<![CDATA[Milestone Documentary Projects - Blog]]>Sun, 20 Nov 2022 02:05:28 -0800Weebly<![CDATA[Imagine Taking Chances]]>Thu, 25 Sep 2014 21:59:48 GMThttp://www.milestone-projects.net/blog/imagine-taking-chances
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Years ago I was a student at the Art Center College of Design in Los Angeles. It was a wonderful experience. Full immersion into learning the art and craft of photography and design, with an emphasis on developing skills for a career in applied commercial photography.

Most of us had the attitude that we should carefully construct the images we made. We learned lighting. We learned composition and design. We learned lab and studio techniques. We learned how to edit and present our work in a professional manner. And we were critiqued on our successes and failures. It was all part of the process of learning what we were doing and crafting the best images we could possibly make. Lessons learned there have paid dividends throughout the years.

One class, though, taught me a very vivid and important lesson. Strangely enough, it wasn't taught by a photographer – almost all our classes were taught by professionals – but was taught by a graduate student in painting. It was a class in art concepts, and he brought to our attention ideas that were current in the rarefied atmosphere of the fine art world. A few weeks into the semester he brought in a Thomas Guide to Los Angeles. This was a book of highly accurate and richly detailed maps of Los Angeles County. Each page covered an area of a few blocks.

Our instructor had us come up, one at a time. He blindfolded us, gave us a push-pin, and told us to open the book at random and kind of “pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey” onto the page we chanced upon. He then explained that during the coming week we were to go to that exact spot in the Greater Los Angeles area and make a photograph. And we were expected to make good photographs.

You might expect that the response to the assignment by a class full of 4th semester commercial photographers was less than enthusiastic. We moaned and complained about lack of control, about wanting to get more specific directions as we normally received from our teachers. He was adamant. The lesson would be explained after we did it.

I happened to like the idea. I stuck my in pin on a page showing a small section of Compton. Compton was a predominantly black neighborhood, and I was a predominantly white Utahn unfamiliar with the area. Nevertheless, when I had an opening in my schedule off I went to the corner to which chance had pinned me. It was an afternoon, and I happened to get there about the time school let out. I happened to be standing on a corner that kids passed by on their way home. I had a camera. You can guess what happened. “Hey, mister. Take our picture!”

“Okay,” I said, “Get together and I will.” You can see the result in the photograph posted here. It was a great moment, and I love the shot. It wears well.

The next class we all showed our photos. Most of the offerings reflected discomfort with the assignment. Not a lot of inspiration there. But my shot was a hit, not because I was the best photographer, far from it, but because I intuitively understood the lessons our teacher was trying to teach:

Chance is an important part of art, and of life.

Quit trying to control everything about the things you shoot, and trust your ability to respond to life's unexpected possibilities.

Control your response.

Learn to work with Chance.

Allow yourself to be surprised.

Sometimes, the best images are the ones we can't engineer.

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]]><![CDATA[Imagine a Better Portrait]]>Wed, 27 Aug 2014 22:33:56 GMThttp://www.milestone-projects.net/blog/imagine-a-better-portrait
So, what makes for a good portrait?

Is it just a reasonable likeness?  If so, that would explain the proliferation of assembly-line photographs of students, employees-of-the-month, and families wearing matching shirts and matching smiles.

Is it just a snapshot with a cell phone? The multitude of “selfies” and rotating Facebook profiles suggest this is what many people believe.

Is it an exaggerated effort to be different or trendy--to be Art with a capital A?  Young, fashion-conscious photographers who are looking for a way to differentiate themselves from the pack affirm this point of view.

Is it a beautifully lit and staged and retouched studio image about which people reverently proclaim “It looks like a painting!” This is what many portrait studios sell.

Or is it something more?

Consider these two photographs..

The studio portrait is American, circa 1928. It is a beautiful black and white image of a family, a lovely photograph in and of itself. Is it a good portrait? As a photographer, I like it. Good composition, lighting, and tonality. Believable expressions and gestures. I wish more family photographs looked as good as this one.

Beyond that, what does it mean to you if you don't know the people in the photograph? Wouldn't you love to know their names, where they lived, what happened to them as the Great Depression and World War II engulfed their world?

The snapshot is a very early Polaroid photograph from about 1948-49 of a young woman. The print has faded a bit over time, but what remains? The season is Summer. She is wearing a wedding ring and is in a strapless bathing suit. Chin resting in her hand is an absolutely believable gesture. The tilt of her head, the direct gaze into the lens – really quite an intriguing expression that makes you wonder about her story. I think it is a charming and meaningful image, but what is the significance of it now, sixty years later other than the sense of mystery that it evokes?

The point I'm trying to make is that photographs alone are very limited in what they can preserve. They show what something, someplace, and/or someone looked like from the point of view of the photographer. Photographs at best can only suggest what the internal reality behind the faces might be. At worst, photographs fabricate or obscure the deeper truth of a person.

By the way, the studio photograph shows my mother as a 5 year old, with her sister, brothers and parents. Because I knew them, the picture will always have meaning for me.  The Polaroid is also of my mother, made by my father. Again, to me it suggests many things, because I know some of their story.  But what will these photographs mean to my grandchildren?

The take-away is this: Before a portrait can be great it has to be a good photograph. But if you want it to be a better portrait, a portrait that does more than scratch the surface of what it means to be a human being who has thoughts, feelings and connections to other human beings, then combine the photograph with an oral or personal history interview, a memoir or biography. The words and the picture together is what makes a portrait better.
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