Abstraction

Recovering from surgery I have all the time to think about which direction to take in my photography – and I made up my mind. I confess myself to what I call abstracting photography (abstract as a verb).

What abstract means in the context of photography was subject of a discussion we had in our photography club some time ago. And this is how I think about it.

In my opinion abstract painting is a valuable movement in art that was in fact to a large extent ‘released’ so to say as a result of the development of photography in the early 19th century – de facto releasing painting from the care to represent the physical, visible world. The question is, if photography could benefit from a similar departure from representation – and to which extent. My answer would be: ‘yes’ respectively ‘half ways’, and I will explain why.

Though even fully representational photography – the ‘natural’ common ground for photographers -  offers a lot of opportunity for the photographer to add personality to his images, and for the viewer to experience curiosity and imagination while enjoying it, I believe there is so much more to gain if we move to the other side of the spectrum: to the abstract. But just copying abstract art from in particular painting is not the way.

There is a fundamental difference between painting and photography in approaching abstraction, which is derived from Latin ‘abstráhere’, meaning ‘to leave out’, the reduction of everything that is not relevant to reveal the more fundamental structures. Well, the modern painter starts fundamentally always with a blank canvas and the abstract essence of what he wants to convey – and then starts to add form and shape to it, which can be abstract too. The photographer, however, by necessity must start at the other end of the spectrum, with the visible world as captured on his sensor/film, making ‘abstraction’ here a verb, an activity that takes effort, led by his personal ideas, intuition and feelings.

This mean that, from my perspective, abstract photography that makes sense (has meaning and personality) cannot be an easy imitation of fully abstract painting. Fully abstract pictures are often enlargements of small parts of visible reality that can no longer be recognized as such. These abstract images don’t relate to any real feelings or ideas of neither the maker nor the viewer, except for experiencing the result as pleasing, surprising and decorative. The maker is de facto fully absent – and there is no place for any empathy or imagination by the viewer either.

Photography in contrast, should in my experience start with recognizable reality (‘to look’), but should at the same time also grasp beyond at what is meaningful to the photographer (‘to see’). The bridge to that is established by the things that draw attention and that apparently/possibly have meaning. These are ‘signs’ that trigger the imagination, first with the photographer, later with the viewer. The discovery and interpretation of these signs, which largely takes place intuitively, benefits from a process of ‘leaving out’ (abstraction) and distortion (‘transformation’), both expressions of the communication that takes place between the personal imagination and the essence behind the visible world, aimed at surfacing what is really important. Examples of abstraction are the reduction of shape and sharpness, number of elements within the frame (composition), all or selected colors and full specters of light (like in infrared photography). Distortion can for example mean fading (by time, motion and focus), running, discoloration and perspective distortion. This can take place in post-processing but already starts while taking the picture:”framing, choice of filter and lens, depth of field - and even before that, while viewing: by the mental state that is called by Zen-Buddhists as ‘mushin’, no-mind-ness. It means a fully open mind that is extremely alert but not focused on anything particular, capable of detecting unexpected signs and meaning.

The result should be an image that still has visible image elements, but at the same time is abstracted to such an extent that the signs stand out. Signs, which meaning is not obvious but emerges/develops subconsciously in a process of introspection, imagination and decryption. A successful picture is just besides reality, inspiring the viewer to take another view on reality, with different eyes. And to look into himself: what does this mean to me?

How different abstraction in photography is from painting I refer to Saul Leiter. As a painter Saul Leiter is part of the Abstract expressionist movement in art, the American counterpart of what is called in Europe the Lyrical Abstraction.  In his paintings, like in most later abstract art, any form and shape has disappeared. However, as a photographer he made pictures that start with everyday reality – but through a process of no-mind-ness and abstraction pictures are captured that are recognizable as well as alienating and puzzling, and as a result keep  on stinging and stimulating our imagination.

In summary: real abstract photography that makes sense should seek for the middle ground where there is still enough to recognize (and experience beauty) but where we are also puzzled and feel slightly at unease, making the viewer drift by his own imagination - like a moth, captivated by a fascination for the candle.

Portrait

Portraiture often raises the philosophical question to which extent a (good) portrait says something about the person (in the sense of ‘soul’) of the portrayed, or just of the appearance, the outside, the mask. An appearance that is subject to change, highly determined by the moment and context (and the ideas that the viewer gets while seeing the picture) – and often even deliberately feinted too. The question to which extent it is even possible for a photographer to bring that ‘soul’ to the surface. Isn’t he - by means of pose, decor and light - at best not manipulating that appearance to his ideas (and hence his ‘soul’), and therefore having the portrait reveal more about himself than of the model?

How relevant would that question (and the ‘right’ answer) be? I believe that in the end it is more important that the outcome is a good portrait in its own right. For me this means that it provides an authentic image of a person, which gives the viewer the convincing feeling of looking into the soul of the portrayed, feeling a connection.

I come to these thoughts because of an assignment to make portraits of someone whose head is ‘extended’ with an object that tells something about this person. Well, that gives a certain element of playfulness because normally people don’t have something on their head and therefore have to dress up. As a model I took Jantina – my beloved who usually volunteers gladly for these occasions (a while later I played model for her too).

It is surprising how this element of play works out. It makes the session (but also the preparation: the choosing of attributes, the thinking up of poses) fun and relaxed. Playing – even of someone else – apparently brings people closer to themselves - and makes the resulting image more authentic. Judge for yourself. Whether these images give an in-depth view in Jantina’s soul I cannot answer – but it is for sure the Jantina I know and love.

The Attic

In the latter days of the old year I started on a new project: "The Attic". Towards Sylvester people tend to look back, and so did I, and this time even further back, over the years. I have more and more to count, and although that is a blessing, it also makes me feel as if I am getting further away from quasi the planet on which I grew up. The “Major Tom to Ground Control” feeling.

Once, when I was dreaming of becoming a poet, I expected to end before my fortieth birthday - like my heroes Hölderlin, Nietzsche and Slauerhoff, - in premature death or insanity. Comparable to how men in the Middle Ages assumed to drop off the earth when leaving the continent too far behind.

Hence I look back from this ‘afterlife’ upon myself and how I got here - and peel off layer by layer of my self-image until I reach deep into the dark side of my imagination. An experiment for which I restrict myself to a single object (myself), a small and sober space (the attic – metaphor for my mind), a single strobe of (northern) light, and a single non-color (black&white). Still, the resulting images express various moods or states of mind which I take on me, fitting them like coats to sense how they suit me, and foremost: what they do with me. While doing so, engaged in his evil game, my elder self returns to life, shimmering through shades of madness. À la recherche du temps perdu.

Houses at Night

For some time now I am working on a project to take pictures of houses at night. In first instance I focused at houses in Wijk aan Zee, a village at the sea - and recently I turned to my own neighborhood, Bosch en Vaart Kwartier in Haarlem.

Houses get a totally differrent atmosphere if you capture them in the dark. A hedge hiding the view onto the living room, a lonely illuminated window of an attic, a single room occupied in a deserted beach hotel – it evokes a feeling of intimacy, retreat and mystery. That is also why I take care not to include people. It makes the viewer feel being outside, in the cold - raising desiring for the warmth inside. It also incites curiosity - but at the same time it makes him feel uncomfortable too: as if any moment he could be trapped as being a voyeur. And, couldn't something be happening inside that maybe cannot tolerate daylight?

This flow of feelings is stimulated further by the colors of the night. The yellow glass of the leaded windows looks extra warm, the clouded sky above tends to orange, the pavement shines bluish under the street lights. Composition and post-processing feed these feelings and associations further. I find it a great subject - I hardly can wait for the extra touch the coming snow will add.

This will probably be my last blog entry this year - therefore this is the moment to wish you all a Merry Christmas and all the best in the New Year!

The Paper Mill

Paper mill “De Schoolmeester” (‘Schoolteacher’) is a very special place from a photography perspective. I have been there once before (check out here for the resulting pictures) – but enriched by new experiences since then I returned last weekend. And once again I was surprised by the ethereal, tender light that turns even the simplest things in little miracles. Outside watery sunshine, showers and greyness alternated – and as a result on the inside the soft light changed continuously as it caressing the interior. I took all time necessary to play with that light, and with the perspective: from the space in its entirety, with its almost mystical atmosphere, down to the smallest details and their ‘substance expression’.

Like the rough brush that looking through a macro lens seems to fade away in a mist of smoothness. Or this piled up bag of rags, raw material for the production of paper, covered under a thick layer of dust.

What does this light do to colors? Also they seem to be softer then everywhere else. This is reinforced by using a special capturing technique that confuses the eye, bringing sharpness and fuzziness of the very same together in a single image.

Please take a closer look here and let me know if you can guess what I did – clue: I wrote about it earlier below in this blog.

The Hague

A weekend ago I went out with the photo club for a shoot in The Hague. The objective was: practicing street photography. Now is that not really my cup of tea, but as you never know on beforehand what you get in front of your lens (besides the unavoidable St. Nicolas), and because it’s always fun going out with the club, I gladly joined.

And indeed, we did come across St. Nicolas, and indeed, street photography was not a particular success for me. Whether it’s my lack of fascination for scenery in the street or my diffidence to get closer is difficult to say – and probably it’s both.

Nevertheless, it was a perfect day. On one hand because it was indeed again utmost sociable and enjoyable together, but also because we discovered on our route a nice gallery where I discovered paintings of Esther Nienhuis being prepared for the opening next day, paintings made after photographs taken from behind wet windscreens – coincidentally a project I am working on too. Very coincidental, and inspiring too.

But besides that: after this photo (which you should actually see printed on baryta paper), taken in the first minutes after we left the parking upon arrival that morning, I knew this would be a great day.

Above a splendid patch of fog around the top of the futuristic ‘Hoftower’, dispersing the light of the rising sun. And below serene tranquillity, with a light that remembers of old pictures of Kertész.

Beemster Colours

A few weeks ago I was pointed at the American photographer Todd Hido. Hido is known from pictures that express a sense of being lost, displaced and excluded: images of homes at night with light behind just a single window; apparently random deserted landscapes in the rain from behind a dirty windshield; and models who seem to be left behind in anonymous motel rooms. It’s not just the subject but also the way the pictures are taken that convey that feeling – taken in a vague, grubby and alienating way. I was touched immediately. Not because the feeling resonates as such – although, who occasionally doesn’t feel himself as being a stranger? – but more by the immense tension the images convey so consistently.

Taking his remark seriously on how he learns from empathizing with the work of fellow photographers – “I have noticed within my own practice that adding a genre or another way of taking pictures, often adds an extra layer that complicates things more deeply.” – I chose to follow at least two of his trails (‘Landscapes’ and ‘Houses at Night’) to experience myself how image and imagination relate to each other with me taking the very same subjects. What kind of inner world would then shine through?

Last weekend we finally got the opportunity to make a trip in an everlasting drizzle – a wandering that took us to the Beemster. This earliest industrially reclaimed lake (‘droogmakerij’) in the Netherlands, which unique geometric landscape design is on UNESCO World Heritage Site list, I used to traverse often by bike in the past when I lived closer to it. The classical, symmetric grid of roads, trees, pastries and canals gives something endless to it, but not in a sense that makes you feel lost. Actually it has something very familiar, something that more represents like ‘home’ then as a deserted emptiness like how Hido represents the countryside.

And as a result I got, though taken under pretty similar conditions (from behind a sprinkled windshield), rather different images: water colors – how appropriate for a reclaimed lake in an autumnal rain. Dreamy pictures but with powerfully accentuated colors, in which lines are loosened and colors shift. Quasi the feet on the table and letting your mind go. Images that express more something of exploration than of drifting – where water gets fertile, emptiness space, and space gets home. That picture the tension between structure and creativity, dream and reality. And by doing so get closer to the prime reason why this polder was listed by the UNESCO: “The Beemster Polder is a masterpiece of creative planning, in which the ideals of antiquity and the Renaissance were applied to the design of a reclaimed landscape.”