Kehua, Mokau Falls

The purpose of Life is Art

~Friedrich Nietsche

Why do most great pictures look uncontrived? Why do photographers bother with the deception, especially since it so often requires the hardest work of all? The answer is, I think, that the deception is necessary if the goal of art is to be reached: only pictures that look as if they had been easily made can convincingly suggest that beauty is commonplace.

~ Robert Adams

As long as photography has existed, and that is nearly 200 years, the debate has raged as to whether photography is art or not. I would like to suggest that the answer is yes. I would also like to suggest that the answer is no. The difference is a question of perception and attitude and where we are on our journey, both photographic and personal…

And so, over nearly 200 years, a kind of continuum has developed. At one end are the purists, photographers determined to worship at the temple of some sort of photographic vestal virgin, determined to be as realistic and literal as possible. The photograph as representation.  I stood here and photographed that. At the other end of the continuum, away from the purists, are people who have manipulated heavily to suit their own purposes, determined to make a personal statement, to find a unique voice. At one end of the continuum we have clear statements, which say: I stood here and photographed that; at the other end we have images which ask more questions than they give answers, images which are driven by an internal seeking. And, of course there are many positions in-between. We choose, consciously or unconsciously, where we will position ourselves on that continuum. And no one position is better or worse than any other.

The key is to be photographically true to yourself and to your picture making, to be willing to move beyond your present position, if that feels appropriate, or be happy to stay where you are. And accept that the most important part of the equation comes from within rather than being directed from without. It seems to me that people consciously or unconsciously recognise that the camera can help them express themselves and learn something of who they are.

I am a teacher who became a photographer, not the other way around. In the thirty years I have taught photography, I have been fascinated by why people photograph, why photography is the second most popular pastime in the world. My teaching is based on a desire to help people close the gap between the camera and themselves.

May I offer a parable?

Imagine, if you will, a valley surrounded by impassable mountains on every side. For nearly 200 years people have lived in the valley, establishing towns and villages and developing farms. Because the climate is so benign, there is a possibility of growing all manner of crops. It is really up to each individual farmer  what he plants, depending upon the economics of the day and his personal preference. One year he might plant maize, another year he might plant evening primrose, and then he might grow maize again. But, because he cannot cross the mountains, there is little way for him to interact with the valleys beyond. For nearly 200 years, photography has been like that. The boundaries of possibility have been limited by the technical considerations of what is essentially a chemical medium. All the traditions and practices have been obliged to work within the exigencies of the chemical medium, be a traditional black and white Darkroom photography or the fascination of Polaroid. While these may appear to be radically different crops, in point of fact they are just variations on a theme. The perception of the individual farmer is that he is making different choices, but he is constrained by the outer limits of the technological world which inhabits.

Then one night an earthquake shakes the valley and, in the morning, the mountains at one end of the valley have disappeared. Suddenly the inhabitants of the valley realise there is a big uncharted world beyond, one of which they know very little. Some of the inhabitants pretend that this hasn’t happened and continue on as before, quite happy to tend their crops as they always have done, to remain true to the Zone System or Pictorialism. Others are keen to see what lies beyond, and so they begin to venture out of the valley into the new world and discover what they can. In their journeys they discover new technologies and practices which they bring back to the valley and use to grow better crops. The digital photographer who has substituted the digital sensor for film and uses PhotoShop to find-tune his photographs is one such. Still wedded to what he knows, he acquires enough of the new technology to continue growing better crops than he did before.

Other more adventurous souls, having sensed the potential of the new technology as a way of better expressing themselves, discard the old practices and embrace the new. Some vanish out into the wilderness and discover other technologies which suit them better, namely painting or sculpture. Those who go out, and visit the Valley of Other Technologies, who take the time to read, learn and inwardly digest, come back refreshed and begin to work in new ways.

Photography is like that. Photoshop and digital photography are, I believe, the earthquakes which have lowered the mountains, have opened a pass to the Plain of Infinite Possibility. Now we can follow well-worn paths, express our love of the expressionist or Impressionist ethic without being able to draw. Now we can be Cubists in our own lunchtime. We can create scenes far more fantastic and surreal  than anything a Salvador Dali could have envisaged.

Now, that we have a technology where anything is possible, we have the opportunity to work in new and different ways. The continuum from representation (the historical tradition of photography) to conception and creation has now been extended much further. And where we position ourselves on this continuum is completely up to us. Some of us will be content to stay where we are, to remain faithful to what we know. Others of us are happy to wander out into the grasslands beyond the valley and work in new and exciting ways.

For that to happen we need to have a reason to use the technology at our disposal and a philosophy behind that use. At one end of a continuum photography  allows me to grow better crops, to produce a finer yield from the maize I have continued to plant from time to time.

On the other end of the continuum it allows me to reach as far into the depths of my subconscious and contemplate as I am willing, then draw up from the depths whatever asks to be caught. It only asks that I do so in a considered way.

Anything else is mere illustration.

So, faced with this dazzling array of tools, we can say whatever we want. What is important is that we actually have something to say.

And herein lies the key to Art.