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Isolate your subject

If we could single out one fault that makes for a flawed or mediocre image it would be the failure of the photographer to isolate his/her important subject. By isolate we mean that the incidental things in the photograph that distract us and subtract from the power of the subject need to be eliminated or obscured. "Composition," in the words of Bruce Barnbaum, "is the artist's way of directing the viewer's vision in a planned, de-randomized fashion. The viewer sees first those elements that the artist wants him or her to see most prominently and remember longest." ** A composition fails, he says, "when the viewer's eye roams about aimlessly."
      Those distracting elements that cause aimless roaming are often bright areas in the background or near the edge of the image, an object that merges with the main subject, or simply too many things in sharp focus and strong light. Before we examine a couple of flawed images, let's look at one where the photographer did a fine job of isolating her subject—a small plastic toy. That description of the image is misleading, however, for the photograph was taken at Acoma, New Mexico, an 800 year old adobe village atop a mesa that in most respects, doesn't seem to have changed much over the centuries. Except perhaps, for a child's toy.

OK, you say, that was easy enough—the colors and texture and subject matter all made it a simple, perhaps even obvious matter to move in tight and shoot the pelican. I agree, but first she had to see the pelican and that's what most of us would have missed. A traditional Puebloan bowl sitting on the wall would strike us as a set-up, but a brightly-colored plastic pelican left behind by a child is a different story. So what we are really talking about here is both seeing and isolating. I'm not sure the former can be taught, but certainly the latter skill can be learned, especially through a few bad examples.

Now let's examine a couple of flawed images that have this in common—the principal subject has not been sufficiently isolated from its surroundings.

The trunk of this oak tree in a California park has some nice twists and turns . . . but you'd never know it because of the way the texture of the trunk merges with the background. Even in color the image is barely any better. Objects that our eyes isolate in the field often become indistinguishable when captured on film (or digitally). I usually carry a green viewing filter when shooting in black-and-white that helps me to see when tones merge, but I don't expect most people will. The solution here: find a different tree!

Candid portraits, especially those taken in the living room or kitchen, are notorious for intrusive elements in the background, but bad photos taken at festivals and concerts are equally common. I think we get so caught up in the excitement of the moment that it is easy to overlook something in the background. I can't use that excuse for the image below, as I was quite aware of the lights and other paraphernalia that's required for a live band.

Notice the light fixture behind his hat. I was aware of it, but wasn't patient enough to move, shoot more, or open up the lens to throw the lights out of focus. I know I could have spoken to the musician on a break and asked him to pose, but I didn't.
      If this were a picture of Bruce Springsteen or some other rock star no one would care—any photograph of someone famous seems to be "good enough." But let's not kid ourselves. The juxtaposition of the light fixture and his hat is simply bad. The rest of the objects in the background don't seem to be distracting; in fact they add to it by suggesting a bit of the context as well as by offering a certain frame— that this is a live performance rather than a studio shot. Contrast that with the image below.



The principal subject is nicely isolated from all the rest of the stuff because it is much brighter and more colorful. Isolation does not have to mean a barren setting, devoid of all context.

Here's another flawed image, illustrating a common problem for anyone interested in architectural work—getting a clear shot of the subject without distracting cars, signs, power lines, and even people. The image of the church is reasonably good (a bit distorted, but not too bad). But the white mail truck on the left edge is terrible, as is the rear of the car in the foreground. If the red car parked in front of the church were a light color, that would be another disaster. It is the middle of a typical day in Paterson, and there is no way the photographer could control all the vehicles that are in his line of sight. He took a half dozen shots, waited for the mail truck to move, and eventually got a barely-acceptable image—nothing to brag about but a respectable "real estate" photograph of the oldest church in Paterson. On the following page you'll see quite a different approach to a similar subject, but here let's wrap up this section by noting the importance of looking carefully for all bright objects in the scene and for examining the edges of the image, and anything that impinges on the principal subject. Then we'll turn to a few suggestions.    

CONTINUE      

** Bruce Barnbaum. The Art of Photography: An Approach to Personal Expression. Dubuque, IA: Kendall Hunt, 1994.                
                                                                                            


This is the second issue of a website devoted to approaching photography as an art form that (mostly) embraces the traditional canons of drawing and painting—which is to say there is an emphasis here on line, shape, color, light, perspective, texture, and so on. We appreciate that there is much more to photography than that, but an awareness of traditions— from Lascaux to Rauschenberg—may be useful to beginning and intermediate photographers as they explore and experiment. There will certainly be treatment of the craft and technical aspects, but our focus will be on composition in the very broadest sense of that term. There are two basic questions we will pose—What do you point your camera at? and Where do you stand? When one addresses those questions many of the other decisions are fairly well determined. We invite you to explore this issue and tell us what you think.
                                                                                                            —FLG


No. 2 June 2006

   Photography is not simply a craft
   or art, but a means of seeing and    thinking about our world.


previous issue: shadows


We plan on publishing semi-monthly, with each issue based on an aspect of composition, with images from our own work and from a few contributors. There will be links to other photographers and artists, and an activity or assignment whereby one might practice and gain at least an understanding of the several dimensions of using perspective, shadow, or whatever is the topic for that issue.

Our primary audience is anyone seriously trying to learn how to make better images. If photography is not your passion (or at least one of them) we suspect there will not be much here for you. We invite participation from instructors and students, and expect to feature the work of both in subsequent issues.
We anticipate the emphasis and perhaps the breadth or depth of our treatment will change over time, as we get a better understanding of the needs and preferences of our audience.

We are going to use this website, very frankly, to experiment with a variety of instructional and presentation capabilities, including audio and video conferencing, threaded discussions, podcasts, and as much interactivity as seems appropriate for the topic. We're still in the process of setting up some of that software, but we hope you'll be able to participate more extensively by the summer months.

We have some prejudices and you might as well be apprised of them now. You are unlikely to see images featuring sunsets, birds, insects, cute pets, or rock stars and celebrities here. There is more emphasis and space given to black-and-white images than many people are used to; black-and-white is not better or purer, it's just different and equally worthy of attention. We believe that much can be learned from studying other images, including painting and drawing, as well as the nineteenth century photographic images that make up the History section of this website, and throughout we will make reference to art and photography we see as relevant.

One of the unanswered questions implicitly raised by the very existence of this site is whether photography can be taught. We have argued both sides of that issue, without resolving it. But photography can be learned, and that is the proposition to which we are dedicated.


The image in the title graphic was taken in a New York subway. The one at the top of this column is a very poisonous wildflower, Jimsonweed, growing in profusion along the banks of the Delaware River in New Jersey (and just about everywhere else in the world).