alternative process
So What Is Fine Art Anyway?
Before I knew exactly what the term meant, I was always uncomfortable referring to my work as ‘fine art’. I always thought it was arrogant to believe that photographs produced by a rank amateur, such as myself, could be referred to as ‘fine’ anything. The mere mention of ‘fine art’ to me conjures a mental image of George Bellows or John Singer Sargent paintings hung in posh metropolitan art galleries.
The definition of fine art varies as much as the person asking the question. It generally refers to works produced by the artist’s own hand as opposed to copies reproduced by a machine, like a magazine or a sales brochure. Does that mean that your vacation snapshots qualify as ‘fine art’? Of course it does. Fine art merely indicates how the print was made, but not necessarily its artistic quality. The term is frequently used as a marketing tool because it sells art.
There are a few highly acclaimed photographers in the art world. Ansel Adams, Arthur Stieglitz, and Dorothea Lange have certainly made their mark as photographers and artists, but what is a true measure of success? Is it the artist’s ability to immortalize subjects from a bygone age? Is it technical brilliance? Perhaps the size of the prints that an artist has sold or the reputation of the galleries where they exhibit their work. In Internet circles, the aesthetic value of a photograph could be measured by the number of comments it draws on Flickr or Facebook. Are these artists just experiencing their 15 minutes of fame or will their images become recognizable icons of their generation enjoyed by audiences decades, or even centuries later?
Artists who rely on their work to earn a living are at a serious disadvantage over those of us who have a day job. For the professional artist, there are deadlines, fickle clients, deadbeats, unscrupulous agents, and the persistent threat of copyright infringement or outright theft. For those of us who simply enjoy creating photographs, we have the luxury of time and total freedom from market forces. We blithely snap away at subjects that we want to photograph while experimenting with different image developing processes and techniques in our free time. We don’t have to sell art to eat, but selling a print feeds our ego.
Making a respectable living producing ‘fine art’ may be one measure of success, but enjoying what you do and winning a contest or two along the way is another. If you are proud to sign your name to an image, you can claim to be a ‘fine art’ photographer. How successful you are is up to your audience.
The definition of fine art varies as much as the person asking the question. It generally refers to works produced by the artist’s own hand as opposed to copies reproduced by a machine, like a magazine or a sales brochure. Does that mean that your vacation snapshots qualify as ‘fine art’? Of course it does. Fine art merely indicates how the print was made, but not necessarily its artistic quality. The term is frequently used as a marketing tool because it sells art.
There are a few highly acclaimed photographers in the art world. Ansel Adams, Arthur Stieglitz, and Dorothea Lange have certainly made their mark as photographers and artists, but what is a true measure of success? Is it the artist’s ability to immortalize subjects from a bygone age? Is it technical brilliance? Perhaps the size of the prints that an artist has sold or the reputation of the galleries where they exhibit their work. In Internet circles, the aesthetic value of a photograph could be measured by the number of comments it draws on Flickr or Facebook. Are these artists just experiencing their 15 minutes of fame or will their images become recognizable icons of their generation enjoyed by audiences decades, or even centuries later?
Artists who rely on their work to earn a living are at a serious disadvantage over those of us who have a day job. For the professional artist, there are deadlines, fickle clients, deadbeats, unscrupulous agents, and the persistent threat of copyright infringement or outright theft. For those of us who simply enjoy creating photographs, we have the luxury of time and total freedom from market forces. We blithely snap away at subjects that we want to photograph while experimenting with different image developing processes and techniques in our free time. We don’t have to sell art to eat, but selling a print feeds our ego.
Making a respectable living producing ‘fine art’ may be one measure of success, but enjoying what you do and winning a contest or two along the way is another. If you are proud to sign your name to an image, you can claim to be a ‘fine art’ photographer. How successful you are is up to your audience.
Pre-Photoshop Surrealism
There are times when an artist has to try something a little different to jar the creativity within. Edward Hopper did this often by moving between etching, painting, and sketching. He would paint portraits, landscapes, railroad scenes, restaurant interiors, houses, and even sunlight striking the interior wall in a house using pencil, pen, watercolor, and oil paint.
I am certainly no Ed Hopper, but I am finding that my narrow focus on military subjects, particularly Navy ones, is starting to feel a bit ordinary. Living in a Navy fleet concentration area, there are many military and industrial subjects to photograph, so I try to capture them in a different way.
Many digital photographers are well acquainted with software, like Adobe Photoshop, to manipulate image color, hue, sharpness, and exposure to some degree, but it can also radically change the image until it bears no resemblance to the original photograph. Artistically there is nothing wrong with this, but to me “re-photographing” digital images in this manner is more akin to the montages that I made in kindergarten with white glue and pictures cut from old Sears or Eaton’s catalogs.
I retired the Monochrome and Infrared galleries today and, in their place, created the Natural FX gallery. This is where I can place strange or unusual photographs that I made in a more traditional way. A couple of weeks ago, I took my 35 mm pinhole camera out of the closet, loaded it with a roll of Fuji Velvia 100 slide film, grabbed my tripod and light meter, and trekked out to the Bremerton waterfront.
Photographs made with a pinhole camera have a soft, ethereal quality that is hard to match with a standard lens. The camera, a teakwood box in this case, has been fitted with a thin piece of brass bored with a very small hole where the lens should be. I’m not sure of its size, but the hole is about one-hundredth of an inch in diameter. In 35 mm terms, that would be an aperture of about f/138. In broad daylight, an exposure on 100 ISO film takes about three or four seconds, hence the need for a sturdy tripod.
You never know what you will get with a pinhole camera. Sometimes it is hard to keep the camera stable on the tripod during the very manual exposure. The shutter is my fingertip. Inadvertent double exposures are common. Sometimes if the light is low, there is a significant shift away from the expected “normal” in color or hue of the finished image. Sometimes this failure of the Reciprocity Law leaves only a dark space on the film where an image should be. Exposure variations can create either unexpected beauty or an imperceptible blur. Variability can give a ‘normal’ composition a pleasing surreal quality, or just junk.
Additionally in this gallery, I placed images that I shot using a digital SLR with an R72 filter over the lens. The R72 filter blocks most visible light below the 720 nanometer wavelength and allows more near-infrared (NIR) and infrared (IR) light to strike the camera’s image sensor. This gives us a chance to see the unseen. Foliage glows brightly while concrete and steel, which reflect less infrared light, assume darker tones. The photographer can adjust the color palette of the image post-production for a general cold indigo, warm blue-green, or copper patina appearance. In any case, the image looks very different from those created by the ‘white’ visible light that our eyes see.
I’m not sure what I will try next. Whatever it may be, I’m sure that I can do it without technology getting in the way or making decisions for me.
I am certainly no Ed Hopper, but I am finding that my narrow focus on military subjects, particularly Navy ones, is starting to feel a bit ordinary. Living in a Navy fleet concentration area, there are many military and industrial subjects to photograph, so I try to capture them in a different way.
Many digital photographers are well acquainted with software, like Adobe Photoshop, to manipulate image color, hue, sharpness, and exposure to some degree, but it can also radically change the image until it bears no resemblance to the original photograph. Artistically there is nothing wrong with this, but to me “re-photographing” digital images in this manner is more akin to the montages that I made in kindergarten with white glue and pictures cut from old Sears or Eaton’s catalogs.
I retired the Monochrome and Infrared galleries today and, in their place, created the Natural FX gallery. This is where I can place strange or unusual photographs that I made in a more traditional way. A couple of weeks ago, I took my 35 mm pinhole camera out of the closet, loaded it with a roll of Fuji Velvia 100 slide film, grabbed my tripod and light meter, and trekked out to the Bremerton waterfront.
Photographs made with a pinhole camera have a soft, ethereal quality that is hard to match with a standard lens. The camera, a teakwood box in this case, has been fitted with a thin piece of brass bored with a very small hole where the lens should be. I’m not sure of its size, but the hole is about one-hundredth of an inch in diameter. In 35 mm terms, that would be an aperture of about f/138. In broad daylight, an exposure on 100 ISO film takes about three or four seconds, hence the need for a sturdy tripod.
You never know what you will get with a pinhole camera. Sometimes it is hard to keep the camera stable on the tripod during the very manual exposure. The shutter is my fingertip. Inadvertent double exposures are common. Sometimes if the light is low, there is a significant shift away from the expected “normal” in color or hue of the finished image. Sometimes this failure of the Reciprocity Law leaves only a dark space on the film where an image should be. Exposure variations can create either unexpected beauty or an imperceptible blur. Variability can give a ‘normal’ composition a pleasing surreal quality, or just junk.
Additionally in this gallery, I placed images that I shot using a digital SLR with an R72 filter over the lens. The R72 filter blocks most visible light below the 720 nanometer wavelength and allows more near-infrared (NIR) and infrared (IR) light to strike the camera’s image sensor. This gives us a chance to see the unseen. Foliage glows brightly while concrete and steel, which reflect less infrared light, assume darker tones. The photographer can adjust the color palette of the image post-production for a general cold indigo, warm blue-green, or copper patina appearance. In any case, the image looks very different from those created by the ‘white’ visible light that our eyes see.
I’m not sure what I will try next. Whatever it may be, I’m sure that I can do it without technology getting in the way or making decisions for me.
