of enthusiast will rise to some composition challenges that are beyond the abilities or interest or awareness of the beginner, but which do not go as far as professionals are capable of. This means that the appetite for subjects among professionals is more sophisticated, wider and deeper; fewer subjects attract their eye. Having lots of gear could lead to the phenomenon of having a solution that is in search of a problem to engage with. For example, experts in macro shots with all related gear will respond to those special subjects to the exclusion of others. Enthusiasts by contrast may have a wider-ranging taste for subjects than either paid professional or beginner.
The next reason why the middle position of enthusiast is most excellent is a corollary to the first: those form factor consequences also affect the photographer’s outlook, expectations, and relationship to the subject itself. As a result of all the gear at hand the pro may relate to a subject in the frame by taking a “high production value” view of it: the proper and fully realized image would draw on hardware, software, and “heartware” (soft skills built from past experience) to achieve a rich and detailed picture. So the timeline from spotting the potential composition to realizing the image in the mind’s eye of the professional might be a few minutes, hours, or days. By contrast the casual snapshooter might also react to the light or geometry of light and shadow or social event by reaching for his or her camera, but the engagement in the subject and the universe of creative decisions to make will just last for a few seconds or minutes of consideration in most cases. In between these extremes, the middle position of enthusiast takes more time and interest in the subject than beginner, but less than the professional. In other words, the relationship with the subject is involved, but not overly entangled. As a result the enthusiast takes the time to get to know the composition with more depth than the casual photographer, but is less burdened by technical considerations and consequences than are required to yield the high production values of the pro.
The third reason in praise of enthusiast cameras and their photographers is User Interface (menus and control dials, buttons, touch screens) and the resulting User Experience with the camera in relation to the subject. Having too few (or too inaccessible – buried several layers deep in the menus) ways to control the composition and recording of image or video means that the person learns their own limits and sees the universe of possible photography accordingly And having many options to create a photo makes the person accustomed to exercising control over most all dimensions leading up to the shutter release: framing, exposure, depth of field and angle of view, light balance, supplemental lighting, and so on).
When the pro is faced with a camera not equipped for manual control of all facets of picture-taking, there can be frustration with the tools, preoccupation with what is not-possible, and perhaps less engagement with the subject itself. Likewise, when the casual photographer is faced with a camera that offers abundant ways to control the picture-taking, there can be frustration from being “spoiled for choice,” or “paralysis by too many choices.” In between these opposite extremes, the enthusiast camera presents numerous ways to alter the settings manually, but not so many as professionals are accustomed to. The reason why camera complexity matched to user ability does matter is that engagement with a subject can be diminished or be enhanced, depending on how much mental energy and awareness is consumed by a well-matched or an ill-fitted camera for a particular kind of photographer When all is optimal then the person notices a subject and engages in it with little effort required to control the camera and produce a finished composition. But when there is “too much camera” or “too little camera” for the particular photographer, then the person can be partially distracted from the subject itself, bogged down by preoccupation or frustration.
In summary and in praise of enthusiast cameras and their photographers, the gear in combination with level of experience affects the person’s relationship to the universe of possible subjects and compositions. No matter if the subject is a spontaneous part of photowalking, or is a scheduled event that one is prospecting for golden photographs, the relationship between one’s eye, the subject, and the picture that comes from that interchange will be affected by one’s status: pro, beginner, or as enthusiast in-between. Having a working method that is gear-heavy or gear-light can easily introduce psychological distance between the seer and the subject. The sweet spot of just enough gear and experience (the enthusiast) allows a degree of creative control but also a degree of freedom from the restrictions that come with beginner or with professional status. In other words, the enthusiast can meaningfully engage with the subject of interest while still expressing enough technical mastery to produce something like the composition envisioned in the mind’s eye. There is neither the fleeting attention of point-and-shoot photography, nor the extended effort that may be needed for achieving maximum (professional) quality photography or video recording.
While not claiming that the fairest relationship between photographer and subjects to compose comes only from enthusiasts, still it seems that the best chances to notice a picture subject and to proceed with a true visual representation and interpretation of it (getting to know that subject in a personal relationship) will come from an enthusiast camera and its photographer. After all “form does follow function” but when it comes to the art of using one’s gear, it is equally true that form-factor affects photography.
While this figure of speech has to do with sound, perhaps it resonates for seeing certain photos in the mind’s eye, too. In other words, for a given place and time and standpoint, one person may stop and recognize a worthy subject to frame and capture, while another sees nothing of note. Other times the lighting or geometry of lines, shadows, textures, and colors will be “singing so loudly and beautifully” that several people may stop and pay attention, although some will make a mental photo and others will snap a picture to share. Even then, when the subject is so noticeable, not everyone will compose the same picture, choosing a perspective, framing, and exposure settings according to habit, camera algorithm, or by deliberate decision.
Thinking about just one photographically inclined person, there is a longitudinal arc of development or visual maturity that affects not only the ability to notice and respond to a scene, but also affects the ability to compose, capture, and communicate the subject to others. A relatively inexperienced photographer is likely to see something different to what the same person years later would see. Thanks to the proliferation of camera devices in many forms, more and more people are accustomed to seeing the world of experiences with the aid of still or moving images they record. Although not everyone studies the results of their photo-taking, those who do may well be able to see the parts of their pictures that can be improved on. The person may have the opportunity to try again and raise their own standards of seeing and their ability to capture a visual record of a subject. In effect, cameras can extend the mind’s eye much like eyeglasses can extend the visual organs. Taking more and more pictures, and viewing those of others is one way to create a trail of breadcrumbs to trace one’s progress and also to look for patterns in the kinds of pictures and subjects that speak most often and most powerfully to one’s own eye.
Afternoon cottonwoods and June sky along Grand River; bright, cool and windy.
Besides the effects of a person’s length of photography experience, personal preferences and preoccupations, there is bound to be an influence of one’s gear, too. As the saying goes, the person with only a hammer in the toolbox only sees nails. By extension, a person with all sort of tools will see many ways to engage a problem and come up with a solution. When it comes to photography, a person carrying a telephoto lens will be on the lookout for subjects suited to that magnification; ditto for the person equipped with macro or superwide-angle lens. Suitable subjects are partly defined by the lens design. And going beyond the world of picture taking, a person going into the world with only binoculars will be looking for viewing opportunities and subjects (plants, animals, insects, geology or weather formations according to main interests), rather than compositions to record. Likewise for a person whose vision is extended by going into the world with magnifying glass, digital microscope (smartphone) attachment, or any other lens-bearing device. In sum, any particular scene will look differently according to the person and according to the sort of lens-device that he or she carries. And a person equipped with only sketchpad and pencil or brushes will engage still differently with the scene by comparison to the people with lenses.
Thanks to the wonder of e-books and vast online catalog at Amazon it is possible to find titles that correspond to several search terms: photography essay, documentary writing, photographer memoir, photo reflections, and so on. The ebooks normally allow a sample download at no cost in order to see the table of contents and read a few pages to get a taste of the substance and tone of the book. After browsing four or five dozen such ebooks recently, the theme of seeing possible pictures instead of capturing them with a lens emerged. That is, as a photographer’s awareness extends wider and deeper, the importance of recognizing potential subjects grows bigger and bigger. Things that were invisible or unremarkable at an earlier stage in one’s routine picture-taking now begin to attract interest. As one learns to hear the voice of a scene speaking or singing, those matters that resonate with one’s own true self attract attention. As one’s photographic vision gains detail and contextual meaning, the available range of subjects grows, too.
So to the question of this article, “do you see what I see,” the answer probably is no – any two people are likely to bring different life experience, technical skills and composition habits to a given moment and place. One may “hear” the scene speaking its invitation to admire and record, while the other may “hear” something altogether different; or indeed, the person may hear nothing remarkable at all.
Never open a book without a pencil in hand [Ben Franklin paraphrase]
Depending on the source – words, images, music and other sounds – the ways we routinely engage with the material will differ. Static sources like book or photo allow self-paced interaction, annotation (margin notes directly on the page; memo prompted by photo – or online commenting), and the ability to return again and again to revisit the idea or subject as expressed. By contrast moving source materials (e.g. movie and TV) rarely stop to let the viewer mark a passage or add their own questions and insights that connect to the passage. Somewhere between the reader/viewer control of the static sources and the viewer lack of playback control of the moving sources is a third sort of material: music and TV and talk radio (while at work or home; or driving) can work both ways —with scrutiny or with inattention. The person can pay attention closely and focus on the ideas or impressions caused (immersive), or the person can disregard the source to some extent by treating it as background material not requiring attention (filler).
Attending to the road, listening to radio talk show or music, thoughts bubbling up.
To a thinking person the reason why these different forms of relating to verbal, visual, static versus moving content matter is because of the limiting terms of engaging the material: some of these sources can produce new thoughts and understanding better than others. Each of these things occupies certain times and places in one’ s life, but not all of them generate increases to one’s overall understanding of self and surroundings. The key point of distinction is the opportunity for the person to interrupt the flow of thoughts and new information in order to digest, compare, hypothesize, connect with prior knowledge or personal illustrations of what is conveyed by the material. With a book or photo album, it is possible to pause, go on a tangent, return and resume. But with live theater or lecture, a movie, or the (recorded) performance of music, the material just keeps coming and to stop the playback or momentarily absent oneself from the live flow of an event long enough to jot a note can detract from the fluid, uninterrupted experience.
So when it comes to the things that generate thoughts and understanding best, it is not the emotional thrill or the intellectual revelation produced in the flow of moving/performing arts, but instead the carefully composed and captured words on a page or in the image on display that let the mind wander and wonder best, again and again. Eventhough performed, non-static content is best able to pull along the viewer or listener, producing the strongest sensory experience of vicarious participation, this stimulation is not the same sort of constructing, contrasting, or connecting that happens with the written word or the composed picture.
One thing after another seems to distract me from completing the process of gathering my selected online photos, together with their commentary, into an ebook. Now at last, two years from returning from a year’s work in rural Japan, the process is nearing completion under a working title of “Life and Times Today in Rural Japan.”
Screenshot of ebook process to group and sequence the image+commentary selections
The genesis for the online source images and their commentaries is a Flickr account where I aggregated the Japan photowalks into albums according to season, for the most part. Certain events or subjects made sense to aggregate on their own, though. Browsing others’ photo essay ebooks online, I began to think about repurposing the individual Flickr uploads with their tags, date stamp, camera exposure data, and the paragraphs or sentences of remarks that I added at the time. Collecting the images that had more than a brief comment and then somehow importing them into a wordprocessor to prepare for book presentation was an idea that intrigued me.
Sadly, there is no One-Touch method to export from Flickr and import into a wordprocessor. As a result the transition from chronological photo-stream into a series of grouped topics required a lot of hands-on cutting and pasting. But the act of massaging the entries and scrutinizing the text led me to discover points of weak writing or incomplete discussion to fix. And also I began to see the pattern of observation that runs through a lot of the cumulative visual record between fall 2016 and fall 2017.
Given my training in cultural anthropology, my interest in social change in Japan, and in visually documenting the many subjects that are changing over time, it is not surprising to find the sorts of scenes that caused me to stop and compose a photo or video clip before returning home to upload and write a few lines of reflection that stem from the scene. There are two layers that seem to be the most frequent in these scores and scores of pictures with their commentaries. One is connecting the subject with the wider context of the society and culture or language of Japan overall, or within the specific regional setting for the images. This fits the working method for anthropology: a concern with capturing the context of a place, its people and their language, both at the moment of description but also in the flow of time – what came before this moment of recording and what may well follow into the foreseeable future. Many of the commentaries and their photos put the scene into the wider river of time or in regard to some significant cultural reference point.
The second pattern for the collected photos with commentary is to notice small details. For local residents, perhaps, the color or shape or symbol for an object, or the arrangement of a place may seem unremarkable; it is normal, familiar, and to be expected. Only something that differs from that norm might attract attention or comment. Through foreign eyes the same subjects might look very different. For these visitors just passing through, perhaps, a peculiar shape or unfamiliar habit might go unnoticed because it does not trigger feelings of recognition or memories of similar situations. The outsider’s eye passes over the thing by regarding it as not carrying significance; it is culturally and linguistically invisible. In between these extremes, the native insider and the foreign outsider, there is a middle position: a foreign observer who does speak the language and does know the cultural meanings of that society; an ethnographer with a camera and bicycle like me, for example. Neither being in the familiar position of the local resident, nor being in the unfamiliar position of the stranger, I have been able to remark on scenes and have articulated something of their cultural or contemporary significance. Even though my line of reasoning is not native, it is closer to native than is the perspective of the total foreigner. Thus I am able to describe some of the common-sense local meaning of insiders, and maybe even point out some of the taken-for-granted meaning that scarcely rises in the minds of the local residents who are accustomed to the product, service, or practice. In other words, being positioned in-between native and outsider allows one to notice things that others, perhaps, do not find significant. After all, seeing the world in a grain of sand is not something that everyone is accustomed to, capable of, or interested in. Although, in the end, it could also be true that the grain of sand really is just a grain of sand; not the whole world.
Taken together, connecting the scene with its wider context AND noticing small details that offer a foundation to build a larger commentary, these two patterns occur again and again among those subjects that first invited my camera and from which I selected the ones having relatively longer discussion. This recurring tendency to notice small things, but also to consider them in larger contexts of time and place and culture and language contribute to an anthropological point of view; not the scholarly kind with great long sentences and social science standards to document one’s theory being tried, the methods being used, and the sources being scrutinized with those methods. Instead of formal reasoning and expository writing, the small space of Flickr pages for commentary has produced brief sketches for each scene – what is going on, understanding it within the larger meanings of Japanese life and the historical time, but also giving attention to small details that can mean larger things. Noticing details and connecting larger contexts of meaning are the two patterns that characterize this forthcoming ebook of “Life and Times Today in Rural Japan.”
see2think 