Some inspiration from Lenbachhaus

Long time no blog! I have shelved my camera for the last 5 years to focus more on establishing the Monachium Belegarth group, first solid one of its kind in Europe. Most of my Sundays went into that, so I couldn't really go out and photograph as much as I wanted. Now Monachium is established and other members are doing most of the day-to-day running, so I will have some more spare tome to myself. This allows me to turn back to one of my other main hobbies, camerawork. 

My in-laws were visiting this week, and today we went to the Lenbachhaus museum. While a lot of their main art, the Blaue Reiter school, is not so much my thing, they happened to have a flock of 19th century artists out on exhibit, and there was some nice stuff. The landscape painters of that time - while obviously romanticizing nature - did some lovely things with composition and light that is very much like what I want to get out of my photography. Here three photos that I particularly enjoyed.

Domenico Quaglio: Die Vautsburg am Mittelrhein
Creditline: Städtische Galerie im Lenbachhaus und Kunstbau München

Domenico Quaglio: Die Vautsburg am Mittelrhein - a moody scene of a castle on the Rhine that I really must go see. It has nice leading lines in the path way, placed off-center, with stormy clouds helping to point out the castle itself, but the entire thing kept in greys and greens that help emphasize the grim look appropriate to a 14th-century castle.

Johan Friedrich Hennings: Studie vom Königssee
Creditline: Städtische Galerie im Lenbachhaus und Kunstbau München

Johan Friedrich Hennings: Studie vom Königssee
Creditline: Städtische Galerie im Lenbachhaus und Kunstbau München
Edited: Darkened to match how I remember seeing it.

Johan Friedrich Hennings: Studie vom Königssee. The digital reproduction doesn't do justice to the original, they brightened it too much. It's very low-key, only the sunlit parts have any real detail to them, so it appears mystical and secret, with the edges of the plants and boat glowing like gold. Lots of negative space suggestion who-knows-what lurking around.

Anton Zwengauer: Herbstmorgen
Creditline: Städtische Galerie im Lenbachhaus und Kunstbau München

Anton Zwengauer: Herbstmorgen. There's a lot of empty space in this, more that half is just shades of a murky blueish-yellow sky, and the landscape below disappears into the morning mist. The ramshackle hut is a mere detail in this view, where the feeling of clammy solitude palpably emanates from the canvas. Simple, quiet, and utterly gorgeous.

Take-aways: Negative space is a big deal. Simple tones avoid confusion and distraction. Low-key can be super effective. Landscape paintings can make for really good inspiration (in fact, I got their book of their landscape paintings for this purpose). And mainly, I need to get out there and find these views.

Thanks to the Lenbachhaus for giving me permission to using the digital versions of the pictures in this post.

First, buy some cheap crap

There's a classic style of post about just about any kind of photographic equipment that shows how starting with cheap equipment and gradually going to better and better gear is much more expensive than getting the better gear to begin with. These posts always irk me, especially when accompanied by exhortations to get the finest, most expensive gear that's out of the range of most mortals.

My approach has been exactly the opposite: When going into a new area when I don't know what to look for, I get something cheap that I expect to get rid of in a year or two. Whether tripods or flashes or
studio lights, I look for a third-party or store-brand kit as a "learner set". I'll then use that plus various internet sites to learn how to use that thing and what it is I like and don't like about it. I have found this to work a lot better than trying to understand what's useful and what's a gimmick based on internet reviews.

Once you've figured out the basics of this new type of equipment, it's time to get a reasonable one. This is where the mass-market brand-name items come into play. You can now reasonably look at reviews and comparisons, disregarding things you've found are unimportant for you, and up-rating what's really your thing. I bought my 60D this way: I made a spreadsheet of the features I wanted and the cameras that gave them. Since some features, like a flip-out display, are relatively rare, it cut down the selection to where I could borrow or rent the options until I knew what to get. I didn't do it when getting a tripod, but was lucky enough to be able to sell the Manfrotto that didn't suit me for a small loss.

The medium-quality item is likely to last you for several years, during which you'll figure out if it was just a short infatuation with a particular method or technology or something you want to specialize in. If the latter, you will surely learn enough by then to get what you need, rather than what people are trying to push.

If you tried getting the very best quality from the beginning, you're as likely as not to get something that's not suited to your needs: Too big, too heavy, too specialized. And even if you get a thing that suits you, you might find that it was just a passing fancy that you spent thousands of euros on instead of hundreds.

The main point is to make a conscious decision to get a "learner set". Know that it will be sub-par and adjust your expectations accordingly. Then you'll have a better chance at getting what you really need later.

A final note: Don't apply this to items where your safety is at stake.

Standing up for what you like

At the brewery of St. Clemens a yellow picture adorns the cover of their newspaper-style menu. On the back is a small biography of the artist (from the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts) and a description of his style: "[his] artistic practice fundamentally takes place in the intersection between aesthetics, politics and poetry. The works often balance subtly between a simple, clear expression and a condensed conceptual complexity of meaning. Its apparently simple expressions invite the viewer to interact with the work themselves and take part in producing meaning. "

I read this as "the pictures are boring and convoluted. Instead of putting in the craft required, a virtue is made of sloth by leaving the work of producing meaning to the observer." Quality and hard work have become anathema to modern art, instead calling ambiguity and half-done work "inviting the viewer into the creative process." The artist does not dare make a clear message, does not dare stick his neck out by making his views known. Besides, one would rather not offend anyone, and if the work's meaning is entirely up to the viewer, there is no danger of that.

Art should say something. Art should relate to its surroundings and not just to itself. The kind of art whose only question is "is this art?" has no meaning outside the art world. So much art is self-referential navel-gazing whose only question for the viewer is "is this relevant?" with only one possible answer: a resounding no.

At the same time, many have confused "relevant" with "social realism". One can quite well relate to the world in ways other than by pointing out things that are bad. It's easy to criticize, find fault and belittle. Who in the world of art stands up these days and says "This is beautiful! I like this! This is good!"? We are all experts at criticizing, but it takes courage to be for something. 

When you proclaim your admiration of something, you put yourself at risk. You take a chance of being belittled or denied. But at least you have taken a viewpoint rather than shying away from any commitment. It forces you to dwell on your subject, to feel something for it, to vouch for it, rather than just flit on to demeaning the next thing. A "Yes" has always had greater consequences than a "No", but we are unable to handle the consequences. We like having an undo button, a way back, an opportunity not to be permanently damaged by the mistakes we commit: The house must be able to be sold again, the divorce should be painless. But if we do not vouch for something, we will never have anything of true value. If we try to overthrow our shitty society without taking the trouble to actually make something better, we just end up with chaotic crap instead of organized crap.

It is worth remembering Sturgeon's Law: "90% of science fiction is crap, but then again 90% of anything is crap." It's easy to find something to criticize, because there is so much that is reprehensible. When you stand up for something, take a chance, you no longer have the statistics of Sturgeon's Law on your side.

I try in my art to follow this, to look for what makes me happy and depict it. It is not always successful, and many a time I fall back on the critical and ironic, but I think that the experiment itself is important.

Telling a story

One of the main things art can do is tell a story. Traditionally, this has not been the forte of photography, being more the domain of songs, books, motion pictures and comics. But when a photo manages to do more than portray a place, a thing or a person, it gains power and interest.

I don't normally try for the story-telling approach, finding it easier to bring interest through shape, composition and color, but when I find a story told through one of my pictures, I find that it is elevated to something more than its plain technical and compositional contents. It comes alive, and becomes funny or sad or encouraging or puzzling.

When I took this picture, I just looked at the pattern of the ski tracks. Only at home did I notice the one track leaving the rest and ending badly. That, in all its simplicity, is a story.