To write informatively about art is inherently difficult. When the work under consideration is one's own, the challenge is compounded. Robert Adams, in Why People Photograph, nicely summarized the problem of mixing words and photographs: if the words are stronger than the images, then the images are a failure; if the words are weaker than the images, then the words were unnecessary. Many artists simply refuse to discuss their own work, and I believe their reticence is worthy of respect. It is said that a student once approached Robert Frost and asked him to "explain" one of his famous poems. Frost replied, "Do you want me to say it worse?"
The cartoon presents a completely different, and certainly
more contemporary, viewpoint. There is truth lurking behind its
blunt cynicism, as a visit to one's local
art museum is likely to confirm. We live in an exhibitionist age,
and for every Robert Frost there is a Calvin only too eager to
talk about himself. The results are often pretentious, sometimes
funny, and rarely illuminating.
In spite of this, I am unwilling to dismiss the power of the written word to convey important ideas about art. There are artists and critics who write persuasively, and without their efforts our appreciation of art would be much impoverished. On this thought I plunge ahead hopefully with my own statement.
There are many reasons to take a photograph, among them being the intention to create a meaningful work of art. Why can the making of a photograph, a commonplace event in the modern world, become artistic expression? On a primitive level a photograph is nothing but a data record: in traditional photography a pattern of silver grains, in digital photography a set of numbers. The result is mathematically related to the pattern of light that entered the front end of the camera at a particular time and place. In this sense a photograph differs from a painting or a musical composition, which must be synthesized in its entirety out of the human imagination. Each note of a Beethoven quartet was put in place by the composer's creative intelligence, whereas in a photograph it seems as though much of the hard work is being done by lenses and electrical circuits.
Nevertheless a photograph is the conscious result of a certain
number of decisions made by the photographer. One of my teachers
has said that a photographer must decide "where to stand and
where to put the edges of the frame." To this can be added the
choice of camera settings, the editing of the image on the computer, the
selection of images to be presented, and even the order in which to arrange them
for viewing. Given the complexity of the world and the
infinite number of possible photographs that can be taken, the
photographer's creative palette is no less rich than the
painter's or composer's.
In the specific case of landscape photography, it is appropriate to ask another question: why do we sometimes say that a particular place is beautiful? A mountain, after all, is a random act of nature; it is neither inherently beautiful or ugly but simply is. The answer to this apparent dilemma is to be found, I think, in the Robinson Jeffers poem at the top of this page. A certain mountain is said to be beautiful because it appeals to "our human sense of beauty." That sense, says Jeffers, provides us with a metaphor of the mountain's excellence. It is not the mountain that possesses beauty but its metaphor, which exists only within the human mind.
What the landscape photographer seeks is this same kind of metaphor. The creative photograph is not a scientific record of a mountain, but an abstraction intended to serve as a metaphor for its beauty. When the photographer is successful his metaphor will be both compelling and new. Such a photograph delivers to its viewer what mathematics delivers to Jeffers' astronomer: comprehension of "the powers and the flow of things."
Most of my work in photography can be described as "landscape." Where people and manmade objects appear it is primarily as compositional elements. I favor this branch of photography not because I consider it to be better or more important than other branches, but because I find it to be more personally satisfying. The main reason for this, I am sure, is that I enjoy visiting places where the landscape is inherently interesting. The urge to photograph them follows naturally.
I take a resolutely literal approach to photography, avoiding any extensive retouching or modifying of the image. By restricting my technique in this way, I can simplify my thinking in the field. This seems to work best for me. On the other hand, I try not to be dogmatic: I will indulge in minor retouching to remove a scenic wart from an otherwise good photograph. On every photograph I use standard image enhancement techniques such as contrast enhancement, color correction and enhancement, dodging, burning, and sharpening. My goal is always, in Ansel Adams' elegant phrase, "to remain faithful to the image formed by the lens."
Paul Cornelius
Original: September, 1997
Revision: October, 2000
Revision: February, 2025