In the Frame

It is one of the ironies of my life that as I get older my vision seems to be improving both literally and figuratively. I read without my glasses frequently, and my distance vision has improved a bit. My optometrist told me that just before cataracts form my vision will be sharper still, and the Eye Institute now advertises corrective cataract surgery where you are freed of glasses/contacts forever. All I have to do is to take those multivitamins to prevent macular degeneration (touch wood). So it's nice to know that the ocular equipment probably won't fail me just when I'm developing artistic vision for the first time in my life.

In photography, the guidelines for composition are limited and accessible.

Use the “golden mean” and put your subject off center by one third of the picture’s width and height.

Use interesting points of view: looking up at your subject,

looking down,
head on, or at a weird angle.

Find and use repetitive designs or geometric patterns.

The idea is that if you practice these principles, the picture will compose itself. Right.

Here’s where I fall into the chasm between theory and practice: trying to define the subject.

What is the subject here?

The marsh landscape? The early dawn light? the goldenrod? or the old stump?

And here-- is it the one of the herons? or the whole landscape?

If you are unsure in your mind what your picture is about, the confusion will be present in the composition of the photograph. It is surprisingly difficult to find a single subject, but I cling to the idea that good photography involves the art of graceful simplification. It helps to take several pictures of the same scene, but with different areas of focus.

Once you solve the problem of the subject, details can still bite you. It’s a funny thing. You can get the picture framed so the subject is in a “sweet spot”, with beautiful light, and take the shot with the perfect settings on the camera, and when you get home and look at your work more closely-- wham!--
you find a branch growing out of the egret’s head or a cormorant standing on top of a pelican. You could swear that you never saw the cormorant or branch before in your life.

The failure is neither my eyes nor my “inner vision”. The mental blinders we use - to simplify, to focus, to hone in- are necessary to any creative process. Unfortunately they can shut out those pesky extraneous branches, clouds, puffs, of smoke, weird signs, and bumper stickers that sabotage the best composition. The trick is to keep a general view as long as you can. Check the background, then the foreground and look for things blowing in the wind. Take a “history and physical” of the site: Are clouds likely to move across the sun? Should I move to get a better background? Should/can I move closer to the subject? Is the subject likely to move away from me? Photographers always experience some tension between what they feel should be in the picture and what really is. When the inner vision harmonizes with the external reality, the results can be breathtaking.