It's like shooting hoops; you throw the ball up...sometimes it's an airball, sometimes a backboarder and sometimes a swish. You never know precisely which you're going to get but you keep tossing the ball hoping for a bucket. For me it's the physical act of photographing that I love...seeing the image in my viewfinder, deeply held breath, feeling my finger press the shutter, hearing it trip and KNOWING it's the shot. It's such a deep knowing that I don't even know how I know it. But I do. And that feeling coupled with knowing I can make it happen again and again (but certainly not every time) is a huge part of why I photograph. I also love the creative process of photography...the computer, the tidy organization of my file structure, the hands-on work it takes to create a print, the endless possibilities that digital affords. Does anything I do reveal Truth. Ha. The more I photograph and manipulate images the more I know my photography reveals all sorts of things BUT truth. They reveal my mood, my whims, my level of expertise, my ideas at the time I created the image or the print but are any of those Truth? I don't think so. But then again, I'm not trying to reveal Truth, I'm trying to show what I saw, what I felt, what I felt about what I saw. No matter how clean and well-spotted a print is, it's still not Truth unless it is simply the truth that a particular photographer is meticulous in his work. Interesting subject matter, Lea On Aug 30, 2011, at 1:29 PM, John Palcewski wrote: > I’m working on a piece on the topic of the various psychological > motives that draw people into serious photography. After a lot of > reflection, I’m aware of a few of my own, but I’d be most interested > in hearing some insights from others. > > I got the idea to pursue this the other day when I was revisiting > “O’Keeffe & Stieglitz: An American Romance,” by Benita Eisler. I > was particularly struck by these sentences by Eisler: > > > Photography, if not truth, in Alfred Stieglitz's life seems an > inevitability. In its complex fusion of the technical and aesthetic, > of process and practice, "seeing" and intuition, art and craft, the > making of pictures with his new machine embraced both psychological > need and expressive impulse. > > Conferring the illusion of control (a piece of the world reduced, > arranged, and contained in a little black box), photography leaves the > power drive and fragile ego structure of the narcissist intact: the > photographer is the metaphysical magician who, disappearing under his > black hood (and, for Stieglitz, under his black loden cape as well), > emerges to mystify and demystify at will. > > Of equal importance, the process of the work legitimizes the demands > of the obsessive-compulsive personality. In the trial and error > method necessitated by primitive equipment, the photographer could > reasonably shoot the same wall over and over; he could wash, rewash, > and wash again the heavy glass plates, cleansing them of > imperfecctions no one else could ever see. He could then "spot" the > print, chemically removing, speck by speck, any trace of impurity that > had remained hidden on the plate. What emerged, after the plate was > dry, the print perfect--as Alfred occasionally announced one of his > efforts to be--would seem nothing less than Truth, revealed and > recorded for all time. > > > So I’d be happy—and grateful—to hear some reactions to this, as well > as anything else that occurs to the PhotoForum membership. > > Thanks! > > JP > your kids . my camera . we'll click www.leamurphy.com
